“Lorna, talk to me.”
“And say what? I’m still me, Reid. I wanted a change. So what? Hell, if I could have gotten other colors, I might have tried purple or teal.” Her smile returned. “There are great ideas online.” She pulled the covers over her.
Taking a deep breath, I followed her until I too was sitting on her edge of our bed. I reached out to her wet brown hair and tugged on a strand. “You’re probably right about the curl.”
She pushed back against the pillow and stared at my hand. Holding her breath, her eyes were on only my hand. “Please don’t touch my hair.”
“Sweetheart, it’s pretty. You’re pretty.”
Lorna scooted up to the headboard, shaking her head. “I don’t look like her.”
My lips came together as Lorna repeated her declaration, each time louder than the last. It wasn’t only her raised voice. There was something unfamiliar in her eyes, as if she weren’t seeing me.
“I don’t...I don’t,” she repeated.
Unsure what to say, I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around her. Beneath my embrace her body stilled. Cold. Statuesque. A mannequin in my grasp. And then the arms I had captive bent as she pushed against me.
“Stop. I don’t look like her. I’m not her.”
Hell, I held a great deal of knowledge on many things. Understanding Lorna’s outburst and change in hair color was beyond my comprehension. “Her? Who?”
“I’m not Anna.”
Anna? Who the fuck was Anna?
Lorna’s pushes turned to punches as her fingers formed fists, and she pounded against my chest. “Stop. I won’t tell. Please stop.”
Each plea took a sliver of my heart. Instead of releasing the trembling petite body in my grasp, I held tighter. “Lorna, it’s all right. You’re safe.”
Sobs overtook her as cries and gulps of air silenced her pleas. Finally, she lost her fight, her punches losing strength. She curled, her shoulders bending forward and her chin down, clinging to my chest. With her arms tucked in front of her, she continued to curl inward, as if she were trying to disappear within my hold.
I ran my hand over her short brown hair, soothing her as I spoke. “You’re absolutely beautiful, Lorna. If you want purple or teal hair, I may decide to join you. How do you think I’ll look with purple hair?”
When her crying calmed, she looked up at me. The stunning green eyes were the ones I loved. “I get so tired, but I can’t sleep alone. I don’t know what’s real.”
“You’re real,” I said. “I’m real. We’re real.”
“My thoughts and dreams—where do they come from?”
“Do you want to talk about them?”
“No,” she said, encouraging me to join her in the bed by patting the space beside her.
Still clothed with lights still on around our room, I kicked off my shoes and climbed under the blankets on her side. As I did, she cuddled close, laying her head on my chest and curling next to my side.
“Why?” I asked. “Why don’t you want to talk about them?”
“Because what if they’re not real?”
I resumed stroking her hair, and as I looked down, I smiled. “You’re a beautiful brunette.”
She reached up and twisted a strand. “I can probably go back to red, but I can’t glue the length back.”
“Then keep it short, or let it grow.” I rolled until my wife was on her back and I was over her. Her emerald eyes stared up at me, her face framed in chestnut. “If you think for one minute the color and length of your hair have anything to do with my love for you, you’re wrong.”
Looking into the depth of her stare, her orbs were so clear, open, and honest, it hurt. I wanted to look away, still fearful she’d see my dark thoughts. Yet I couldn’t. My wife was my light, and I needed her in my life in the same way that I needed food or air. Without her, life wouldn’t matter.
I’d failed her, let her down by not keeping her safe. Letting her down again wasn’t an option. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”
“It’s okay.”
I ran my finger over her cheek, pleased at the way the dark bruise had faded to green. “I want to be honest with you. We’re getting clues, but I can’t tell you more.”
Her lips came together as a tear trickled from her eye.
“Talk to me,” I pleaded before gently brushing my lips over hers.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Answer my questions. Why did you color and cut your hair? Who is Anna?”
She sucked in a breath. “Why would you mention her?”
“Because you did.”
Her head shook. “No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”
“Who is she?”
Lorna’s heart beat in double time within her chest, the vibration coming from her to me as simultaneously, her complexion paled. “Tell me why you’d say that name?”
“I told you. You said it. You said you weren’t her, you weren’t Anna.”
Both of Lorna’s eyes closed, long lashes batting away more tears.
My mind scrambled. Lorna was having memories, but of what? “Sweetheart, if you mentioned her before, I’m sorry. I’m drawing a blank.” And then I recalled something from a long time ago. “Didn’t you work with an Anna when we met?”
Lorna nodded as she closed her eyes tighter and lifted her hands to her ears. It was as if she were a child trying to block out the world. “No more. I can’t. I promised.”
I sat taller, looking down at my wife.
What should I do?
I could call Laurel, but last I heard she was with Araneae.
Gently, I tugged Lorna’s hands away from her ears.
As I did, her body lost a bit of its tension. “Don’t.” Her eyes opened, glistening emerald shining my way. “Please don’t make me.”
Make her?
“Lorna, you do what you want. Don’t tell me anything if it’s upsetting. I’m sorry again that I let him take you.”
“Him?”
I inhaled. “We have evidence that a man was with you.”
Her head shook. “No, I wasn’t raped.”
“Not with you like that. With you—in the same room. Blood was found, his blood and yours. And his DNA matches the hair in the report Dr. Dixon gave us.”
Slowly, the tips of Lorna’s lips curled. “I fought.”
“Yes, sweetheart, you fought.”
“I didn’t freeze.”
Laying a kiss on her nose, I said, “You’re a fighter. My fighter.”
“And he didn’t rape me.”
“That’s what the test said.”
Sighing, she brought her lips to mine. “Reid, I’m sorry if I’ve lied to you.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. There’s something I need to know. It’s right here, and I don’t want to know it and I do. Laurel said there could be memories and flashes. In those flashes, he’s dirty and smells. He says I am pretty like my mother, but she is no longer pretty.”
A few minutes later, I’d stripped off my clothes and turned off the lights. Getting into bed on my side, I reached for my wife, half assuming she’d fallen asleep. I was wrong. Her voice was calm and cool. The earlier emotion was gone, replaced by a dream-like voice.