Please say yes, Jimmy Whelan.
He hesitates, his dark eyes gazing intently into mine. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but whatever it is, I want him to find it.
“Sure, Miss Hughes,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Then the beautiful, handsome man in a white uniform gets up and walks away.
I miss him already. I wish he’d come back. He has such kind eyes. Built like a brick wall with a sturdy jaw shaded with stubble, yet he’s not intimidating to me. He’s a good man. I want to keep talking to him.
He seemed reluctant to leave.
Maybe he’s lonely.
Maybe I’ll go find him and ask if he wants to hang out. Nothing serious. We just met, for crying out loud. But seeing him again feels like something that would be good for me.
I start to rise out of my chair when my eye catches a drawing on the table in front of me. It’s an Egyptian landscape—a tall pyramid casting a long shadow under a blazing sun.
Did I draw this? Of course. Obviously, it’s here in front of me, along with pens and colored markers. I must’ve started it before the accident. I should finish it. It’s been two years. I’ll finish it now. I uncap a Magic Marker, wishing I had canvas and paint. Maybe Delia will bring some for me when she comes. Or Mom and Dad.
I miss them. I try to remember their faces, to recall one moment of our lives before the accident.
I can’t. When I look, I see emptiness. Like a vast desert of space with no walls but no air moving either. Fear starts to dig into my stomach, and I reach for the markers. Something I can hold in my hand. I add color to the sky. When it’s done, I pick up the ballpoint. Tiny words loop out from under my pen and fill the shadow beneath the pyramid.
Strong stone moan groan lone alone lonely lowly low slow such scratch scar scar scar
It doesn’t make sense. Words and words and words, saying nothing.
A person who studies words is an etymologist.
How is this a Thing I Know? Did I study words in college? Did I go to college? I try to remember. Something. Anything.
Silence in my mind.
Emptiness.
I’m lost…
My heart pounds and blood rushes to my ears. I read the words beneath the pyramid again.
Strong stone moan groan lone alone lonely
Jimmy is lonely. The words are about Jimmy.
Who is Jimmy?
Dark hair and eyes. Kind eyes. And a uniform. Was it white…?
Was what white?
I don’t know. I can’t see anymore. I can’t remember…
I open my eyes for the first time.
There’s an old man with a dented head at the next table.
Am I in a hospital?
Yes, because there was an accident and now I’m back.
Jesus, how long have I been away?
My heart pounds and blood rushes to my ears. My hand is clutching a pen and my knuckles hurt. It’s hard to breathe. There was the accident, and now I’m here in this room. But how long between then and now? How did I get here? How much time have I lost?
A petite woman in a blue uniform is hurrying to me. A nurse. Her nametag says Rita.
“How long has it been?” I ask.
“Two years, Miss Hughes,” Rita says. “The doctors are working on your case.”
She’s right. The doctors are working on my case. That’s one of the Things I Know.
My name is Thea Hughes.
There’s been an accident.
The doctors are working on my case.
This nurse knew that, which means she must know me somehow. My hands unclench a little.
Still, I can’t find… something. It’s lost and I need to find it. If only I knew what it was.
“This is a beautiful pyramid,” Rita says, tapping the paper on the table in front of me. It’s a picture of an Egyptian desert under a blazing sun, a pyramid casting a long, dark shadow.
I smile. “Thank you. I must’ve done it before the accident.”
Rita has a sweet smile and I feel safe with her. There’s a terror lurking in being alone. I think I’ve been alone for a long time.
I wish I had a canvas and paint. Maybe Delia will bring me some when she comes. Or Mom and Dad. I miss them. I try to remember their faces, to recall one moment of our lives before the accident.
I can’t. When I look, I see emptiness. Like a vast desert of space with no walls but no air moving either. Fear starts to dig into my stomach. I’m holding a pen. It’s solid and real in my hand and the panic ebbs. I put it to the paper and tiny words loop out and fill the shadow beneath the pyramid.
Was what white wrote rote rip trip snip snap map mapped trapped trapped trapped
It doesn’t make sense.
Rita touches my arm. “This is coming along beautifully.”
I smile back with relief. I need her words. I’m starving for them. For touch. Sound. Conversation. It’s so quiet in here.
“Thanks,” I say. “Have you worked here long?”
I feel like I should know the answer to that question. I feel like I should know Rita but I don’t.
“A few years,” Rita says. “Would you like something to drink?”
God, yes. I haven’t had anything to drink in years. “A lemonade would be perfect,” I say.
Is it? I know what lemonade is but I can’t remember how it tastes. Or how I got here.
Rita smiles. “I’ll be right back.” She taps the corner of my drawing. “Can’t wait to see what you add next. You’re very talented, Miss Hughes.”
“Thank you.”
Rita gets up and I go back to drawing. I add some color to the words within the pyramid’s shadow. Magic Markers aren’t really my preferred medium, but Delia’s always telling me not to be so picky. I can’t help it if I prefer paint to pens. Painting is like breathing. Egypt is life.
A person who studies Egypt is an Egyptologist.
How is this a Thing I Know? Did I study Egypt in college? Did I go to college? I try to remember. Something. Anything.
Silence in my mind.
Emptiness.
I’m lost…
My heart pounds and blood rushes to my ears. It’s suffocating, this quiet. Vast but constricting. A little box with no walls.
I read the words within the pyramid. Trapped.
Trapped where?
I don’t know. I don’t know where I am anymore. I can’t remember.
I open my eyes for the first time…
Chapter 6
Jim
My mornings blurred into a routine of sameness. My own endless loop. The alarm went off at six; I made coffee and showered while it was brewing. Poured a cup and took it back to the bathroom. Wiped steam off the mirror to trim my thin beard. The guy in the mirror looked tough. Muscles built up from long hours in the garage lifting weights. Hard eyes. Mouth a grim line that rarely opened to speak.
Tough guy, eh? You’re a coward. Doris sneered. She compared you to Marc Antony? What a crock.
“She’s none of my business,” I said.
The guy in the mirror mouthed along, but I’d been keeping a mental clock in the back of my mind all morning. Making coffee: five minutes. Drinking a cup: five minutes. Showering: five minutes. Shaving: five minutes.
A progression throughout the morning while Thea was trapped in minutes of consciousness at a time. A fucking nightmare. Not mine but terrifying anyway.