Her eyes popped open. Another spark, just not enough to kindle a large flame of memory.
Pt. Charlotte. They’d told her that before, but now it felt more real. She struggled for a state.
Florida. That was right. That’s where she was.
But I don’t live in this town, do I? She closed her eyes and listened intently to all the commercials. When an air conditioning company commercial played and listed their service areas, she realized she recognized some of the locales they mentioned.
Sarasota, Venice, North Port. A few flickers of recognition, but more shadows than anything.
Finally, an advertisement for a Ford dealer.
Englewood!
An image of a neatly kept condo complex popped into her head.
Mine?
The noise in the machine subsided for a moment while they adjusted it. The radiology technician asked how she was doing.
“I’m okay,” she replied, not sure if she was.
It struck her that with each little nugget of returning memory, it only served to emphasize just how much she didn’t remember.
Back in her room a short while later, the neurologist stopped by to see her. The deputy sat in the room with her while the doctor gave Laura a battery of tests and asked her numerous questions that seemed to have little to do with her situation.
Finally, frustrated, Laura dug in her heels.
“When am I going to get my memory back?”
The doctor sat. “I don’t know. It’s impossible for me to say if it’s due to the physical or the emotional trauma of the attack, or maybe both. Sometimes memories come back rapidly and completely. Sometimes long-term memories return while recent ones are lost. The sooner you regain your memory, the better a chance you have at getting it all back.”
“What are my options?”
“For now you need to heal from your physical injuries. There’s a medicine that’s sometimes used to help bring back memories, but I’m not about to prescribe it. Or you could try therapeutic hypnosis, although again, I can’t tell you if it’ll work or not. I’ll refer you to a psychiatrist.”
She bristled, although she didn’t know why. “I’m not crazy. I was attacked.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t say you are. But as a neurologist, my area of expertise is the physical condition of your brain. It’s up to a psychiatrist to look inside it. If your memory doesn’t return quickly and completely, they may want to try several different options before resorting to drastic measures. Even if you regain your long-term memory, you might not regain those from right around the time of the attack. You seem to be retaining new memories. It appears only previous memories are impacted.”
“Those are the ones I need right now.” Laura found herself quickly losing patience and had half a mind to tell him off.
Then it struck her that she didn’t know if she was normally a patient person or not.
“You’re fortunate to be alive,” he continued. “I know it’s frustrating, but you have to focus on healing your body first. We’ll monitor your progress and follow up after discharge. I really wish you’d consider seeing a psychiatrist. Attacks like this often bring on post-traumatic stress disorder, and that can also hinder how quickly your memories return.”
When the doctor and deputy left her alone, Laura collapsed against her pillows, the emotional drain almost as painful as her physical injuries.
She reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her face and realized for the first time that she had long, brown hair. Mindful of her sore ribs, she carefully sat up again and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.
Her nurse came in and caught her. “Where do you think you’re going?” She moved to stop Laura from getting up.
They’d removed her catheter that morning and brought in a potty for her, but she was done with that. “I’m going to the bathroom.” She pointed at the potty. “I refuse to use that thing. I have a little dignity even if I don’t have my marbles.”
The nurse took her arm and steadied Laura as she slowly walked into the bathroom.
A battered, unknown face returned Laura’s gaze from the mirror. The bluish-grey eyes were all she sensed a kinship with. Her long, auburn hair hung in stringy clumps from not being washed in several days, and the stitches in her forehead appeared huge. Her nose was swollen, but they told her it somehow had miraculously escaped being broken in the attack. The black eyes looked like ugly purple moons on her high cheekbones.
When she reached up and touched her cheek, the woman in the mirror did the same.
This woman was a total stranger to her in nearly every way.
“Would you like to take a shower?” the nurse asked. “The doctor said we can take your IV out since you kept your breakfast down. We have to leave the Hep-Lock in, though, just in case. I can get an aide in here to help you.”
“That would be great, thank you.”
It was more a sponge bath than anything, because Laura’s cracked ribs made it hard for her to move. At least the aide helped her get her hair washed with water and shampoo and not just the waterless cap thingy they’d wanted her to use.
Freshening up raised her spirits a little.
Once she was back in bed, she asked if she could have a TV. Within an hour though, they’d moved her to a private room one floor up, her deputy bodyguard in tow.
She’d almost forgotten about Rob in the process, but they assured her they’d give him her updated room information.
Laura and the deputy sat and watched TV. She asked him questions, fascinated by familiar yet totally foreign images on the screen. She imagined it was like reading a textbook in school about a country you’d learned about but never visited.
I wonder if I’ve ever been out of the country.
Occasionally there was another blip, a fraction of a thought that struck home and fitted itself in her mind like a puzzle piece, usually triggered by local commercials. Despite being totally useless in a practical sense, every step was one closer.
* * * *
Rob’s stomach tightly knotted as he made the half-hour drive from the hospital in Pt. Charlotte back to Englewood, to Laura’s. The condo complex was small, only six units, split into two one-story triplexes with a shared green space in the middle that both buildings backed up against.
He swallowed hard as he stared at the lock. He’d had new locks installed and hesitated before he inserted the key in the knob, unlocking it, then the deadbolt.
Slowly, he let the door swing open, revealing the entryway. The theory was Laura had willingly opened the door for her attacker. Maybe she’d known him, maybe she hadn’t. There were no marks on the outside of the door to indicate it being forced open, and it had been unlocked when her neighbor rushed in and scared off the attacker.
Tom himself appeared, sticking his head out his front door and then walking over when he recognized Rob. “How’s she doing?”
Rob nodded. “She’s awake.”
“That’s good!” He eyed Rob, then added, “Isn’t it?”
A sad heaviness settled over him as he pondered the words he had to say but didn’t want to accept. “She awoke from the coma with amnesia. Complete.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Oh. I’m so sorry. Do they know if she’ll get her memory back?”
“They don’t know. I’m here to get some things for her. Clothes, and pictures. Photo albums. They said maybe it’ll help.”
Tom patted him on the shoulder. “Please give her our best. We wanted to visit but didn’t want to intrude.”
“Thanks.” He swallowed back the lump in his throat. “And thank you for saving her.”
Tom’s gaze dropped. The older man looked a little embarrassed. “I wasn’t sure at first if I should go over.” He wouldn’t meet Rob’s gaze. “We’ve heard…you know. Sometimes.”
Rob felt his face heat. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “We didn’t know you could hear us.”
“No, it’s okay.” He finally smiled a little. “We were young on
ce, too. It was when she kept screaming and yelling for help we realized it wasn’t just…you know, the two of you playing around. She never screams like that with you. She sounded terrified.”
Rob tried to process that, feeling sick in the depths of his gut.
Tom didn’t seem to know where to go from there. He just patted Rob on the shoulder again and retreated toward his door.
He turned before going in. “Please let us know if there’s anything we can do. Or when we can come visit her.”
“Thanks. I will.”
Rob turned back to the doorway as Tom Edwards’ door gently shut.
Damn.
They’d thought the walls were thick enough the neighbors couldn’t hear them playing. They did most of their heavier play at the club or during private parties, or at his house, where it was completely private. But sometimes he tossed her over his knee and spanked her with his bare hand.
The thought that it could have contributed to her dying had the neighbors ignored the noises and chalked it up to kinky sex nearly made him sick.
He closed his eyes as he stood there, hoping for some sort of impossible, psychic glimpse into the events. Laura wasn’t an overly trusting woman. But the safety chain still hung by the door, unbroken, so she apparently hadn’t hooked it when she answered. She would have looked through the peephole, first, too. She always did that.
Who was it?
It took a monumental effort for Rob to force his legs to carry him inside. He found himself unable to ignore the large ruddy stain on the carpet runner near the front door. Streaks of dried blood also smeared the entryway wall where Laura had fought back against her attacker.
They’d removed traces of blood and tissue from under her nails, so she’d gotten her licks in. The attacker didn’t go away unscathed, something Rob felt more than a little bit of pride over. She was a fighter. The samples were being processed in hopes of a DNA match from a past crime giving them a suspect’s name.
Thomas had told him they had word out with all local doctors and hospitals to keep an eye out for anyone looking for treatment for deep scratches or bite marks.
So far, nothing.
He closed his eyes yet again and tried to put his rage and guilt aside, picturing instead how terrified she must have been. If he hadn’t been working, he would have been there with her. She likely would have spent the evening naked, collared, and kneeling on the floor next to him by the couch, if she wasn’t curled up in his lap.
He walked over to the couch and sat in his usual spot, closing his eyes again.
In his mind’s eye, he envisioned himself stroking her hair, a blissful peace enveloping both of them as they each unwound from their day and let the stress of work evaporate.
Alone together, the outside world always disappeared. He felt like he could spend forever just like that with her, his hand cupping her chin and staring into her eyes. Eyes a beautiful shade of blue-grey, like the Gulf under an overcast sky.
How, without a word, he could sit back and smile at her and she’d dive for his zipper, finally getting the silent permission she’d longed for to go down on him.
Despite the circumstances, his cock hardened as he mentally relived one of the countless times spent with her like that. The warm press of her cheek against his thigh as she sucked his cock between her lips and slowly laved her tongue over it.
The way it felt twining his fingers in her hair before wrapping it around his fist and gently holding her in place. Not that she needed holding. He suspected if he’d let her, she’d spend hours going down on him.
And she was good at it, too. Not that he’d had a ton of other partners, but none had ever been as good in that way. None had ever felt as compatible as she did.
She knew when and where to lick, loved to run her tongue up and down his shaft and over his balls. Loved to deep throat him, and always made a delicious, purring moan that vibrated all the way through his dick when she sensed him close to coming.
The way she always let out a happy chuckle as she swallowed every drop of cum he pumped out of his balls…
His eyes snapped open, his aching cock going from hard to wilted when his gaze landed on the bloodstains again.
Shoving himself up and off the couch, he got to work. He spent the morning there, gathering photo albums and some of Laura’s favorite loafing clothes, as she called them.
He also cleared out their stash of sex toys, including leather cuffs, a flogger, and other things. He didn’t know if the cops had found them or not. But when he brought Laura home, they’d also have vanilla friends helping out and he didn’t want to risk them stumbling over the items, either. It might give someone the wrong idea about their relationship.
Well, the right idea, but he’d found that a lot of people who didn’t understand the BDSM lifestyle were frequently judgmental about it.
Packing up those items proved to be almost more than he could take. He quickly finished what he needed to do and left, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it. He’d fully intended to clean up the bloodstains and other damage, but even he had his limits.
There’s no way I can bring her back to that. I’m going to need help cleaning the place up.
Rob stopped by his house long enough to walk Doogie and gather more items he hoped would trigger something, anything. All morning he’d fought back tears while sorting through both her things and their life together, pictures of trips and reminders of better times.
He pulled her leather play collar from his pocket and rubbed his fingers over it, hooked a finger through the D-ring on the front, the way he would if she was wearing it. To pull her in and give her a kiss, or to lead her to bed.
He angrily brushed the back of his hand across his eyes to wipe away his tears. It was bad enough that he could do little to help her, and worse that she couldn’t remember him.
Wrapping his head around that still proved impossible.
At the end of the driveway Rob threw his Explorer into park and checked the mail.
The mailman had left a package for him in one of the lockable boxes he shared with his neighbors.
Their wedding invitations had arrived from the printer.
His knees buckled. The day they picked them out was still firmly fixed in his mind. How they’d joked maybe they should add “collaring” to the announcement as well, since she wanted him to formally collar her as his slave in front of their friends.
While he stared at the box of announcements, his cell rang. He answered it without looking at the screen. “Carlton.”
“Hey, Rob. It’s Tony.”
He closed his eyes. Tony Daniels had been his first call after trying to reach Laura’s brother following the attack. Tony and another friend, Seth Erikkson, had shown up at the hospital in those initial darkest hours to wait with him, when they weren’t even sure if Laura would pull through or not.
“Hey.”
“How you holding up?”
“Not good, man.” Rob filled his friend in. Tony was one of the first people he’d met when he’d entered the lifestyle, and had been the one to introduce him and Laura. They had a close-knit group of friends who’d met through the lifestyle, but had become like adopted family outside of it.
Tony and Seth had helped with getting information out about Laura’s condition to their lifestyle friends, including spreading the word to stay away from the hospital until Rob gave the okay to visit.
In retrospect, he was even more glad he’d done that. Laura would be too overwhelmed by all the people, now strangers to her, who wanted to visit.
There was a moment of silence. “She doesn’t remember anything?” Tony asked. “Or do you mean about the attack?”
Rob sucked in a ragged breath. “Anything. They said it’s too soon to tell if it’s temporary or permanent.”
“Can I bring Shayla over to see her tonight, or do I need to make her wait? She’s beside herself worried about her. I’m not trying to sound like a shit.” Tony sighed. “She won’t st
op crying, Rob. Can I at least bring her, even if I need to sit outside? I’m good with that if need be.”
Rob wanted to say no, but hesitated. Then again, maybe another familiar face will be good for her. It would definitely be good for him. “Yeah, how about six? Both of you.”
“Can we bring you and her dinner from Sigalo’s?”
His stomach rumbled at the name of his favorite restaurant. “Shayla knows her favorites. I’ll take anything.”
“Maybe a little gastronomical prompting will help her memory.”
“Can’t hurt.” They ate there nearly every Saturday night with Tony, Shayla, and their other friends.
Except last Saturday.
Last Saturday, Rob had been praying she’d make it through another night.
“See you then,” Tony said.
“Thanks, man.” Rob stared at the phone for a moment after ending the call. Their little social group, which they’d dubbed the Suncoast Society because of the munch they’d met through, had been through thick and thin with each other. For some of their members, including Laura, they’d been closer than family.
And they never hesitated to rush to a friend’s side to help or provide support.
Maybe it was selfish of him, but he needed his adopted family’s support, and he didn’t have any close biological family to turn to.
He usually wasn’t one to wear his emotions on his sleeve, except in front of Laura.
But he wasn’t ashamed to admit he needed Tony’s strong and steady presence for a little while. And maybe Shayla would help jostle something in Laura’s memory. The two women were closer than sisters.
He put the box of invitations on the passenger seat and headed for the hospital.
Chapter Five
When Rob returned to the hospital, he felt a slight lift in his spirits to learn Laura had already been moved to a private room.
That was quickly dashed when her doctor informed him her memory hadn’t returned.
Rob found her sitting up in bed, watching cable news with the deputy and the barely eaten remnants of her lunch still sitting on her bed tray. The deputy nodded to him and left to sit in the hall, closing the door behind him.