Release. This was what Dr. Lawrence had called it.
Soon I would be released back into the world. Like a fish, or a wild animal set free into the wild again.
“What will I do?” I’d asked, like a puppy looking to its mother for guidance.
“Whatever you want,” he’d suggested.
Whatever I wanted… The thought lingered in my mind like a loose thread in the wind. What did I want? How would I even know?
What I’d learned over the last seventy-two hours wasn’t much, but it was enough to know I at least had some security when I left this building. My house was still mine.
In my former life, I had been a wealthy man. While I’d wasted away in this hospital bed, my estate and finances had been taken care of.
How? I didn’t have many personal details, but according to the paperwork I’d been sent from my law firm, there was nothing to worry about. At least I had someplace to return to when the hospital deemed I was fit enough to be discharged. Until then, I celebrated such successes as moving on from applesauce and chicken broth for breakfast to oatmeal.
I briefly wondered if the old me had hated oatmeal as much as the new me did.
The watery, tasteless applesauce suddenly didn’t taste nearly as bad as it once had.
Pushing the oatmeal aside, I grabbed the file box that held the contents of my personal belongings once more. I’d opened and looked over each item a dozen times now, choosing to bury myself in my unknown past rather than dwell in the confusing present I’d currently been thrown into.
Dr. Lawrence said the brain is a curious and complex thing. While I couldn’t remember anything about myself and the life I’d led, I did somehow recollect trivial things such as what a Starbucks was or when the Gulf War occurred. I understood modern living, could write and speak, but had had to ask what day and year I’d been born.
It turned out I’d had a birthday last month. I’d breezed through the end of my twenties and landed in my thirties without a party or hangover to show for it. The only thing I had as proof for the milestone was a hospital bracelet declaring my age.
If my life wasn’t my own…whose was it?
I reached into the box, shuffling around the neatly folded clothes I had not previously touched. Something fell out of one of the jacket pockets. I pushed the suit jacket and slacks to the side until I found it. Wedged into one of the corners was a tiny green stone.
I picked it up, rolling it between the smooth pads of my fingers, and held it up to the light. It was drilled through as if it had once been a set on string, and appeared to be a raw emerald or perhaps a piece of jade.
Why it was in my pocket the night I ended up here, I’d never know.
Much like everything else.
Feeling the familiar feeling of frustration seeping through my pores, I decided there had been enough show and tell time for the day and set the box aside. Closing my eyes, I tried to block out the world and my thoughts but was abruptly interrupted when the door swung open and I found myself staring into a familiar set of blue eyes.
It was her.
Everly—the girl from the picture.
I’d asked the nurse on duty if she could find her and she’d assured me she’d try, but after several days, I’d assumed she’d been unable to complete the task or had simply placated me to keep the unpredictable coma patient calm.
Yet, here she was.
She entered slowly, her steps hesitant and timid, and I took the extra time to absorb every detail.
Her hair was different—shorter maybe, but still that same fiery copper color. She’d aged since the photo was taken, and rounded some, transitioning from a gangly girl to a waiflike siren.
“You’re here,” I managed, grasping at straws. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know anything about this woman beyond her name.
“Yes,” she answered curtly, her lips barely moving as she formed the word. “Dr. Lawrence called me.”
“I didn’t know if they’d be able to find you after I found the photo.”
She looked slightly confused by my statement but didn’t say anything more. I looked around the room awkwardly, feeling like a showpiece at the zoo. Her eyes roamed all over me, no doubt noticing my lack of muscle and reduced appearance. The insecurity I felt in that moment was tangible.
“Why don’t you take a seat? I know I must look different from the last time you saw me.”
She silently took the seat farthest from me, but didn’t relax in the slightest. Her posture remained rigid and on edge. Was she afraid of me?
“I’m sorry to have bothered you by asking you to come here, but I just wanted to—” I started, but was quickly interrupted.
“August, please don’t. I came here for one reason and one reason only.”