Memory Reload. Rosemary Heim
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was comforting in an odd way. When she opened the cover, she discovered the contents had been neatly stowed back in their proper compartments. Ryan had done an excellent job of returning the equipment to its original order. It all looked and felt…right.
She ran her fingers over her equipment and pulled out her camera. Everything else in her life might be a blank, but this at least held a familiar certainty. It was the same security she’d experienced earlier, when she’d awakened on the beach and reached out for the only solid object near her.
For a few brief moments she’d been able to forget that she had forgotten. The familiar weight of her trusty Nikon had comforted her. When the sunrise had begun, she’d been able to lose herself in capturing the beauty of it through her viewfinder and saving it on film.
She slipped the camera back into its compartment and pulled the notebook out. She leafed through the pages, looking for something, anything that might trigger her memory. Precise notations of locations, times of the day and camera settings filled the pages. The handwriting held a vague sense of familiarity. She dug a pen from one of the pockets, turned to a blank page and began writing. At first it was nothing more than random words, enough to know it really was her handwriting in the book. Then she refocused, became intentional about what she wrote.
My name is…
She couldn’t finish the sentence. She tried again and again, each time starting on a new line, each time getting no further. She closed her eyes and tried again.
Failed again.
She tore the pages from the book, crumpled them into a tight ball and jammed it into a compartment in the bag. The pen and notebook went back into their pockets and she closed the bag with a snap.
People don’t just go around forgetting who they are for no reason. Something terrible must have occurred to wipe out every bit of her conscious memory.
Relax. That’s what she needed to do, just relax. Little things came when she didn’t try so hard. She leaned her head back against the cushions. Her eyes drifted shut as she rubbed her hands over the bag. Each texture, each contour, felt familiar and reassuring beneath her fingers.
The silver pull on the zip hung cool and solid from its chain. Opening her eyes, she examined it, reading the inscription for herself. Remember. Remember what?
A tear traced a hot path down her cheek.
“AJ?”
She jumped at Ryan’s voice, her hand flying to her chest to catch her wildly beating heart. “Jeez, you scared me! Don’t you ever make any noise when you walk?”
“Sorry. Old habit. You seemed to be pretty deep in thought.”
She wiped the tear away with the heel of her hand before turning to look at him.
His short, light brown hair was damp and standing on end, looking like the latest style in a trendy men’s magazine. He wore khaki shorts and a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt that he’d left unbuttoned and untucked. The white T-shirt he’d changed into hugged the contours of his well-muscled torso and set off his tan. A small gold ring hung on a chain around his neck. With these clothes, he looked as if he’d fit right in with the tourist crowd. Provided the tourists were a bunch of Olympic competitors.
And she was still far too aware of him and his athletic body for her comfort.
“I’ve only been sitting here eight-and-a-half minutes. Did you get a real shower taken?” She shut out the brief image of him in the shower before it could fully develop.
“Yes, ma’am. Even washed behind my ears. Mind if I ask a question?” He waited for her consenting nod before continuing. “How do you know it’s been eight minutes? There aren’t any clocks in here and you aren’t wearing a watch.”
“Eight-and-a-half minutes.” She corrected him. “I always know exactly how much time has elapsed. It comes in handy when timing exposures or developing film.”
“Are you always right?”
“Always,” she replied with absolute certainty. “My turn. How did you manage to shower and get dressed in such a short time?”
“Military training. Heck, anything over five minutes is considered downright leisurely.” He held out one hand to her. “Now, how about that breakfast?”
He led her out the front door and handed her into the passenger seat of a cherry-red Corvette convertible.
“Nice little car.” She watched as he buckled his seat belt and turned the ignition key. The engine came to life with a powerful rumble.
“Jamie’s.”
“Ah, all part of the vacation package?”
Ryan nodded, slipped on a pair of RayBan Wayfarer sunglasses and nudged the stick shift into first gear. As they pulled onto the road, he launched into the story of his first stay on the island.
He kept her entertained all the way to the little restaurant and all through the meal.
For a brief period, she was able to pretend everything was normal.
Chapter Four
Ryan had run through the better part of his repertoire, regaling AJ with carefully sanitized stories of his childhood. It seemed to work. She had actually eaten some fresh fruit and even looked a bit relaxed until they got back into the car.
Now silence fell as they headed for Honolulu. He flipped on the radio, filling the quiet with KNUI’s Hawaiian music. An ad for a photo finisher came on between songs.
AJ cleared her throat. “You mentioned getting the exposed film developed. Do you have a lab in mind?”
“None in particular. With all the tourist trade there’s bound to be a slew of those one-hour places. We can drop the stuff off at one of them.” He glanced at her in time to catch her grimace of distaste. “What?”
Her hands tightened on the camera bag. “Nothing. I’m sure that would be…”
“Like flossing with razor wire.” He reached over and covered her white-knuckled hands. “Scratch the one-hour place. We can stop and check the phone book for professional labs. Maybe one of them will sound familiar.”
“That’s assuming I ever used one or, if I did, that I’ll remember which one it was.”
“Don’t fret yourself. It’s possible you might remember. I did a little Web surfing while you were in the shower, found some information about amnesia. From what I found, the kind of amnesia you have is called psychogenic amnesia.”
“And that means what?”
“It means, sugar, that the memories aren’t really lost, just sort of hidden for the time being.”
“Like a drawn curtain.” She leaned forward a little, hope lighting her face. “So, I’ll remember everything? My name, where I live, all that?”
“Maybe.” He didn’t want to get her hopes up too high. While the research said the amnesia might only last a few hours, it could also last years. “One of the articles said hypnosis or free association might help trigger memories. That’s why looking through the yellow pages isn’t such a crazy idea. You might see a name that’s familiar.”
She nodded and leaned back into the seat, nibbling on her lip in thought.
“Once we get your film taken care of proper like, then we can do a little shopping. Cute as you look in my clothes, I don’t imagine they’re particularly comfortable.” The discomfort was probably mostly his. Every time he thought of the way his shirt draped—he squashed the image before it fully formed. To distract himself, he launched into another story about one of his early visits to the island.
AJ visibly relaxed, watching the scenery flow by as they sped toward Honolulu. As they neared the city, she opened her camera bag, checked her equipment and began sorting through the canisters