Sara K. Parker - Dying To Remember

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispered. The words were both a self-assurance and a prayer. Ambulance lights blinked into the living room through the sheer curtains and voices sounded in the yard.

Someone rapped loudly at the cracked door.

“In here!” Roman called out, and the door pushed open, two uniformed medics rushing into the room.

“Found her locked in her car in the garage, engine running,” Roman explained. He pointed to the syringe he’d set on the end table. “The syringe was in her hand.”

The pair approached Ella quickly, one securing the syringe in a Ziploc bag while the other opened a black supply case and began an assessment. The team was efficient, and in minutes they were loading Ella onto a stretcher.

“You following us or riding with her?” one of the medics asked as they started for the front door.

“I’ll be right there,” Roman said. He hurried through the kitchen and locked the back door before circling back to the living room. Spotting Ella’s purse, he grabbed it and then locked the front door on his way out, pocketing the keys.

The paramedics had just finished getting Ella situated as Roman jogged up to the ambulance. He climbed in and sat alongside Ella as the siren blared and the vehicle pulled out swiftly. Slipping a hand over Ella’s, Roman did the only thing he could do. He prayed.

He’d learned long ago that life was beyond his control. When his sister was killed, he’d seen the worst of humanity. He’d faced a choice then. A choice to turn away from God or to draw even closer.

Drawing closer had been the only thing that had made sense, and it was the only way he’d eventually been able to process his sister’s murder to try to bring something good from it. Shield Protection couldn’t ever bring Brooklyn back, but it could help keep others from meeting the same fate.

His eyes opened and settled on Ella’s pale face. He prayed she’d survive tonight and that God would restore her both physically and emotionally. And he made the decision right then that he would come alongside her—something he wished he’d done years ago.

Instead grief had torn them apart and what they’d had together was long gone. But Roman could still be the friend she needed until she was healthy again.

* * *

Darkness surrounded her. Where was she? Ella took a few cautious steps, arms out in front of her. She couldn’t even see her hands. No light.

Her footsteps echoed.

Or was that someone else?

She froze, holding her breath, straining to hear over the pounding of her heart.

And then, from nowhere, someone grabbed her arm.

She jerked away and opened her mouth to scream. But sound wouldn’t come out. Why couldn’t she run?

The hand grabbed at her arm again and she yanked away, a violent headache rearing up.

“Easy,” a calm voice said. She knew that voice. She stilled.

A warm hand came to her arm, settled on it.

“Ella?”

Roman. Where was he?

“Can you open your eyes, Ella?”

Her eyes were open. Couldn’t he see that? She squeezed them shut, then opened them again, her lids heavy under brash fluorescent lights.

She tried to push herself up. “Where—?”

“Shh,” Roman said, his hand steady on her arm. “You’re at the hospital. The nurse just needs to draw some more blood.”

The hospital? Not again. Fear pierced her heart and she looked around the room.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice a broken whisper she barely recognized. She glanced down at her arm where an IV had been taped into place. The nurse began filling a vial with blood.

Roman didn’t answer immediately. “Roman?”

“I came by your mom’s house to check on you after you...after our meeting.”

Their meeting. Right. Her skin felt hot. She’d run out on him. She’d gotten confused again. “I’m sorry, I—”

A memory flashed, a gasp escaping her lips. “Did they find him?”

Roman’s expression didn’t change. “Who?”

“The man who did this,” she said, her voice growing stronger. “He was in the house. I was in the kitchen.” The memories rushed back. “I’d opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of iced tea, and someone was there. He attacked me. He had on black gloves and...” She reached for the memory. “He injected me with something!”

She looked down at her left arm, rotating it slightly in search of the injection site, but she didn’t see any evidence of what had happened. “He dragged me down the hall. I couldn’t move. I felt paralyzed.” After that, she came up blank.

A slight furrow along Roman’s brow showed that he’d heard. Other than that, he didn’t respond.

“All done,” the nurse said quietly, gathering the tubes and the rest of her supplies. “I’ll let the doctor know she’s awake,” she added, letting herself out of the room.

Fear bubbled up in the wake of Roman’s silence. “They didn’t find him,” Ella surmised.

Roman pulled over a chair and sat. He looked tired, his dark hair ruffled, the buttons on his white shirt undone at the top.

“Maybe we should start from the beginning, Ell,” Roman finally said.

Ella’s heart skipped a beat at the old nickname, so warm in his voice a dozen memories melted out of it.

“That’s all I remember from the time I got back to my mom’s tonight.”

“No, I mean—start from when you returned to Maryland. You came because of your mother’s accident, right? Did anything seem off when you arrived?”

“I...don’t know.”

“You don’t remember?”

She shook her head, frustrated and considering how much to reveal to Roman. Since she was asking for his help, she figured she’d be best off with full disclosure. “Since the shooting, I’ve had trouble with my memory,” she admitted. “And my instincts.”

“In what way?” Roman asked.

“It’s hard to explain, but I can’t trust my own mind sometimes,” Ella said. “I get bouts of confusion, short-term memory loss, gaps in clarity. That’s why I took a taxi to see you. I haven’t been cleared to drive. The neurologist called it post-traumatic amnesia. That’s what happened at your office. We were talking and then I suddenly had no idea why I was there, why I was standing face-to-face with you after all these years.”

“Sounds like a scary thing to go through.”

“It’s unsettling.”

“Is it permanent?”

“My doctor says it should get better with time. He can’t predict how long the recovery will take, or whether I’ll ever fully recover.”

“I’m sorry, Ell.”

“Don’t be,” she said. “I just needed you to know.”

“Okay, let’s explore a different question,” Roman said. “If someone wanted you dead, why try to make it look like a suicide?”

She’d considered the question for weeks. “To keep the focus on me and far away from my killer?” she suggested. “If it’s someone I used to know, like you mentioned, maybe he’s hoping my suicide wouldn’t be questioned.”

“Maybe,” Roman said, his dark gaze holding hers and stirring up a longing for what they used to share.

Did he believe her? She couldn’t tell, but she had a feeling he wanted to.

A doctor entered the room, white coat pristine, stethoscope hanging around her neck. She smiled pleasantly and held out a hand to Ella in greeting.

“I’m Dr. Patel,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” Ella responded, waiting for what she knew was to come. “Well enough to go home,” she added.

Dr. Patel nodded, casting a patronizing look down at her. “We’ll monitor you overnight,” she said carefully. “I’ve ordered a psychiatric evaluation for first thing in the morning before we can clear you to go home.”