Sara K. Parker - Dying To Remember

“You doing okay?” Triss asked. “Can I get you anything?”

“Unless you can get me out of here, I don’t think so.”

Triss looked at her seriously. “Roman would fire me on the spot.”

Ella sighed, consciously slowing her breathing to try to get a wave of dizziness under control. She’d moved too fast. “I was joking.”

“Maybe,” Triss said, watching her observantly. “But I sense truth to it.”

“I’m sure you’ve been filled in on the situation.”

“Everyone thinks you tried to kill yourself, but you say someone is setting it up to make your death look like a suicide.”

“That’s it in a nutshell.”

“And you want to leave the hospital because...”

“Because no one believes me, and I’m not going to find any answers trapped in this hospital bed.”

Triss nodded but didn’t look all that sympathetic.

“Well, I can’t help you get out of here, but if you think of anything else, I’ll be just outside.” She pushed up from the chair and walked to the door. “Just shout if you need me. I’ll check back in a bit.”

“Thank you,” Ella said belatedly as Triss closed the door, throwing the room into silence once again. Her gaze darted around the sterile space, her mind racing.

If she let her eyes close, she knew she’d see a gloved hand snaking around her face, glass shattering at her feet. For weeks now she’d been fitfully waking to the feel of the barrel of a gun at her temple or the echoing blast of a gunshot. Were they actually memories or was her mind simply filling in the blank spots? It was impossible to differentiate, especially because other memories had found their way into those nighttime terrors, too—memories she’d spent years mastering how to escape.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the images flashing through her mind. Memories of devastating loss and the unrelenting guilt that had been tormenting her for the past six years. An Ambien would be helpful right about now. The hospital would be a safe place to take one, and Ella would do just about anything for a few solid hours of sleep. She knew the pills had become a crutch. Her doctor had begun to advise she start weaning off of her sleep meds. But after years of counseling, kickboxing and prayer that seemed to do nothing but float hopelessly into the atmosphere, the pills had given her the first reprieve. During the days, she busied herself at work, distracted by clients and responsibilities. She kept her social calendar full and committed to a steady workout routine. All of these things she did to avoid the memory of finding her best friend—Roman’s sister—murdered.

Then the night would come. And, in the dark solitude of her bedroom, memories assaulted her, relentless. The sleeping pills muted the nightmares, offering the restful sleep Ella was desperate for.

She considered asking a nurse for something to help her sleep, but she didn’t want to give the psychiatrist further reason to detain her. Still, memories flooded her mind, an all too familiar sensation of panic rising.

Futilely, she took a slow, deep breath and let it release. Usually her heartbeat would slow, her calm return, but tonight Ella could not settle. No amount of counselor-advised deep breathing exercises could combat her creeping anxiety. “God, I need...” she whispered, but words failed her. What did she need? And did it even matter? It seemed to her that God had already declared the matters of life, and no amount of prayer could change His mind or His plans.

* * *

Hours later Ella woke to lights being flipped on and a nurse telling her that her psychiatry appointment would be at eight thirty. A bag next to her bed held her laptop and a change of clothes. Roman must have come by in the night and decided to let her sleep. The thought warmed her as she dressed, and somehow she felt hopeful as Triss and a nurse escorted her to her appointment.

It wasn’t long before that hope turned to worry. Sitting across from Dr. Paul McClintock, his gigantic, framed degrees decorating the gray wall behind him, Ella felt decidedly like throwing up.

She wasn’t sure what to expect as the psychiatrist finished typing notes into his computer. His opinion was all that stood between her going home or into a psychiatric ward. Yet, for the past hour, she’d answered question after question and stared back into his eerily calm face and expressionless eyes and had no idea what he was thinking in his highly educated mind. That worried her. Her own story worried her—it wasn’t believable and she knew it.

Finally, Dr. McClintock stopped typing, looked up at her and smiled. No, he grimaced. It was definitely more grimace than smile.

“I would like to admit you for further monitoring...” he started, and Ella’s hackles rose. But before she could get out a word, Dr. McClintock continued. “What concerns me the most is—”

A knock sounded at the door and the doctor looked up. “Yes?”

The door opened and Ella turned to see Roman standing shoulder-to-shoulder with a stranger—presumably a doctor, judging from his smart business attire and the stethoscope at his neck.

Roman nodded toward her, his face serious.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the doctor said and then turned his attention to Ella. “I’m Dr. Thornton, the attending physician this weekend.” He gestured to Roman. “Your friend was busy last night, working with the police on your behalf. It seems there may be enough evidence at your mother’s home to suggest proof of an attacker.”

Ella glanced at Roman. He looked tired, wearing the same white shirt as last night, but more wrinkled and worn, his hair a bit mussed, a shadow of stubble along his jawline.

Most importantly, he was no longer looking at her the same way everyone else had been for weeks. Somewhere in between her falling asleep and her waking up, it appeared that Roman had found a solid reason to believe in her.

“The police have been in your mom’s house and have dusted for prints and taken photos.” Roman filled her in. “They’d like me to take you to the station to give a statement after you’re discharged.”

“I’ve already put your discharge orders in,” Dr. Thornton said.

Ella started to stand.

“Now, hold on just a minute,” Dr. McClintock interjected, rising to his full height of at least six-foot-two. “How can we possibly be certain—”

“Unfortunately,” Dr. Thornton interrupted firmly, “unless you discovered something alarming during this interview, she’s legally free to go.”

Neither doctor looked convinced, but McClintock quickly moved to his desk, sharply grabbed up his papers and turned to thrust them back into the file drawer behind him, not saying another word.

“Your nurse will get you squared away back in your room when you go to collect your things,” Dr. Thornton said, brushing past Roman into the hallway. “Take care,” he added as he headed down the hall, his black dress shoes squeaking along the tiled floor.

Ella fell into step beside Roman as they left the psychiatrist’s office and turned toward the elevators.

“Doing okay?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over her.

“Now that I get to leave, yes,” she said, her heart skipping as his palm came to her back. “What did you find at the house?”

“Let’s get you out of here and we’ll discuss it in the car.” He jabbed the call button for the elevator.

“When do we have to be at the police station?”

“We’re supposed to go directly there,” Roman answered. “But we have time to visit your mom.”

She was relieved he’d remembered. She tried to visit every day, hoping her mom would hear her voice and be reminded that the people she loved needed her to come back to them. But with each day that passed, Ella’s hope had begun to dwindle. Years ago she’d learned that some prayer requests went unanswered, and she was afraid this may be one of those times.