Laura Scott - Identity Crisis

The doctor shrugged. “Retrograde amnesia is often the result of a traumatic event combined with a head injury. Mallory has some short-term memory still intact, which even more strongly indicates a traumatic psychological event. However, without knowing what the source of the potential trauma could be, there really isn’t anything we can do. We’ve already performed a CT scan of her head and didn’t find any bleeding. When her brain can handle her memory, I’m sure it will return.”

Gage rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “So now what? Does she need to stay here? Get more tests?”

“No, that’s not necessary. We’ve ruled out a head bleed. More tests aren’t going to give any input into the source of her amnesia. I’d recommend she be released home, with instructions to follow up with her primary-care doctor in a week. But she really shouldn’t be left alone. At least, not until her memory begins to return.”

“I’m sure her sister will keep her company.” Gage sighed again. Once he managed to find her.

He hoped, prayed, Alyssa hadn’t found someone new. Someone from her church, who went to every single Bible study group meeting no matter what. Someone who may have already replaced him in her heart.

“Good. We’ll finish that discharge paperwork.”

Gage fell silent after the doctor left the room. He was surprised to find he felt sorry for Mallory. In her current, injured state, he found her less irritating. Although the situation frustrated him to no end. Where was Alyssa?

“A sister? I have a sister?”

He lifted his gaze to meet her abruptly hopeful one. His annoyance faded a bit. “Yeah. Your parents are gone, but you do have a sister. Alyssa is your twin and she’s an amazing person.”

Mallory’s gaze turned curious. “Wow. Sounds like you care about her.”

“Yes, I do. Very much,” he answered honestly.

“Alyssa.” She repeated the name, wrinkling her forehead in concentration. “It’s so wrong not to remember a twin sister. But the name seems right. Mallory and Alyssa. We’re close?”

“Yes, you’re close,” Gage admitted, because it was true. Despite their differences, the twins always stood by each other no matter what.

“Where is she?” Mallory looked perplexed. “If we’re close, why isn’t she here?”

“Good question.” He reached for his cell phone and redialed. After several long rings there was no answer. He didn’t bother leaving another message. “We’ll have to stop over there tomorrow. For now, we’ll go back to your place. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“The sofa?” Her blue eyes, so much like Alyssa’s, widened in horror. “I’d rather you slept in your car. What part of this don’t you understand? I don’t know you!”

Her barely restrained annoyance gave more credence to her story than anything else could have. She looked at him as if she detested the sight of him. And maybe she did. He couldn’t figure Mallory out. Had never really wanted to.

With a frown, Gage stood. Mallory was more tolerable with amnesia, but he still longed to drop her off as soon as possible. Unfortunately, he was stuck with her until he could find her twin.

So where on earth was Alyssa?

TWO

Even after the hospital staff finally left her alone, she couldn’t relax. Her pulse skipped erratically in her chest. Panic clawed up and over her back. Why couldn’t she remember?

She fought for control against the invisible demons that snarled in her mind, holding her memory hostage. Logic told her she was in the hospital, but nothing looked familiar. The room was little more than a cubicle, three walls but no real door, just a privacy curtain drawn across the opening. She clutched the blanket tighter. She felt exposed. The flimsy curtain wouldn’t protect her. Anyone could come in at any time. Anyone.

Like the tall, ruggedly handsome stranger waiting to take her home.

Run! Run! The urge to flee merged with panic. Something was wrong. Very, very, wrong. Certainty seeped into her bones, injecting her with the strength to move. She scrambled from the bed, wincing as her swollen and sprained ankle zinged when her foot hit the floor, and reached for her clothes. Maybe she didn’t feel entirely safe around the large, sandy-haired man with the square jaw and golden-brown eyes, but she wasn’t afraid of him, either. She grasped the slight distinction eagerly.

Her mind felt as if she were swimming through fog with no shore in sight. She pulled on her jeans, pausing when she noticed two small dark stains. Dried blood? From her head? She put a hand to the bruise above her forehead. No. Her throat closed and she gagged. From someone else. She wildly kicked the jeans off, chest heaving from the effort, pain searing her ankle. The denim landed halfway across the room. Frantic, she rifled through the linens on the cart next to the bed. What could she wear? Scrubs maybe?

“Are you ready?” The deep male voice from the other side of the curtain startled her. She stumbled against the bed, clumsily covering herself with the blanket from the bed.

“No! Stay out!” She stayed where she was until convinced he wasn’t coming in. Closing her eyes, she took several deep breaths, fighting a wave of dizziness. Come on, get a grip. Steeling her resolve, she forced herself to limp across the room to fetch the dreaded clothes. With an effort she donned the midriff-baring T-shirt and hip-hugging jeans.

The name Mallory seemed right but the clothes felt foreign. Wearing such tightly fitting jeans and T-shirt was embarrassing. Why did she wear them? Didn’t she care if others stared? Mallory gave her head a shake, and then winced as the pickax hammering in her head intensified.

This wasn’t the time to worry about her clothes. Focus. She needed to focus. Urgency propelled her forward. With a suppressed shiver she pulled on the lightweight denim jacket. The bottom of the jacket barely met the waistband on her jeans. She tugged on it, as if she could will it longer, and then gave up. Close enough.

She picked up the huge, gaudy purse, slung it over her shoulder and yanked the curtain aside with a snap. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

His gaze raked over her and she fought the urge to tug once more on the short hem of her T-shirt. His amber eyes held no clue to his thoughts. “Great.”

He led the way through the emergency room, keeping his pace slow so she could keep up with her bum ankle. She swept a glance over the occupants of the waiting room, her attention snagged by a hacking cough. Despite her desire to leave as quickly as possible, her steps slowed to a stop.

An elderly woman sat huddled in a corner, her lips as blue as her hair. Mallory abruptly changed course, heading toward the woman, who held a crumpled, blood-stained tissue in the palm of her hand. The poor woman looked as if she was ready to take her last breath.

“Get a doctor over here, now!” Mallory called out to a passing nurse. “This woman’s on the verge of respiratory arrest.”

The harried nurse sputtered an argument but then noticed the same bluish tinge to the woman’s lips that had drawn Mallory’s attention. “I’ll get an oxygen tank.”

Seconds later, the nurse hurried over wheeling an oxygen tank. She cranked up the dial and placed an oxygen mask over the elderly woman’s face. “Take a deep breath, Mrs. Sullivan. We’re going to get you into a room right now.” The nurse touched a button on a device hanging from a lanyard around her neck that must have functioned like some sort of intercom. “Steve, I need a wheelchair brought into the waiting room, stat.”

Mallory watched as one of the orderlies brought over a wheelchair. Soon, the elderly woman was escorted back. Satisfied, she turned back toward the entrance.