Kay David: Not Without The Truth

“Tell me now,” she insisted. “The manufacturer wants to know.”

“It got wet,” he said with a sigh, “and had to be fished out of a nearby river. I’m not sure how it ended up there, but that’s basically what happened.”

“But it’s okay?” she asked again.

He hesitated and tried to think of a way to avoid the topic of Lauren’s amnesia. He needed to examine her before he could address that subject adequately, but his reluctance went beyond that. Something about the situation had begun to bother him during the trip home, but he couldn’t yet define what it was.

“Basically, it is okay. Yes.” He paused and Meredith sensed that he was holding something back.

“But?”

He licked his lips and stared out the window beside the desk where he stood. Night came swiftly in Peru and it was totally black outside now. He’d never seen a place with such an absence of light and he’d been in plenty of dark places in his life.

“I think it might be best if you could wait a bit before calling the manufacturer.”

“Why is that?” Her voice took on a puzzled but cautious note. “He’s quite anxious to hear any news we can give him.”

“I can see why,” Armando replied, “but something doesn’t feel right. You know what I mean?”

“I probably do,” she said with a weary sigh. “I’ll hold off if you think that’s best.”

“I do,” he said. “But I can’t give you a reason why right now. Maybe later I’ll understand better.” His eyes searched the void through the screen. “And then again,” he added, “maybe I won’t.”

SHE REMEMBERED LITTLE about the journey yet, when she woke up the following morning, she felt as if she’d moved across the world instead of across the valley.

She sat up in the bed and took in her surroundings. The clinic was spotless, the walls a white so stark they hurt her eyes, the floors so clean, she was sure they would squeak if walked on. There were three other beds in the room along with her own but they were empty.

The simple task of looking around took most of her energy and she fell back against the pillows. Her eyes didn’t open again until that evening when a tiny native woman came in with a dinner tray, the china and cutlery arranged with military precision. She insisted on feeding Lauren, then returned the next morning to do the same with breakfast. The doctor came twice, but each time she registered little more than the fact that he was examining her, his hands gliding over her bruised body with care, his voice comforting as he murmured to her.

On her third morning, she woke up with a much clearer mind. Recalling the name the doctor had told her was hers, she probed her memory for more details.

She had little success.

All she could force out was a murky mix of faces and facts that made no sense, each changing rapidly, and feeling more like bad dreams than memories.

That night, after she’d bathed Lauren and cleaned up the ward with the endless energy she seemed to have, the nurse began to braid Lauren’s hair. She was almost finished when the doctor came in.

Clearly upset by the intrusion, she finished her task and stomped from the room.

The doctor watched her leave before turning to Lauren with a bemused expression on his face. “I’m sorry to interrupt your salon time with Zue.”

Lauren found herself smiling in return. “She’s more upset than I am, believe me. My hair is the last thing on my mind right now, Dr. Torres.”

“Please call me Armando.” He pulled up a chair and sat down. “We do not stand on formality here.”

She wasn’t sure but yesterday, or maybe it’d been the day before, she’d realized he had a hint of an accent. She’d asked about it, and he’d explained he’d grown up in Argentina.

He looked at her intently. “So how are you feeling?”

Lauren had begun to realize Armando Torres had a habit of focusing on her so intently that she found it difficult to look away from him when he was anywhere near. Which wasn’t a bad thing. Armando was a man anyone could have stared at for a long time and Lauren was surprised to find herself attracted to him. She’d explained the reaction by connecting it to her weakened state, but she knew better. There was something about him that felt familiar…yet strange, and the combination was a powerful one.

“I actually feel better,” she said. Some of her aches weren’t as sharp and some of her bruises had started to fade. “I was doubtful there for a while but it looks like I might survive.”

“There was never any danger of that. The roughest part is behind you.”

“That was right after they pulled me from the water?” He’d told her the circumstances of her discovery.

“Yes. You were very lucky, you know. That’s not a river you would have chosen to go into, if you’d known how bad it is.”

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with it?”

“Besides the usual piranha-crocodile-snake thing?”

She arched one eyebrow. “Uh-oh.”

“A lot of bacteria thrive there that live nowhere else. I won’t go into the details, but they can enter your body in various ways and then they set up housekeeping. Getting rid of them can be tricky. You have to catch them early or they can do a lot of damage to your internal organs, especially to your heart.”

“I didn’t know that,” she said. “At least I don’t think I did.” Failing to keep the defeat from her voice, she spoke again. “I can’t believe this! Amnesia is something you see in movies or read about in books—it’s not supposed to happen to real people.”

“The condition has been glamorized,” he agreed, “but it obviously does affect ‘real’ people. It’s affected you.”

His reassurance made her feel much better but she immediately wondered why. She’d known the man for only a few days. How could he have such sway over her so quickly? “Will my memory ever come back?”

“I think that it will,” he said. “But amnesia is one of those problems we still don’t understand. If the source is organic—that is, you hit your head when you fell into the water and a physical part of your brain has been affected—your recovery time will be related to the damage that was done when you had the accident. If it’s psychogenic, that’s a different thing.”

“‘Psychogenic’? Meaning I’m making it happen to myself?”

“No. Psychogenic meaning the problem is psychologically based.” He paused and appeared to think of how to phrase his explanation. “Psychogenic amnesia occurs after some sort of stress takes place. People who suffer this form of amnesia sometimes have a history of depression.” His stare captured hers once again, the tension in the room notching up. “Psychogenic amnesia can be linked to suicide, as well.”

IF HE HADN’T BEEN TRAINED to notice such things, Armando would have missed the reaction that crossed her expression, but his medical degree gave him an advantage.

As did his past.

Knowing what he did, he would have been surprised if she hadn’t had some psychological problems. Her issues had roots that had been growing for years.

“Are you saying you think I was trying to kill myself by jumping in the river?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “If you are, I have to disagree. I would have picked a simpler way.”

“That’s not at all what I’m suggesting. I’m merely trying to explain that amnesia is a complex disease. You may not suffer from it for very long, though. Sometimes all it takes is a single detail and everything returns.”

“But it’s still frustrating.”

“I imagine that it is, however, I may be able to help you there. Your government has been contacted by a man who claims to be your father. He wanted help in finding you, and the person who handled the call knew of my clinic. She decided to cut through the red tape and phone me first to see if I’d heard anything.”