Stay With Me

September Watery voices. Somewhere in the dark. ..... Doesn't speak... opened his eyes twice and spoke. Didn't know a damn thing. The doctor says it happens sometimes after severe trauma..... ......has to remember...Oh God, what if he doesn't? .....Forget it. We could never be that lucky.... The first conscious thought that zinged across his brain was: Pain! Absolutely everything hurt. Taking the slightest breath crippled his lungs. His eyes opened before he bade them to. The room was unfamiliar, white, sterile. For a moment he lay still in complete bafflement, not even recognizing the woman standing at the window, staring blankly into the dark beyond. In disbelief, he thought, I'm in a hospital. The woman suddenly glanced his way and swept in a startled breath. He merely stared at her. She was....familiar. She was.... My wife. For the life of him he couldn't remember her name. Nor, he realized with more curiosity than alarm, could he remember his own. "Anthony?" the woman said tentatively. Anthony Hale. Thirty-eight years old. Head of Hale Industries. Son of Richard and Annalise Hale. Grandson of Hugh Hale, who was a rogue and a scoundrel, but possessed a genius for buying real estate at dirt-cheap prices and turning them into some of the most prime pieces of property around the Seattle area. Hugh had also founded several philanthropic projects and one private hospital, Hale Park, which was undoubtedly where his grandson lay right now. "Anthony?" she said again, lines of concern narrowing across her fine brow. He couldn't speak. He could barely respond. The effort was just too great, and he possessed neither the energy nor the inclination to even try. She considered him carefully for several moments, then stepped closer to the bed. Anxiety filled the most amazing amber eyes he'd ever seen. Her skin was clean and imminently touchable. His wife? Couldn't be. She reached a hand for something lying outside of his line of vision. The call button. He watched her as he heard the clicking of the silent beckoning agent. "Can you hear me?" she asked. When he didn't respond, she moved a half step away, hugging herself protectively. He realized she was incredibly nervous. The pink tip of her tongue peeked out to moisten her lips. She wore a pale blue blouse and khaki slacks. Her chestnut hair shimmered with good health and curved just beneath her chin. This beautiful woman was - to his mind- perfect. Moments later, a nurse sauntered into the room. She wore the skeptical expression of someone who dealt with others' emotional outbursts all the time and thought the world, as a whole, was full of overexcitable ninnies. Shooting a glance at the nervous woman beside my bed, she turned her gaze on him. "He's awake" the nurse said. "That's good." "Will you tell Dr Allistair? Or should I call him? Is he here today?" The woman's voice tightened at the nurse's lackluster response. "Not at the moment. But I'm sure he'll want to know. Dr Crissman is on duty today." The nurse leaned her rather formidable bosom his way. "How're you doing there? You've been away from us for a few days. The doctor will be in to see you shortly." She patted his hand, sent the woman a look that could have meant anything, then moved away. His 'wife' walked toward the window again. But was she really his wife? She seemed so reserved and removed. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on his part to believe that this woman could be his. But he knew her. They were involved in some kind of relationship, or she wouldn't have been there in the first place. He just couldn't recall her name. He struggled, but the effort to remember grew more painful the harder he tried. Somewhere outside his vision he heard a hum - a distant sound that filled his head and gradually grew louder and louder. His eyes closed despite his attempt to keep them open. The second time he awakened, he breathed deeply, then groaned as fire burst across his rib cage. He blinked rapidly several times. The room was half dark. The woman no longer stood at the window. Chloe.... There it was. So simple. But he'd been unable to think of it while she was there. She is my wife. He realized his left arm was in a cast and weighted down. His face felt tight and hot, and when he flinched his muscles, new pain erupted. He didn't think he had the power to move his legs, but a heart-thundering surge of fear abated when he realized he could wiggle his toes. He wasn't paralyzed. At least it didn't seem so. However, whatever he'd done, he'd done it big time. He remembered hazily that the doctor had come and examined him, but that he'd been lost in a twilight netherworld that felt infinitely safer than this real one. Chloe had hovered around; he could hear her voice. But her tone was curiously flat, and he had the sense that he was missing vital information. Now, he felt sharper, and consequently the pain was more acute as well. Carefully, he turned his head on the pillow to look out the windows. Smattering rain slapped the panes at irregular intervals. I'm Anthony Hale. He opened his mouth and tried to say the same, but his lips were cracked and the message from his brain to his tongue and vocal chords seemed to get lost somewhere. He shivered. Would he be mute forever? He tried again, and this time a huffing ugh escaped him. Good. Things appeared operational even though they weren't exactly running at capacity. But the effort cost him dearly. He could feel the exhaustion envelop him again, and this time he di not welcome it. He needed to stay awake. He needed to be alert and ready. Ready for what? The anxious feeling that came from somewhere in his subconscious flitted briefly through the channels of his brain and was suddenly gone, and Anthony sank into deep slumber once again. The next time he awoke, it felt like he was literally swimming in the depths of a dark well. He thrashed and strained until he broke the surface and there she was. His wife. Chloe Kramer Hale. Standing at the foot of his bed and gazing at him with mixed emotions, which he sensed had something to do with the events that had brought him here in the first place. He cleared his throat and she straightened abruptly, lips parting in surprise, amber eyes widening just a bit. This time she wore a white silk blouse and a black skirt and jacket. She looked as though she was heading to a bankers' convention or a funeral. He could not believe this beautiful woman was his wife, for reasons he could not explore in his mind, he felt he did not deserve her. "Hello" he croaked. Instantly, a shadow flashed across her beautiful face and Anthony recalled with dampened hope that she didn't like him much. In fact, he could safely say her feelings verged on loathing and disgust. "Don't talk too much. I'm glad you can," she said quickly. "The doctor said a lot about your condition. Rest was right at the top of his prescription list." "What happened?" he rasped. She swept in a sharp breath. Anthony waited for some kind of explanation, but she either couldn't or wouldn't, enlighten him. Instead, she paced to the windows and he had to turn his head to follow her movements. A grunt escaped him and she glanced back just as he winced from the pain. "Oh, don't move, please....I won't be here long. I'm just trying to figure out what to do. Your parents will be here soon. They're so relieved," she said. "My parents?" he muttered. His head felt loose, as if pieces were unattached. Maybe it was the effects of the drugs they were running through his intravenous line attached to his right wrist. "Do you remember anything, anything at all?" she asked tensely, shooting him a fear-filled look that he could only stare at her in return. Drugs. That caught at the corner of his mind. But it seemed wrong somehow. "Was it....a car accident?" he asked. Her shoulders slumped. She hesitated and then took a shaky breath, eyeing him somberly. " They recommended that I not tell you what happened. They want you to remember on your own." She paused, then asked with a strained voice, " Do you know who I am?" ......has to remember.....has to recover.....Oh God, what if he doesn't? ....Forget it. We could never be that lucky...... Anthony swallowed and considered. Bits of conversation he might have imagined. Was one of the watery voices hers? A deep sinking feeling washed over him, and he closed his eyes. Closed her out. Every instinct he possessed wanted to call out to her and beg her to forgive him and hold him, trust him. "Dr Allistair is coming," she said with relief into the silent void. Footsteps approached and she added, "I'll be back this evening." She was gone in a heartbeat, a lingering scent following in her wake. He recognized it as one of those natural perfumes concocted in some upscale bath and body store. That scent stayed etched in his memory as the sound of a door sliding took him out of his riviere. " Hello there." Anthony gazed at the grey-haired doctor with the faint smile and intent gaze who stood over him. "Do you know who I am?" "The doctor," Anthony answered after a moment. "Uh-huh. And you're the patient. I'm Dr Allistair." "How long have I been here?" "One week." "One week?" He was mildly shocked that so much time had passed. "What do you remember about the accident?" That was a blank. Anthony struggled to recall anything at all, but the effort made his head ache and the doctor placed a hand lightly on his shoulder. "Don't try too hard. It'll come to you. Do you know your name?" A long, intense moment passed while Dr Allistair regarded him with clinical curiosity. Chloe called him by his name, but the doctor didn't possess that knowledge. For reasons that escaped him, he sensed subterfuge was still necessary, and in a split second he decided on what course of action to take. "No," Anthony whispered, and the deception began.