Not Without The Truth

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.”

Lauren’s face filled with shock and she struggled to sit up. “Are you kidding me?”

He shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, my God!” Her eyes huge, she leaned forward as if she could get the information faster by being that much closer. “Who is my father? What was I doing here? Where is—”

Armando held up his hand. “I’ll answer your questions the best I can, but I may not know everything—”

“I don’t care! Just tell me!”

“Your name is Lauren Stanley and you are from Dallas. You’re a writer, for a magazine called Luxury, and you were here on assignment to do an article about Machu Picchu and some of the other ruins. Your father is a doctor and he started to worry when you didn’t call in as expected. Apparently you and he have some kind of system where you check in with him on a regular basis. He was afraid something had happened.”

Her expression became remote. “What’s his name?”

“J. Freeman Stanley.”

“Does he know I’m all right?”

“He’s been told. My friend said he was very relieved and he wants to talk to you as soon as possible. When we finish here, you can call him if you like.”

He fell silent. She’d asked all the right questions, yet there was something missing. After a second, he realized what is was; none of the information he’d given her was resonating. Her expression held no reaction whatsoever. Normally he wouldn’t have been surprised by that, but because of her eagerness, he expected disappointment from her, if nothing else.

“Does any of this sound familiar?” he asked, just to be sure.

She shook her head slowly. “You could be talking about a stranger for all I know.”

Armando stood. “Don’t worry about it for now,” he ordered. “Once you speak with your father that could change.”

Lauren opened her mouth to reply, but her expression went blank. Her eyes glazed over and became unfocused, then a second later, she jerked so hard the bed moved. Fearing a seizure or even something worse, Armando grabbed her shoulders and spoke her name loudly.

The episode was over almost before it began. She blinked then looked straight into his eyes and gasped.

“I was in a jungle and there were birds,” she said. “Th-then I was flying.”

He loosened his hold on her arms but he didn’t release her. “You’re not flying, Lauren,” he said forcefully. “You’re in bed. I have you. You’re safe.”

“It felt like I was looking at you behind a veil. I thought I was dreaming but it was more real.”

“Describe what you saw.”

“Thick foliage,” she said haltingly. “The sound of birds, a rope sliding through my hands.” She stopped abruptly and went silent, the intensity of the sensation obviously still frightening to her. “I was up high but I felt a rope,” she said. “There was a rope in my hands!”

He took her hands and turned them over, shaking his head as he stared at the scabs that covered her palms. “I thought these were rope burns but then I convinced myself they were scratches from a tree limb you’d tried to grab. I should have known better.” He raised his eyes to hers. “Someone must have tried to help you after you fell into the water. Was there anyone with you?”

She screwed up her face as if she could force the memory out of her brain, but in the end, all she could do was shake her head. “I don’t know! I guess anything’s possible, but I don’t know.”

He released her hands and patted her arm, his reassurance swift and soothing. “It will come to you,” he said in a comforting voice. “It will come.”

“Is that a promise?”

“This is Peru,” he answered cryptically. “Promises are all that we have.”

CHAPTER THREE

ARMANDO TORRES GAVE HER his cell phone then stepped outside as she dialed the number written on the small slip of paper he’d handed her. The first ring had barely finished when the phone was answered at the other end.

“Children’s Clinic. How may I direct your call?”

“I need to speak with Dr. Stanley,” Lauren said. “This is his daughter calling.”

She felt strange describing herself as someone’s daughter but as Lauren waited to talk to the man who claimed to be her father, she knew that Armando had told her the truth. She trusted him but she wasn’t quite sure why.

“Lauren?”

She gripped the phone tighter as her name was spoken. “Y-yes,” she managed to say. “This is Lauren.”

“Oh, sweetheart! You don’t know how worried I’ve been. Thank God you’re all right! How do you feel? When are you coming home? They told me you lost all your things! Do you want me to come down and get you?”

The man at the other end stopped to take a breath and when he did so, he seemed to realize how rattled he sounded. He laughed apologetically. “I’m sorry—I know I’m running off at the mouth, but I’m just so relieved to know you’re okay. Tell me how you feel.”

“I’m still a little sore,” she said, “but Dr. Torres has reassured me nothing’s broken.”

His voice was strained. “Is he taking good care of you?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “Except that I have this…memory problem—”

Her father broke in, his tone switching to a more professional level. “I understand but I don’t want you to worry about that, Lauren, okay? It’s a temporary setback and you’re going to be fine. Once you’re back home, we’ll get you in to see Dr. Gladney right away. The two of you can work everything out, just like you did before. You’ll be fine in no time.”

To Lauren’s ears, his manner seemed forced, but maybe he was simply overwhelmed with worry. “Dr. Gladney?”

“She’s your therapist, honey. You don’t remember her?”

“I don’t remember me,” Lauren replied, half joking, “how could I remember her?”

He took her question seriously and Lauren got the impression that he probably took most things that way. “Dr. Gladney is a specialist in psychotherapy as it relates to traumatic reassessments and integration, Lauren. She’s worked with you for years, ever since—”

He broke off and Lauren asked, “Ever since what?”

For a moment, a static silence whispered down the line, then he spoke again. “Ever since your mother died. You don’t remember that, either?”

A vague reaction tugged at the back of her mind—something forbidden and scary and chaotic. She tried hard to pull more out of the fleeting sensation but failed. “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to…”

“It’s okay.” She could tell he was trying to hide his shock. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk about that later.”

Lauren pressed him. “Tell me now,” she insisted. “Dr. Torres said all I might need is a single memory and everything else might come back. I want to know.”

“It’s complicated—”

“Then simplify it.”

“All right,” he said reluctantly. “The truth is your mother took her own life when you were ten. It was a very sad time for all of us and it was especially traumatic for you. You found the body.”

“I—I can’t believe I wouldn’t remember something like that,” she said in sudden shock. “It must have been horrible…”

He hurried to reassure her. “Your reaction is extremely typical, Lauren. I’d be surprised if you did remember it. Don’t worry about it, all right? We’ll handle everything when you get back. Dr. Gladney and I will help you, I promise. You’ll be fine as soon as we get you home.”

He sounded as if he thought she were about to crash and burn. Losing your mother was a terrible thing but it’d clearly happened years before. He was acting as if he were afraid she might fall apart completely. What kind of fragile flower had she been?

“When do you think you can make it back to Cuzco?” Her father’s question cut into her thoughts. “That’s the largest town nearby. I’ve already checked the flights for you and there are some going out at the end of the week. I’ve wired some funds to you, as well. The doctor will collect them and get them to you. I know you lost your things. There should be more than enough cash for you to buy some clothes and anything else you might need until you come back but if you need more, let me know. I’ve contacted the embassy and your replacement passport is in the works. I’m not sure which flight would be the best but the earliest one is next—”

Lauren interrupted his flow of orders. “I’m not ready to come back. I have things to do here.”

His voice revealed his surprise. “Lauren, don’t be silly! You have to come home now. Forget about the article. The magazine doesn’t expect you to finish that! I’ve already spoken to Neal—”

“Who’s Neal?”

“Your boss,” he answered. “He said the topic was all your idea anyway and he’s not even sure when it would make the magazine. Your health is more important than writing—”

Lauren gripped the edge of the bed, the realization coming to her that she’d apparently allowed her father to tell her how to run her life. “I appreciate your help,” she interrupted him one more time, “but I’m not coming back until I’m ready. I’ll let you know when that is.”

In the quiet that followed, she could sense his disbelief. His voice changed subtly. “I really think you need to return, Lauren. You can’t possibly get the care you need down there.” He paused. “I’m a doctor myself, sweetheart, and I know what’s best, especially for you. I’m sure Dr. Torres is…all right, but I know your case. After all, I’m your father. He’s a stranger.”

She looked out the screen door where Armando stood. Her father might be correct in what he said, but just the opposite felt true. She sensed no connection whatsoever with him but strangely enough, Armando Torres had seemed like someone she knew—and knew intimately—from the minute she had seen him. The idea was disturbing.

“I appreciate your concern,” she repeated. “But I have things to do here. When they’re done, I’ll leave.”

They hung up and Armando came in shortly after that for his phone. While Lauren got ready for bed, the dynamics of the conversation that had taken place between herself and the man who’d said he was her father replayed in her mind. She was a grown woman and had her wits about her—why did he feel the need to tell her what to do? Even more importantly, why did she feel the need to stay where she was? When he’d told her to come home, she’d declined instinctively. Why? She worried over the situation for a while longer, then sleep overcame her.

She woke abruptly at 2:30 a.m., her scream still echoing in the empty ward. Her hands gripped the edge of the bed so hard, the scrapes on her palms had opened and begun to bleed again.

A blond man had been leading her across a rope bridge. She was almost to the other side when he magically appeared on the bank ahead of her, but before she could reach him, the rope went slack. For two seconds, Lauren was suspended in space and then she was falling.

She blinked and the images faded but, without any warning, she recalled the moments before she’d gone into the water. She’d been going over the river on a rope bridge. And she’d fallen.

She sat up in excitement and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The sheets and her hands were a mess but she barely noticed she was so stunned by her memory. If she could remember this, she told herself, she could remember the rest.

She stood on shaky legs and crossed the empty room for the desk that served as Zue’s nursing station. A glass-fronted cabinet behind the chair held bandages and tape.

Her mind on her discovery, her nerves ringing, Lauren didn’t see the shadow standing at the door of the clinic until it was too late. The door squeaked open and she jerked her head toward the sound, almost losing her balance in the process. Armando stood on the threshold.

“You’re bleeding!” He came to her side in three long strides and took her hands in his. “What happened?”

They were inches apart and Lauren could feel the energy that seemed to be part of the air whenever Armando was near. Without waiting for an answer, he pulled her closer to the desk and opened the cabinet she’d been approaching.

“I—I had a dream,” she stuttered. “When I woke up, I had scraped my hands on the railing—”

“I can see that.” He began to clean her palms with a strong antiseptic, his movements swift and efficient, but kind at the same time. “Is that why you screamed?”

Still holding her hands, he turned from her to pick up the clean dressings, and Lauren realized she had a decision to make. She had to reconcile the disparate ways she felt about Armando and she had to do so quickly.

She made her decision impulsively.

“I’ve begun to get some of my memory back,” she said. “I think I know how I ended up in the river.”

ARMANDO WENT QUIET, Lauren’s statement freezing him. “Tell me,” he said.

She licked her lips and briefly told him her dream. As she explained about the bridge, an uneasiness built inside him he didn’t like. He knew the crossing she described and he’d heard nothing about that particular bridge being down. In fact, once a year, Manco made sure it was replaced so accidents like that wouldn’t happen.

“Are you quite sure the rope went slack and then you fell?”

“Absolutely, yes. I’m positive.”

He returned to tending her palms, his attitude as neutral as he could make it. He’d had a lot of questions about Lauren’s presence from the very beginning, but what had really happened to her was near the top of the list.

He tied off the bandage, his voice noncommittal. “If the rope gave way, I’d say it was frayed then, wouldn’t you?”

“Not necessarily. Someone could have worked on it before I got there and weakened the twine. My weight in the center would have been enough to get the job done.”

Armando hid his surprise at her astuteness. “But why would anyone do such a thing? Do you think someone’s out to hurt you?”

“No, I don’t think that, but who knows? I ended up in that river and I want to know why.”

He put a final piece of tape in place, then released her, replacing the tools and antiseptic in the cabinet behind them. “You need to get back into bed.”

She didn’t move. “I want to go see it.”

He knew what she meant but he asked the question anyway, giving himself some time to think. “See what?”

“The bridge,” she answered impatiently. “I want to go back there. I might remember more once I see it.”

“It’s a half-day hike from here. You don’t have the strength.”

Her jaw tightened, a look of determination adding to the frown she already wore. “I might not have it today,” she said, “but I will soon. And when I do, I’m going back.”

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“I don’t know if it’s wise or not,” she snapped. “But I don’t have a choice in the matter. If I want to figure out what happened to me, I have to go back to that bridge.”

LAUREN PROCEEDED TO DO exactly as she’d promised Armando. She choked down every drop of soup Zue brought her and swallowed every pill without comment. Three times a day, she walked an ever-widening circle around the clinic’s compound. In a week, she felt much better, in two she was ready to hike.

The clinic was especially busy that Friday, a steady stream of patients coming in from all directions. She waited impatiently until the last one left, then she went into Armando’s office with determination.

“I want to go see the bridge tomorrow,” she announced. “I’m ready.”

He put down the pen he’d been using to make notes on a chart and looked up at her, pushing his chair back from the desk at the same time. His eyes were speculative but they often were. She’d come to see that Armando accepted very little in the way of information without further examination.

“What makes you think you can make it?” he asked.

She was prepared. “I can walk four miles without tiring, nothing hurts and I’ve gained five pounds. My recovery time is over.”

“Are you getting anxious to go home? I would expect you to care more about that rather than going back to the scene of the crime, as it were.”

She tried to figure out how to answer as she sat down in the chair in front of his desk, one of Zue’s wide, colorful skirts—all she had to wear—pooling around her feet. She’d had several conversations with her father since the initial one and his message had not changed. He wanted her to return to Dallas as soon as possible. But she didn’t want that.

“My father has asked me that same question, numerous times as a matter of fact.”

“And?”

“And I don’t know. I guess I should want to go home but…”

He seemed to read her mind. “But you feel no urgent need.”

She met his steady stare. “That’s awful of me, isn’t it?” she asked. “He’s clearly worried and upset. I need to reassure him, but I feel like there are more answers for me here than there are back in Dallas.”

Armando came from behind his desk to perch on the edge. “Why do you think that is the case?”

“You’re the shrink,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“I should never have let you see my diploma,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

“Maybe,” she agreed. “You know my father is one, too.”

“I know,” he said.

“Don’t you find that weird?” she asked. “That you’re both psychiatrists?”

“Not really,” he said with an engaging smile. “There are quite a few of us, you know. We’re not a rare breed.”

“It just seems strange to me,” she said. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“How do you know?” he asked softly.

She blinked in surprise, then said, “I just do.”

“You’re remembering more and more,” he noted. “That is good.”

“I guess it is,” she agreed, “but it’s like putting a giant jigsaw puzzle together. I remember I like purple, but what shade? I know I lived in Peru as a child, but I can’t recall our home. The pieces are all there but they don’t quite fit.”

“They will eventually.”

“I don’t intend to wait for ‘eventually.’” She stood and they were eye to eye. A shiver she wasn’t expecting went down her back at their nearness. She pushed its appearance aside and concentrated on the moment at hand. “Visiting the bridge will speed things up.”