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Frances lay in a
coma, unmoving and unresponsive. The doctors wouldn’t let Allen
sit with her; something about germs and rest; he wasn’t really
in the right mind to understand what they were saying. He paced the
corridor anxiously, waiting for word on what was happening.
    “ You
should go home Mr. St. James, if anything changes, we’ll call
you,” the nurse said kindly to him. He just glared at her and
continued to pace. She sighed deeply and walked away, leaving him to
his agitation. He realized there was no-one he could call; no-one to
lean on. It was just the two of them. And now Frances was lying in a
coma.
    *****
    It was
five days and six nights before her eyes fluttered open and she
looked around in puzzlement as if wondering where she was. Allen
stood up and came to her side, they’d allowed him in the room
on the condition that he wore the scrubs and the mask and he’d
complied without demur. So all that was visible to her were his
piercing gray eyes.
    “ You’re
awake,” he mumbled through the cloth covering his mouth. The
relief in his words was palpable though.
    “ I’m
awake,” she repeated in a hoarse voice. “Water?”
    He
turned quickly to the side table, pouring her a glass from the jug
that sat there. He refilled it every three hours on this very off
chance, that she would wake up wanting water. He’d seen it in
many movies. He picked up a bendy straw and inserted it in the glass
and held it to her lips so she could drink. She took a long pull and
swallowed; the latter action seemed to be painful for her, and then
took another sip.
    “ Thanks,”
she said.
    “ No
problem. I should get the doctor,” he said happily. “Don’t
go anywhere.”
    “ I
won’t,” she said as he bounced out of the room.
    The
doctors and nurses came hurrying in with Allen at the rear, they took
her vital signs and tested her reflexes, looked in her eyes and asked
her how she was feeling.
    “ I’m
okay,” she said.
    “ Do
you remember what happened?” they asked her.
    She
stared from one to the other, looking for some clue and then down at
herself. “I guess…I was in some sort of…accident?”
    The
doctor frowned coming forward to shine a light into her eyes again,
“What’s your name?”
    “ Frances
Hilton,” she replied at once.
    “ Good,”
the doctor said with a smile. “And what year is this Frances?”
    Frances
stared at him and then at all the other people in the room, lastly
her eyes fell on Allen. “Umm, not 2005?” she said.
    The
excitement in the room dampened considerably.
    The
doctor’s smile disappeared, “What is the last thing you
remember Frances?”
    Frances
hesitated; she really didn’t want to say. But everyone was
looking at her expectantly.
    “ I…”
she began and then stopped.
    “ Don’t
be scared Frances, just tell us the truth,” he said.
    Frances
looked down. “I work for a bookie named Karl; he sent me to
collect from a client but the guy attacked me and tried to…”
Frances swallowed hard. “I escaped,” she finished.
    “ That
must have been before we met,” Allen said.
    Frances
looked up at him. “Who are you?” she asked. All the color
drained from Allen’s face.
    *****
    The
doctors said it would pass; that retrograde amnesia was fairly common
with the injuries she’d suffered. There was nothing to worry
about; she would remember. Allen was not so sure; somehow it felt
like rejection to him. Why would her amnesia only cover the period
where they’d known each other? When he went to see her, she
looked at him warily like he was some dangerous stranger. She had
asked for her baseball bat the last time he’d been but that
weapon had been discarded long ago. He’d given her his pocket
knife instead and she’d looked at it in surprise and suspicion
before fixing him with a wondering glance. Then she’d slipped
it under her pillow with quiet thanks. He hated it. He wanted to
scream and rail at her but he couldn’t because she was ill.