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has pushed it all back to some recess in her mind with a Do Not Disturb sign on it. And it’s my belief she’s not going to remember voluntarily. Not until something happens that stirs her memory.”
    “And what then?”
    “What then?” Phyl thought about it. “Why, someone had better be there to pick up the pieces, that’s all.” And as she said it, she knew that she would be the one.
    She hung up the phone and walked slowly back to the patient’s room.
    She was sitting up, smiling, wearing the new pink nightdress. She searched Phyl’s face for a reaction.
    “Now you look better,” Phyl said approvingly. “I thought this might be the only time in your life you could wear pink.” She grinned. “When your hair grows in, you’ll be back in blue.”
    “It’s beautiful. Thank you. But you didn’t have to … I mean, I’m nothing to you.”
    “Sure you are. You’re something to all of us here. You came to us broken, and we put you back together again. And speaking of that, are you ready for the unveiling?”
    The girl’s apprehensive eyes met hers. “Is it really bad?” she whispered, suddenly afraid.
    “It’s not wonderful,” Phyl admitted. “The truth is, your face is swollen and badly bruised, but it’s not seriously damaged. You still have the same nose you were born with; your eyes are in the same place; you didn’t lose any teeth. In other words, there’s nothing that time, and a new crop of hair, won’t fix. Just prepareyourself for the sight of the scars on your scalp. And the—the
nakedness
of it.”
    Phyl held the mirror. The girl took a long look at herself. Tears spurted from her eyes.
    “Take it easy,” Phyl said gently.
    “But I don’t know her,” she whispered, anguished. “I don’t know that girl.”
    Phyl took a Kleenex and mopped the tears. “You will, one day soon. I’ll help you to find yourself again. I promise. And anyhow, you don’t look exactly like you right now.” It was like talking to a child, she thought. And then she suddenly wanted to cry, too.
    “Why are you so good to me?” the girl said, pressing her head against Phyl’s cool hand. “I’m no one. Nothing. A meaningless nonperson. You don’t have to be nice to me; you’re busy, successful, famous. Why are you bothering with me?”
    “It’s my heart of gold,” Phyl said lightly.
    “No, it’s not. It’s more than that, isn’t it?”
    Phyl nodded.
    “Won’t you tell me?”
    The girl was holding
her
hand now, reversing their roles. Phyl’s chest felt tight, and the muscles at the back of her neck were rigid with tension.
    Her voice shook as she said, “Perhaps one day. When you are better.” She pulled herself together and said briskly, “I’m forgetting the rules. You are the patient. And I’m the analyst, here to help you. Not the other way around.”
    They looked at each other. Phyl sniffed back her tears and reached for the Kleenex. “If you are still prepared to let me be your doctor, I think maybe you are crazy after all.”
    “Your mascara is running,” the girl said gently.
    “So much for tearproof!”
    They grinned at each other, and then Phyl reachedout and hugged her. “I just felt you needed someone around,” she said. “Why not me?”
    “I can’t think of anyone better.”
    Their eyes met again. “Except maybe my mom,” the girl added wistfully.

6
    I t was strange being anonymous, the girl thought, staring at her face in the mirror a week later. Strange but somehow peaceful. After all, if no one knew who she was, then no one would try to kill her. And why would anyone want to kill her anyway? What had she done to create such anger, such violence in a person?
    She stared down at the row of red scars on her arm where the doctors said a dog had bitten her. Surely she should remember that. It was a big dog, Detective Mahoney had told her. A Rottweiler or a Doberman. Did she know anybody with such a dog? he had asked. All she could do was shake her head, and then she