There's No Place Like Home (The One Series Book 3) by Jasinda Wilder

Author:Jasinda Wilder [Wilder, Jasinda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jasinda Wilder
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

Dr. James flips back and forth through several pages, and finally removes his spectacles and looks at me closely.

“I can see that the same thing is written over and over many times, this central image of your vision of your wife, this woman, Ava.”

I nod.

“Can you explain why?”

“It’s all I see. Over and over and over again, awake and asleep—I see her but I can’t remember—I can’t remember what came before, or what came after.” I rock back and forth in my chair, squeeze my eyes closed and mutter her name a few times—Ava, Ava, Ava. “I can’t remember. I just can’t remember.”

Seeing that I was becoming agitated, Dr. James said, “You must try to calm yourself. This will not help you remember.”

“I CAN’T REMEMBER!” I shout. “If I could remember the rest, I know I could remember my name. I just…I know it.”

Dr. James doesn’t argue. Just nods and pats my knee. “You must not try to be forcing it. As we have discussed before—the memories will come when they are ready to come. You can only help them along so much.”

“I’m trying, but this is just...it’s so frustrating.”

“I know, I realize that. Which is why I think you should take a few days of a break from the writing. I think you are becoming obsessed with it and I don’t think that is healthy for your psyche.”

“I have to remember. I have to. I have to know her. I have to remember more of her. I have to remember what happened.”

Dr. James leans forward, hand on my knee. “Please, put the pens and the notebooks away for a day or two, at the very least. Please. It will help, I promise you. It will give your mind a rest. Your injuries are healing and I think it is time for you to do some walking. Let us focus on the healing of your body, and regaining your mobility. And then you can go back to the writing, and then I think you will have more luck in shaking loose the memories.”

I nod. “Okay.”

He claps his hands, pleased. “Very good! Okay. More walking, more gentle exercise. The staff is here to help you. The weather is very pleasant and I think you will enjoy exploring the grounds and breathing in the fresh air. You will feel like a new man, I promise you this.”

And so, when Dr. James leaves to continue his rounds, I lay aside my writing.

My casts have been off for some time, but for how long? Days? Weeks? I have no idea. It doesn’t seem to matter, either.

How long have I been here? I have no idea. Forever, it seems.

For the next week—I count the days, mark them off in a corner of my notebook—I walk around as much as I can. There is no residual pain any longer, but my muscles feel stiff and sore and weak. I walk around the hospital, and even walk to the shore, under the watchful eye of

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