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-Mask of the Stranger-

http://www.joyceandjimlavene.com

Published by Awe-Struck E-Books

http://www.awe-struck.net/

All Rights Reserved (c) 2000 ISBN 1-5874-9002-1



Table of Contents

Prologue Chapter One   Chapter Two  Chapter Three

Prologue

He was out there again.

She could feel it. The proof would only take a step to the window, a careful lift of the blind. He would be there in the street. She was being stalked.

Sometimes, he was obvious. Staring up at her window from the corner. Standing in the white halo of the streetlight. Sometimes he hid himself, wearing the shadows of the night like a cloak.

But he was there. She knew by the faint prickle of her skin. By the sensitivity in her body, the restless movement of her mind. She always knew when he was there.

But who he was or why he was stalking her was a mystery.

So, she huddled in her apartment with its double locks and security system. She kept a phone by her bed with 911 dialed in already so she would only have to push the redial button.

Of course, that was only when she could bring herself to go into the bedroom. Most nights she spent in a chair, watching the door.

She'd bought a gun out of sheer desperation. But she hadn't been able to make herself load it. The bullets were still in their package, unopened. The gun was tucked into a drawer.

The police had been kind, at first. Even sympathetic. They were courteous and efficient in their cold, dispassionate way. But after coming a dozen times to her call on 911 and finding no one, they'd begun to tell her to get help.

Therapy. Not the kind with badges and uniforms.

They'd even come up with a name for her. Call-in Kelsey. She'd heard them laughing about it in the hallway one night as they were leaving.

"Not bad lookin'," the officer had joked, "but totally out of it."

Kelsey knew that he was there but the police couldn't find him. He vanished like a wisp of smoke, only to return again when she was alone.

She'd noticed him the first time about two weeks ago. It was late. She'd nearly worked past the time when the corner gas station closed, almost forgetting that her car had to have gas for the next day.

It was bitterly cold. Snow swept through the streets with the icy wind from Lake Michigan. The station was bustling with people. She'd consoled herself that she wasn't the only one to wait until it was almost too late that night. She climbed from her car, shuffling through the new snow to the pump, taking off her brown knit glove so that the gas smell wouldn't ruin it.

She had been thinking about the project she'd been working on that day. The gas gushed into the tank of her small, white car. Things had been going very well. Better than she could have guessed they would and she was feeling very pleased with herself.

It was then that she felt it for the first time. The faint lift of the hairs on the back of her neck. The slight shiver of awareness. The feeling that someone at the crowded station was watching her.

She looked around quickly, purposely, just in time to see him turn away. He had been watching her.

He was very tall. The long black coat he wore only added to the impression of height. He had powerful shoulders. He glanced to the side and she saw that he had dark hair, worn tied back at his neck. Snowflakes fell against it. White crystals against the jet of his hair.

He was willing to wait for what he wanted.

She knew that now. After the long week she'd spent watching him. She felt as though he'd become an intimate part of her, never far from her thoughts. Her life measured in terms of when he would be on the corner and where she felt safe.

Kelsey prodded herself out of her reverie to take those few steps to the window, abandoning the hollow safety zone her sofa provided her.

She stood to the side of the window, concentrating on looking between the mini blinds. If she were careful, he wouldn't know that she watched him. It gave her a feeling of power, playing that game with him.

He was there, of course. She knew he would be. She almost congratulated herself on the knowledge. She looked down at him standing there, watching her window, and she wanted to scream.

Sometimes, she just wanted to go down the stairs and into the street. Demand to know what he wanted from her. Face him, for once. Bring his face into the light.

But she couldn't. She didn't dare. When she thought she couldn't stand anymore, when anything seemed better than enduring another night with him out there, she took the pills the doctors had given her and fell into a dreamless sleep until morning.

He looked up. Right into her face.

She stumbled backwards from the window, tripping over the footstool behind her. She felt sure that he had seen her. Half-falling into the big chair that faced the door, she pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

What had she done? she asked, rocking herself, crying. What had she done to him?

Chapter One

The alarm went off in the bedroom, startling her awake. Sunlight poured in from the windows behind her. She'd spent another night in the chair. A fine act of torture when she tried to stand on legs that had been asleep for hours. She arched her aching back and tried to focus her blurred eyes.

If she kept going, the stalker wouldn't have to kill her, she condemned, shuffling to the bedroom. She would have done the job for him.

In the daylight, things always seemed better. She could come close to laughing at her fears. She'd caught sight of him a few times in the daylight but he preferred the darkness to get close to her. Like an errant lover.

By day, he was just a shade behind her. An insistent gaze that was gone when she looked up. A feeling of someone being too near her in the supermarket, even when she was alone in an aisle.

Kelsey dragged her aching body into the shower, yawning. Trying to wake up. With her nights filled with terror, it was all she could do to make it to work each day. Fortunately, she didn't have rigid hours. Although the lab director frowned on late afternoon arrivals, he was flexible with anything before ten.

She knew she was lucky to have the position at Barton. The pay was good, the benefits excellent and they thought her work was important. What more could she ask?

She sighed. She had believed all of that until she'd spent her first sleepless night.

She had no personal life. There was only her work. And the fear that ate at her in the night had begun to overshadow even that.

Kelsey pulled on her loose fitting jeans and a soft white sweater. In the bright light of the bathroom mirror, she pulled her hair back from her face, securing it with a headband.

She began to apply a light make-up base, stopping slowly as her fingers moved over her skin. Carefully, she touched the scar that ran from her temple to her chin. A delicate red tracery along her cheekbone. It was so fine, yet so distinct, that it could have been drawn there by a master hand.

For just an instant, she didn't recognize that face. It was a stranger staring back at her; pale skin, gold flecked dark eyes and a cloud of short, dark hair.

Her hair had been long once. She couldn't remember when, but she kept expecting to feel the swish of it against her neck.

A braid. She narrowed her eyes on the reflection in the mirror, imagining what it might have been like. She allowed her hand to wander down her shoulder, trying to remember having a long, dark rope of hair.

She closed her eyes and there were hands that set it free, sliding through its thickness. Hands that touched her.

But that was all. She searched desperately in the recesses of her mind but it was all gone.

Too fast, she groaned, resting her forehead against the cool glass. It always happened when she wasn't prepared for it.

The doctors had told her it would happen, told her to be patient but it had been two months since the small plane she'd been in had crashed on its way from Orlando to Chicago.

The same doctors had cut her hair because of her head injury, assuring her that it would be better for her to recall who she was that way. After all, the picture on her driver's license had short hair. Shorter, in fact, than they'd cut hers. It was apparently a fashion she'd favored at some time.

She wondered, coldly impersonal, what had made her grow it longer. What had that Kelsey of three months ago been like? What had happened to her that had made her change?

It had been two months of knowing who she was only because others told her. Two months of waking up every morning to a stranger's face that she tried daily to reconcile to her own.

Kelsey freed her chin length hair from the headband so that it swung like a curtain around her face. She brushed it quickly, dispassionately, without focusing on her mirror again.

She'd grown to be afraid of that face. Fear and emptiness lurked in those eyes; madness on that path.

The only thing she could do was get on with her life. Her work. She could still remember that aspect. It was the only place she really felt safe. The only place she wasn't scared and uncertain.

Putting on her jacket and gloves, she slid her glasses into an outside pocket. Her driver's license portrayed her in heavy-rimmed glasses, saying that she couldn't drive without them. The doctor couldn't explain it as yet but her head injury seemed to have corrected her vision. Her glasses made it impossible for her to see.

Just one more puzzle piece to her old self. She carried the glasses in her pocket in case her vision suddenly went bad again. Or she was stopped for a safety check as she had been the week before on the way to the lab.

It was strange. Eerie. She could feel that braid down her back but couldn't recall ever having worn glasses. She'd tried them on several times, looking in the mirror but the reflection was the same. A stranger staring back at her.

Kelsey checked the street one last time before she left her apartment. He wasn't there. He wouldn't be so careless as to be seen in the daylight. The street was busy with late morning car and pedestrian traffic.

It would take an extra few minutes to make it in to work, she mused, finding herself more reluctant to leave her apartment every day. She was terrified that one morning they would find her huddled in the corner, not able to do anything but stare at the window. She was more afraid of that than she was of the stalker.

He had become so much a part of her life. He was a stranger, lurking outside. Like the stranger that lived inside of her.

One hour, one minute at a time, she told herself, carefully unlocking the door. She rearmed the security system that would tell her if anyone had been there all day. She closed the door, locked it tightly, and was gone.

Her drive to work was always the single most thought provoking time of her day. In her car, she felt safe. He might be able to see her in the car but he couldn't touch her.

She couldn't remember even the smallest part of her past personal life before two months ago, but she knew how to drive. She knew how to dress herself, how to eat, but couldn't remember her name and age. Every aspect of her work as a botanist was clear in her mind but not a friend or a lover. Not even parents.

If it hadn't been for Dr. Abrahms who got her the job at Barton's, she wouldn't have known anything about her previous existence. He had worked with her in Orlando and had recommended her for the position at the lab in Chicago. He knew her well enough to assure the hospital staff after the crash that she had no living relatives. She had been in Orlando only a short time.

His description of her life had painted a bleak, lonely picture of her past that sometimes made Kelsey cringe when she thought of it. She'd left no friends or family behind. Not even any close co-workers.

What sort of person was she that she attracted neither friends nor any close associate? Had her life always been that way? Hadn't there ever been anyone who cared if she lived or died?

According to her driver's license, she was nearly thirty-two years old. It seemed like a very long time to be alone and it didn't feel right. Like the glasses. The loneliness just didn't fit her.

Yet, she couldn't deny it. When the hospital had put out her name and face to cities across the country, no one had reported her missing. No one had called, wondering what had happened to her. Only the key ring Dr. Abrahms had given her, with the name and address of Barton's Institute, had brought him to her.

Still, she wasn't satisfied with those answers to her questions. The questions themselves were frustrating circles. Her mind moved around them, constantly supplying possibilities and conclusions like they were part of an experiment in her lab.

She couldn't actually remember the crash that had nearly killed her but it haunted her like a bad dream.

Like the stalker.

Suppose, she theorized, that the stalker was a part of her past life. A past she couldn't remember. It would have to be someone with a grudge against her, her brain categorized. He wasn't lurking out there waiting to congratulate her on her recent discoveries!

Kelsey wanted answers. There were none in her hopelessly blank brain. It felt like the harder she tried, the more elusive they became, twisting away from her grasp.

The green truck behind her tapped his horn and she realized that the light had changed. She snapped out of her musing and put the little car into gear, moving into traffic.

The doctors had cautioned her against pushing too hard. It would come by itself. Time, patience, healing. Three commodities that Kelsey had in short supply.

In fact, she wasn't sure that her life didn't depend on that information. Something locked in her mind might hold the key to the stalker's identity. Every night that he waited for her might be one less that she had to find the answer. Each night could be the one he chose to make his final move.

And all she could do was stand by helplessly and tear through her mind, frantically looking for the clues to her past. But the fog was so thick.

Like another time, she recalled, when the fog had been so thick, that she couldn't see. There had been a smell. Like fruit, sweet and ripe. It had enveloped her and she was smiling, laughing. Calling someone's name.

"Dr. Lloyd?" the young guard at the main gate called her back. He had walked down to her car when she hadn't pulled up behind the red truck that was already through the gates.

"Oh God," she groaned when she realized that the brief flash of clarity was gone, leaving her nothing in its wake.

"Are you all right, Dr. Lloyd?" the concerned young man asked again. He took in her pale face and overly bright eyes and glanced uneasily around himself. He couldn't leave the gate unattended.

"I'm fine," she mumbled, putting the car back into gear. She returned his brief, nervous smile. "I'm fine, Ellis. Thanks."

"Yes, ma'am." He waved her through, wondering if he should alert security. He liked Dr. Lloyd and didn't like the idea of anything happening to her. Returning to his station, he made a mental note to check on her when the shift changed.

He'd wanted to ask her out a few times but hadn't found the words as yet. She was a little older than him, it was true. But mostly, it was that something about her. An aura of strangeness, sadness maybe, that set her apart.

Kelsey mentally gave herself a shake. What was she doing? There were safer times to wonder about herself than in traffic. She was becoming careless. Too caught up in her problems to be much good to anyone.

She wasn't surprised to see other late morning stragglers coming through the security checkpoint entering the Barton parking area. There were very few early morning risers in the group of fifty researchers. Several worked late at night, leaving as the others came in for the day. Most came in as she did, around ten, and left at odd hours of the day.

Barton was loosely run but untouchable in the material it had gathered in research technology. Scientists from all over the globe had worked there at one time or another, pooling their resources to work on the world's problems.

That Kelsey had been asked to work there by the current director, Martin Abrahms, was an honor. Her work in micro-botany had been accumulated through a lifetime, spanning her earliest work in college through the work she was doing with Barton.

It was the 'super plant' that had finally gained her recognition. Looking pretty much like an ordinary fern, the plant was being engineered to filter out pollutants. Not just carbon dioxide, as other plants, but harmful chemicals that were destroying the ozone layer. The super plant had possibilities for being an underwater variety as well and grew five times faster than most plants.

With Barton's backing, Kelsey was making remarkable progress, despite her time off after the crash. The institute had flown all of her papers, her entire lab, up from Orlando to their own research facilities.

All she had to do was make it work out.

She parked her car in the back of the lot. A few of her colleagues waved from their cars. Kelsey pretended not to see.

They'd invited her out for drinks and lunch. Once to a party. They'd tried to be friendly but she wasn't ready for it. She couldn't be part of a new life, she reasoned, opening her door to the lab, until she'd put the old one to rest.

The heavy door swung closed behind her and clicked into place, locking automatically.

"Lights," she called, putting down her purse, taking off her coat, switching on her computer.

The lights, installed in the side-walls to accommodate the special glass ceiling she'd requested, came on around her. The sunshine was bright but weak from overhead and she switched on the special growth enhancing light cycle.

The computer came up with the day's date and a notice from Dr. Abrahm's computer that he wanted to have a word with her when she was free. She frowned and punched in her work schedule. If she wanted to be free any time that day, she would have to get on with it. There were seventeen tests to be run and another twenty-six to be checked that were long-term projects. Kelsey picked up her notebook and set the computer to analyze and print the results from the day before.

Usually she could lose herself walking through the forest of ferns. Hanging from the ceiling, growing from the floor, some as tall as she was herself, Kelsey found a certain solace in their company.

They didn't ask questions. They only asked to be kept alive. She didn't have to pretend that everything was fine with them. Usually, their vitality and quiet was a comfort. That day, all she could think about was the blankness in her life.

Like a black hole devouring whatever was left, it fed on her dreams and aspirations. A plant adapted finally after several hundred tries but her triumph was blighted by the emptiness she struggled with each day.

Sometimes, in the past few months, she had been tempted to just let it overcome her. To sink back into the oblivion it promised.

"Kelsey?"

The voice made her jump, although the word was spoken quietly enough.

"Dr. Abrahms!" She glanced at her watch, stunned to find that it was nearly six P.M.. "I'm sorry. I got -- "

" -- caught up in your work?" He nodded, looking around himself at the plants. "I thought as much. Caught up in some bad dreams, too, the way your face looked just then."

"A few." She smiled and pushed her hair away from her face only to remember an instant later and bring it back across her cheek.

"Worried about the past, no doubt?" he speculated kindly. His quick, assessing eyes didn't miss the telling gesture.

"I don't have a past to worry about," she answered, her voice catching on the words a little as she held her clipboard closer to her.

"I have some good news for you on that front." He smiled and put his arm around her shoulder. "Come and have dinner with me. I know you won't eat unless you do." She started to protest and he waved her words away. "I won't take 'no' for an answer and you'll want to hear what I have to say."

Kelsey looked into his thin, sallow face. It was a tired face. Lined with years of disappointments and the tragedy of his young wife's death. His eyes were a brown tinged with gray that reflected the sadness in his soul.

To her, he had been kindness itself for the past two months. He had seen to her every need in the hospital, had found her the right place to stay. He had been there on more than one occasion when she had dissolved into tears of futility and regret. He had kept her living when she'd wanted to die.

"All right." She owed him much more than she could ever repay. She put down her clipboard with the day's progress on it and found that she could move her mouth into at least the semblance of a smile.

"Good." He patted her shoulder. "Come down when you're finished. The food's come in, so hurry."

"I'll be there in five minutes," she promised him.

"I'll be waiting," he responded patiently.

Over Chinese food in cardboard boxes, they talked about the day's results on her plants, comparing data. She ate with the chopsticks that came with the dinner. He, with a fork he kept in his desk.

"The strange thing is the growth rate." She explained a disturbing pattern that she was beginning to notice. "Some of the plants, the ones that thrive on the most toxic poison, grow much faster than the control plants on oxygen."

"Why do you think that is?" he wondered.

"I'm not sure." She shrugged. "But it's like they've mutated. Their DNA is very specific and it's changing rapidly." She looked up at him when he didn't reply and found him staring at her with an expression she couldn't readily identify on his long face.

He blinked and it was gone as quickly. She wondered if she'd imagined it. But for just a brief time, it was the face she saw in the mirror each day. The face of a stranger.

Or rather the way she looked when she pondered her own image. As though he had been looking at a stranger. There was a haunting presence of fear in his eyes.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yes, of course," he answered easily. "Tell me more about the ferns' growth."

Kelsey shivered but he was already off on another tangent. It was her imagination, she told herself, as she listened to him talk about other work going on at the lab. Her mind had begun to put that face on everyone around her.

Suddenly, she couldn't find the energy to finish her dinner and set the box down on the counter between them.

"I really should be going," she told him, standing. Her voice echoed back to her from the surrounding office. She looked around herself at the many awards he'd won in his lifetime.

"My news," he protested, smiling, pulling her back down into her chair. "We've talked about everything but my news for you, Kelsey."

She waited patiently, uncomfortable with him. Uncomfortable with herself. She felt queasy, as she frequently did after eating. But it was something more than just her stomach. It was as though she had looked around herself and found that she was in the wrong place. She didn't belong there and she had to get away.

It was ridiculous, she argued with herself. She was losing ground. She was fighting the wrong person. He was the same man he had been for the past two months. The man who'd been there for her. The only reason she knew who she was at all.

"Is he still there?" he asked quietly.

She nodded mutely, miserably. Not comprehending her feelings, she wanted time to sit alone somewhere and try to sort through them. "I just need to be alone."

He sighed. "You're alone too much as it is, Kelsey. You need people in your life. You need to get out of that apartment and the lab. Let me take you somewhere, just the two of us. You'll see. It will make a world of difference."

They'd had the conversation before. It was always the same result. She didn't want to be there but she didn't want to go. She felt like she was waiting for something. Or someone. She couldn't leave until she knew.

"I found someone who might be able to help," he said when her silence became deafening. "He's the best in his field. I wouldn't have been able to get him here except for a conference next week."

"What can he do?" she felt compelled to ask although the words felt raw in her throat. She cleared it deliberately and drank a swallow of green tea.

"He can help you find your lost self," he continued. "He's done this sort of thing many times before."

"Drugs?" she guessed. She had flatly refused drug therapy, even to end her nightmares.

"Hypnosis," he corrected. "He's a hypno-therapist. The best."

She felt cold inside and wanted to run but forced herself to stay where she was, with her hand in his. It was what she wanted after all. To find those answers to her past.

"I'll wager he's in there." He glanced significantly towards her forehead. "Your stalker."

"You don't think he's real, do you?"

"What do you think?" he countered.

She shook her head. "He seems real."

"How many other things right now seem real? But we both know, they're not." He squeezed her hand lightly. "Wouldn't the police have found him by now? Wouldn't someone else have seen him? I know you want all the answers to the real questions."

"Yes." She nodded. "Yes, I do."

"Then you'll do it." He nodded comfortably, relief apparent in his attitude as he sat back. "I wasn't sure."

"Why?" The question was torn from her in pain.

"Sometimes." He shrugged. "You get used to things even when they aren't good. They are safe. You don't know what's waiting for you in that darkness."

"But I want to know," she assured him firmly. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering who I was, not knowing about the life I left behind."

"He'll be here on Thursday," he informed her abruptly. "We should know everything after that."

"I truly do want to know," she told him, sensing his withdrawal from her. She squeezed his hand. "It means everything to me. I want to move on with my life."

"Do you?" He stood up, drawing her with him, and took her in his arms. "I admit that I'm insecure sometimes about us." He kissed her lightly on the lips and smoothed back her hair from the scar on her face. His gray/brown eyes looking deeply, soulfully into her own. "I want us to be free to explore our future together. I don't think we can do that until your past is resting in peace."

"I know." She didn't know what else to say, lost for words. His eyes seemed to mesmerize her, quieting the need to escape that shouted inside her.

He lifted her chin with his other hand and kissed her again. "You want to be with me, don't you, Kelsey?"

"Of course." She replied slowly. "More than anything. You mean so much to me."

"And you mean everything to me," he assured her gently. "Soon, we'll be married and I'll be able to show you how much."

"That will be wonderful," she whispered. Her stomach rumbled and she put a hand to it self-consciously. "It must be that virus again. I'm feeling a little queasy."

"Let me walk you out to your car," he offered, starting to get his coat.

"Oh, I'll be glad to walk you both out, sir," Ellis, the security man from the morning shift, volunteered. "I just stopped by to make sure Dr. Lloyd was okay tonight."

"Was something wrong earlier?" Dr. Abrahms turned to her.

"No, nothing," she lied, feeling stifled in the office. The prospect of being outside in the freezing night air was becoming a frenzy in her. "I have to go, Martin. I-uh-I'm not feeling well at all."

"It might have been the food." He looked at her pale face and fever bright eyes. "Maybe it was too rich. Have you been taking your medication?"

"It's this 'flu bug'," she told him. "I just can't seem to shake it."

"I can walk her out, Dr. Abrahms," Ellis offered.

"Do you need a ride home, Kelsey?"

"No, really." She waved the offer away. "I'll be fine. I just need some air."

"Of course." Dr. Abrahms frowned but assented. "I just have a few phone calls to make and I'll be going as well."

"I'll be right back, Doctor," Ellis promised, zipping up his jacket.

"Good night," Kelsey said, "and thank you, Martin."

"I'll see you tomorrow about setting up the time," he told her with a glance at Ellis.

"All right," she managed before she fled down the brightly polished hall towards the main entrance. The janitor was getting out his floor cleaning machines as she ran past him.

She barely made the parking lot before her dinner came back up. She stood in the snow by the tall shadows of the bushes that rowed the front entrance, trying to breathe deeply and ease the tension in her stomach.

"Are you all right?" Ellis asked, handing her a napkin, waiting for the terrible sound of her retching to cease.

She had forgotten that he was right behind her but accepted the towel thankfully.

"I'm fine," she told him brightly. "I guess I just wasn't ready for almond vegetables."

"I'd be glad to drive you home, Dr. Lloyd," he offered. He held her jacket that she had left in the lab and she slipped her arms into the sleeves quickly.

"It's freezing out here," she sped by his question. "But it's just what I needed. I feel much better now."

"You look awful, Doctor." He coughed and lowered his head, feeling like a fool. "I mean, you're very pale."

"It's just a virus," she told him. "I might stay home tomorrow."

They walked in silence to her car and he waited while she got in and started up the cold engine.

"That might be a good idea," he counseled, watching her fasten her seatbelt across a body that he privately thought needed a few more pounds and someone to hold in the night.

"Thank you, Ellis." She felt better with the darkness on her face, the light from the buildings obscured by the car. "I really appreciate your help."

"No problem, Doctor," he replied. "I'd like to...I mean, I was wondering -- "

"Yes?" she asked quietly from the safety of her shadows.

"I just, well, have a good evening, Dr. Lloyd," he finished, stammering over the words. It just wasn't the right time. She was sick. Any fool could see that. It would be better later.

"You too, Ellis," she returned and set the little car in motion, closing the window as she drove out of the parking lot.

Snow had begun to fall lightly across the darkened city scape. The roads were clear, though, and salted heavily so that traffic was no more hazardous than usual. The windshield wipers slapped noisily across the cold glass and the lights from the oncoming cars seemed too bright.

Dread began to settle in heavily, weighing her limbs, making her drive around the block where she lived three times before finally stopping in front of her apartment building. She had been in such a hurry to leave Dr. Abrahms and the lab only to come home to her nightmare.

Kelsey waited in the car with the engine running, watching the snowflakes fall and dissolve on the windshield. Counting them to keep her mind occupied.

There were still lights on in the foyer of her building. A couple, arms linked around each other, laughing with their heads tucked down close together, spilled out on the sidewalk. A woman with a little girl in a pretty red coat thanked the doorman with a smile as he held the door for her. A taxi stopped outside the door and a man in a dark suit darted out into the street.

Maybe if she waited, she considered, until that door opened again. She could make a run for it. The stalker wouldn't dare try to harm her if she was in a crowd of people. It was too obvious. He liked things quiet and secret.

She shut off the engine and the car began to get cold.

There were still a lot of people out on the street, cars whizzing by despite the snow becoming heavier as the night darkened. The deli on the corner was still packed with people and the coffee shop beside it had a good crowd. There was a man between them collecting spare change as the people hurried by on the sidewalk.

Like a caged animal, she waited, eyes trained on that door, waiting for the beginning movement of its opening. Her hand flexed on the door handle. Her muscles bunched for the run through the street.

Finally, she could see the doorman's bottle-green coat coming closer to the steam covered glass door and she started to open the door to the car.

The glass doors opened and she grasped her purse firmly in her hand, waiting until she saw the doorman's round, smiling face. He opened the door and held it for the couple that started out, seeing a slight figure run from across the street. He held the door as a car honked its horn and the traffic serged around the woman.

"Good evening, Dr. Lloyd." The doorman smiled at her.

She returned the doorman's greeting, smiled up at him, then stopped, puzzled by the look on his friendly face.

"Excuse me, Doctor?" He glanced at the few other people standing there in the foyer. They looked at Kelsey then whispered among themselves.

What had she said? It had sounded like 'hello' to her.

"My grandmother spoke Yiddish when I was a child." An older man stepped forward and smiled up at her. He said something to her. Something she didn't understand. He waited for a reply.

"I'm sorry." She shrugged. "I-I-uh- don't speak Yiddish."

"Must be one of those new age things." John, the doorman chuckled and shook his head.

"Yes." She frowned, just wanting to get away. He thought she was crazy anyway.

What had she said? It had sounded like gibberish as she thought about it. But she had been so confident of her words before she spoke. She was certain that she was returning his greeting.

The old man stepped back into the circle of his friends and they all looked at her as though she had grown another head.

"Well." She smiled in a way that she hoped showed her bravado. "Good night then." She turned and fled into the elevator.

Was she losing her mind? she wondered, clutching her purse to her chest, watching the numbers change as the elevator moved slowly upward. Was it too late for the help Martin Abrahms was offering her?

The heavy smell of disinfectant and cigarette smoke in the elevator made her feel sick again. Maybe it was a virus, as she had suggested to Ellis. She felt light-headed, nauseous. Her brain didn't want to function. But if it was a virus, she'd had it almost since she'd left the hospital. She was fine, as long as she didn't eat. Martin had given her some medication to help but it didn't work.

What was that she had said to John at the door? It had sounded correct, even as she thought about it. When she tried to recall the exact words, they fled from her mind.

Maybe the old man was right. Maybe she did know Yiddish or some other language that sounded similar. Would she be able to remember if it were true? Wouldn't it make sense, as the doctors had suggested, that her memory would return in bits and pieces?

Those people at the door meant nothing to her, she reminded herself. The important thing was that she had made it into the building safely. One more night. Maybe the morning would bring some crucial speck of knowledge that would save her from torment.

The elevator announced that it had reached her floor. Her apartment was the third down the hall.

She was safe here, she told herself, making her feet leave the elevator. Everyone was screened going in and out. The hallway was clean, well-lit. She could hear the sound of someone talking at the far end of the adjoining hall. She didn't know her neighbors, avoiding them as she avoided her colleagues at the lab.

Keys in hand, she approached her door. Her heart was beating violently despite her own attempts to reassure herself. Until she was inside and the door was locked behind her, she didn't feel safe. Even then, she felt hunted, always afraid. Scared to look out of the windows. Afraid to answer the phone.

The keys jingled in her hand as she unlocked the door. The sounds of the conversation down the hall started to break away. The elevator doors swished closed as it started its return trip to the foyer.

She was so nervous she could scarcely open the door. She heard the stairwell door open, its peculiar squeaking noise as loud as a gong in her ears.

But she was inside. Her purse dropped to the floor at her feet and she jerked the keys from the lock. She pushed the door closed, ready to set the alarm system when it was shut and locked.

The door stopped, halfway closed. Not understanding what was wrong, she opened it briefly to check the handle.

A man was standing in the hall. She knew him at once. He always wore the same long coat. His dark eyes pierced her soul.

He had come for her. The long days and nights of waiting were over.

Chapter Two

"Leave me alone!"she hissed at him, turning to go into her apartment.

"Sara!" He called out, catching her arm as she turned away from him.

A wail of pain and anger started low in her throat, ending in "No!" as she fought the man and the door wildly, pushing and hitting at them both.

She could avoid her fate, she thought dizzily. She wouldn't give up so easily.

He was bigger than she'd imagined, like an immovable mountain standing against her closing the door. His strong hand held back her puny efforts against him like she might throw off a fly.

He said something to her. It was clearly a question. There was the lift of the dark brow, an intense querying look to his face as he stared into hers.

"I don't understand you!" She shook her head. Could she reason with him? Could she make him understand? Kelsey stared up at him. Her hand was caught in the steel grip of his own, her hair all down in her face. She couldn't breathe, couldn't move. "You have the wrong person."

"I don't think so," he surprised her by replying.

"I don't know what you want from me." She surprised herself by keeping her voice calm while she inched the pepper spray from her pocket. She had panicked at first but she was recovering.

"I just want to talk," he answered with a quick glance over his shoulder at the empty hallway. "In your apartment."

"All right," she said quietly as though she was giving in to his demands.

She had her hand on the pepper spray, shielding her efforts with her body. When she felt his hold relax, she brought it up quickly, emptying the can in his face.

He bellowed and let go of her. She was gone in a flash, pushing frantically at the elevator buttons but the old car was slow and he was already recovering from the attack. She didn't wait to see what he would do if he caught her.

Running into the stairwell, she used her shoe to break the light at the top of the stairs. If she could make it to the lobby. She could call the police, she considered, frantically running and sliding down the stairs. If she could just make it to the lobby.

She heard him come after her. It was black in the stairwell, no tribute to the building's fire readiness. But she could see where she was going and that was all that mattered. If it made it impossible for him, it gave her a few extra precious moments to escape.

She slid down the final few steps to the next floor down and grabbed at the door handle. Before she could open the heavy door, he was on her. His black coat spread over her, choking her, suffocating her, as he grabbed her. She could hear the beat of his heart and the quick indrawn breath as she stepped down hard on his foot.

"I won't leave without you," he said to her in an angry hiss. "You have to trust me."

"Why?" She demanded. "Why would I trust you? I don't even know you! And you've been following me. I've seen you!"

"I can help you," he tried to explain. "You don't remember what happened to you. You don't know who you are. I can help you!"

"You don't know me." She fought him until there was no strength left in her body. Her arms ached and refused to move, muscles strained and useless. He held here tightly against him and there was nothing she could do. "Anything you could know about me, you got from the newspapers. I was in a plane crash. They printed my picture and my story. Is that why you decided to come after me?"

He grew still, as though considering her words. She didn't understand why he wanted to play this game with her. Why didn't he just kill her and get it over with?

"I know that you get sick every time you eat," he replied quietly. "It doesn't matter what it is. And no medication they give you can help."

How could he know that? She wondered. No newspaper had printed that information. The only ones who knew that were Martin and herself. She hadn't even told the people at the hospital for fear they'd want to do more tests.

Her stomach groaned loudly, as though to confirm his suspicion.

"You're sick now, aren't you?" he demanded. "I can help."

Her stomach cramped painfully. "Are you a doctor?"

"No. I know you."

His hold on her didn't loosen, even a fraction, and she wondered, irritated, what it took to wear him out! She had dissolved into a pile of jelly long before the battle was over between them.

"If I can help, will you trust me?"

"If you can't, it will be too late," she retorted.

He bent his head close to her ear. "It's too late now. If I meant to hurt you, I could have done it already."

His breath grazed her ear and made her shiver. There was menace in his voice but it was deliberate. He had made his point. Common sense whispered that if she was going to get away from him, it would have to be at another time and place. If nothing else, going back to her apartment would give her a chance to regroup and regain her strength.

"All right," she agreed finally, seeing little else she could do in the circumstances. "I'll go with you."

The apartment door was standing open. The stalker had released her but he had walked closely behind her, up the stairs and through the hallway. For once, there was no one coming or going. No one she could call out to for help. She was going to have to deal with the man alone.

When they were in the apartment, he closed the door behind them. It shut with a ring of finality that made her cringe. She didn't trust him but she refused to fear him, despite her long, desperate nights. She stood, staring at him, while he looked around her apartment.

"So, this is where you live," he said with a nod of his head.

"You knew," she reminded him. "You've watched me."

"And apparently, you've watched me," he responded. "But how much do you know about me?"

She chose to ignore his remark. "You said you could help?"

He took a small package out of his pocket then removed his coat. "May I?" he asked before putting his coat down on a chair.

"Go ahead," she answered, unconsciously folding her arms protectively across her chest.

"How do you feel now?" he asked, looking closely at her pale face.

"My stomach is cramping and I'm a little dizzy. Is that stuff going to help me?" she questioned, glancing at the package he held.

"Yes," he replied confidently. "I need water to mix with it."

"Water?"

"It's a tea. An herb tea."

"What is it?"

He shrugged. "I know it will help."

"Because you know me?" she asked insolently.

"That's right," he answered flatly. "You'll have to trust me."

She tightened her resolve to bide her time. "The kitchen's over there. Water and a microwave to heat it."

He followed her nod towards the kitchen. She didn't accompany him. She waited until he was in the kitchen, with the light on and the water running. Did he really trust her to say there and not run from him?

"I'd find you," he guaranteed her, putting his head around the door.

"What?"

"You're thinking about running again," he supplied patiently. "I'd find you again. Make no mistake about it."

She stared into his black eyes. "All this so you can make me well again?"

"All this to make you well again," he confirmed with a nod of his head. "It's the only reason I'm here."

She followed him into the kitchen. Not because she was afraid, curiously, but because she couldn't believe his sincerity. "Do you read minds, too?"

He smiled slightly at the hard edge of sarcasm in her voice. "Only yours."

"Because you know me so well?"

"That's right." He pulled the steaming cup from the microwave. The tea he'd made was dark and smelled of dirt and rotten eggs. "Drink this."

"Aren't you going to strain the leaves?" she asked, hoping something would take away the stench.

"No, you need it as it is. It isn't pleasant but you will feel better."

She looked at the tea again then up into his eyes. "Is this some weird game you're playing with me? You could've strangled me but you wanted to poison me?"

He shrugged but didn't look away from her nervous gaze. "We both know that I could have killed you at any time in the last two weeks. If that was what I wanted. I didn't come here to hurt you. I came to take you home."

It was the way he said it that convinced her. Home. As though she had a home where she could go and there were people who cared about her and a life worth living outside of the laboratory. Home. She wanted to go home more than she wanted anything. That was something Martin didn't understand. She wasn't sure she wanted to remember the life he'd painted for her. She wanted so much more.

She took the tea from him because he offered her a home casually, as though he could truly see into her soul and knew what she wanted and needed. It was as foul tasting as it smelled but she drained the cup. Then she handed it back to him.

"Is that it?" she wondered. Her mouth tasted like it had earthworms in it.

"That should be it," he told her. "You might feel strange to begin with. It's been a while."

Kelsey felt the tea go immediately to her head like hundred proof vodka. One minute, she was looking at the stranger who'd entered her life and the next, she was lying on the floor and he was lifting her in his arms.

"You'll be all right," he reassured her, although his voice sounded less than confident.

She heard him from the far end of a long tunnel. She tried to form words but she started to shake and a black curtain slipped down over her.

Kelsey fought her way back to consciousness but always at the edge she found herself back at the crash. She could smell the acrid smoke and knew that there was a fire in the plane. She needed to go for help but the pain in her head and leg was horrible. She looked down and her clothes were drenched in blood. She had to keep going, had to bring someone back to help. But the plane. What would she do about the plane?

The plane? She sat up quickly and looked at her clothes. They were the same white sweater and blue jeans she had worn to work that morning. Her jacket was gone, laying on the floor beside her. Her wet boots were still on her feet and on her sofa.

There was no blood, no smoking plane. But once again, she was surprised to find that she was still alive. What happened? She remembered drinking the tea. She remembered him picking her up. Then nothing.

She looked around for him, seeing his black coat across one of the chairs near the door. The light was on in the kitchen, the front door was closed and locked. A small lamp was turned on beside her but otherwise the rest of the apartment was in darkness.

He was in the kitchen making more of that poison. Kelsey stood up slowly and looked for a weapon. He had lied to her. Whatever his sadistic game, she was going to beat him at it.

Her legs were shaky and her stomach threatened to retch with every step she took. All she wanted to do was lie down and sleep but every part of her sang out that she was in danger. He hadn't killed her at once but that must be part of a bigger plan. She should have known he hadn't stalked her only to help her. What had she been thinking?

The gun that she had never loaded was in the bedroom. If she could make it in there. She was lightheaded and disoriented. She couldn't stand up straight without doubling over in pain. She finally got down on her hands and knees. Carefully, she crept from the living room into the shadows that separated her from her bedroom.

She swallowed hard on the dizziness and nausea that made each movement precarious, trying to remember where she'd put the gun. It was her only defense against the man. A million thoughts raced through her scrambled brain as she tried to understand why he'd want to hurt her. She couldn't hold on to any of them long enough to make any sense of it.

"You must be feeling better."

He switched on the overhead light as she reached the bedroom and she winced, feeling it slam into her with the force of a sledgehammer.

Her stomach heaved and she retched up what little she had in it. Almost too ill to care that he was going to kill her, she let him guide her into the bathroom, switching on the nightlight.

"What do you want?" she gasped when she was able, taking the wet towel from his hand with a desperate anger.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he replied carefully.

"You told me that before," she reminded him. "You said I should trust you because you could help."

"I can help," he repeated. "You'll feel better. Then we can talk."

There was little she could do. He helped her walk from the bathroom to the bedroom where a fit of chills overtook her.

"You're burning up," he said, putting a hand to her forehead.

"Are you surprised? Didn't you know what that -- that poison would do?" She demanded through clenched teeth that she was trying to keep from chattering.

In the darkness, she felt his hands as he helped her out of her clothes and into a heavy nightgown. She protested briefly as she felt him open the waistband of her jeans but the effort was too much. If he was going to rape her, he would have to do it while she was throwing up.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he soothed in a low voice. "Stay here." He pulled the heavy comforter up on her. "I have more tea ready."

"No more, please!" She begged, not imagining that she could ever sound that way. "What do you want from me?"

He smoothed her hair back from her face. "I know it's bad right now," he reassured her. "But your system is so out of balance. It'll take time. You have to trust me."

Kelsey recalled him waking her a few times that night for sips of the strong tea. Mostly the night was a haze of pain and sickness, visions of other places and people. Gentle hands held her head up when it was time for the tea and a careful touch guided her to and from the bathroom.

Soothing words that had no real meaning were whispered in her ear. Once she thought she heard a soft voice singing something in another language. A lullaby, she thought, although she couldn't be sure. She was strangely comforted.

But then she opened her eyes and it was morning. She was weak but she wasn't sick any longer. Her head felt clear and she was actually hungry. And she remembered with a stab of irony who had helped her through the long night. And who had put her through it.

The gun was on the table next to the bed. The bullets were in the drawer. Kelsey hadn't loaded it even though she knew her life was in danger because the idea of hurting another being was totally foreign to her. It didn't feel so foreign anymore.

He was still there in the apartment with her. She could hear him in the kitchen and she knew that it didn't matter that he had been there for her. He wanted something from her.

He had tortured her for two weeks. She couldn't believe that he didn't mean her any harm, as he had whispered so often during the night.

She heard his footsteps coming towards the bedroom and she quickly made her decision.

"I made you a few eggs," he addressed her, coming cheerfully into the bedroom with the food on a plate. "I thought you'd be -- " he glanced up and saw the gun in her hand -- "hungry."

"Just turn around and walk back out," she instructed, pointing at the door with the gun. She reached for the phone to call the police. For once there was proof.

"Can I put the plate down?" he asked, dark eyes sweeping across her briefly, seeing the fear and the resolution to do whatever was necessary.

"Over there." She gestured with the gun towards the shelf near the door. She followed him with the weapon, marking his movements.

He didn't move quickly, taking his steps carefully. Obviously aware of the gun pointed at his back. He set the plate down on the table then turned slowly back to face her.

"I need to explain," he said, holding her gaze evenly.

"There's nothing to explain." She shook her head, pressing the re-dial that had been set for 911.

His eyes dropped to watch her gesture. There wasn't much time.

"My name is Daniel West. My wife, Sara, was on the plane with you when you flew up from Orlando. I've come to find her."

"Liar!" She all but screamed at him. "I was alone on that plane."

"You were alone when they found you," he corrected. "But Sara left with you to help you get set up here. I was supposed to pick her up in two weeks."

"You must be crazy." She held the gun steadily on him. "I was alone."

"Did she decide to leave me?" he asked, eyes dark with anguish. "Is that what this is all about? Where is she? Just let me talk to her."

Kelsey wavered briefly, losing eye contact with him when his grief seemed too real to her and her own memory of what had happened, too indistinct.

He was on her in that scant lapse of certainty. He wrested the gun from her hand with very little effort, holding her thrashing body on the bed with his own.

"Look." His voice cracked, showing that there was some effort involved in keeping her there. "I know I should have come to you sooner. I know I scared you. But if I wanted to hurt you, wouldn't I have done it last night?"

"Why are you here?" she demanded breathlessly, finally giving in to his much larger form.

Face to face, he looked into her eyes with so much intensity that there was no doubting his sincerity. "I've come for my wife," he told her. "And I'm not leaving until I know what's happened to her."

Kelsey stared back, her own eyes wide in her pale face. His eyes were so dark that they looked as though they didn't have a pupil.

"I can't help you," she whispered finally, defeated. She turned her face away from his.

"Can't?" he prodded. "Or won't?"

"Can't. I can't help you. I don't know anyone named Sara. I don't know where your wife is."

"But you must. She came up with you, didn't she? Didn't she tell you where she was going?"

She looked back at him, grief and pain clearly etched in the depth of her own gaze. "I don't know. I can't remember."

"What?" He stood up in a violent movement, pushing away from her. "Is that what the two of you agreed to say?"

"I still don't remember anything about the crash." She shook her head slowly, letting her hair slide down into her face. "I don't remember anything at all except waking up in the hospital. If your wife was on the plane with me," she looked up at him, tall and angry, beside her bed, "I don't remember it."

His face seemed a little less angry when he sat down on the side of the bed. "You lost your memory? Isn't there something that can be done?"

"I've done everything," she confided, not adding the hypnotherapy that she was going to try Thursday. "It's not that I don't want to remember."

"I'm sorry." He looked away from her. "I didn't know. I didn't know what to think. I waited for the first three weeks when I didn't hear from Sara. Then I came up here and I read about the plane crash. "

Kelsey shuddered. "She could be -- "

"Wasn't she in the plane when they found you?" he wondered, a dark fear growing in his face.

"They didn't find the plane. I had wandered away from the crash site," she responded bitterly.

"So no one knows?"

Kelsey shook her head in silent misery.

"Oh God!" He whispered. "Sara."

The doorbell rang and they both jumped, looking at each other.

"The police," Kelsey confirmed. They had come, for once.

He looked at her, his dark eyes bleak. "I'll go."

"No, wait." She put her hand on his arm then pulled it back as though it had been burned. She didn't know him; it was true. He could be lying. He could have just read about the crash in the paper and decided to torment her. Maybe he still meant to harm her.

But his story, his manner was believable and there was no way for him to know that she had amnesia and couldn't call him a liar outright. If it was a con, it was a damn good one. She couldn't imagine why he would bother except that there were sick people in the world.

Guilt, and something more, made her grab her green robe and walk slowly to the front door, cautioning him to stay in the bedroom. Something selfish that greedily clung to anything about her past, even if it was painful, made her tell the two police officers that it had been a false alarm. She might not actually know Daniel but he might hold a small piece of her empty past in his hands.

And she might owe him something. Some explanation about Sara. If she had been with Kelsey, then it was possible she was dead. The only way to know was to remember where the plane went down. If Sara had somehow escaped that fate, when Kelsey's memory returned, she would know that as well. Along with any knowledge she might have about Daniel. It wasn't too far fetched that Sara had meant to leave Daniel and had trusted Kelsey with the secret of her whereabouts.

But for the meantime, Kelsey decided, shutting the front door. She was going to trust the man who walked out of her bedroom. The police officers had muttered something about filing charges if she kept calling in false alarms. She could only hope this would be her last. Her stalker wasn't in the street anymore. He was there with her. She hoped her instincts were better than her memory.

Instinctively she trusted Daniel. She liked something about his eyes and manner that made her feel comfortable. She hoped she would be able to feel the same when she regained her memory.

"They're gone," she told him, leaning against the door. Her knees were shaking despite the fact that she felt better. She took a step forward and would have collapsed but he was there to catch her, picking her up in his arms as though she weighed less than the light flannel robe she wore.

"You were very ill last night," he reprimanded. "You probably shouldn't be on your feet today."

"But my work," she protested, despite the fact that her head was still spinning and she felt like Jello in his grasp.

"Your work will wait," he said firmly. "You have to take care of yourself, not push so hard like you always do."

"What?" She clutched his shoulder with a grip that made him wince. "What did you say?"

He put her down on the bed. "Sara told me about how hard you work. Not resting, not eating. She was concerned about you. She wanted you to take a vacation before you set up in the new lab."

"Really?"

"Really," he answered, picking up the plate of cold eggs. "I'm going to get you some tea and toast."

Kelsey couldn't help it. A sob broke through her defenses before she could stop it, followed by another. In only a moment, she had dissolved into a wet rag beneath her nightgown and robe, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed.

"I'm sorry." He sat down beside her. "Was it something that I said?"

"Yes," she cried, tears streaming down her face. "Thank you."

"Thank you? Thank you for making you cry?" he asked, puzzled.

"They told me." She gulped air to speak. "They told me there was no one. No one that c-cared. No family. No friends."

He put the plate on the bedside table and wordlessly, wrapped his arms around her.

"Ah -- and I was wondering," she sobbed brokenly, "how I had lived that way for so long. It seemed like there should be someone. Ah -- and maybe there was. Sara."

He muttered something inarticulate against her hair and rocked her gently, holding her tightly to him. He held her until she cried herself out and she was trying to catch her breath. Until she lay silent in his arms, her head against his chest.

"I'm sorry I can't remember her," she murmured. "I hope she's all right."

"Wherever she is," he told her in a hesitant voice, "she would want me to be here for you. She cared about you, Kelsey."

There were so many questions but Daniel refused to answer any until she had managed to swallow another cup of the strong tea and a half slice of toast.

"What is that stuff?" She frowned, finishing the tea.

"An herbal blend," he answered, taking the empty mug.

"Of?"

"It's something you concocted, Sara said. You've always had a problem with indigestion. I brought some with me, in case you needed it."

"Oh." She accepted the information and his care without much questioning. When she was better, not so weak, she would want to know more but for then, she fell asleep, feeling him settle the comforter around her as she slipped into unconsciousness.

Daniel watched her for a moment. Her face was stained with tears and she sighed softly before turning into the pillow.

He sighed himself before he left her there sleeping and crept into the living room to use the phone.

When she woke up again, she knew the apartment was empty. He was gone.

It was only a feeling until she got up and walked carefully around the four small rooms. The few dishes were washed and neatly stacked on the kitchen counter. The teakettle was in its place on the stove.

She tried not to feel let down, a little more lonely than usual. After all, he probably had places to go. He might be making inquiries about Sara.

Sara.

Kelsey wished the name brought some memory, however vague, with it. That someone had cared about her and she couldn't remember what she looked like nearly broke her. She realized that she might have seen her die.

The thoughts were too much to bear. She was still too weak, too confused.

Kelsey sat down, took a deep breath. She picked up the phone and dialed the lab, asking for Dr. Abrahms after the receptionist answered.

"Kelsey! We missed you," he told her quickly.

"I've been ill. I don't know. A virus or something," she explained. "I'm going to stay home for the weekend and try to get over it."

"I'll come by later," he offered.

Kelsey smiled. "Thanks. Maybe tomorrow, though. I'm just going to go back to sleep."

"Are you sure you'll be okay?"

The key scraped in the front door lock and Daniel walked in carrying a few plastic bags of supplies. Kelsey thought about telling Martin Abrahms before she hung up. But she needed to know more before she shared it with him.

"Kelsey? Are you sure you're all right?" he asked again.

"I'm fine." She watched Daniel lock the door back.

"Get well," Abrahms commanded. "You need to be at your best for Thursday."

"I know." She considered that she might have more reason then they'd thought to try hypnosis. "I'll call you tomorrow."

"I'll bring some chicken soup over," he promised with a laugh. "That will cure you or kill you."

Kelsey put down the phone and looked at her stalker. It was like some weird dream to have him standing there in her living room. He still wore the black coat and knee high black boots that she'd described so often for the police.

"Is something wrong?" he wondered as she continued to stare at him.

The devil of her nightmares. The vision that had reduced her to tears and thoughts of madness.

Actually, his eyes, so black and depth less, were also kind and concerned. There was a shade of sadness that left a ghost of pain in his gaze.

"Kelsey?"

"I'm sorry." She brought herself back to reality. "I was just thinking that it would have saved me a lot of trouble if you had just introduced yourself."

"I'm sorry." He shook his head, putting down the bags he'd held. "I didn't know what to do, what was going on. But I'll understand if you want me to go."

She watched the play of emotion on his strong features. He was an attractive man but she wouldn't allow herself to be swayed by that notion. Then there was something more. A vague memory flash. Not Daniel, but a building, low and gray, set deep in the woods near a mountain. And there were boxes. Crates of some sort. They were being stacked in the building.

"Kelsey?" he called quietly. "What are you seeing?"

But the memory was gone as quickly as it had come. She put her head in her hands and groaned. "It's gone."

"But what was it?" he asked, coming closer to her. "Maybe if you wrote those things down, they'd start making sense when you put them together."

It was one of the most sensible solutions she'd heard and she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it herself.

"There's a notebook in the bedroom," she said, starting to get up.

"Let me," he offered, crossing the small floor space in a few strides.

He was a tall man, as she'd thought. Large, powerful shoulders, long legs. He made the rooms appear very small in comparison.

He handed her the notebook that had been on the bedside table, emergency numbers scribbled on the cover, and a pencil with a dull point.

"I meant what I said before," he continued as she took the pencil and started to scribble down her errant thoughts. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable with me being here."

Kelsey looked up at him. He had taken the chair opposite and leaned forward towards her. His face mirrored the emotion behind his words.

She couldn't help but notice that his hands were unusually large. Long, eloquent fingers splayed out before him as he spoke. It would have been so easy to have killed her with those hands and the strength of that body. But instead, he had gone out for groceries and come back, offering to leave when she wanted him to go.

Did she trust him? She didn't know. But she did want to hear whatever he could tell her about Sara and her past. She was like a dry sponge waiting to absorb whatever liquid knowledge he could give her.

She wasn't afraid of him. After the night before, fear would have been ridiculous.

"I want you to stay," she said at last. "I'd like to hear about Sara."

His smile was gaunt and tinged with a razor fine edge between pain and an attempt at pleasantry. "I'd like to help. Whatever I can do to make it easier."

"Just being here instead of in the street helps more than you know." She smiled.

"I'm so sorry, Kelsey," he apologized again, taking her hand briefly. "I didn't think about scaring you. I was just so worried."

"Okay." She swallowed on a group of weak tears that threatened to overwhelm her. "Let's start again."

He made her tea again while she wrote what she could remember. The tiny specks of information that made up what was left of her life seemed pathetic. Her memories barely filled two pages in the notebook.

"What did you say this was?" She grimaced, putting the cup down.

"It's an herbal mixture." He shrugged. "I don't really know. Sara told me about the digestive problem you have."

She looked at the dregs in the cup. "I'll have to analyze it. There might be some notation of it in my diary."

"Does it matter if it works?" he questioned then turned to her notebook. "Is that all you have?"

"It's not much." She considered the two pages of her life.

"It's a start," he observed, offering her a few wheat crackers.

She shook her head, not feeling hungry. The tea was working, whatever it was. Breakfast had been one of the biggest meals she'd eaten in two months and she hadn't been sick at all. "Tell me about Sara."

Chapter Three

He sat down opposite her again. "Where do you want me to start?"

"From the beginning. Everything. How did you meet? How long have you been married?"

"All right." He nodded. The concept of talking about his wife was obviously painful. "We met five years ago. She was working. I was delivering supplies to the lab one night." He stopped and smiled up at her. "I delivered the wrong chemicals to her. She told me she wouldn't accept the shipment."

The image she'd had of the gray building in the forest and the crates stacked high caused her to shudder. Was she just recalling something Sara had already told her?

"What then?" She encouraged.

"It was something about watching her standing there, refusing to sign for the shipment. I went back the next day and asked her to have dinner with me."

"And she felt the same way about you?" Kelsey wondered.

"She must have," he responded. "We started seeing each other and we were married three weeks later."

"Three weeks?! You didn't waste any time!"

He leveled his dark gaze to hers. "There was never a doubt in my mind that she was the right person for me. I've always loved her."

Kelsey couldn't hold his eyes. She stared down at her hands. "You're very lucky."

"I know."

"Do you have a picture of her?" she asked.

He nodded and pulled out his wallet. It was new, barely creased, and there was only one picture in it.

Kelsey noticed that he had no money in the side slit, no credit cards. She considered that it was , but then thought about his circumstances. He had been looking for Sara for two months. That could take a lot of financial resources. She made a mental note to give him the money he'd spent on the supplies he'd bought.

She took the picture from him. It was black and white, not very good. The kind that came from a picture booth in the mall. The woman had long, dark hair and a smooth, oval face. Kelsey touched her own short hair. It was impossible not to notice how much she looked like that woman.

"She's very beautiful, isn't she?" He asked, staring intently at her.

"She's looks a lot like me." Kelsey looked up at him.

He continued to stare at her closely for another long moment then he looked away with a grimace of disappointment. "I-uh-I think that's what first brought the two of you together. Sara always said it was like you were sisters."

What was he looking for? She wondered. Was he hoping the picture might bring back her memory?

"Do you know how long we've been friends?" she asked, looking at the picture again.

"Since before we were married. You came to our wedding."

"So you knew me, too?"

"I only met you briefly at the wedding and a few other times." He shrugged. "Before and after work when I came for her."

"Do you know how long I've been wearing glasses?" she queried.

"Glasses?"

She returned the picture of Sara to him. "On my driver's license, my picture has me wearing glasses. It says I have to wear them to drive but when I put them on, I can't see."

"Could I see them?" he appealed.

"Sure," she agreed, starting to get up.

"I'll get it," he told her.

"No, that's all right. I do need to stand once in a while." She waved him back down.

"I'll just take these into the kitchen," he said, taking her cup while she went into the bedroom.

Actually, she felt much better. Her knees weren't wobbly. Her head had stopped spinning, and she felt like she could eat a supermarket. She got her license and the offending glasses and went back into the living room.

Daniel was on the phone, talking quietly into the receiver. He glanced up as she came back into the room and quickly laid the phone back down.

"You know, if I'm keeping you from something -- "

"No, I just had to cancel my-uh-flight back to Orlando," he answered quickly.

Kelsey nodded. "You're welcome to stay here with me. I mean, if you don't have anywhere else."

"I've been sleeping in my rental car," he admitted.

"I don't have much more room than that," she replied. "But you could stay."

He smiled at her slowly. "I'd like that, Kelsey. Thank you."

"I-I hope we can find out what happened to Sara."

"I know we can," he agreed. "Can I see that picture?"

She nodded and handed him the license then slipped on the glasses. She turned to face him. "Well, what do you think?"

Daniel stared at her, not moving. "Oh God!" He muttered.

She smiled self consciously. "I-I know they're terrible. But do you remember if I was wearing them the last time you saw me? I was thinking that maybe I had corrective surgery or something."

"Well." He looked at the license she handed him. "I-uh-think you only wore them when you drove."

"Really?" she wondered. "I can't use them at all to see in the distance. I did have a little luck reading with them but -- "

"Could I take a look at your notebook?" he asked, changing the subject.

Kelsey wasn't sure and the uncertainty was mirrored in her face. "I-uh -- "

"I thought there might be something in there I might recognize." He suggested. "Maybe later, if you're more comfortable."

"That's all right." She handed him the notebook and took back the license. "Take a look and tell me if anything seems familiar."

She took off the glasses, folded them up and put them away, nervously fingering the edge of the chair.

There was a worn place on the rug just under the tiny table near the sofa. There were a lot of small things that needed to be done around the apartment but she hated taking the time from her work.

She watched him surreptitiously as he scanned her scrawling on the blue lined paper. He was a very attractive man, she considered, dark skin, thick black hair loose on his shoulders. It had been caught up behind his neck the other times.

It probably felt like silk, she thought, rambling. She could imagine her fingers sliding through it. Pulling it away from the side of his neck before she put her lips to that smooth flesh.

She caught herself up short and stopped, horrified. What was wrong with her?

"Well." She cleared her throat nervously. "What do you think?"

"I'm not sure." He shook his head. "Have you tried anything with these?"

"Anything?"

"You know, imaging, for instance," he suggested. When she looked blank, "Here, try this. Close your eyes."

Kelsey did as he proposed. She felt uncomfortable, sitting there in her robe and nightgown, hair uncombed, her eyes closed.

"Try to clear your mind." Daniel's voice was gentle. "Just relax. Try to imagine a picture of yourself with long hair."

"I don't think -- " She opened her eyes and started to speak.

"No, just wait," he persuaded. "Try this. What can it hurt?"

"All right." She sat back again and closed her eyes.

"Now, just think about it. You wrote here that you thought you remembered having long hair. How long?"

Kelsey felt his hands on her neck just beneath where her hair hung.

"This long?" He asked, his voice very near her ear.

"N-no." Her voice cracked and she hastily cleared her throat. "No. Longer."

"Here?" He put his hands alongside her neck at the base where her hair would have been shoulder length.

"I remember a braid," she told him, putting her own hand up to the crown of her head. "Coming down from here. Braided strangely." She frowned.

"Strangely?" he queried. "How?"

"A double braid. No, that's not right. Complicated. I-I just don't know."

"You do," he encouraged. "You can see it. Tell me."

"It was crossed-uh-plaited." She put her fingers into her hair. "Each knot looked like an upside down 'A'."

"And when it wasn't braided?" he asked quietly, stilling her busy fingers as they threaded her hair.

"What?"

"When your hair wasn't braided," he repeated. "When you came home and took out those knots. When you loosened those plaits and it fell down, floated down your back." He slid his hands down her hair across her neck as though she did have that cloud of dark hair that she had seen in the mirror. She shivered as he moved his fingers. "Do you remember what it looked like then?"

Kelsey had a brief flash that made his words come to life. Long, dark hair sliding across her neck. A white, almost transparent gown pulling down on her shoulder. The warmth of someone's hands. Their lips --

Kelsey's eyes opened and she moved away from Daniel's touch.

"What did you see?" he asked, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Nothing. Nothing. Th-that doesn't work. There's nothing there," she raved. "I might as well let them hypnotize me."

"What?"

"A friend of mine," she explained, touching her neck with a quick hand to offset the warmth that still lingered. "He knows someone, a hypno-therapist. The best."

"And they want to hypnotize you?"

"To find the answers." She nodded her head. "Since we don't know what happened to Sara." She shrugged. "It's all the more reason to do it."

"But you aren't sure about doing it." It was a statement, not a question.

"I think it's time I got dressed," she told him, standing up. "I may not go in today but I've got to check in with DAR."

"Dar?" He looked at her sharply. "Is that who you were on the phone with?"

"No. That was Martin Abrahms. You've probably seen him. DAR is my computer," she replied carelessly. Then as she started to turn away, "Daniel? Should we tell the police or someone? About Sara?"

"Tell them what?"

"Well, no one else seems to know that she was with me. It must have been a last minute decision on her part."

"I contacted the police here and in Orlando," he answered. "They said they looked but they couldn't find the plane and that you were the only survivor."

"So unless Sara was leaving you and this was something we had planned -- "

"I'm afraid we have to assume she's dead," he confirmed quietly. "But until we can find the plane -- "

"I know." She breathed deeply, full of her own sorrow and their mutual loss. "I know."

"Kelsey, did you see anything more in your mind just then? Anything that might make you think it was possible to learn more?"

Her face felt hot and she stood there uncomfortably in her old robe and slippers. "No. It was just the same. I'm going to get dressed."

Kelsey took her time getting dressed. She locked her bedroom door before she got into the shower. It was a strange feeling, knowing there was someone else in the apartment with her. Almost as strange as knowing he had been out on the street.

She took her time as she dressed and considered the fascinating puzzle Daniel posed. The husband of a woman she couldn't remember. Kelsey had no trouble believing him. It was too vivid. Too real. That Sara had been on the plane with her seemed unlikely, at first. Kelsey had to admit that Daniel had made her a believer.

But if she accepted that Sara existed, other questions came to mind. Why would it have been a secret from everyone, unless Sara was trying to sneak away from someone or something? Wasn't it possible that she had pretended to leave with Kelsey? Wasn't it possible Sara was still alive but didn't want to be found?

Daniel, on the other hand, was sincere. She felt that strongly. He believed that his wife had been on that plane.

But how could Kelsey know if Sara was trying to get away from her husband?

The answer was simple. Regain her memory. Or find Sara.

The means to either one of those answers wasn't readily available. She was frustrated with bits and pieces. Exhausted with tantalizing fragments that wouldn't add up to anything.

In the meantime, all she could do was try to find out enough of the puzzle to begin to glimpse the whole. Nothing she had experienced so far had fit together with any of the other parts.

From there? She looked at her face in the mirror. Still the face of a stranger. Or maybe a mask, she mused, beginning to feel different than she had before. If she could only tear it away. Her fingers went unconsciously to the line down her cheek.

Would she like what she found underneath? Sara, it seemed was both salvation, balm to her tortured spirit, and torment. Obviously loved, the other woman was a mystery. She gave a hollow place inside Kelsey a special something to fill it up, even slightly.

And in her way, she had sent Daniel to her. Daniel who loved Sara but would rather believe her dead than face the idea that she had left him.

Kelsey sighed and pushed her long legs into soft cotton sweat pants, a dainty pink, with a matching sweatshirt.

One thing was certain, she grimaced, looking at the clothes. Her taste in clothing had changed because of the crash. She wanted to wear colors, bright, beautiful colors. No more pale or somber hues. There would be other changes, the doctors had assured her. She was bound to be different after what she had gone through.

Kelsey started to put on a dab of perfume and wrinkled her nose. She put the top back on the bottle. Maybe she had liked that at some time but not anymore. And it was almost a full bottle. It seemed a pity to waste it and yet she couldn't abide the smell.

Taking a step towards her eventual freedom, she dumped the rest down the drain, running water behind to get rid of the remaining smell.

There was a quiet knock on the bedroom door and she quickly ran a careless hand through her hair quickly. Whatever happened, each day she had to become more like the real Kelsey. Even if she was very different from the old Kelsey when she recalled the truth.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," Daniel said when she opened the door.

"I'm fine," she reassured him. "And I feel really great. Better than I have in weeks."

"It's the tea," he told her.

Kelsey agreed although she wasn't sure if it was the horrible tea or the release of stress in meeting her would-be attacker. Maybe it was the knowledge that she hadn't been so alone. And the feeling that she would never be so alone again.

Whatever it was, she sat down at the table with him and ate the soup and bread sticks he'd brought with a relish that she couldn't recall having before in her short life since the crash.

Daniel talked to her about her work, not surprisingly knowledgeable since he was involved in supplying research labs around the country.

Kelsey enjoyed talking to him about her project. He listened well and had a few surprising questions that made her realize that Sara must have talked to him frequently.

"You must have been very close," she observed, taking her glass of lemonade and sitting back, replete, from the table.

He glanced across at her. "We've always been very good friends. We've always been able to talk about anything. I always felt that she was interested in my passions and I've always loved listening to the sound of her voice."

"Not many people have a relationship like that."

"That's true," he agreed, watching her sip her lemonade. "What about you? Hasn't there ever been someone in your life?"

"I -- " She had a clear picture in her mind of someone. She heard him laugh but it was as though the sun was in her eyes. She was blinded and couldn't make out his face.

"Are you all right?" Daniel touched her hand.

She blinked her eyes and looked away from his concerned expression. "I don't know. I have feelings but everything else is just too far out of reach."

"It'll come," he reasoned.

"So they say." She grimaced. "Trying to remember is exhausting work."

"I'm sure there was someone in your life besides Sara," Daniel told her. "Who told you there wasn't anyone?"

Kelsey shrugged, not able to meet his querying eyes. "Well, they told me I had no family. That I had never been married. There was no one that responded when they were trying to find out who I was. Martin, Dr, Abrahms, had known me before, when I was working in Orlando. He couldn't recall a single friend of any length of time."

"He might not have known you as well as he thought," Daniel answered. "After all, he didn't know about Sara, did he?"

"No." She looked up at him. "He didn't."

"Who is this Dr. Abrahms?" he questioned.

"He's the director of Barton's research lab. He got me this job, had everything moved up from my lab in Orlando. He came to the hospital after they found me."

"I'm sorry I couldn't have been there," Daniel apologized. "By the time I figured out what happened, you were already out of the hospital. You had disappeared."

"Martin was worried about my safety after the press had made so much of my amnesia," she continued. "I thought that was why you were standing outside my window." Her heart still beat a little faster just thinking about it.

He nodded. "I saw you at the gas station that night and I realized that you weren't Sara. The two of you look a lot alike and from a distance, I couldn't be sure. That was when I realized that something was wrong. I kept expecting Sara to show up at your apartment but there wasn't any sign of her."

Kelsey sighed. "I just wish I knew."

"You will." He touched her hand on the table and smiled at her encouragingly.

Not sure what to say in return, Kelsey smiled back then stood up quickly. "I'll just get these dishes into the kitchen then check in with DAR."

"I can do that," he said, standing at the same time.

"You made the food," she reasoned. "The least I can do is clean off the table."

Without waiting for his reply, she went through the swinging door into the kitchen, soup bowls in her hands. There was a clear plastic bag on the counter filled with a dark, plantlike substance that she guessed must be the horrible tea.

She smelled it after putting the bowls down. Its peculiar pungent odor was at once enticing and awful. She wasn't sure she'd ever smelled anything like it, although she was familiar with most herbs.

As a student, she had studied herbs and ancient herbal remedies with zealous interest. She had even tried new formulas, feeding some of them to her friends. Sometimes ending up with less than desirable results.

She could remember once when she'd been helping a friend get rid of an unwanted boyfriend, giving her an herb that had made her have an unsavory smell. Unfortunately, it had lasted much longer than the length of the date, keeping the girl from classes for a few weeks.

What?

Kelsey searched frantically for that short but powerful memory. It was still there. She cherished it, reliving it over and over in her mind. She could remember something from her past. An entire length of time as crystal clear as the day before was to her. She put down the bag of tea and hurried into the living room to tell Daniel.

He was studying her notebook again. An intent frown was marring his profile and he was shaking his head.

"Daniel?" She was almost bursting with the news of her singular experience.

"Yes?" He turned to face her, frowning. He put down the notebook on the side table. It was so cluttered that the book slid to the floor.

Kelsey picked it up and threw it on the chair as she approached him. "What is it?" she wondered, wanting to touch him. She pulled back her hand as she was about to put it on his broad shoulder.

"Sara," came his less than steady response. "It's been so long. Seeing you, reading the notebook, made me realize how much I love her."

"I'm so sorry," she cried, cruelly feeling that she was part of his misery. Why couldn't she remember where Sara was? Even if she had chosen to live without him, Daniel had a right to know the truth. Just as she did.

"It's not your fault," he corrected her, turning back to face her. "You were the one hurt in all this."

"I think we both have been." She smiled through a misty veil of tears in her own eyes.

When he reached for her, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to go into his arms. He held her close against him. Just held her. She wrapped her arms around him, offering what slender respite her body held.

She stroked her hand through his hair at his neck and soothed his sorrow quietly with words that were strange to her.

"What did you say?" he asked, pulling back slightly from her.

His face was very near hers. Her heart began to beat a little faster.

"I don't know," she admitted, wanting to touch his dark cheek. "It's like my brain overloads sometimes and these words come out of my mouth. I don't know why."

"They sounded beautiful," he murmured, pulling her close again. He slid his arms around her then buried his face in her hair, inhaling her subtle fragrance. "And you smell wonderful."

She laughed a little, wanting nothing more than to stand in his embrace forever. "I don't know why. I had to throw out the perfume I had. I couldn't stand the smell."

"It doesn't matter," he told her, holding her away from him slightly. "Just being here with you. That's all that matters."

Kelsey smiled and touched a tear that had been caught on his eyelash. "We'll find her, you know. I-I just feel certain she's still alive."

She knew he was going to kiss her. It was a close, personal moment. It would be a kiss of friendship and emotional release. His gaze never left her mouth and when his hand tangled itself in her hair, she let him pull back her head slightly.

Her lips parted of their own volition. It was like being swept into a soft cloud of feeling. Warmth stole into her, tingling in her legs. A wash of need welled up inside of her. His hand moved down her back and she blossomed into him, arching delicately as any morning glory coming to life in the sun's warmth.

She was drowning. Swirling dizzily until she wasn't sure she ever wanted to open her eyes again. His lips moved over hers and she instinctively turned her head to allow him better access, wanting more. Craving more.

"Kelsey?"

She opened her heavy lids and stared at him, seeing the tiny lines that ran from his eyes. Seeing that he was deeply affected by their kiss. His dark eyes were filled with fire. His breathing was erratic. When she looked at him, she knew he was seeing the same thing in her face.

Embarrassed, she put a hand to her mouth that was sensitive from his kiss.

"I'm sorry." She started to move away from him. "Really, Daniel."

"I'm not sorry," he retorted warmly. "And you shouldn't be. It was a natural reaction. Stress, anger, fear. What's happened between us is innocent of any wrongdoing."

"But Sara -- "

" -- would understand. We were just two people consoling each other in a time of need."

Kelsey wasn't so sure she would have understood if Daniel was her husband but she kept it to herself with the heat that had built up inside of her. She moved away and his arms dropped to let her go.

"I should-uh-go to work now. Or at least just check in."

"You were going to say something when you came in," he reminded her.

"It wasn't important." She turned away with a smile. "The uh, shower's yours, if you want it. I don't have any clothes that would fit you." She followed the length of him with her eyes, flustered to look up and find him watching her..

"That's okay," he rescued her with an easy laugh. "I have a few things."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Or look at him, for that matter. Sara's husband. She was kissing Sara's husband. Sara, who loved her and presumably trusted her and she was kissing her husband.

She reminded herself sternly that she might have always been, well, loose. Just because she didn't have one steady person in her life, didn't mean she didn't have many partners. She had just assumed that she was lonely.

Kelsey sat down at the old, scarred wooden table that she'd set up as a workstation. She logged on her computer. DAR greeted her with the news that she was later than usual.

Routinely, she began to check her daily information on the progress of her plants. The list scrolled down. Some showed progress. Others didn't fare as well. There were a few, larger, hardier ferns that progressed, no matter what she did to them. She stopped the data and made a space in the program for some random notes on those plants.

And what if she was a loose woman? she thought as she wrote. What if seducing her best friend's husband was a commonplace thing for her?

While she hadn't planned on liking everything about the self she couldn't remember, she hadn't thought it would be anything as deep as her own morals. Her hair, her perfume, even clothes, those were all superficial.

But what if Kelsey Lloyd was some good time, party animal that didn't know how to say no to any man? Was that something she could change as easily as she dumped the perfume down the drain?

Kelsey sighed and looked at the computer screen, recoiling back from it.

"No!" She sucked in a shallow breath and looked at the writing that covered several pages.

"What is it?" Daniel asked, coming across the room. His hair was still wet from the shower and his feet were bare.

"I don't know," she whispered. "I'm going to get rid of it."

She would have pressed the delete key but his hand was on hers before she could move.

"No, wait!" He held her hand tightly.

"Daniel?" She tried to take her hand from his but found that his grip was too intense to get free. "Daniel? My hand -- "

"I'm sorry." He glanced at her then looked back at the screen before letting her hand go.

"It's just gibberish," she defended. "Like those words that come out of my mouth sometimes."

"What if it means something," he suggested, "and you can't remember what?"

"What could it mean?" She shrugged. "I meant to say good evening to John downstairs and an old man said he recognized Yiddish when he heard it."

"Yiddish?" He laughed.

She threw up her hands. "I don't think I know Yiddish but I suppose I could have someone check this out Monday."

"I don't think it's Yiddish." He shook his head, using the green towel in his hand to catch a few drops of water at his temple.

Kelsey tended to agree with him. The language on the screen looked numerical. It was like nothing she'd ever seen, even though it was clearly a compilation of her thoughts on the plants.

"Can you read what it says?" he asked, curiously.

She looked at the strange writing and it occurred to her that she could read it. It was exactly what she'd set forth to write on the hardier growth of ferns. Even a sideline about the use of fertilizer.

"I can read it," she told him, feeling as strange as the writing. She was afraid to look up at him, not wanting to see what had to be in his eyes.

"What is it?"

"My notes. It's my notes."

"Maybe it's a kind of shorthand," he offered helpfully. "I've known scientists who developed their own way of taking notes."

"Or maybe I've lost my mind?" She knew what he was thinking. Without another word, she pushed the key that wiped the screen clean.

"Kelsey!" He sighed at the loss.

"I-I don't want to know what it is." She shook her head. "I just want it to stop."

"Maybe you have to understand it before it stops," he commented, moving to sit on the sofa near the window.

"What do you mean?" she demanded, turning to face him.

"Maybe there's something you don't want to remember. Maybe that's why it hasn't come back to you."

"That's stupid." She looked back at the computer screen that was asking her if she wanted to continue. "That's really stupid. I wouldn't choose to forget my life."

He put the towel down in his lap. "It wouldn't be the first time someone tried to get away from the past by forgetting it."

"Not me. I want to know it all. I wouldn't create a smokescreen to hide anything from myself."

"You just hid that from yourself," he retorted critically. "The fact that you can think and write in another language, that you're fluent, must mean something."

"It's gibberish," she argued. "Anyone could tell that. It wasn't a language."

"It was to you," he reminded her. "You could read it."

"That doesn't make it real," she muttered, turning back to the computer screen. "Or sane."

He seemed to cross the room in one stride, turning her abruptly to face him. "You lost your memory because of a trauma. You aren't insane."

"These words," she told him, trying to explain her fear. "They mean something to me. It's almost like I translate everything from them rather than the other way around. Do you understand?"

"No. But neither do you. You haven't shown them to anyone else, have you?"

"No! They've slipped out a few other times but I've never written them before."

"You have to stop being afraid of them," he told her. "You have to accept them for whatever they are if you want to find yourself."

"Why?" she questioned, pulling away from him and walking to the other side of the computer table. "What makes you think they could be important?"

"Because they're important to you."

"I don't know," she admitted finally. "They just seem so alien yet I know they're a part of me."

"It's possible, isn't it?" he theorized, appealing to the scientist in her nature. "That you have to accept each piece of the puzzle as it comes along? Each piece fitting into the other," he interlaced his fingers, "until you have the whole?"

She considered his words. She had thought much the same thing. Pieces of a puzzle. She had to have one to build another. "Yes," she agreed at last, pushing her hair back from her face. "Anything's possible at this point. It runs around in my brain until I feel like I have a hive of bees buzzing in my head."

"Too much work," he quoted, walking to the computer. "Too little play."

"Don't touch -- "

Too late. He had already hit a key and to her surprise, he escaped the program.

"How did you do that?" She wanted to know, coming back around the table. "I set up that program. I'm the only one that knows what key to escape."

"Luck?" he queried, laughing.

"But -- "

"Get a coat on, let's go out," he urged.

"Out? Out where?" she wondered, glancing at the window to see the darkness outside. "It's probably snowing."

"Just out. I don't know where. Out of here."

"I don't know."

"How long has it been since you went out for anything except work?" he asked quietly.

"A while," she admitted. Then at his grimace, "Okay, a long while."

"Right. So let's go out and think for a while. You've been cooped up in here for weeks afraid of me being down there." His face softened, dark eyes warm on her face. "Let me take you out for a while."

"All right." She nodded with a reluctant smile. "I can be ready in a few minutes."

With a curious sense of excitement that she didn't stop to analyze, Kelsey found shoes and jacket, pulling out gloves and heavy socks. She would probably need a hat as well, she thought, looking for something to keep her ears warm.

"Ready?" he called from the living room.

"Almost," she replied cheerfully. Daniel was right, of course. It had been weeks, months, since she hadn't been afraid and been well enough to do anything but work. The prospect was exhilarating.

She finally found a hat, dark gray but it was woven closely and it would keep her ears warm. She would have preferred something red or green. But that could come later. Kelsey buttoned her jacket and went into the living room. She opened her mouth to tell him that she was ready but stopped short. He was scanning something quickly on her computer. The words were a blur on the screen.

As she watched, Daniel took a disk out of his pocket and put it into the machine. In a few seconds, it was finished. He switched off the computer and pocketed the disk quickly, pulling out his gloves from his other jacket pocket.

Kelsey bit her lip. What was he looking for?

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