We Loved

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I push my body up, still heavy with exhaustion. “What's that?” My voice is deep with sleep.

The nurse glances at me and focuses back on Leah. “Anti-inflammatory for her twisted ankle.”

I drag my legs towards the bed massaging my temples. “Twisted...” I trail off, taking a moment to log-in. “Twisted ankle?” I frown, my eyes half-open.

The nurse leaves the tube and turns to me. “Yes. The doctor will inform you of everything you need to know.” She nods and leaves.

I seat myself on the bed and run a hand through my hair, still trying to wake myself up. A pat on my shoulder alarms me. “So tense,” David remarks.

I smile at him nodding and look back at Leah.

“Good morning.” A deep voice says. David and I turn to the source; a tall man around the middle fifties wearing a white coat. “I'm doctor Walter, the doctor supervising over Mrs. Amelia Wilfred.”

“I'm Noah Wilfred, her husband,” I say charging to shake his hand.

“Of course, Mr. Wilfred, I know who you are.”

I nod. It is not new to me to be recognized by a stranger, especially with the kidnap story that has gone public and if he's an ambitious doctor, it could be for my possession of a great hospital, or my business status. David steps beside me.

“Mrs. Amelia is a very tough woman.” He smiles at me. “Her head injury is a very difficult one indeed, but she's doing a great job.” He glances at her then back at me. “Her memories may be affected, though. Do you know anything about that?”

“Yes. She doesn't seem to remember me.” I frown as my eyes dart around. I focus back. “I don't think she remembers anything.”

The doctor nods pursing his lips and jots down something in his notepad. I fidget. The sun is burning the back of my head. A stupid fly is buzzing around my ears. Round and round my head it goes that damn dumb insect.

“Will she get them back?” I accidentally shout. I clear my throat. “Her memories? Will she? Get them back?”

The doctor huffs still writing in his notebook shaking his head. “I can never know, Mr. Wilfred. Things like this, only Mrs. Wilfred and time will tell.” He looks up at me.

‟I believe she may have post-traumatic amnesia, it's memory loss that occurs immediately following a traumatic brain injury.”

“How severe is her injury?”

‟It's pretty severe, I would have to guess she was hit by a heavy object, probably metal. It's not a fall.”

David writes something down in his notebook, it angers me that he looks detached, but I know better.

‟And how probable is it that she remembers?”

“Usually with post-traumatic amnesia, it's probable, however, in this case, I can never tell.” The doctor takes a deep breath. “Your wife has gone through a lot of things. Things I'm not sure her brain wants to remember.”

“What do you mean ‘not sure her brain wants to remember’?” I scoff in disbelief.

“Mr. Wilfred, she may have psychogenic amnesia. It's how the brain sometimes chooses to react to severe stress or psychological trauma, rather than from any physical or physiological cause, although one is present in this case, but it's still possible.

‟It's also called ‘Repressed Memory Syndrome’. An act of self-preservation, you could say. The repressed memories may be recovered spontaneously, years or decades after the event, and perhaps never. It is also usually associated with post-traumatic stress disorder.”

I focus on keeping balance. In a kidnap like this, who knows the weight of what she's forgotten? What was so horrible that she couldn't take it? Just what in the world were they doing to her? The weight of his words are heavy. Focusing is hard, the devil calling itself a headache.

“That will make our investigation harder.” David sighs scratching his beard. The doctor frowns.

“Officer, I'm sure Mr. and Mrs. Wilfred will prefer your presence after Mrs. Wilfred is up and ready for the investigation.”

‟He's our friend,” I mumble still trying to digest. “What about her other injuries?”

“Yes. The other injuries, yes.” The doctor repositions himself. “She's got a twisted ankle. It's not severe, though, so it should take about four to five days to heal. Apply ice on it, make sure she doesn't overwork it and it should be just fine.” He sets his notebook in his pocket. “Other than that, the rest are mostly scratches and bruises, they should take from a few days to a week maximum.”

“Thank you, Doc.” David smiles and the doctor nods and leaves. ‟Hey,” he says. ‟All that matters is that she's safe now, right?”

I nod, eyes glued to the ground, legs aching to sit.

‟You'll get through this, together, like you always have.”

I look back at Leah, distant in a land of dreams. ‟I don't know about this time,” I mumble. ‟I can only hope.”