I Don’t Know
Her features could charm a man in the first look, gazing in wonder. Her slender, perfect shape was a head-turner. One could go notorious to win her. A criminal would pause in the middle of the crime, for just one glimpse of her. Her most beautiful measure was her neck, just like the neck of a glossy champagne bottle – sleek, tender, and oh so fragile.
No matter how striking a face is, it slips from distinctive to mediocre if it does not have a beautiful neck to hold it. Even the height difference between us was convenient. Good enough for my hand to reach her neck, my five fingers together. A perfect weapon to crush something so beautiful. A painful death but not messy. Clean, natural, and soft. Without a drop of blood.
I wished to take pleasure in watching her struggle. I wanted to see her suffer from the growing pain. I would have enjoyed her cries. My muscular hand was waiting for a signal from the brain, but she hurried. Died before I could kill her.
Could I escape from here?
Twenty-Nine fractures, thirty-two stitches, a severe leg injury, congestion on the backbone, loss in physical strength, and overall declining health - all have failed in breaking my mental strength.
Lost my wife, but not my life! Postscript: Lost my memory too!
According to the medical report, I am a patient with retrograde amnesia. Can make fresh memories but cannot recollect the past ones.
We were in the accident together – my wife and I. Enough grease for police to apply on me and screw my life. Just for one reason –she died whereas I did not. It does not matter she was the one handling the wheel that day.
My coming days would be exciting for the police. My story and condition are surely interesting enough to keep them engaged. For me? Who cares? I do not remember a speck of the past. Free from any emotional pain – due to the reasons only known to the medical fraternity.
Whatever probing questions police asked, there was no point in preparing for the answers. I give the only response I can. They tweaked and twisted their questions, yet the same response.
“I do not remember. I cannot.”
Only future days would illuminate, whether losing memory is a blessing, a curse, or just a game that life has played with me.
*****
“Just like coma, no expert in the world can predict memory patterns, Mr. Thomas Maxwell.” Dr. Stephen said, experienced enough to know my unasked demands. Why have I lost my memory? When will it be back?
“Cheers for giving me a name, though not a bad one.”
My earlier sessions on feeding personal data were processing, should settle down somewhere in my head soon.
Ignoring my mocking applaud, Dr. Stephen suggested, “Other than physicians, friends, relatives, police would greet you more. Oil your head often for better functioning. Prepare brain cells to be in easy reach for cooperation.” His voice held an undertone of caution, “most nasty days are waiting for you, Thomas”.
“Inspector, John Canon. Our meetings would be official from here on,” he extended his hand.
I reciprocated his greeting. My expressions were moderate, giving nothing away.
I looked back at the doctor. “Grateful for your hospitality, Doctor. I must leave now. Surely, I need some joy. Recovers my health fast, right?” I moved my upper body, “How long have I been funding your hospital staff.”
He gave an impression of sobriety, but I could see the greedy and mean smile behind it.
“Six months’ blackout. Thirty days, regular on and off dozing. Final two weeks under psychotherapy sessions and motivational speeches,” he beamed and added, “you should thank your assistant too”.
“Noted doctor. I will rise his paycheck.”
“Seems you learned new habits with little effort?” he was being sarcastic.
“Are you not happy with my progress? Am alive because of your proficient treatment,” I returned the favor.
“Lighting up my mood. Sorry about my offensive behavior,” I expressed fake regret at his raised eyelids. “You can blame your expensive motivational speaker. He eased my mind, burnt my pockets deep.”
Severe arguments from my tone left them pondering.
Dr. Stephen nodded, “Time to get discharged. David should take care of you,” crossing over to the window, he paused at the door, looking through grills as if skilled at weather forecast too.
“I pray it does not rain today. You appear happy with the bills,” I winked with my left eye.
He remained calm, his experience with patients gleamed in his expressions.
His hand pulled my attention away from his face, “Is watch part of my bills, too? I must say, it does not suit you.”
I have stunned him, I could tell. The air inside the room charged with voiceless flows of thoughts.
“Your accusation spoils harmony between our relation. What makes you so sure?” He asked. Trying to test my sharpness.
“Portion of a wrecked metal stuck in my hand, forcing its sharp edge, deeply cutting my wrist. Of thirty-two stitches, seven here,” I bared my scar – thin and clear, almost healed.
Embarrassment pounced on his face. He stared at me as if I have just punched him, “How?” he stammered nervously.
“I will leave it to your guessing, Doctor. Would you mind?” gesturing at the watch, I fondly raised my hand.
A powered wheelchair helps in regulating my strain on the spine. My hands on their arms.
He unlocked the timepiece from his hand, released it on my palm,
“You are the good old Thomas. Old habits never perish.
Welcome to our world,” he gave a faint smile.
Beaming at him, I sported. My confident gesture admittedly suited me well, “This room deserves better ventilation. Next patient may not be as humble as me.”
*****
David pushed my wheelchair forward while Dr. Stephen stood at the opened door. Inspector John looked at me. Watching my every move with suspension.
“Is he pretending to have lost his memory? I doubt,” Dr Stephen probed John as my wheelchair set rolling in the hallway outside my room.
“It should be me asking you that question, Doctor. Well, it does not matter. He can’t escape our eyes,” he paused, struck by another thought, “extremely eccentric subject. When crime on his head surfaces, rope on his neck is certain.”
*****
Stepping out of the room, whose carpet has never seen the light, I wished not to visit again.
After exiting the hospital, I raised my head to sky, sensing the warm breeze brushing my hair, sunrays touching my skin. I celebrated my newborn freedom by opening my arms, breathing in the fresh air in open space.
Registering David’s presence behind me, I asked him, “Why my wife was disloyal? Sophie, her name, right?” He has a wrinkled face and hands – a reflection of his age.
Stunned by my question and at loss of words, he stifled his nervous laugh.
I twisted my head slowly in his direction. Sharp attack of pain was intense. My mouth felt dry, and my voice hardly a whisper. Closing my eyes for a few seconds to let myself settle was my swiftly educated therapy.
“Forgot to ask your full name” he wore very informal clothes.
“David Aten, at your service, sir.”
“David, you respond to only simple questions?”
“I am your assistant, sir. Talking about your wife isn’t in my contract.”
His quick reply filled me with equal amount of anger and pain.
“Ethically right” nodding his consent, I gestured to move forward.
I should hold my fire until I get proof against her.
He assisted me with climbing into the vehicle and settled me on the cushioned seat.
The backseat in Sedan was a blissful comfort and gave me a feel of a filthy rich man.
Another man, folding my wheelchair, adjusted it in boot space. Decently dressed, tall, and good looking with dark eyes. Mighty stud, my driver.
“White! My favorite color? I don’t think so,” The loud noise of a vehicle hitting a hard object flashed in head, bursting fear in my eyes. With fear came the feeling of anxiety.
“Madam’s favorite, sir. Your last year’s gift for her birthday. This year on the same day, tragedy derailed your lives,” David closed the backdoor.
As he twisted his expression into a humorless smile, I studied his face with my mocking eyes. I shook my head, a smile playing at the corners of my mouth.
My gaze fell on a mini stand balancing a scotch bottle and a crystal cut glass. I poured some large drops into the glass and gulped it in one single shot, giving myself a head kick.
David, from the passenger seat, speaks up, “your favorite sir. Hope your tongue recognized old flavor,” a slow smile spread over his lips, spilling into his eyes.
“Not sure, but it’s good.”
*****
Why are police suspecting me of my wife’s death? Several times in the hospital, Inspector strained me with the same boring question. What happened that night? Am I a detective working on some unsolved cases?
Since the last few days, some faces fly in my dreams, memories float around. I saw a man and a woman on the bed together. The man was not me. Who was he? Whom to trust? Stressed with unclear thoughts, I noticed a forceful burning in my throat. Felt like roaring and slamming my hand on the window door. I was unable to stop images racing through my mind. Thanks to those motivational sessions. They are doing well in controlling my attacking thoughts. Only the rich can afford the luxury of paying high bills for nothing.
What would be my goals? Fighting to breathe again after soaring days on the edge of a deathbed and winning that fight was a miracle. Now that the fight to survive is over, what should I do?
The speeding car was overtaking vehicles smoothly under the handling of a skilled driver. Where am I? Observing both sides of the road, I admire the surroundings without knowing anything about it. We were several miles down the road before any of us spoke.
“Do you talk only with my wife?”
Slowly and gradually controlling his speed, “excuse me, sir?” driver tried to smile as if doing a favor on me.
“From the last thirty minutes, I haven’t heard a word from you.”
“You like silence, sir. I reply, only when asked.” He steered the wheel, turning to the left.
“How about my wife? Does she talk a lot? Mr...?”
“She used to drive by herself, sir. I am Xavier,” as the vehicle came out on an open track, he raced up, “unfortunately, she was on the wheels that night.”
“If you were driving us, no accident would have happened? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
On the rear-view mirror, I saw, his mouth curved into an ironic smile. He seemed hardened by my mockery.
“Yes, she was not good enough on highways,” despite the expression on his face, his tone was balanced.
“What would have been your reaction if she survived and I died? That news would have cheered you?” I asked. Dry humor weaved in my tone.
He glanced up, looking into the rear-view mirror. His expression conveyed silent fury. “Sir, please, you are going overboard and being insensitive.” Xavier managed to speak up, despite his intense emotions.
I was gauging their level of resilience.
He has a soft corner for her. Thin fog of suspicious cloud formed in my head. Should I show my roughness? I should balance my emotions to recreate my memories – I should be both friendly and harsh.
“David! my past vanished in lighting speed. Good, ugly, worst, none excites or troubles me. Motivational sessions delivered good and neutral lines, everything positive. I need dark truths to reconstruct my past,” I amplified my smile. A warning before revealing the lid of the can – worms waiting under the cover.
