The Julian secret

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Nimes, France

L'Hopital de Nimes

A week earlier

She had no idea how long she had been here, but this morning was the first she had awakened aware that she was, in fact, here.

In the days (or weeks or months) previous, she had roused to the sound of her own screams more often than not, screams provoked by. the same, unchanging dream. It was so real, she thought she must have experienced it rather than dreamed it.

That, of course, was impossible.

The sun, a brilliant orange light in a cloudless sky, exploded, hurling her out into space like one of those jets of solar gas she remembered seeing somewhere. She seemed to hang motionless in space for a long time before she began to fall, her velocity increasing as she saw an inhospitable earth rushing up to meet her at an impossible speed.

That's when she began to scream, both in the dream and in real life.

Sometimes she thought maybe at least part of the dream was real, the falling to earth part.

Her earliest memory was of aching all over and being partially covered by bits of jagged rock that could have come from another planet, for all she knew. And she didn't know much. For instance, she had no idea where she had come from, what her name was, nor why she was lying on a hillside covered with stone fragments.

At first she had thought her face was bleeding heavily. Putting a hand to her brow, she touched something both wet and furry. That's when she realized her eyes were shut. Opening them, she looked right into a shaggy face with big brown eyes. A dog was caressing her forehead with a very wet tongue, a not entirely unpleasant sensation. And not a totally unfamiliar one, either, although she could not remember when a dog had last licked her face.

As her eyes began to focus, she saw a man-a boy, actually-peering at her with a worried expression. He had said something to her, but she could 'not hear. The only sound her ears perceived was a soft whisper like gentle rain falling through heavy foliage.

She touched her ear with the one hand free of rubble.

This time it wasn't the dog's licking making the side of her face wet. The hand, came back dripping crimson.

From some place she could not remember, she knew facial wounds, even superficial ones, bled heavily. Still, she wasn't exactly comforted by the knowledge.

Superficial or not, she felt no pain other than the 'ache all over her body.

Gathering her strength, she stood, her legs as shaky as a newborn colt's. The dog ran in a circle around her, its mouth opening in what she supposed was a bark. The boy/man extended a hand, and she reached for it.

Then her world went dark.

Her next memory was staring at white walls seamlessly blending into white ceiling. It had been disorienting, not knowing how she had gotten here, where she was, or how long she had been here. She glanced down at a hand resting on a starched sheet. An IV needle was taped in place. From the smudges of old adhesive, she gathered the needle had been replaced several times. Without moving her head, her eyes traced the tube to a bag half full of transparent fluid hanging on a chrome stand.

From the visual clues, she guessed she was in some sort of hospital, although she had no idea how she knew this.

She had had no life before the sun exploded.

Through vibrations of the floor or some other means, she sensed someone else in the room.

Fully conscious of the effort, she refocused her line of sight from the IV bag and stand to the foot of her bed. The doctor was there again. At least, she guessed he was a physician. He was definitely a man in white-white shirt with white lab coat, topped by unruly shocks of white hair.

He looked up, noting her attention, and flashed white teeth at her, saying something she could not hear.

She knew what was coming and neither looked forward to nor feared it. After flipping the pages of her chart at the foot of her bed (how did she, know what he was looking at?), he pulled back the covers, took the arm with the IV in it, and half-pulled, half-lifted her to a standing position on the floor. The tiles felt cool and soothing. With one hand on the IV stand and the other resting lightly, if protectively, around her waist, he led her out into the hall.

After she had gone about halfway toward the end, the doctor surrendered her to a nurse before standing in front of her, smiling. He pointed to his ear, then to hers, before making a circle with thumb and forefinger, the universal OK sign.

But her ears weren't OK. She could not hear. Perhaps he meant she soon would be OK. She hoped so. Not just because being deaf was a decided disadvantage. Without hearing, she had so much trouble speaking that she had all but abandoned the effort.

She could communicate by writing on the notepads they gave her. Unfortunately, she couldn't convey the very information the doctor and nurses wanted most: her name, where she came from, and so on. She had no such data to give them.

Somehow, again from that reservoir of knowledge that seemed to have no source, she knew that it was likely at least most of her memory would return, although she had no idea when. Until then, she would have to be patient, let the cuts, bruises, and aches heal, and hope she would know who she was before much longer.