LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

more welcoming. There is a normal bed, not a hospital-like one, a table with a lamp and some books on it. On the bed there are also some clothes. Doctor Smith sees me looking at them and smiles again.

      – You can change from your hospital gown, – Right, I am in a hospital gown. I look down at myself and see it for the first time since I woke up. – There is no need for you to be walking around in it.

      – Aren’t I a patient?

      – Yes, you are, – he looks puzzled. – You can keep it on if you’d like, but there is no need for that. It will only be necessary during some tests we are going to run later.

      – Thank you, – I do not know what else to say, or to do.

      – You are welcome. I am afraid I need to leave you here for a while. You can lie down, or read some of these, – he gestures to the books.

      – I’ll be back in a while, or send someone else to examine you. If you need it, the bathroom is down the hall to the left. See you later.

      He leaves the room and closes the door. I just stand there I was, not really knowing what to do. Finally, I decide that maybe some fresh air would help me. I walk up to the drawn curtains and open them.

      There is no window behind them, just another white wall.

      Well, that is fun. It is not that I wanted to look out of the window or breathe some fresh air that much, but it just seems…

      Weird. But what do I know.

      I do not feel like reading and for a moment I am at a loss, not knowing what to do. Then I remember that Doctor Smith mentioned a bathroom. I also realize that I do not remember what I look like.

      The bathroom must have a mirror. I walk towards the door and for a moment I am afraid that Doctor Smith has locked me in – I do not know exactly what makes me think so, there is just something about this whole situation that makes me feel somewhat suspicious – but the door is not locked, not even closed properly and it swings open at my lightest touch. “Down the corridor to the left”. I look around the bright white corridor and see some other doors. I feel extremely tempted to try and open them. And why not? No one is watching. Not that I know of. But maybe there are some hidden cameras or something. I still decide to walk up to the nearest door and try it. The door is locked. What did I expect, anyway? It could be another patient’s room and I could walk in on someone without knocking. Also, I did not set out to search through this place for who knows what. I set out to go to the bathroom to look at myself.

      The bathroom is just as white and brightly lit as everything here. What is the deal with these people and white? But I am getting distracted again. As I hoped, there is a mirror, even better than I hoped – it is a full length one. I walk towards it with some trepidation and take a look. The mirror does not show me anything special. Just a young girl or woman, skinny, with shoulder-length dirty blond hair and a pale, scared face. I lift the gown to look at my body and see some scratches, but no serious injuries. So, I guess, the worst consequence of my accident is the amnesia. It does not hurt, but the feeling of confusion and disorientation is getting almost unbearable. I come closer to the mirror to have a better look at my face. There is nothing special here either – it is pale, seems scared – maybe that is why the pale blue eyes look so big, – freckly. Strangely enough, my face does not seem as foreign to me as my name did. Yes, I am studying it as if I see it for the first time in my life, but it seems kind of familiar, seems mine. Also it does not look like an Amy’s face, but there is nothing I can compare it to. Speaking of comparison, I look younger than Doctor Smith or Doctor Jones. It is not that they are old, but I seem to be younger. Again, without any other points of reference I cannot really make any conclusions. I stand so in the bathroom for quite a long while, staring at myself in the mirror, hoping that the look of a familiar face will stir up some memories, but to no result. After I despair to remember anything I stand for a little while longer, just because, until the bright light begins to hurt my eyes, and then I go back to my room. I almost get lost in this bizarre corridor, and try to open a couple of wrong doors first. It seems to me that I only manage to find the door to my room because it is the only one unlocked.

      In the room I look through the books on the table, but their titles tell me nothing, and I do not feel like reading anyway. I lie down on the bed. It is comfortable, much more comfortable than the bed in the examination room. I do not really want to sleep or feel tired, but as I lie on the bed trying to fish out thoughts out of my empty head and make some sense of the whole situation I gradually doze off.

      Out of somewhere deep in a dreamless sleep I hear a door open, and then the pleasant voice again.

      – Amy, are you asleep? – asks Doctor Smith.

      – Well, not anymore, – I open my eyes and sit up on the bed. Doctor Jones is standing at the door, with some folders in her hands.

      – I am sorry to wake you up, – she says apologetically, – I thought we could start doing some exercises, trying to recover some memories. Your father sent us some materials and…

      – Right, my father, – I interrupt her, rather rudely, but I do not really care. Suddenly I remember the idea that seems to have come to me in my sleep – I do not think I had it before going to bed.

      – I want to call my father.

      The pleasant expression on her face fades just as it did in the examination room when I confessed that I did not remember anything.

      – Call your father? – she repeats, and again in her voice I hear a hope that she misheard me, or that I am joking, or something like that.

      – Yes, – I repeat more politely, – I would like to call my father, please. Is there something wrong in my request?

      – No, but I…

      – Let me guess. You need to consult Doctor Smith again?

      Her cheeks get slightly red. She probably likes me less and less with my every question. Am I not supposed to ask questions? I am trying to remember who I am, after all, I do not think I can do it without questions.

      – Never mind, – I finally say. – I guess I could do that later. Let’s do your exercise, or whatever.

      – It is for your own benefit, you know, – she says in a very I-am-an-adult-I-know-better voice.

      – I believe that talking to my father would benefit me too, but who am I to know?

      She shoots me a glance that immediately confirms: she is not a fan of mine, at least, not at the moment.

      – I am sorry, – I decide to apologize, – it is just so hard, all this stuff.

      – It’s ok, – she softens. – You will get better, I promise.

      She takes the chair, brings it to my bed and sits down.

      – First, I would like you to look at some photos and see if they stir up any memories.

      She opens one of the folders and hands me a stack of photos. I guess they are supposed to be my childhood photos: I can see a girl who looks very much like me, but younger, playing with her toys, running in a garden, on the porch of a house, at the seaside, playing with a man. Apart from this man there are no other grown-ups or children in the photos. The man must be my father.

      – That’s my father, isn’t it?

      Doctor Jones nods. The man in the photos is also thin and blond, and he seems to look both happy and sad at the same time. I wonder why. Then I realize that maybe it is because there is no woman in the photos.

      – What about my mom? Why isn’t she in the pictures? Do I have any siblings?

      – You have no brothers or sisters. And your mom died

Скачать книгу