As I Fade (One Breath at a Time: Book 1) (14 page)

I placed my hand over his and asked him timidly and sincerely, “You? Am I supposed to remember, you? You asked if I remembered you when I first woke up. So, are you my boyfriend?” My voice cracked. By chance, I also inadvertently wrinkled my nose. How unappealing that must have looked! “Did I write this to you?” I buzzed, trying to sound cheerful and happy about my revelation. Regardless, I mentally held my breath, praying that none of my theories were true!

“Ooh no. We have never met before,” he replied, smiling broadly. A wry twinkle flashed in his eyes. Amused, perhaps flattered, that I thought he was the man I had forgotten. It lightened the mood just a little. Once again, I didn’t find anything amusing.

“
I’m sorry. I thought, well—” I quickly retracted my hand. How embarrassing! I didn’t have the strength to explain my
faux pas.
I couldn’t cloud my mind, for the second time, with elusive thoughts.

Just because none of my theories panned out, it didn’t change the fact that the handwriting on the note wasn’t mine. Something didn’t add up. I couldn’t let go of a few nagging questions. Who wrote the note, why the hell did they sign it with my name, and why was it dated 1945?

“Brielle, the note was the only item that we were able to identify you by.”

“
Identify me,” I buzzed, in a low voice. “Are you saying that no one knows I’m here? I thought you had contacted my family already? So, I’ve been lying here and nobody even knows I’m here. Oh my God, essentially I’m a
Jane Doe
. I don’t understand, you said—” My heart constricted.
Why isn’t my family looking for me?

“
Your name is...
Jane Doe
?” the doctor asked, with a look of confusion looming his eyes.

“
No. It’s Brielle Eden.” I sighed heavily.
What is wrong with him?

“
Then, why are you calling yourself Jane Doe?”

“
Huh? You know—that’s what they call an unidentified person. At least, in America they do,” I said, trailing to a whisper. No sooner did I say that, and before the doctor spoke, it dawned on me what had caused the confusion.
Jane Doe
was probably a term only used in America.

“
Okay. That’s a term I’m not familiar with,” he said, humbly.

I felt bad that I had internally questioned his keen acumen. You shouldn’t think that a doctor in a non-English speaking modern country would’ve known the term. Obviously, this was the case with my doctor. I inwardly rolled my eyes at myself.
Oh hell!
There are Americans who don’t even know that Joe Biden is the Vice President, so why should I have expected a doctor in France to know what
Jane Doe
meant?

“
Well, anyway...I thought you said you contacted my parents.”

“
No. I’m sorry. We weren’t sure how to contact your family. When you first arrived, initially you managed to tell us that you were from Paris—you also mumbled this in your sleep. The authorities have been notified that we had an unidentified young lady here, or as you would say a ‘Jane Doe’.” He smiled proudly after using his new American term. “And, well—now, that we know you’re from New York City we might have an issue—getting messages to the States is virtually impossible since the last siege on Paris—”

“
Yes, but—What?—did you say we’re under attack?”

Terrorists? Oh, my God!
I exclaimed inwardly. My heart sank.

“
No, no. Not currently, but it may take a while before we can get word to your family. We can try to send a telegram but—”

My mind reeled as I absorbed the alarming information. The thought of my parents not being able to contact me was extremely upsetting.

They must be out of their minds with worry.

“
This is overwhelming...I didn’t know we had been attacked...” I said, swallowing my panic.
It must have been a terrible attack,
I thought.

“
Really? You didn’t know this?” he asked in a surprising manner. He surveyed me with straining eyes, then retrieved his eyeglasses from his pocket and placed them low on the bridge of his nose. “You must have lost more than your short-term memory.” He shook his head, perplexed, narrowing his eyes just a fraction.

“
Yes...I guess I have,” I mumbled under my breath, considering what he’d said.

“
Don’t worry, it’s going to be okay...now that you are fairly coherent, you can write them a letter.”

“
What? I’ll just call them—”

I glanced at the doctor, and he was looking at me as if I was crazy. I didn’t care what he thought at that point.

I continued to ramble on, without taking a breath, and my pitch increasingly rose. “God, they’re going to freak out—I can hear the
I-told-you-so’s
already. My father was so...against me moving overseas—he’s going to have a conniption fit and will want answers. I have no idea what I’m going to tell them?” I rested my forehead in my palm, thinking
.
“Does
anyone
know what happened to me?” I exhaled.

“
Miss Eden, we don’t know—we found you unconscious on the front steps+ of the hospital. All you had was the clothing on your back and that note in the front pocket of your dungarees,”—
dungarees?—
“Your condition was touch and go for a long time. I am sure when you speak to your family, more than anything, they will be relieved to hear that you’re out of the woods. Just, tell them the truth,” he said firmly, slightly raising both eyebrows.

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. Then it hit me. Had I been caught in the middle of the terrorist bombing? My pulse accelerated, and my entire body grew clammy.

“Is there a laptop around here that I can borrow?” I asked, figuring I would hop on Skype to call my mother. She had to be climbing the walls. I usually spoke to my parents every other day. Then, another memory popped into my spinning brain cells, my parents were in Africa, of all places! Still, I might be able to reach them.

“
Huh? A lap...top—” His eyes scanned the room, drawing back to me and asked, “You’re not comfortable with the one you have on?”

“
What?”

“
Your top...is it not suitable?”

I glanced down, pulling at the thin fabric of the hospital gown. “No, it’s fine.” I shrugged, feeling dumbfounded.

Okay, maybe I should have first asked for a PC and then worked my way up to a laptop? This doctor must have spent too much time on missions in a third world country and didn’t know what a laptop was.

Cluck!

A huge smile rose to my face. My eyes darted to the door.

“
Are you expecting someone?” the doctor inquisitively asked.

“
No,” I said beaming at the door anticipating Nuilley and a cameraman to plow into the room any second, laughing her ass off. It would be just like her to have Punk’d me. She didn’t think twice about crashing Demi & Ashton’s party a few years ago at the Sundance Film Festival in Park City. We didn’t end up hanging out with them, but we did make friends with a few young actresses on the verge of stardom. Nuilley was always hobnobbing with the in crowd. If she wanted to pull off a stunt like this, she certainly had the connections.

“
Are you sure you are Brielle Eden? I mean, perhaps you believe you are,
only
, because we have been referring to you by her name.”

“
Uh? Yes...of course, I’m
certain
that’s my name,” I clarified emphatically, feeling irritation slowly percolating to the surface. “Listen, I need to get out of here as soon as possible.” I looked at the handwritten note. “As for this, it’s not my handwriting.” I focused on the note. “I don’t know who wrote this, but I didn’t. Besides most of the time when I write letters it’s on my iPad, and I usually just email them—I’ve never owned such beautiful stationary as this.” I glanced at the note. “You do believe me now—don’t you?” I asked firmly.

“
I’m sorry, but I don’t understand much of your ‘jargon,’” he said, looking over the top of his dark rimmed glasses.

Ditto!

I threw my arms into the air out of frustration. Why did I feel the need to defend myself so fiercely? Was I in some kind of trouble? Did he think I was involved in the terrorist bombings? Nothing in my appearance...long blonde hair, cornflower blue eyes, and my white as flour complexion would indicate I was anything other than True Blue American! Of course, I supposed there was no protocol to what a terrorist may look like. Although my current condition didn’t play in my favor, I was a hot mess. There was no doubt a woman covered in bruises and who had lost her memory could have appeared rather suspicious.

My throat tightened, and my jaw quivered the way it does when you know you are about to cry
.

-10-

Release Me

I stared fiercely at the doctor. “Listen to me, my name is Brielle Eden, one-hundred percent. I was born in Manhattan, at Lenox Hill Hospital, my parents are Brandy and Mitchell Eden, and I have a younger brother named Brett. What else—you already know my blood type,” I retorted, punctuating almost every word.

“Yes...that’s another thing,”—
of course it is,
I thought. He continued saying, “You have one of the most rare blood types, AB negative. The percentage of this blood type is 0.7 out of every million.”

“
Yes, I know and? It’s not like I’m in need of blood.”

“
It’s just something worth mentioning. Miss Eden, there’s more,”—
spill your guts, Doc,
I retorted inwardly—“I did some checking when you fell asleep, and the hospital records confirm that there was a Brielle Eden born twenty-three years ago, which is probably about the same age as you.” He traced through my chart, obviously to double-check my age.

I pursed my lips, shaking my head, “Okay and—”

“Her blood type was AB negative—
was
,” he repeated emphatically.

“
Was?” I asked. A lump stuck in my throat. “You mean she’s—”

He raised both brows in tandem. “I’m afraid so...her death certificate claims she passed away six months ago. It was really very tragic.”

I shook my head, “That’s awful, but...you don’t think I’m her...I mean—I’m not her. Obviously, I’m very much alive. Besides, I wasn’t born in Paris. I’ve told you this already.” I exhaled. I thought for a second, pulling at a lose thread in the blanket. “I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”

The doctor raised his brows and said, “Coincidence?”

“Yes, even though a rare one, for sure. I don’t know how two people could have the same name, same blood type and be the same age...but I’m sure it’s possible,” I said, trailing to a whisper then shivered to the bone. Not because I was cold. Shocked, to say the least. “How did she die, do you know?”

“
Yes, she was pushed to her death.”

“
You’re kidding me. Why? By whom?” I asked, expecting he had answers.

He shook his head. “It’s unsolved. The information we have about her is vague...it appears the records were sealed—which is not an easy task to do—very uncommon.”

My brain ticked, trying to digest the freakish parallelism between her and me. What a twisted conundrum. Who was this other Brielle?

I wondered if she was identical to me in every way? A twin?
Wait, twins don’t share the same names.
I planned to figure this out. I wondered who killed her? I wondered if the man who appeared earlier in my doorway had mistaken me for her? What if he returned to finish the job? The fine hairs on my arms stood straight up! Major chills.

My mind raced. I stared up at the doctor. What was he thinking?

Assessing the situation, I said, “Yes. Unsolved crimes are the worst...her family is probably mortified. If you don’t mind, I would like to see her death records. I’m very interested in figuring out who killed her.” I paused when I realized the doctor wasn’t buying my detective gig. I wasn’t sure why. Of course, I was interested in solving the mystery involving the two of us. What else could I say?

There had to be a simple explanation. This woman had stolen my identity, made fake birth records then when she died—was killed—her death was logged under my name. No wonder it was all sealed. But, why did she steal my identity in the first place?

I sighed inwardly. There was
no
convincing the doctor of my true identity. My knee-jerk reaction was to run, but the pain in my legs told me otherwise. Running was not an option.

“
Do you think I’m lying about who I am?” I flat-out asked.

He cocked his head, sighed and said, “It’s just the similarities between the two of you are...” His eyes searched for the words. He shrugged. “Well, it’s extremely odd—what are the chances of this? You must agree.”