Desolate Souls (Forgotten Souls MC, #1) (38 page)

Nodding my head, I turn back towards Alana. She looks peaceful, almost serene, as she sleeps, her mind giving her a much needed break from all the events that have taken place over the last several weeks. When she awakes, it will all become reality again.

“I almost lost her,” I whisper, feeling tears well in my eyes. “We did lose our son. I never got a chance to hold him, see him smile or hear him cry,” I manage to choke out.

When I feel Deuce’s hand on my shoulder, I almost lose it. “Until you can hold him in your arms, hold him in your heart,” he whispers, pausing for a brief second. “I had a little brother, Michael. I was almost ten when he was born and I can remember making all these plans. Teaching him to build a fort, stuff like that. We never got the chance. I didn’t quite understand it at the time, but he came too early, three months. The doctors couldn’t save him and my mom was devastated. I remember my dad saying those exact words to her, trying to ease the pain but it was too much for her. One night, I woke up in the middle of the night and heard her crying in their room. I didn’t have to ask why. No one did. I sat outside their bedroom door and listened to my father tell her that an angel in the book of life wrote down Michael’s name and then whispered as she closed the book, too beautiful for this earth. Somehow, those words comforted her. The next day, we held a memorial for my brother and it was last day I saw her tears.”

I absorb every single word he speaks and somehow it brings me a sense of peace.

“You would’ve made a great father, just as Alana would’ve been an exceptional mother. You both have so much to give despite your pasts. Your son was loved from the moment he was conceived and that love will never die. It will live on in both of your hearts forever. Letting go of the guilt won’t erase the heartache, but it will begin the grieving process.”

I look over at my friend who is wise beyond his years and take everything he says to heart. Casting blame will not bring our son back. Dwelling on his demise will change nothing. Remembering him will immortalize him forever.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“That’s what friends are for. I’m here for you and Alana. Together, we will all heal.”

Two Days Later

“I
don’t know you!” Alana shouts, backing into the corner. “I just want to be left alone!”

“Alana please,” I plead as I reach out to her.

“Jax!” I turn to see Doc standing there, a horrified look on his face. “Can I have a word with you?”

Looking back at Alana, seeing the alarmed look on her face, I nod my head in agreement. Doc holds the door open, ushering me outside quickly. “I wish I’d caught you before you went in there,” he mutters, as he quickly leads the way to the private waiting room.

Stepping inside the small room, he motions towards the couch against the wall, prompting me to sit. “What the fuck is going on?”

“We’ve had a little setback,” he says, taking the seat across from me. “Alana’s suffering from what we call Dissociative Amnesia. I’ve consulted Dr. Krieger on this case because, to be quite honest, this is out of my realm of expertise.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” I say, looking to Doc for answers.

“Dissociative Amnesia. It’s a form of memory loss caused by a traumatic event. It would seem Alana is suffering from it.”

“So you’re saying she can’t remember anything?”

“Not exactly. This is a selective form of amnesia where the patient can recall certain events in their life, but the traumatic ones are erased.”

“Dumb it down for me, Doc.”

“In Alana’s case, her first memory is one from early childhood. She can specifically recall helping her mother plant flowers in the garden outside of their home while her father mowed the lawn. She also remembers events from her time in foster care, although nothing of substance. They are random events, such as going to the movies, a slumber party with friends from school, or making cookies with her foster mom. Alana’s time with Mary seems to be the most uninterrupted, up until the point where Mary dies. It would seem her next memory is after her release from jail,” Doc explains.

“Wait a minute, she doesn’t remember me. I was there with her, from the beginning. I’ve known Alana since she was six years old.”

Shaking his head, Doc gives me a sympathetic look. “Your arrival in Alana’s life occurred shortly after the death of her parents, when the murder/suicide she witnessed was still fresh in her mind. In fact, Alana doesn’t seem to recall much from the first few years or so she was in foster care. You yourself told me that it was during your time with the Martins that the two of you became inseparable. Alana suffered a tremendous amount of abuse from the beginning, and her mind has deemed those memories to be detrimental. Unfortunately, you were a part of those of traumatic events and her mind has locked your existence away as well.”

“But it wasn’t all traumatic,” I argue. “We found each other again, fell in love and conceived a child together. She was happy and so was I.”

“I’m not disputing that fact. What I’m saying is that you reemerged in her life during a time that she was being manipulated and used by Paul. The mind is a complex thing. Traumatic events overwhelm the mind’s ability to cope. When it becomes overloaded, a switch is thrown in an attempt to survive the ordeal intact. In Alana’s case, much of her past is filled with agony, but it was the loss of your child combined with Paul’s suicide that was the catalyst for her mental breakdown. Her mind shut down and when it restarted, everything surrounding those events was eradicated.”

“Won’t this be worse for her in the long run? When she does start to remember, won’t it affect her twice as hard?”

“We won’t know until that time comes. Some people start recalling events little by little. Others wake up one day and remember every single event. It can take weeks, months or even years for the memories to resurface but I need to prepare you for the possibility that Alana may never recover.”

“That doesn’t seem so bad,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief. This could be a blessing in disguise.

“I don’t think you’re fully understanding me, Jax.” He pauses for a moment, looking at me hesitantly before he continues. “There’s a chance that Alana may never remember you.”

The moment the words escape his lips, time stands still. My heart stops beating. My breathing halts. I cannot speak. It is as if the world has come to an end.

“I’ve asked Dr. Krieger to take her case as a personal favor. He practically wrote the book on Dissociative Amnesia and if anyone can help Alana, it’s him.”

“What are her chances?” I manage to choke out.

“The prognosis for recovery is generally good, but there are several factors that come into play. Dr. Krieger met with her this morning and her initial reaction wasn’t what he was hoping for. At this point, we have to wait and see how she responds to treatment. I know this is hard for you to take in, and you’re probably not going to like what I have to say, but the best thing you can do for her right now is to back off. Let Dr. Krieger work with her and when she’s ready, he’ll bring you in.”

“And what if she’s never ready?” I ask, drawing in a deep breath.

“Then the Alana you know and love will cease to exist.”

As the rush of air escapes my lungs, my heart shatters into a million pieces.

Six Months Later

T
hey say starting over is never easy. That’s an understatement. When you have no past, starting over is your only option.

Leaving Cedar Falls was simple. There was nothing there for me anyway, at least nothing I could remember. A four hour bus ride landed me in Fairview where I would begin my new life. It sounded easy enough, yet here I am, staring down at my half empty glass, tears brimming my eyes.

Maybe Dr. Krieger was right and moving away was a mistake. I just couldn’t bring myself to stay in a town where people knew my past and I didn’t.

The fact is that I didn’t want to remember what happened to me. I read every bit of literature Dr. Krieger handed me on the subject and every single instance of Dissociative Amnesia was triggered by a traumatic or stressful experience that the person endured or witnessed.
Physical or sexual abuse, rape, combat, abandonment, or death of a loved one.
What it boiled down to is that something bad happened in my past and I had no desire to remember any of it.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t have an effect on me just the same. Not knowing was eating me alive and I needed answers. So I did the only thing I knew to do.

“You can’t let this eat you alive.”

Drawing in a deep breath, I look over at Danny – my friend, confidant, and the only person who knows the truth. “I know.”

“You aren’t alone,” he reminds me, his hand reaching out and covering my own.

If it weren’t for Danny, I don’t know what I’d do. “I keep wondering if I’m making a huge mistake.”

“You can’t keep second guessing yourself. We all have parts of our past we wish we could forget, but they make us the person we are. They give us strength. You may not remember what happened to you, but at least it’s no longer a mystery.”

I nod my head in agreement, but it does nothing to alleviate the pain. I have forgotten more than most people ever experience in their lifetime, yet I can’t remember a single detail. I know the facts and that alone is enough to torment me forever.

“Thank you,” I whisper, laying my head on Danny’s shoulder, smiling as he pulls me tighter to him.

“No need to thank me, Alana. I love you and together we’ll get through this, one step at a time.”

Five Years Later

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D
arkness – the absence of light. Within its depths lies fear of the unknown. It can consume you, making you go crazy. I embrace the darkness because without it, one can never know light. But within the darkness also lies pain.

Losing someone you love alters your life forever, leaving a gap in your heart that feels like it will never close. Alana Jacobs stole my heart the moment she looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes on a rooftop so many years ago and to this day she still owns it. She always will.

Willing my eyes open, I stare into the empty basement - my shrine, as Deuce likes to call it. This room housed all the memories Alana and I shared from the time we met until the day she disappeared from my life.