Into the Storm (8 page)

“
I thought I could ask you some questions. Maybe we could trigger a memory or something …” my voice trailed off.

Liar, that little voice in my mind was taunting me.

You just need to stay busy and not think about touching her.

My mind was right.

She turned and faced me, drawing her legs up against her chest. “Okay. Ask away.”

Two hours later, I knew that Rabbit was sure she hated liver and brussel sprouts. That she thought blue was her favorite color and lilies were the prettiest flower. She liked music of all kinds although she did wrinkle her nose at rap. She loved to read and did so voraciously. She hated the smell of cigarette smoke and intensely disliked the colors navy, brown and black. I found her reaction to that question interesting since she had been dressed in a navy shirt and dark pants with a black coat when I found her. But she was adamant in her dislike.

She could not, however, tell me where she had gone to school, the names of any friends, and no matter what female name I threw at her, none struck a spark or made her even pause. She couldn’t recall the name of a boyfriend or husband. Part of me was relieved at that piece of information. We talked about different careers, but nothing seemed to break through to her memory. She could rattle off the names of books she had read, movies she had seen, but nothing personal. No information that would give me a clue where to start looking for her identity.

I looked down at the paper I had been scribbling furiously on. I just kept throwing out questions and jotting down notes. It was both an exercise in trying to help her jog a memory as well as a way not to look at her too often and keep my hands busy. I would glance at her as she would close her eyes at times and seem to try and search her mind for an answer but would avert my gaze when I would see her eyes start to flutter open. Her eyes saw too much. I couldn’t let her see how I was struggling right now.

We were both quiet as I looked over the various things I had written down. I was trying to find something,
anything,
that could tell me who she was but nothing leapt out at me. Sighing, I put the pad and pen on the table in front of me. I stood up and went to the window looking out at the snow that was still falling. It was hard to tell how heavy it was with the strong wind blowing it around.

“
How long have you lived here?”

I started at the sudden question and turned to face her. “Five years.”

“
What do you do … for a living?”

“
I’m a writer.”

She sat up. “What do you write?”

I grinned, teasing her. “Books.”

I was rewarded with one of her shy smiles.

“
What kind of books? Would I have read any of them?”

“
My last one might actually help you,” I said thoughtfully.

“
Really? What was it?”

I turned back to the window. “How to be a better career criminal for dummies,” I said, biting my lip to stop from laughing.

I never saw the cushion coming, but certainly felt it hit me squarely in the back of the head.

Laughing, I turned around. “I’ll add possible pitcher to your list of maybes, Rabbit.”

“
Just for that, I’m on strike,” Rabbit sniffed, crossing her arms. “I’m not cooking again today.”

I continued to laugh as I placed the cushion back on the sofa. “Not a problem. Dinner’s on me tonight.”

“
Better be good,” she mumbled.

Grateful I had diverted her questions, I retreated to the kitchen to make dinner. I turned the radio on to see if there were any updates on the storm, and of course, any updates on a missing woman. I was strangely relieved not to hear any news on that front. My mind laughed at me. When she showed up, I could hardly wait to get her off my property and now I was dreading news of a way for her to leave.

Rabbit wandered in and, without asking, began to assemble the salad. She set the table and soon we were ready to eat. She looked down at her plate in disbelief as I sat down beside her. “What?” I asked.

“
You don’t really expect me to eat all this meat do you?” she asked skeptically.

“
You don’t eat enough. You leave more food on your plate than you eat,” I said firmly. “You need your strength.”

She looked down for a minute and then back at me. Her eyes were sad. “I feel like that is what I’m supposed to do. I don’t think I eat very much.” She shrugged self-consciously. “I get the feeling …” her voice trailed off.

“
What? Tell me.”

“
I don’t think I’m … allowed to. Like it’s a rule.”

I felt the anger building again. Something or someone had ingrained that so deeply in her mind that she could follow
that
rule but not remember who she was or why she was doing it.

“
New rule, Rabbit. You eat what you want and however much you want. Don’t stop because you think you
have
to; stop when
you
want to. I don’t want you hungry. Understand?” My voice was firm, and I looked at her, my gaze direct and serious. She nodded, looking down at her plate nervously. I softened my voice. “However much or little
you
want, Rabbit. But your choice, okay?” Her eyes met mine and she nodded. I hated the nervous look in her eyes and I desperately fought the need to stroke her cheek or hold her hand. Instead, I got up and went over to the cupboard and grabbed a bottle of red wine and a couple glasses. Sitting back down, I poured a glass and offered it to her. Then I poured myself one. I needed the alcohol.

We ate in silence for a few minutes when she suddenly looked down at her plate and I heard a muffled giggle.

I looked up at her. “Something funny about your dinner?”

She shook her head, letting out a snicker, her head still bowed.

I looked at my plate, mystified. What was I missing?

I looked up and met with her vivid blue eyes dancing with mirth.

“
Share. Please.”

“
I was just thinking …” another giggle burst forth, making my lips twitch with the desire to join her.

“
What?”

“
I hope I’m not a vegetarian …” her voice trailed off as she burst into laughter.

I had to join in her merriment. Lifting up my glass, I toasted her. “Here’s hoping you’re not an alcoholic either.”

She clapped a hand over her mouth but the amusement spilled over. Unable to help myself, I found myself roaring with laughter with her.

Rabbit had a great sense of humor.

I liked it.

Fuck. Of course I did.

Chapter Eight

Joshua

Rabbit moved yet again. We were sitting by the fire, neither of us talking much. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Since our shared laughter at dinner, we had slipped back into a more companionable state. Using one of the gas lights, I was scanning some notes I had printed before the storm had hit. Rabbit was sitting across from me, closer to the fire, but seemed to be shifting a lot. I watched her for a few minutes and noticed the constant winces of pain as she moved.

“
Did you hurt yourself when you fell this afternoon?” I asked, breaking the silence.

She looked over, startled. “I’m not sure, but my side aches.”

I thought about it for a moment, remembering the huge patchwork of bruising she had on her side. What if she had caused further damage today? I took in a deep breath. “Your side was really bruised and swollen. I was worried about how bad it looked. Would you let me look at it? Just to make sure it’s okay?”

She hesitated and then nodded. She got up slowly and came over to me. I switched on a light, using precious power, but needing it to see clearly.

“
I’m just going to lift the shirt so I can see, okay?”

“
Okay.” The one word was spoken so faintly I could barely hear her.

I lifted the edge of the shirt and saw a large mass of bruising. Once again, I fought back the wave of fury I felt at seeing the evidence of her beating. The area was still swollen and red and the imprint of the top of a shoe, which was more vivid than ever, told me whoever had done this, had stomped on her. Hard. I felt my stomach lurch at the thought of what she had endured.

“
Is it okay if I touch you?”

All I got was a nod. Gingerly, I traced over the bruises. The area was warm but not overly hot. I couldn’t see any additional bruising but I noticed how she suddenly flinched and heard the small gasp as my fingers traced the shoe imprint. “Sorry,” I whispered, hating the thought of causing her additional pain. The desire to press my lips over the bruises and heal her with my touch hit me and I pulled back quickly before I followed through on my impulse. I dropped the shirt and hesitated before asking her if I could look at her leg as well. She nodded and I pulled back the sweats she was wearing, checking the dark angry bruises there, as well. “I think they’re just tender. You probably hit them when you fell, so you are feeling it more tonight,” I assured her. A thought occurred to me. I sat back unsure how she would take my idea.

“
I think we should take some pictures of your bruising,” I said quietly.

She stiffened. “Why?”

“
When you remember who you are, you may need evidence of what happened to you. I’ll use my camera and put the pictures on a flash drive for you. I’ll erase them after. I promise.”

I heard another soft okay.

I got up and grabbed my camera and a ruler, and then took some pictures. Each bruise I looked at made me nauseous again. I used the ruler against the hand and foot prints to show their approximate size, in case Rabbit needed that information. I could feel the anger building at the faceless person who did this and I wanted nothing more than to give them a taste of their own punishment. When I finished, I stood up. My voice was tense. “All done.”

I helped her straighten up from where she had been leaning on the sofa, holding onto her until I felt she could stand on her own again. She stood; her eyes downcast and I could see the tears falling down her cheeks. I knew exactly how vulnerable she was feeling at the moment. But I wasn’t ready to share that with her. Instead, I leaned forward and brushed my lips gently against her forehead.

“
You were very brave to let me do that,” I whispered quietly against her skin, wanting to praise her for her courage. She didn’t say anything, but I felt a deep shuddering sigh flow through her. Before I could even acknowledge the need to do so, I wrapped my arms around her and stood holding her. She burrowed into my chest and my arms tightened, holding her closer, still mindful of her injuries. We stood silently for a few minutes, both taking comfort in our closeness. Regretfully, I pulled away and sat her on the sofa. I got some pain pills and gave them to her. “Don’t let it get so bad. Stay ahead of the pain,” I scolded her gently.