The Reaper (Eastward Prison)

Chapter 11

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

JACK

“It could be neurological amnesia, due to the head injury. You are likely to suffer from some mild confusion, and possible memory impairments for the everyday. It's not anterograde amnesia, he is able to learn new things. I’d encourage you to get him some books to read, or to start watching a TV box set or something, learn new characters, new storylines, follow them, and be able to pick them up.” The specialist neurologist was conducting one of the many interviews and assessments Jack had lined up in his timetable. Hannah was off work, and therefore had come along with him. He liked her coming to these things, sitting by his side, like they were a normal couple, supporting each other.

“I’m concerned it might be psychogenic amnesia, caused by a violent crime or emotional trauma. It’s fairly rare, it might take more therapy and counselling techniques to help these memories return, and may need careful processing. It’s too early yet to say, but we’d have expected you to recover your autobiographical memory by now. You can’t remember anything about who you were, not even where you went to school, university?”

“No, I’m sorry, I can’t, it’s just a grey blur,” Jack said with a grimace.

“But you remember Hannah?”

Jack looked at her, warmth in his eyes. “I get a sense of… deja vous, I think, a sense that I’ve been with her, before, I feel a sense of calm, and safety, of desire, of companionship… it feels familiar, I feel safe when I’m with her. I feel...”

He reached for her hand, Hannah smiled and reached back and it all felt so wildly real.

The neurologist sighed. “This isn't going to be easy. Amnesia varies in severity and scope, but even mild amnesia takes a toll on daily activities and quality of life. The syndrome can cause problems at work… in social settings. It may not be possible to recover lost memories. Some people with severe memory problems need to live in a supervised situation or extended-care facility...”

They both looked at each other. Would she stick around if the going got tough, if he took a downward turn, if he needed further help?

“I think it would help if Jack could get up and about a bit more, walk about, do some exercise, get outside… just being stuck in the same room every day is a bit shit,” Hannah said. He watched her like a hawk.

The neurologist wrote something on his piece of paper on his clipboard. “I’m going to recommend a programme of recovery, I’ll monitor you every day, we’ll do these games, memory tests to be sure you can pick up and retain new information. I’d like you to see the therapist every day, too. I’ll also get you a physiotherapist, we have a gym on site here, you won’t be weightlifting anytime soon but you’ll be able to exercise safely with them. We’ll progress you onto walks outside in the yard once the physio says you are ready for it.”

He got out a board game, ‘Who wants to be a Millionaire’. He watched them play. Jack cleared the first questions easily, they laughed at some of the silly answer options that were blatantly not right. A, B, C or D. He got the ￡1000 prize. They moved to the higher figures, for ￡8000, who painted the Mona Lisa. For ￡16,000 which mountain range features the Twelve Apostles. For ￡32000 who wrote the book Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha. His general knowledge was strong, they moved onto the times tables, the doctor encouraging them to test each other. Jack knew them, too. Did he remember how to tie a shoelace? They laughed about him not having any shoes. Hannah offered up her lace up trainers, propping her leg onto his lap. He smiled at her, and flawlessly untied and tied her shoe lace. He could remember all of that.

He was then asked what he had for breakfast. What day was it? Jack struggled with this.

“All the days are the same, they all merge into one.” he said. The doctor jotted down notes. Jack was able to correctly estimate how long he’d been in the hospital, he’d been able to recite the tale of how he’d been found since the accident. The doctor laid out some playing cards and played a memory game, holding onto certain numbers and covering others, and Jack had to match the covered ones with the cards in his hand. He correctly learnt and remembered where the cards were placed.

And then they all left him to rest. But he found no rest. He ruminated on all of it. Dwelling, replaying bits of conversation, trying to figure it all out.

The other day, she had mentioned those two little words… new beginnings. That had been something, an important phrase for them.

And when he had paused on that, and thought twice about what that might mean, he’d seen the panic on her face. His suspicions had been confirmed. She was lying about something. There was something she didn’t want him to know about.

He’d given her a wink yesterday. He wanted it to say; I know something’s wrong but I trust you, for now. I’m playing along, too. He wanted to show his cards a little, show that he knew something was up. He wanted to show that he did really care for her, genuinely, and wanted to make it better, whatever this was, this thing she was afraid of, he could help, if she let him in on it.

He didn’t care that there was something else going on. For now, he didn’t care. He had felt so aroused by her. He was completely and utterly under her spell. He couldn’t think of anything else, but her, since that moment they had taken things to another level of physicality. And yes, watching her, touching her and her touching him, hearing her coming, hearing himself coming, that epic release of falling over the edge. Yes, it was bringing things back. The pornographic video rewound in his mind to them together, tangled up, tangled in clothes, removing them, then tangled in each other’s bodies. Just limbs, and feelings, heat, darkness. But he was remembering.

He almost didn't want to, yet he yearned for more. He didn’t want to remember, because this erotic haze would fade, and whatever it was, whoever he was, the reason for being beaten up and now in this hospital in the first place, would take over. For now, he just wanted to stay in this stage of hard arousal, and blissful release. Not think, not worry. Just look forward to the next time she’d visit and they could be intimate with each other. He wanted to do more, explore her more, also feel more himself, feel his enjoyment, learn what he liked. He’d liked everything they had done so far. He wasn’t ready for it to stop.

Because he had a feeling that she didn’t want him to remember, because it would stop. Whatever it was, the giant wall of lies between them, she thought it would stop them being together.

She wasn’t shy, she wasn’t a shrinking violet. That’s for sure. The thing she was hiding, it wasn’t between them, it couldn’t be anything about their relationship, it had to be something else. His suspicions had taken a back seat the last few days, and he’d just embraced how he was feeling. It didn’t feel familiar, letting go like this, following his feelings. He’d wanted to fight it, he knew he was used to ignoring his impulses, not acting on a whim. But it was Hannah, somehow, they had meant something to each other and he was prepared to follow her lead. It was helping, the more he explored the relationship with her, the more he remembered. She was good for him, the thing she was hiding from him wasn’t a lie about her feelings for him. What else could it be?

And she had trusted him, she had sunk back into his arms, into his hands, giving everything to him. She had teased him, she had artfully hooked him in and worked him into a state of near drooling over her. What lie could it be, that she is telling him? Because it all felt so right, being with her. Yes, at this stage, he didn’t care.

He wanted to let it play out. He wanted to pretend she was his for a bit longer.