Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Ethan watched sleep take Adam from the room, observed his features as he relaxed into slumber, and saw a glimpse of the Adam he'd known from his time at the ranch—pale skin, dark hair, and long lashes that framed his uninjured eye—and tried not to focus on the cuts and bruises that crossed and marked his face.

"It's highly irregular." Doctor Armitage was still talking, but it was just a buzz in the room.

"We should leave him to sleep," the nurse said. Her badge said her name was Clare, and she pulled the sheet and blanket more neatly around the sleeping Adam. "Everyone out." The interns all scurried away, some of them looking decidedly pleased they were getting out of standing with Dr. Armitage.

She pointedly looked at Ethan and lowered her voice so that the doctor, who was still talking to Detective Manning, couldn't hear. "He's vulnerable," she said. "Sweet guy, but he'll need help."

"I get that. I want to take him home. We'll be able to help him there."

She nodded. "We should leave him now." She rolled her eyes to indicate the doctor, and Ethan had got the point. She needed him to get the doctor out of the room.

In a flurry of motion, Ethan stood and ushered everyone out, following them and closing the door behind him. He didn't want to leave, he wanted to stay in the room and watch over Adam, but he had things to say, and questions to ask.

The doctor rounded on him before he could get a single question in. "You have to understand there is no structural brain damage as such, so what has been the primary cause of the missing memory can only be something physical or psychological. He is, for all intents and purposes, repressing his memories. He needs to be studied."

"Repressing memories by himself?" Ethan was confused; was the doctor implying that Adam had chosen not to have memories?

Doctor Armitage drew himself tall and cleared his throat. "There is a difference between global amnesia, or what you might call fugue state, and situation-specific amnesia." He waited for someone to say something, like he expected those around him to show awe. Ethan said nothing, and the doctor continued. "Global is the sudden loss of personal identity. It lasts only a few hours or days, which is clearly not the case here." He stopped again.

Drama queen.

"So what kind of amnesia does he have?" Ethan asked, patience with the posturing on the wane.

"What I think our young man is suffering from, is situation-specific amnesia as a result of the attack. He experienced something so horrific that he quite literally turned off his memories to protect himself."

"Something horrific, like the attack itself."

"Yes, he was possibly at increased risk of this due to sexual or physical abuse in childhood, or some other kind of sufficiently severe psychological stress."

Ethan held his words. He had way more knowledge about Adam's childhood than he was willing to share with the doctor. Adam had never wanted to share things back then, and he'd probably hate it just as much now.

"Nothing like that," Ethan lied.

"Well, whatever, I wanted to attempt to rediscover the repressed memories, which we may be able to access by psychotherapy or possibly hypnotism."

"We'll look into that when I get him home."

"You don't know what he is trying to hide from," the doctor protested. Maybe there was a kernel of compassion in the man beyond his love of research? Then he blew that theory out of the water by adding another comment. "Anyway, I need his input against a control group."

That put the last nail in the coffin. "I'm taking him home tomorrow."

"I'd like to talk to the brother," Doctor Armitage persisted.

"Surely whether he leaves or not is Adam's decision?" Ethan countered.

"I'm not sure he's capable of making that decision."

"Medically?"

"No, emotionally. I mean, how do we even know who you are to him?"

Ethan pulled out his cell phone and prepared to forward a set of emails between himself and Cole to Detective Manning. "What is your email?" The doctor reluctantly handed it over, and Ethan copied him in. "This will be enough. I'll talk to Adam in the morning. Meanwhile I'll need a full medical assessment of his injuries to take with me to Jedburgh. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to sit here until morning."

He didn't go back into Adam's room; he hadn't been officially checked as a family rep, and he understood that Detective Manning would need to clear him.

Doctor Armitage walked away with resentment in every step, and Manning looked at his retreating form with exasperation. "Idiot doctor," he muttered, then held up his phone and checked the emails Ethan had sent. He sent one in return. "That's the 911 call, made from a burner phone which we located in the trash just off of campus." Extending his hand, he shook Ethan's. "Good luck to you, Officer Allens."

"Call me Ethan."

With a nod of understanding, Manning left, and as he walked out, the nurse came back in with a coffee cup and a smile.

"Thought you'd need this," she said.

"Thanks for your help back there."

She smiled. "You're welcome. Doctor Armitage isn't a bad guy, just an academic who sees medical problems but not the people caught up in them. I'll be at the desk if you need me."

She was about to leave, but he stopped her. "Wait. What can you tell me about Adam?"

She hesitated and tilted her head a little in thought. "You mean besides medically? He's a sweet guy, very polite—calls me ma'am. He likes to watch nature programs and the news channels. His favorite jello is green, but then, let's be honest, there isn't much taste to any of the jellos, so that means nothing."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said, then left.

This time he didn't have any questions to call her back for. He listened to the 911 call but Manning had been right, the voice could be any guy with a hand over the receiver.

He settled into the uncomfortable chair and considered who to call. Cole was out of touch, and Cole's ex-wife hated everything to do with the family and its past tragedies, so that took care of Adam's family. Then what about his own? There was no point in phoning his dad—what could he say to him? Oh yeah, Dad, I found Adam, but no, not Justin. So no brother for me, no son for you, just your friend's son, who doesn't even remember him.

He shot off an email to the Navy Liaison address he had, and asked that they forward it to Cole. After that he had nothing to do except sit in the shitty chair, with hope rekindled inside him, wishing that somehow Adam would get all his memories back and know where Justin was. Then he researched as much as he could about amnesia, part of him wishing he could find something Doctor Armitage didn't know.

He must have nodded off at some point, waking to another coffee from Clare and a ten-minute warning that breakfast was about to be brought up to the patients. His neck ached, and he was semi curled up in the hard chair.

"Thought you needed this. If you want to go to the cafeteria, I can keep an eye on Adam."

"No, I'll stay here. Thank you, though."

"I'll see if I can get someone to bring you up something."

A quick glance at his watch showed Ethan it was a few minutes after six. He checked his email. He'd only sent the information to Navy Liaison late last night, but there was already a message back saying all efforts would be made to get the information to Cole Strachan. There was a group joke sent by one of the shift officers back at the precinct, and some spam. Other than that, nothing.

Ethan stood and stretched tall, sipped his hot coffee, and watched the April morning unfold before his eyes. Clare managed to scrounge up some pastries, and he ate them at the window, a hundred thoughts racing through his head.

A nurse disappeared into Adam's room, and Ethan tensed in expectation. He desperately wanted to go in there, but would Adam even be interested in talking to him?

"Are you Ethan?" the nurse asked. The tray in her hand carried untouched food.

"Yes, ma'am."

"You can go in. He's asking for you."

As he started to walk past her, she thrust the tray at him. There was a plate of eggs, and a sorry-looking pancake. "Try to get him to eat some of this," she said.

He took the tray, because he didn't really have a choice, and went into Adam's room, kicking the door shut behind him. There was no one in the bed, but the bathroom door was closed, so Ethan assumed that was where the errant Adam was. He placed the tray on the table and waited, looking out of the same window Adam had been standing at last night. From this angle and at this height, Ethan could see the water of Lake Michigan and watch the hospital parking lot grow busier by the minute.

The bathroom door opened. Ethan instinctively turned and wished he hadn't, because now he was staring. Not so much at the pajama bottoms that rode low on slim hips, or the broad chest that had a smattering of hair, tapering to a happy trail downward, nor to the muscles in Adam's arms. No, Ethan was staring at the scars—new ones and some way older by the look of them—bruises purple and yellow and green, and the tattoos.

Tribal tattoos circled Adam's arms, over his right shoulder, and down onto his pec: big swathes of dark ink with finer detail in curls around muscles. Something that looked like old burns marked his neck. A body that had seen a lot, felt a lot.

"I don't remember them," Adam said, his voice lost. He ran his fingers over the tattoos as if touching them would bring back memories. "They must have hurt, don't you think?"

Ethan thought of the small tattoo over his heart and recalled the discomfort of getting it. His hadn't hurt; the million tiny pricks into his skin were nothing.

"Maybe," he offered.

Adam turned a little and checked the tattoos in the mirror, peering close. "I wonder what they mean?"

When he turned, he exposed more marks on his back and the fine lines of a horse standing on his hind legs. Ethan inhaled sharply.

"What?" Adam snapped, attempting to see his back even though he couldn't get the right angle. "What is it?"

"Your horse."

Adam frowned. "That is my horse? I want to see that again, the detective took a photo but he didn't have a copy for me."

Ethan pulled out his cell and snapped a shot of the beautiful tattoo, then passed the phone to Adam, who stared at the picture.

"Why is it—" Any energy seemed to leave him in the exhalation of a sigh, and he slumped to sit on his bed. "—I remember this is a cell phone, but I don't recall patterns on my own skin?"

From his research Ethan learned terms like brain centers and retrograde amnesia, alongside traumatic stress, he didn't understand a lot of it. "I have no idea."

Adam curled into himself, hunching over his knees, looking utterly defeated.

Compassion welled inside Ethan, and he sat next to his old friend, pushing the tray toward him. "Eat your eggs," he said gruffly.

Adam side-eyed him and huffed before taking the tray and resting it on the small hospital table. He forked some into his mouth, grimacing as he chewed and swallowed, but at least he ate half of what was there, and one cold, dry pancake.

"I need a proper breakfast," Adam grumped.

"Like what?"

"Hot fresh bacon," Adam said immediately, paling at what he was saying. "I think that I love bacon. I'd eat plates of the stuff if you gave them to me."

"And real pancakes," Ethan added. He reached over and poked at the sorry excuse for one that had been served. "But not like this one. Fluffy, steaming pancakes."

Adam nodded and darted his tongue out to collect a small piece of egg resting on his lips. "Maple syrup," he added softly.

"You always liked maple syrup."

Adam finished the eggs and grimaced again. "When we get out of here, will you find me bacon?"

"Of course."

"Real bacon, and pancakes with maple syrup. That sounds just like what I want to eat."

Ethan's chest tightened as Adam looked up at him under his eyelashes, his dark eyes holding humor. Adam and Justin had spent their childhoods getting Ethan to do what they wanted: the older brother with money from a part-time job, the one with the car. And he'd done everything they asked.

"I wouldn't take you anywhere bad," Ethan said

Adam pushed the tray to one side. "I need a shower, and then we go, right?"

"Right."

"You should take photos of all my tattoos, so you could maybe find out more about me."

"I know who you are. The rest will follow when your memories return." He didn't want to say that he'd already decided to email the tattoo of the horse to Jen, just in case she could track down where it had been done. It was a beautiful piece of work, and likely whoever did it would have it in a portfolio somewhere. Of course, that was a needle in a haystack. Who knew where Adam had been in the last twelve years? Chicago, where he was now? Or had he traveled from Montana to another city?

Adam looked at him, confused. "You said I disappeared. How old was I when that happened? Fifteen, you said?"

"You were nearly sixteen."

Adam glanced down at himself, "And I'm twenty-eight now, so what happened in between?" He stood up and half turned. "You should get them all."

Ethan did as Adam wanted, and pulled all the photos into one email, sending the whole lot to Jen with a particular request about tracking down the artist. Meanwhile, Adam went into the bathroom, closed the door, and left Ethan staring at the wood.