Lies Beneath His Touch

The first thing Elena Vale remembered was the sound of rain. Not gentle rain. The violent kind that beat against glass and swallowed every other sound. Then came the pain. A sharp, splitting pressure behind her eyes. Elena gasped. Her body yanked beneath the sheets. Something beeped beside her. Once. Twice. Then rapidly. “She's awake.” A woman's voice called. Footsteps rushed toward her, “Mrs. Blackwood, can you hear me?” Mrs. Blackwood? Elena tried to open her eyes but white light flooded her vision. She squeezed them shut again. Her throat felt like rough and dry. “Water.” The word barely left her mouth. A hand slipped beneath her head and lifted a glass to her lips. “Slowly.” She drank. Cold water slid down her throat, but the relief lasted only seconds. “Where am I?” She finally asked. “A hospital.” Hospital? The word triggered nothing. Elena opened her eyes again, there was a white ceiling, white walls, machines and an IV attached to her hand. A woman in blue scrubs stood beside the bed, watching her carefully. “How long have I been here?” The nurse hesitated. That hesitation frightened Elena more than the hospital did. “How long?” She requested again. “Three days,” the nurse replied. Three days, Elena frowned. She remembered leaving somewhere. A street. Headlights. Rain. Someone shouting her name. Then there was nothing. She tried to sit up but pain exploded through her skull. “Don't,” the nurse warned, gently pushing her shoulder down. “You suffered a serious head injury.” “What happened?” Elena demanded. “You were in an accident.” “What accident?” She asked further. The nurse exchanged a glance with the doctor who had just entered. Elena stared at them. “Why is everyone looking at me like that?” The doctor pulled a chair closer. “My name is Dr. Harris. You've been unconscious for three days. You sustained a concussion, several broken ribs, and a fracture in your left arm.” Elena looked down at her arm, it was wrapped in white plaster. She swallowed. “Who brought me here?” “A private ambulance.” The doctor replied. “Who called them?” There was another pause. “I believe your husband did.” Elena stared at him. “My what?” Confusion was boldly evident in her voice. The door suddenly swung open and the entire room changed. She didn't know why. No one said anything. They simply stepped aside. A man walked into the room. Tall, dark-haired, impossibly composed. He wore a black suit without a tie, the collar of his white shirt slightly open. Rain had left a faint sheen across the shoulders of his coat. He looked like he belonged in a boardroom, not a hospital. His eyes found hers and stopped. For the first time since waking, Elena forgot about the pain. Because the man's expression wasn't relief. It was something darker. Something that looked painfully close to fear. He crossed the room slowly. “Elena.” Her heart skipped, she didn't know him. She was certain of that. Yet something inside her reacted to the sound of his voice. A strange ache. A pull. A familiarity her mind couldn't explain. He stopped beside her bed. His eyes moved over her face as though checking that every part of her was still there. “Do you know who I am?” He asked. Elena stared at him, “No.” The word landed between them. His jaw tightened. The doctor looked away. The man's expression didn't change but something in his eyes broke, only for a second then it disappeared. “My name is Damien Blackwood.” The name meant nothing, it reminded her nothing. He looked at her left hand. Elena followed his gaze, there was a ring on her finger. A large diamond. Beautiful. Expensive. And completely unfamiliar. She touched it, “What is this?” Damien's eyes returned to hers. “Your wedding ring.” He sounded calm. Elena's stomach dropped, “What?” “You're my wife.” There was silence. The machines beside her continued beeping. Elena stared at him. Then at the ring and then back at him. “No.” Damien didn't move. “I don't remember you.” She added. “I know.” Damien said in a more calm tone. “I don't remember being married,” she continued. “I know.” “I don't remember your name.” “I know.” Her pulse quickened, “Then why are you standing there telling me I'm your wife?” His expression remained unreadable, “Because you are.” Elena pulled her hand beneath the blanket. “No.” The doctor stepped forward, “Memory loss after severe head trauma isn't uncommon.” “Memory loss?” Elena snapped. “How much?” The doctor hesitated, “We're not certain yet.” “Then find out.” Her voice cracked with frustration. She hated the helplessness, hated not knowing. Hated this man standing beside her as though he had every right to be there. Damien's gaze remained fixed on her. “Three years.” Elena went still, “What?” “You've lost approximately three years of memory.” Her breathing stopped. Three years. She searched her mind but there was nothing, there should have been something. A birthday. A conversation. A face. A place. A memory. Anything. But her mind was a locked room. She looked at Damien again. “Were we happy?” She asked. His expression changed, “Yes.” “Did I love you?” A muscle moved in his jaw, “Yes.” Elena studied him, “And do you love me?” The question seemed to hurt him. His eyes darkened, “I never stopped.” Something twisted inside her chest. She hated that her body reacted to his words. Because her mind didn't remember loving him. But her heart…. Her heart seemed to recognize something it couldn't name. Damien reached toward her but Elena flinched. His hand stopped midair. For a moment, neither moved, then he slowly lowered it. That small gesture unsettled her more than if he'd touched her. “You don't have to be afraid of me,” he said. “I don't know you.” She replied. “I know.” “You keep saying that.” She was getting frustrated. “Because there's nothing I can say that will make this easier.” Elena stared at him. “Try.” She insisted. He was silent. Then he pulled a chair beside her bed and sat. “You're Elena Vale. You're twenty-seven years old. You worked as a financial investigator before you married me.” Financial investigator? Something flashed, a computer screen, rows of numbers, a red circle around a transaction. Elena gasped. Her hand flew to her temple. “What's wrong?” Damien asked. “I…” The image vanished. She squeezed her eyes shut, but nothing only pain. Damien stood immediately, “That's enough.” “No.” She protested. “You need to rest.” He insisted. “I said no.” Her eyes snapped open, “If I'm your wife, why don't I remember our life?” “You suffered a traumatic injury.” “That isn't an answer.” His expression hardened, “It's the only answer I have right now.” Something about that sentence bothered her. Right now. Not the only answer there is. The only answer I have right now. Elena noticed everything. The controlled voice, the careful words, the way the doctor wouldn't meet her eyes. The way Damien watched her like he was waiting for something. She looked toward the nurse, “Can I see photographs?” Damien went still, “Of what?” “Us.” His gaze sharpened. “Why?” “To see if I recognize anything. There was a long silence. Then he reached into his coat. He pulled out his phone. Unlocked it, opened the gallery and handed it to her. Elena stared at the screen. The first photograph was of a woman who looked exactly like her. She was wearing a black evening gown. Her hair fell over one shoulder and Damien stood beside her. His hand was wrapped around her waist. They looked intimate. Comfortable. Married. Elena swiped. Another photograph. The two of them at a charity gala. Another on a yacht. Another standing in front of a Christmas tree. Another Damien kissing her forehead. Her fingers tightened around the phone. “These are real?” She asked suspiciously. “Yes.” “Who took them?” She asked again. “Different people.” She swiped again. A photograph appeared that made her stop. She was standing in front of a large glass building. Blackwood International. The words beneath the photograph read: BLACKWOOD INTERNATIONAL ANNUAL GALA. Her stomach twisted, she didn't know why. But she knew that building. Not from the photograph. From somewhere else, somewhere buried. Her thumb hovered over the screen, “Why does this place feel familiar?” Damien's face became unreadable, “You've been there many times.” “What did I do there?” “You attended events with me.” Elena looked at him. “Only that?” She handed the phone back, “What aren't you telling me?” Damien took the phone. “Nothing.” “You're lying.” His eyes lifted sharply. Elena surprised herself. She didn't know him yet she knew that much. Damien leaned closer. Not enough to touch her but enough for her to feel his presence. His voice dropped. “You've been awake for less than an hour.” “And already I know you're hiding something.” His gaze held hers. For one dangerous second, neither looked away. Then he straightened, “Get some rest.” With that he turned toward the door. “Damien.” Elena called. He stopped. Elena didn't know why she called him back. Maybe instinct, maybe curiosity, maybe something buried deep inside her was trying to warn her. “Were we really married?” He looked over his shoulder. “Yes.” “Then why does it feel like I'm meeting you for the first time?” His face went completely still. And for the first time, Elena saw something she couldn't explain. Fear. Not fear of losing her. Fear of what she might remember. Damien walked back to the bed. He leaned down, his hand came to rest beside hers on the hospital bed. Close but not touching. “You don't remember the last three years,” he whispered. His eyes searched hers, “But I remember every second.” Elena's breath caught. Then he walked away. The door closed behind him. She stared at it. Something was wrong, she didn't know what, she didn't know why. But as silence settled over the room, Elena looked down at the diamond on her finger. There was an engraving inside the band. She twisted the ring until she could read it. Three words were inscribed: Always find me. Her heartbeat stumbled. Because beneath the engraving, almost invisible against the metal, was a tiny symbol. A black crescent. And the moment Elena saw it a memory exploded through her mind. A dark room, a laptop glowing in the corner, stacks of documents. A trembling hand drawing circles around bank transactions. A man's voice behind her. “You need to stop digging.” Elena gasped. The memory vanished. She sat frozen beneath the hospital lights. Then another thought came. A warning. Don't trust the man who says he's your husband. Elena slowly looked toward the closed door. And for the first time since waking up she was afraid of Damien Blackwood.