Vanished

2

– 2 –

Cory took a deep breath. “Please explain.”

“At eight this morning, an alarm clock awakened me. When I opened my eyes, I was shocked to find myself in an unfamiliar room. I felt so weird—so incredibly strange.

“At first I thought I was dreaming—or sleepwalking. My heart thumped so loudly, I felt the vibration in my ears. I leaped out of bed and feverishly searched the room. I opened the closet and saw several garments. At first I wasn’t sure if they were mine, but they seemed to be my size and my style. The shoes fit me, too.”

She pulled out a tissue from the nearby box, and dabbed her moist brow. “I’m terrified. I don’t know what happened to me.” Trembling, she hugged herself and rocked back and forth like a baby wrapped in the safety of her mother’s arms.

“I also found several books. The titles were vaguely familiar. I skimmed through a few to see if they stirred my memory, but they didn’t. Perhaps they were new and I hadn’t read them yet—or I’m really going crazy. This is too, too scary.”

“Your experience doesn’t mean you’ve gone crazy, but it certainly is frightening. Did you check other rooms in the house?”

“Yes. At first I was afraid to leave the room, scared of what I’d find. I forced myself to peek out the door. I listened for some sounds of life, like footsteps, voices, running water, but I heard nothing. Although it was quiet, I tiptoed out and looked around. All the rooms were empty. It’s as if everyone moved out while I was asleep.”

“Who moved out?”

“I don’t know.” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

“I understand this is frustrating, but you will regain your memory. You said Ann referred you. Can you recall anything about that?”

“No, I don’t remember anything at all. I found your card in a purse. Ann’s name is written on the back.” She pulled out a card from her pocket and handed it to Cory.

During many years of practice, Cory had never seen anyone with this kind of amnesia. She had treated people who had forgotten bits and pieces of important memory, but this was different. She knew the causes could be from a head injury, d**g or alcohol usage, or a traumatic event.

Fortunately, a highly respected medical group was a few steps away in the next building.

“Did you find anything to identify you in the room?”

The young woman removed an expensive looking leather wallet from her purse and handed it to Cory. It contained a driver’s license and a Visa card both bearing the name Ashley P. Hogan.

“Ashley Hogan?” Cory asked.

“I’ve run that name through my head over and over, but it means nothing to me,” the young woman replied.

Cory examined the license bearing a photo of an excellent likeness of the woman in front of her.

“The DMV has a thumb print on file which could prove if you are Ashley Hogan.”

“DMV?”

“Yes. The Department of Motor Vehicles.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Must I go there to be fingerprinted?”

Cory shook her head. “No. When I needed my fingerprints to renew my psychology license, a local store with a special machine took my fingerprints and filed them with the FBI and the Department of Justice.”

Ashley shook her head. “I know in my heart I’m not a criminal and I don’t want to go through all that.”

“It is a nuisance, but it would reassure you of your identity. An easier way is for a nearby notary agent to take your thumb print, but you’d still need a government agency to identify it.”

“Suppose they do verify that I am Ashley P. Hogan—so what? It wouldn’t bring back my memory.”

“That’s true, but it is a starting place.” Cory replied.

“I don’t know why, but I’m afraid of government authorities.”

Cory considered the possibility that Ashley’s loss of memory was due to having witnessed something dreadful. Dreadful enough to block a major part of her memory, but still keeping a self-protective sliver.

Cory loved solving mysteries and this one presented a huge challenge.

“In the house did you notice a computer, tablet, or any electronic device such as a cell phone that stores data?” Cory asked. “It may help jog your memory.”

“No. The only room furnished was the one that must be mine—judging from the clothes—otherwise the place was totally empty. If I had a phone, I’d have called before coming here.” Ashley’s voice held a tone of exasperation.

“I understand your frustration. I’ll make a copy of your driver license for your chart. Would you allow me to contact a former FBI agent—now a trustworthy private investigator? Perhaps he could find information about you.”

Ashley nodded and without hesitation signed her name on the release form.

“Instinctively, you knew how to sign your name,” Cory said. “This is a really good sign.”

The young woman shrugged. She began to sob, cupping her hands over her face.

Cory handed her a tissue and watched the frustrated young woman dab at her tears.

“But I have no memory of a past. I don’t know anything about myself.”

“You have an excellent chance to recover your memory. Amnesia—a loss of memory—is treatable.”

“What causes it?”

Cory hesitated, unwilling to make the woman more anxious. “Perhaps a bad d**g, or too much alcohol.”

“I didn’t notice any alcohol or pill bottles. I told you the house was empty apart from the room where I had awakened.”

Cory considered the possibility that Ashley could have been given an injectable substance like scopolamine. It was unlikely that whoever injected her would leave evidence behind.

It seemed more likely Ashley had witnessed a traumatic event or had sustained a head injury.

“Are you feeling pain anywhere?”

The tearful woman shook her head.

Cory took notes. “Are you experiencing any physical symptoms?”

“My heart is still racing. I feel chilled and a bit weak.”

“Probably because you’re frightened. I’ll refer you to Doctor Green in the next building for a complete physical exam.”

Cory trusted Mimi Green’s medical acumen. She’d know the best way to proceed would likely include blood work and a urine sample. The neurological exam, functional MRI or a CT scan, would probably occur at one of the many hospitals nearby.

“Do you think I may have a brain tumor?”

“It’s doubtful. Let’s not consider that at the moment.”

“What else can it be?” A pained expression etched deep furrows on her forehead.

Cory hesitated. “Sometimes amnesia occurs after a person witnesses a traumatic event.”

Ashley shuddered. “I can’t imagine what horror that could be.”

“Let’s not go there yet. Amnesia may be protective for now.”

“No. I’ve got to remember. I must. I must. This is hell,” Ashley cried.

Cory handed her the box of tissues. “I’m confident that your memory will return. If the loss is from a d**g or too much alcohol, your amnesia could clear up in hours or a few days.”

“What if I witnessed something horrendous?”

“You’ll grow stronger. You’ll be able to deal with it.”

Cory called Mimi Green’s private line and reached her immediately. Fortunately, Mimi had the time to provide a thorough exam after Cory completed her session with Ashley.

“We’re in luck. Dr. Green can see you after we finish our session.”

“I’m very grateful to you for setting this up for me so quickly,” Ashley said, trembling. “Frankly, I’m afraid of the exam and the results.”

“I can imagine how difficult the situation is for you. I assure you that the exam is not intrusive. It doesn’t hurt. You’re in competent hands with Doctor Green. I have a light schedule and will help you through this trying time.”

“That is comforting. Thank you,” Ashley said.

Anticipating that she would gain more insight about this woman from her graphic productions than the amnesic woman could otherwise provide, Cory handed her a clipboard, a sketchpad pad, and a pencil.

“Please draw a house on page one, a person on page two, and a tree on page three.”

Ashley took the materials and began to sketch, her furrowed brow softening with each stroke of the pencil. Like an accomplished artist on her own turf, she made bold, confident strokes, lost in an altered state of consciousness. She took more time on the task, much longer than most others confronted with the same assignment. It seemed to help her relax into a familiar activity.

Cory smiled as she witnessed the telling transformation.

When Ashley finished, she calmly handed the drawing materials to Cory.

“An artist finds drawing cathartic,” Cory remarked.

“I’m glad you asked me to do that. It felt right. It felt like me… whoever I am… like I’m discovering a part of myself.”

“We’ve made a fine start. We know you’re a very good artist—perhaps an accomplished one.”

The amateur detective, a role Cory frequently assumed, had surfaced. Detection was the part of psychology she found most intriguing.

“You’re a very interesting young woman. When you came into my office, despite your anxiety, you took the time to examine my credentials. It suggests you’re a cautious, intelligent person. Ann had given you my card, so you probably met at the university because she spent much of her time there. Perhaps she mentioned she worked for me. Maybe you asked for my card because you or someone close to you had a problem.”

“That makes sense.” Ashley leaned forward. “But how can I recollect it, when I’ve lost my memory? Oh, this is so frustrating.” She stamped her foot as though it would loosen the lock on her memory bank.

“I’ll do my best to help you regain your memory. Do you mind answering a few more questions?”

Ashley shrugged. “I don’t know if I can answer them.”

“It’s about items in your house. Stop me when you’ve had enough.”

Ashley nodded assent.

“Were there textbooks, a calendar, or an appointment book, from the place you just left?” Cory asked.

Ashley closed her eyes for a few seconds. “No.”

“Did you check closets, drawers, purses, pockets for these items?”

“Actually, I did. Nothing gave me a clue, except from the two items in my wallet.”

“Do you have a mailbox key?”

Ashley checked her key ring. “I have a house key and a car key. The car key has the car manufacturer’s logo on it, so I figured it belonged to the car in front of the house. I searched inside the car and trunk for something to trigger a memory, but there wasn’t anything except legal papers related to the car.”

“Among the papers in your car, were there any business cards, such as an insurance agent’s?”

Ashley shook her head. “I wish there were.”

“Is there a private mailbox near the house?”

The young woman paused to reflect. “Yes. I think so.”

“Good. When you open your mail, something may jog your memory. Another thing that may help would be to call the number on the back of your credit card and request a current statement.”

Ashley sobbed softly as tears ran down her cheeks.

Cory pushed the tissue box closer to Ashley. “Your situation is frustrating right now, but I’m confident that it is temporary. “

Ashley nodded. “You mean I can recover—if I survive. You must understand I’m terrified because I suspect someone knew I had lost my memory and is determined to keep me in the dark. That’s the reason I couldn’t find any memorabilia such as family photos or birth certificates or passports to help me remember.”

Cory pondered Ashley’s explanation, but chose not to fan the flames of fear. “You can’t be sure about that, but it shows your reasoning isn’t compromised.”

“Thank God for that blessing.” Ashley placed her hands in a prayer position and tilted her head upwards.

Was Ashley religious, as her gesture seemed to suggest? If so, would her attendance at a church service trigger memories? Cory considered the possibility. However, Ashley’s prayer gesture was a common one that some people use to make a point. If she didn’t regain her memory in a reasonable time, a visit to a church could be used to stir remembrances of any number of important past events: a marriage, baptism, confirmation, funeral, or a holiday celebration.

Cory decided to wait until the results of the exam came in before making the suggestion. For now, she would help Ashley sort out her immediate practical needs.

“It may be wise to call a security company to install equipment,” Cory suggested.

“Oh, no. I’d feel safer in a hotel.”

“Of course, that’s a much better choice. It shows your judgment hasn’t been compromised. “ Cory handed her a pad and pencil. “Make some notes about a few things you can do for now.”

Ashley looked up at Cory, like a secretary ready for dictation.

“Purchase a monthly cell phone service to protect your privacy. You can open one up at a nearby electronics store. Please call me with your new number.”

Ashley gripped the pencil tightly as she made notes.

“Rent a mail box at a convenient post office, and report the new mailing address to the Visa card company. The number is on the back of your card.”

“What if my Visa statement doesn’t jog my memory? What if the damage is permanent?” Ashley sobbed.

“I doubt that is the case. You’ll have a thorough examination by doctors—experts in their fields.”

Cory glanced at the clock on the wall. “I think it’s nearly time for your appointment with Doctor Green. She’ll help figure out the cause of your amnesia. The exam is painless and results are usually available fairly soon. Spend some time drawing—whatever comes to mind.” She handed Ashley a sketchpad and a packet of pastels stored in her desk from an old art class. “It may make you feel better.”

“Thanks very much. I’ll draw something for you,” Ashley dropped two one-hundred dollar bills on Cory’s desk. “Put this on my account, please,” she called over her shoulder as she dashed out of the door.

Whoever had abandoned Ashley had left her with some cash.

Cory wondered about the absence of any art materials in the place where Ashley had awakened. Were they removed? If so, why? Did she have a separate studio?