Chapter Thirty-Two

John was angry. Angry with himself. Why was it so hard to speak to that cursed woman? Why was it that every time he managed to speak without forcing himself, something stupid came out of his mouth? He'd upset her, that much was obvious. He might be partially blind, but he wasn't incompetent. Of course the woman was married, she wore a wedding ring. He had never seen her without it. Truthfully, he had never actually paid much attention to the golden band resting happily on her finger. But he knew she was married. In his soul he felt it, that he knew she was a married woman, and for the life of him he could not understand why that fact bothered him. Bother him it did; he could easily recall how bitter and jealous he'd sounded, even to his own ears. But why? Even as he pondered just then, perhaps a full ten minutes after he ran her off, he felt angry. Jealous, and angry.
He could picture it clearly in his mind: the woman running off in her black dress, back home to a faceless man that wore a ring identical to hers.
What if she wasn't running off to a faceless man? She said she was not mourning her husband, and he had no choice to believe otherwise. What if her husband was a tyrant, and was cruel to her? What if he was sickly and she cared for him as well? None of these options seemed to provide a logical explanation as to why she was caring for him. She must be of some lower stature than himself. Her clothes were always teetering upon the point of ragged, and at the end of every day she always seemed to be filthy. Perhaps that was why she had a look of sadness about her any time their eyes met. Perhaps they had been in love once before, or perhaps still, and for…whatever reason, they were not allowed to be together. That was certainly the more extravagant explanation. Perhaps he should ask his mother.
Then again…if there was a reason they were not together, he might cause some sort of unforeseen issue in bringing her up to his mother. He couldn't jeopardize the minimal time he spent with her…no. That would not do at all. He simply needed to remember.
Try as he might however, John could not conjure up a single memory to associate with the woman. After her abrupt departure, he was left with nothing to occupy his thoughts aside from her. He couldn't remember who she was, but he knew her. He couldn't even decipher his own emotions in regards to her, and it was infuriating. It seemed as though everything infuriated him lately. Trapped in his bed, left alone to his own devices for the majority of every day, he assumed it was only a natural thing to feel angry.

Anger. It was an emotion he was becoming quite used to. John supposed he had a lot to feel angry about. He'd lost all his memories; everything that defined who he was, any accomplishments or failures, personal victories, hopes, fears…everything. It made him angry that he could recall nothing. He was angry that he couldn't get out of his bed, angry at the injuries that kept him there, angry at the woman to tormented his every thought.
As if on cue, the door to his room suddenly burst opened, effectively halting his rather long train of thought. The woman!
He stared at her unbelievingly, lost for words, his very breath gone. She looked at him, he was certain, but he could not make out her face. She was too far away, and had left the door open in her haste. The light blinded him, stabbed at his eyes with fire, but he tried desperately to ignore it, and squinted in her direction.
"You…" She stated somewhat breathlessly. The sound of her voice excited him, made him feel somewhat giddy with anticipation. Oh how he wished he could see her! He heard her turn, and close the door as though she had just looked directly into his thoughts. John blinked rapidly, trying to rid himself of the blurriness.
"Yes?" He asked, rather surprised to hear his own voice equally, if not more breathless than hers. She walked toward him rather quickly, and he felt his heart accelerate with anticipation, and a little…fear. He frowned, but attempted to shift himself further up the bed so that he might meet her almost at eye level. Pain be damned.
"You can see." She stated, looking him square in the eye and sounding…disappointed? His frown deepened.
"Well," he started, his own voice somewhat strained from the pain of moving around. "Yes and no." She looked puzzled, but moved forward once more, and sat on the edge of his bed. He traitorous heart pounded ever faster, worrying him that she might hear it. She gazed at him with an expression of puzzlement mixed with wonder.
"But, my dress. You can see my dress, and you know what it means." He looked hard at her, wondering where she might be leading the conversation. He nodded slowly.
"If I were completely honest with you," he began, his voice gaining confidence he did not feel with every word. "I would say that I did not even realize it as truth until after the words left my mouth." She looked at him so seriously then. A fiery intense looked that practically burned him where he sat. He did not know what to do with himself.
"How did you know I was married?" She asked, her voice laced with, dare he say, longing?
"I do not know." He replied quietly. He knew she must have heard him, for her expression changed then to one of sadness and pain. Her forehead crinkled, brows furrowed, and her mouth…oh how her lips trembled.
What possessed him then, he could not say. He could not name his feelings, could not describe his thoughts into words of sense, but John suddenly felt his arm moving rather of its own accord. His hand lifting towards her face, and her piercing blue eyes watching it intently until his skin made contact with hers. As he watched her eyes close, he was overwhelmed by an ocean of feelings.
He cherished this moment, for reasons that eluded him. But he was simultaneously accosted by relentless waves.
Anger. Fear. Panic. Joy. Each pounding his senses with their own crash!

What was happening to him? The woman leaned into his hand ever so slightly, and with a sharp intake of breath, memories flung themselves to the front of his mind. They were quick, each flashing before his consciousness for a split second before vanishing.

A crisp, clear night. His warm breath puffing in front of his face, and mingling with hers. Her expression of longing, apprehension, and puzzlement. His hand of her face, and her contented sigh escaping her lips in a small cloud. Suddenly the image was gone, replaced by another.
The woman sitting before him. Her expression a picture of perfect agony, his hand, trembling, shaking even upon her tear-soaked face. A beautiful and warm light filling the room, and contradicting the sorrow she embodied.
A dark, smoky walkway. Light, heat, fire, burning brightly behind him. The woman standing before him.
Her voice rang clearly through his mind. A mix of words that jumbled together, making it impossible for him to distinguish what they meant.
"Come back to…don't ever…why are you doing this to me?"
His head seemed to jerk to the side of its own accord as the memory pelted him full blown. Her eyes snapped open, the piercing blue standing out more than ever against the slight red that rimmed them, and the tears that pooled for reasons unknown to him. His headache returned with a vengeance, and his eyes squinted shut briefly before he brought his hand closer to his face, inspecting it with curious wonder.
"I…have done this before." He stated, looking to her for confirmation. She merely gazed at him some unfathomable expression.
"Do you remember me?" She asked, her eyes shining with-dare he think-hope? She looked so vulnerable in that moment, so hopeful and wanting, that he quite seriously considered simply giving her the answer it appeared she wanted. He knew, although it surprisingly pained him to realize it, that he could not lie to this woman.
"Do you know my name?" She continued. He stared at her, everything in his mind going completely blank. He stared, focused his entire being on her face. Her eyes, her hairline, her nose, mouth, eyelashes, everything! But nothing.
"John?" She asked, her voice a breathless tremor. It reverberated through his entire body, into his soul, calling something forth. He could almost hear her in his mind, her voice saying his name a thousand different times, in a thousand different ways. But even then he could not remember her.
"No." He said, and he did not understand why his voice sounded so desolate. He felt desolate, to be sure, but why? Her face fell, and it was clear as daylight just how much his answer affected her. The tears that pooled in her eyes earlier were now in very great danger of spilling over. "Tell me your name." He pleaded. She turned her head away from him. "Please, just tell me your name."
"I…I." She stuttered, conspicuously swatting at her face. He reached out quickly, snatching her hand within his own. He feared that she might leave him then. Disappear from the room in a flurry of black skirts as she had earlier. Despite the slight gnawing of discomfort, and anxiety the pooled in his stomach, he longed to have her near him. For John, it almost seemed to be a necessity of life to have her close. She looked at their connected hands, then back up to him with a look of…pity? His heart plummeted. "I cannot. Dr. Donaldson says you must remember on your own." A thought struck him then, and he could not help but to voice it aloud.
"You are important to me, aren't you?" He stated, feeling quite confident in his assumption. If she was no one to him, if they had a past that was, for lack of better term, forbidden, then no one would care if he knew her name or not. She looked at him, shocked into speechlessness. His confidence grew. Surely he must be right. "I was right, we have done this before! I remember it!" It was hard to keep the excitement out of his voice. This was the first eventful thing to happen to him since he could remember.
"I…" She floundered, mouth moving wordlessly, as though she knew not what to say.
"It was cold outside." He began, his words practically tripping over each other in his excitement to get them out. "And it was dark, but the stars…they were so bright!" He smiled wide, feeling more pleased with this than anything in his rather short and lacking memory. He sat as far upright as he could manage, and removed the hand that held hers, before reaching for her face once more. "I put my hand on your face, just like this." His skin made contact with her once more, and the nervous feeling in his stomach intensified. Her hand shot up to his, clutching it desperately. His throat seemed to constrict, but he didn't understand it. John suddenly found it was difficult for him to speak. Why?
Why was he afraid?
"I remember." He choked, forcing himself to speak. "Was I right?" He asked, not understanding why his throat felt thick and his eyes burned hotly. The woman closed her eyes, and with a shuddering breath whispered:
"Yes." Happiness soared through him like rays from the very sun, and John felt certain his face might split from the effort of smiling so wide.
"Do you remember me?" She whispered, looking hard into his eyes. He could see the fear, the apprehension, and the desperate hope that pooled in her eyes. He sat, frozen by her gaze, by her question. He did remember her; but not enough of her. He didn't remember her the way she wanted him to, the way she hoped he did. He wanted to; by God he wanted to remember her. He wanted to see the way her eyes lit up at his admission. He wanted to smooth the anxious creases on her face. But why? As much as he wanted to, he could not lie to her. Not now, not ever.

The thought caused him a physical pain.

A noise from beyond his door distracted him, and his head jerked to the right of its own accord. He was not alone in this however; the woman noticed the sound as well.
A chorus of loud voices could be heard from beyond his window. The woman stood abruptly at the same moment a loud yell came from beyond his opened door.
"Mistress!" It was a mans voice. She stood abruptly, John's hand falling back to the bed with a soft thump. He did not notice. She made for the door at the same moment a man threw himself into the room. She started. The man, he recognized him…
"Nicholas, what is it?" The woman said, alarm evident in her voice.
Nicholas. Yes, he knew this man. The moment she said his name, he could feel it. Pictures snapped in and out of his awareness, all surrounding Nicholas. He closed his eyes and tried to shut them out. He wanted to focus on the scene before him. When he opened them, Nicholas was looking directly at him. His mouth opened, seemingly poised to say something, but he closed it quickly before looking back to the woman.
"You must come with me, down to the Mill yard. There is some trouble there."
"You would send a woman into a potentially dangerous situation?" John found himself asking, unsure of why he felt so passionately angry at this news. Both parties looked back to him. Nicholas with a somewhat stern, somewhat guilty expression, and the woman bearing a look of indignation. Her eyes flashed dangerously at him. John found it entirely becoming.
"No, Master I would not." Nicholas replied. Her piercing gaze snapped towards Nicholas then, and her mouth opened as though to speak. A few more shouts sounded loudly in the direction of his window. Pounding footsteps could be heard from beyond the door. Another man, Carter, came in looking quite flustered and out of breath.
"Mrs. Thornton has gone outside." Nicholas left then, and he heard him distantly call for the woman to stay inside. She did not hesitate in following him towards the hallway. Carter, still struggling for breath, quickly grabbed her arm.
"No, Mistress you must stay inside."
"I will not!" She cried, looking simply furious. "Hannah is out there, and I will not sit idly by while other men do my job for me!"
She was truly glorious to behold in her passionate argument.

"They are undone by grief, madam!" Carter stated, as equally firm and passionate as she. She looked back to him in that moment, and although his vision was still quite blurry, somehow he knew her expression would bear sadness. He silently begged her to stay.
"As are we all." She replied. "Stay with the Master, and I will return shortly."
She left without another word.

John wasted no time. "What is beyond that window?" He asked sharply.
"The Mill yard." Carter replied, immediately looking defiant. "But Master-"
"Help me get to the window." John interrupted.
"Sir, I must object!"
"Carter," He began, his voice growing in volume and irritation, fueled by the furious need to see. "You either help me to that window, or so help me God, I will drag myself there." Carter looked at him, obviously furious.
"Be it on your own head, Sir. You mother will be positively irate."
"I could not care less in this moment." John replied. Oddly, Carter smiled at him, with a gentle affection in his eyes. Nevertheless, he came and began the laborious task of helping him up.
The pain of it was excruciating. Every part of his body loudly protested against the movement, but he pushed himself forward. He needed to understand. A distant part of his mind told him Carter was right in protesting. This was quite obviously the most unintelligent idea he had ever thought of. He knew he was damaging his healing process, he knew he was injuring himself all over again. He still did not care enough to stop.
It seemed to take years to arrive at the window, but at long last he did. He grasped the windowsill, clutching it with all his might so as to support himself as he struggled to see down into what was known as the Mill yard. It was no use, however. His vision had not restored enough to see so far away. He could see the blurred shapes of individuals, could hear their voices.
"Does this window open?" He asked, surprised by the sharpness of his own voice.
"No, Master." Carter replied. Damn his luck. The noises from below grew in frightening intensity, and he struggled to make out words. Carter moved beside him, pressing himself close as he too peered from the window. A sharp gasp from the man had his attention instantly.
"What has happened?" He asked, fear flooding through him for the woman.
"I must get to back to your bed, Sir!" Carter replied, not bothering to wait for consent before all but dragging him away from the window. John instantly struggled against him. "Sir, please!" Carter exclaimed. "I must go below to attend to the Mistress!" A scream sounded, cutting through the noise of their struggle with a terrifying clarity. The panic and fear that assaulted John in that moment, startled him so badly that he attempted to turn directly on the spot, and in the process putting a great deal of weight on his apparently broken leg.

He did not doubt the severity of the break after that. The pain was beyond comprehension. As he crumpled to the ground in a heap, he distantly heard the rather muffled sounding crack of some unknown force from below as the room faded to black around him.

A/N:
Hello again to everyone!

First of all, I apologize for my absence. I have never met a group of more caring people than those of you reading this now. I have had countless messages and reviews, nearly all expressing well wishes, thoughts of peace, little reminders now and again to keep looking up. You will never understand what those mean to me. I could never fully relate how much your words of praise for my writing, your understanding of my situation, have touched me over this year. I will never forget those words, and I thank you every day for them.

In other news, part of my extended absence was due to the fact that I did not know how I would continue the story from this point. You see, when I mapped out this story, it was my ex-husband who came up with the original ending. Everything that led to it, the resolution, all of it. I found it increasingly difficult to write the story in that direction. I must have tried writing this chapter fifteen times. But I decided on a break, and came up with a new direction. I hope you'll be pleased with it.

I can't promise regularly timed updates, unfortunately. I wish I could. In my absence I sustained a seemingly minor injury at work (a dislocated kneecap, of all things) that has apparently left me permanently disabled. I have been recovering from my third surgery which was only partially successful, and have been stuck in this outrageous legal battle, on top of physical therapy, rehabilitation therapy, and (not to sound like a pity party, haha), trying not to be incredibly angry/depressed about being disabled at 23 years old. It tends to interfere with the inspiration, haha.

To finish, I know this chapter wasn't very long, nor did it most likely contain what you're all hoping for, but I hope you're ok with it. Let me know your thoughts! You guys know how much I enjoy hearing from you. I've been giving a lot of thought to quite a few of you who have advised getting this published. I'm thinking about it, honestly. I don't have any clue how to go about it, but I think I might. I love this story. And I have some ideas for other stories as well.

As always, you are the best. You make me smile, and you make me feel wonderful about myself, and sometimes, that's a difficult feeling to conjure up.