Chapter Fourteen

Dr. Jackson looked up when Jason knocked on the door. "Come in," he said. Jason opened the door and pushed Teresa inside. "Oh, good morning. It's good to see you're awake finally. I've heard a lot about you already," he said and nodded to Jason, who turned and left.

"Begging your pardon, Dr. Jackson, but what have you heard?"

"Only that you awoke late last night, had a good appetite this morning, as well as some spunk, and that you're anxious to leave," he said with a chuckle as he leaned against his desk.

"An – and that's good?"

"Yes, actually. Now, my concern isn't so much your physical health as it is your mental health."

Her heart fell. She didn't remember anything; well, not much anyway. "Jason said I would have to pass a psych test." Dr. Jackson nodded. "What does it involve?"

"Just a few questions. Do you know why you're here?"

"No," she said shaking her head. "Not really, anyway; just what Jason told me last night."

"And what did he tell you?"

"That I was brought here by Barbara and Scott Jacobs, because I was so grief-stricken at the loss of my husband and son," she said with such honesty, that her voice sounded robotic. "He also said that I've been here for three weeks now." Dr. Jackson nodded.

"And how do you feel now?"

"Fine. Fine except…"

"Except what?"

Teresa took a deep breath, to calm her nerves as she saw her way out slipping further and further away in her mind's eye. "Except," she said slowly. "That I don't remember anything."

"Nothing? Not your husband and son? Or your family and friends?" Teresa shook her head. "Do you know where you are? What city and state?" Teresa shook her head again. "Is there anything you do remember? Any skills you might have?" Dr. Jackson was relieved to see her nod this time.

"I do remember someone," she said in a soft, faraway voice as though she were somewhere else.

"Who? Who is it that you remember?"

"An actor I saw once, but I don't remember when. I've tried to remember things, but I find it useless, it just makes my head hurt. I also remember a writer whose work I read once. Although I don't remember when I did that either, but I do know the writer is dead."

"What actor? What writer?"

She sighed heavily and put her hand to her forehead. "Is this helping any?"

Dr. Jackson looked at her in bewilderment for a moment, and then it occurred to him what she was referring to. "Oh. Oh, yes. It is."

"How so?"

"Well," Dr. Jackson said, and fidgeted as he looked around the room and back at her. I believe your memories will come in time, but I need to know what you do remember. It may be helpful to send you somewhere that holds familiarity for you."

Teresa nodded as she took in this information. Does that mean he'll help me get to London, she wondered. Then, she took her chance, and asked quietly, "Does that mean you'll send me to London?"

Dr. Jackson shook his head in confusion. "I'm not sure I understand."

"The actor that I remember, his name is Orlando Bloom. He lives in London. I don't recall meeting him in person, but I remember writing to him, though I don't know when. What you said," she said softly, daring to hope. "Does that mean you'll send me to London?"

He didn't answer right away, but rather sat down at his desk and opened her file. Obviously information Barbara and Scott had provided. As she waited, part of her wished that she too, could look at the file to get some idea of who she was, she still wasn't really sure what was happening here or who Barbara and Scott were. "It appears that you've never been to London, though you do hold a passport, Teresa. Since you've never been there, I don't think that would be such a good idea."

Why had he called her Teresa? Was that her name, she wondered, and then decided that she definitely liked Haehithien better. "B – but, y – you just said it would be good to send me where my memories are, and he the only person I remember," Teresa protested in confusion. "I remember nothing here, no one here that might be in that file, I don't even know where here is."

Dr. Jackson sighed and reclined in his chair as he played with his gold pen a moment and studied her for a few minutes. "I believe that if you stay here, Teresa, your memories will eventually return."

"From what Jason told me, and what you've confirmed, I'm not sure I want to remember," she said, trying to control her fear and anger. "Who would want to remember such a painful loss, such grief? Wouldn't it be harder on me, mentally, if I'm forced to relive that loss?"

Dr. Jackson peered at her over the top of his gold-framed glasses. Perhaps she's right, he thought. He sighed heavily before saying, "Your family will miss you."

Frustrated, she glared at him. Is he trying to help me? she thought. "If they're really my family, they should understand that I have to leave," she didn't mean it to sound so cold, but it did, even to her ears and she cringed.

He sighed and drummed his fingers on the desk. "You said that you also remembered reading something from a late author? Can you tell me who it was? Better yet, I'm an avid reader, and though this is my professional office, I have many books here. I love fantasy, if it falls into that category, maybe you'll find it here," he swept his hand about the room. "Go on, have a look."

Teresa stood slowly, and walked around the room, running her hand leisurely along the shelves of the wooden bookcases as she peered at the titles of countless, beautiful, hardbound volumes that lined the walls. She paused now and then as he watched her, but neither spoke.

Finally, to her great sadness, Teresa found what she was looking for. She had hoped not to mention Middle Earth and the love she knew existed there. Slowly, she reached up and pulled down a copy of J.R.R Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. Dr. Jackson watched her as she thumbed through the pages, but said nothing. She came to a page three-quarter the way through and stopped.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared down at the page. She was looking at a drawing of Legolas. It was so real; it could have truly been him. It was just as she remembered him. Her vision clouded, and she took a shuddering breath as a single tear rolled down her cheeks and dropped onto the page. Startled, she looked up with tears in her eyes and saw Dr. Jackson watching her. "I – I'm sorry," she stammered and quickly wiped the teardrop from the page and closed the book. She walked over and placed it on the desk in front of him, even though she knew she should have put it back on the shelf. She dried her eyes and took a deep breath as she sat down in the wheelchair again. "It's this hospital," she said as Dr. Jackson continued to watch her. "I feel so confined; it just gets to me once in a while. I'm claustrophobic when it comes to hospitals, I hyperventilate."

He nodded, and then looked at the book she'd placed on his desk. "Good story," he said, and she nodded when he glanced up at her again. "This is where you remember Orlando from," he said with certainty, and she looked at him in confusion. "It was Orlando Bloom who was chosen to play the part of Legolas in Peter Jackson's movies, was it not?" Teresa nodded at him, though she wasn't entirely certain. He turned the book so that it faced her right side up and she looked at him curiously. "Will you read some of it for me? You can start anywhere."

She swallowed hard, but nodded as she thumbed through it once more. "Alright," she said as she cleared her throat. "Can I read the poem?" she asked and saw Dr. Jackson nod. 'Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,' she read then looked up at Dr. Jackson. "Is that enough?" she asked and Dr. Jackson nodded and smiled as she closed the book and slid it across the desk to him, and then watched as he picked up the book and walked back over to the bookcase, and carefully placed it back on the shelf where it belonged.

"I hope you didn't mind my testing you," he said as he came back and sat down at his desk again. He saw her shake her head and smiled once more, then turned and pulled a piece of paper from his printer and laid it on the desk in front of her. "Please write out the alphabet," he said quietly. She looked at him curiously as he handed her his pen, though she did as asked and he noted there were no mistakes. "Alright," he said. "Spell Mississippi." He watched as she wrote out Mississippi. "Ok, spell confusion." Once again, he watched as she spelled confusion without mistakes. "Very good," he praised. "You've proven you can read and write. Are there any other skills you have that you remember?"

"Yes," she said. "I know how to operate a computer, and I know I've never been good with number unless I have a calculator."

Dr. Jackson nodded. "Well," he said as he went to the file cabinet, opened a drawer, and pulled out a folder. "That just leaves one more test, a memory test. It's good that you remember Jason's name, which helps. Now, what I'm going to show you is a series of pictures. I want to see how many you remember." She nodded and he pulled some cards from the folder and shuffled them. He chose five of them and showed them to her, a star, three wavy lines, a square, a diamond, and a rectangle. "Now, tell me as many as you can remember in the order I show them to you." She nodded and he showed her each card for a few seconds, and when he was finished, she repeated the cards without missing any.

They did this several times as he added more cards until they reached a dozen and she'd only put two out of order, which she had just mixed up. "Very good," he praised her again. He put the cards back in the folder and returned it to the file cabinet. He sighed as he walked back over to his desk and sat down on the edge. "You leave me with a very difficult task, Teresa," he said and she gave him a quizzical look. "I have to tell your family that though you are well physically, and more or less mentally, you don't remember them. I also have to tell them you will not be going home…"

Her heart plummeted. She'd failed, how could he make her feel like she was doing so well when she was obviously so bad off that he was going to keep her there? He picked up the phone and dialled the nurses' station. "Will you please send Jason down for Mrs. Thompson? Thank you," he said and hung up. "Teresa, please give me a few hours and I will see you again. You don't have to return to your room. Jason carries a radio; I'll page him when I'm ready." She nodded feeling defeated. Jason came for her and was told to take her to Dr. Peters to be examined to find out if the IV could be removed.

While they waited their turn, Dr. Jackson logged onto the Internet. After an hour of searching information on Orlando Bloom, he found a website that had his contact information. He was surprised to find that the British actor had an American agent. After writing down the name and number, he logged off, and then picked up the phone and dialled the number for Chris Andrews, Orlando's agent.

"Hello, Mr. Andrews?" Dr. Jackson said when Chris answered after the secretary had redirected his call.

"Yes?"

"My name is Dr. David Jackson; I'm a doctor of mental health and a psychiatrist in Albuquerque, New Mexico at Lovelace Hospital."

"Yes, Mr. Jackson, what can I do for you?" Chris said trying to hide his confusion at receiving a phone call from someone that he'd never heard of before. In his curiosity, he browsed the Internet and found the Lovelace website, and indeed, there was a Dr. David Jackson in Albuquerque.

"Well, Mr. Andrews, I have an odd request for you."

"Ah-ha," Chris said, and felt that nothing could be odder than this phone call.

"I have a patient here, who has had a traumatic loss. Because the trauma was so great, she remembers nothing of her life. Nothing that is, except for writing to your client, Mr. Orlando Bloom. She has no idea where she's from or anything on a personal level, but she remembers him from his role in The Lord of the Rings movies."

"Yeah," Chris said as he wondered where exactly this conversation was going.

"Well, Mr. Andrews, to come right to the point, in my profession, in a situation like this, it is best to get the patient in a position where they start remembering things. Get them around people who are familiar to them in some way. I was thinking that since Mr. Bloom is the only person she seems to remember, it seems to me that she needs to meet him."

"I see," drawled Andrews, clearly bored with the conversation.

"Mr. Andrews, I'm calling you as a professional. I would rather that she starts remembering her past with some stability in her life rather than in the face of people who are unknown to her. The traumatic experience she has been through is the loss of a husband and young child. Now I ask you, if it were you, would you want to remember that without a friend," Dr. Jackson asked.

"Well, they're hardly friends now aren't they, Dr. Jackson?" Chris said flatly.

Dr. Jackson sighed heavily as he ran his fingers through his hair. "My point is he's a stable memory for her, and they could be friends if given the chance. It's bad for her health to stay here at the hospital, she's deathly afraid of them, and it's just as bad to send her home to a family she has no memory of. I'm asking you to help me here," he said.

"Alright, alright! What's in it for me? What is it you want me to do about it?" Chris asked in exasperation.

"I want you to contact Mr. Bloom right away and have him call me," Dr. Jackson said and gave him the direct number to his office.

"Ok, I'll give him the message. What's this woman's name?" Chris asked.

"Her name is Teresa Thompson, and thank you," Dr. Jackson said. "I really appreciate this."

"Yeah, ah-uh, sure thing, Dr. Jackson," Chris said and hung up.