Author's Notes: I love you all! You do persevere, don't you? Browbeating me into writing... gosh, who ever thought Christmas break would be so much work? ;)
To the folks who e-mailed me about my gratuitous use of French--I footnoted the discussions in this chapter. Let me know if it works for you.
Buffelyn: I'm sorry it irks you that the, er, sex, is, by all accounts, not being had, either in this story or in "Never Spellbound". (And here I thought you loved me for my mind!) In this one, at least, there's no hope for a while (sorry!). Still, I do hope you will enjoy the plot just the same. If you were still after writing an amnesia story, you could always mix it up a bit by having Evie be the one to get bonked on the head... And yes, I do read minds. I know what you're thinking right now, in fact. Shame on you, such language. ;)
Nefret: Speaking of reading minds... one more prediction and I'm sending some guys to your house to break your keyboard. I am very much NOT fooled by your supposed new-leaf-turning. The weather, indeed... pish. ;)
5. Je n'irai point!
Evelyn, after yet another sleepless night, was beginning to feel a bit frayed about the edges. She almost envied Rick: he may have gotten coshed in the head, lost his memory, and been awakened by a doctor trying to test his pupil dilation by shining bright lights in his eyes, but at least he'd managed a decent night's sleep.
In the two days since the unfortunate incident, she had spoken to four doctors, one after another. The first three had each examined Rick in turn, and, being unable to find anything wrong with him other than a bruised head, a foul temper, and an aversion to tongue depressors, had referred her case to a different specialist. Finally, the third doctor, a kindly young man whose English was about on par with Evelyn's French, suggested she consult a psychiatrist, since the trouble seemed to be exclusively mental. He gave her the name and number of a Docteur Leclerc, who specialized in disorders of the mind.
Evelyn had barely spoken to him since that first night; the lack of recognition in his eyes was almost more than she could bear. By an unspoken arrangement, they kept to their own sides of the curtain; Rick took his meals in the room, while Evelyn dined alone in the hotel restaurant. It was as though they were strangers again, formal and awkward whenever they happened to encounter one another. Sometimes he was disagreeable, quibbling over every tiny thing she asked of him until she was nearly ready to hit him in the head again. Then he'd try to be nice, but his efforts only made things worse, made it clear how little she meant to him. He was never polite to people he really cared for.
Docteur Leclerc, when he finally appeared, was a portly, balding fellow with enormous spectacles perched precariously at the very tip of his nose. Compared to his predecessor, his command of the English language was quite good, barring a tendency to use plural and singular rather indiscriminately. He was very gentle with Evelyn--who, by this time, was more bewildered and frustrated than ever. "I would like very much to see your husband, Madame O'Connell," he told her. "I have been advise of the particular of his case." He didn't add that he was quite skeptical; it sounded to him as though the young man might be regretting his rash decision to wed, and was trying to get out of it in an unscrupulous--albeit very creative--manner.
Evelyn nodded, and called Rick. He emerged, barefoot and shirtless; since the only thing on his side of the curtain was the bed, he'd been availing himself of it. God knew he couldn't sleep at night, not with her only a few feet away. His hair was tousled, nearly covering the circlet of bandages he'd been crowned with by the first doctor. He yawned and stretched, holding his arms up over his head. Misinterpreting Evelyn's wide-eyed expression, he made an inarticulate--yet somehow profane--noise, and retreated again.
"Monsieur O'Connell?" queried the doctor.
"Jus'sec." When he stepped out from behind the curtain a second time, he was fully dressed. "Sorry," he mumbled, glancing over at Evelyn, as if he were mindful of embarrassing her. The doctor made a note of this interesting behaviour. Rick turned to Leclerc. "Vous êtes le nouveau médecin?" he demanded gruffly.
"Yes, Monsieur, my name is--"
"En français si vous préferez. Ça m'est égal."¹
"I thought perhaps, out of courtesies to your... to the young lady..."
Rick looked to Evelyn again. She sat with her hands in her lap, legs crossed at the ankle, eyes now downcast. In spite of the sleepless nights she'd spent, she was looking enviably fresh in a sleeveless white linen dress. Her hair, in a simple braid, fell over her shoulder, and her heart-shaped face was framed by a halo of unruly curls. His stomach gave a funny little jump when she finally lifted her head and looked at him, and suddenly the dress was wrong, all wrong--it should be black, not white, and... he shook his head and blinked several times in succession, wondering where that had come from.
Suddenly acutely aware of the presence of the doctor, he turned to that worthy gentleman and abruptly announced, "I'm warning you right now: first time you try to stick anything down my throat, you're gonna find it up your--"
"Rick!" snapped Evelyn. He glared sullenly at her, but said nothing. "Docteur Leclerc is a psychiatrist," she added, more gently. "He's just going to speak with you."
Rick didn't seem particularly impressed by this assurance, but he followed the doctor behind the curtain. They spoke in low tones for what seemed an interminable length of time, and finally the doctor emerged alone. His eyes met Evelyn's, and he shook his head solemnly.
"I have read of such case," he told her, choosing his words carefully, "but these are the first I have ever seen." He placed a hand on the young bride's shoulder consolingly. She wasn't much older than his own daughters, and he found himself moved by her fortitude and strength of will. "There are chance that, given the time and the right circumstance, his memories will return on her own."
"But there--there's nothing you can do?"
"I would suggest for you to introduce him to familiar place and persons. Friend. Relative. You have such things, yes?"
She nodded slowly.
"I would also suggest, Madame, that you do not prevent your husband from leaving if he wishes so to do."
Evelyn looked stricken.
"It is possible that he will seek out that which might cause him to remember. Vous devez permettre cela."
"D'accord,"² she agreed, albeit unwillingly. Just as long as it didn't involve going back to Hamunaptra for a reunion with Imhotep...
Just then, the door was flung open. Evelyn sprang to her feet, a reprimand on her lips--the hotel staff knew they were to knock before entering, she'd told them that very morning--when into the room tumbled her own dear brother, shadow-eyed and thoroughly rumpled, cradling his raggedy overnight bag under one arm.
"Jonathan!" cried Evelyn.
Jonathan dropped the bag and embraced his sister. "There, now. I said I'd come, and I have," he announced, rather redundantly. Evelyn, at a loss for words, simply hugged him so tightly she heard a distinct cracking noise. "There, now," he repeated mildly--the mildness possibly arising from lack of breath. "Steady on, old girl. Why don't we sit down for a spot of tea and you tell me all about it?" His presence, even his inane babbling, was reassuring in its blessed normalcy--proof that this whole horrid mess wasn't just a product of her own addled brain.
Rick, intrigued by all the commotion, stepped out from behind the curtain. If Evelyn weren't otherwise occupied at the time, she would have been pleased to note that Rick's response to seeing her in another's arms was not the reaction of a wholly indifferent man. In point of fact, he very nearly ripped the curtains down.
Jonathan spied him over Evelyn's shoulder. "Rick, old boy!" he called, swiftly extricating himself. "I say, you are looking well--Evie, what exactly did you say the trouble was again?"
Rick eyed Jonathan suspiciously. Now, this one did look familiar... he couldn't quite place where he'd seen him before.
Evelyn, seeing the spark of recognition in his eyes, clapped her hands excitedly. "Oh, Jon, thank heaven you've come!" she exclaimed, taking her brother by the arm and thrusting him at the patient. "D'you remember Jonathan, Rick?" She looked up at him pleadingly.
"Why wouldn't he remember--" Which was as far as Jonathan got, before a swift right hook from Rick sent him toppling over backwards.
Stepping briskly around her supine brother, Evelyn peered up into her husband's face and inquired, "Why--why did you do that?"
Rick cracked his knuckles. "He knows why."
"I do?" warbled Jonathan, struggling to gain his feet. "Er, perhaps you'd better help jog my memory, old man."
Both Evelyn and Rick cringed at his choice of words.
"You stole my... you know, my little box thing," Rick growled. "And then you hauled ass and I lost you in the crowd. I told you I'd get you."
"Oh, but I say, that's not cricket! Can a man be tried twice for the same crime? Evie, tell him--"
"Yeah, that's great, get a girl to fight your battles for you. C'mere, you little weasel--"
"Boys, please." Evelyn placed both hands on Rick's chest, leaned hard, and locked her arms--effectively stilling him, since he'd have had to knock her down otherwise. "Rick, you already hit Jonathan for stealing your... puzzle box... the first time we all met. As well you should have, I might add."
Rick was still inclined forward in an aggressive stance, one fist partly raised. "Uh-huh. And?"
"I am not going to move until you promise you aren't going to hit anyone," Evelyn informed him, giving him a bit of a shove. Not having expected such forcefulness from her, he actually fell back a pace.
"Fine." Rick let his arm fall. "I won't hit him."
"You swear?"
He grinned down at her. She was a tough little broad, he had to give her that. "Every damn day." Now, why did that sound so familiar?
Evelyn dropped her hands to her sides and regarded him thoughtfully; Rick, true to his word, didn't try to go after Jonathan again.
"Would someone mind telling me what the blue blazes is going on here?" demanded Jonathan, rubbing his jaw.
Turning to her brother, Evelyn explained, "Rick's hit his head rather hard and he... he doesn't remember."
Jonathan blanched beneath his year-round tan. "Doesn't remember meeting me?"
"Doesn't remember meeting either of us." Her pain and frustration were almost palpable.
"But how could he... and if he doesn't..." Jonathan's facile countenance went through a variety of reactions in mere moments, before the full implications of the situation finally settled in his tired brain. "Oh, Evie," he said softly, and placed a consoling hand on his sister's shoulder. She nodded solemnly, not trusting herself to speak.
Rick cracked his knuckles again, louder. He wanted to wring Jonathan's neck, and not necessarily just for picking his pocket.
The doctor, who had been a silent observer throughout the proceedings, spoke up now. "A breakthrough!" he announced, smiling. "We now know more than we did."
"We do?" asked Rick and Evelyn, in perfect unison. Their eyes met, and suddenly he found himself strangely captivated by the little strip of sunburn across her nose; without being able to say why, exactly, he wanted to touch it. Embarrassed to be caught staring, he looked away, but found himself drawn back to her gaze. She smiled--a crooked little smile, with her two top teeth peeking out just a tiny bit. He found himself smiling back, feeling his stomach tighten.
The doctor, meanwhile, was still talking, oblivious to the fact that only Jonathan was paying attention. "If Monsieur O'Connell can remember his encounter with you, monsieur," he concluded, "this means we know to which point his memory is still good."
Evelyn, who was listening on some level, jumped on this immediately. "Yes, yes, of course! Rick, you say the last thing you remember is doing a lot of drinking... that was probably the night you were arrested!"
"Arrested?"
"When we met you, old man, you were in the clink," supplied Jonathan amiably. "For desertion, I believe it was."
Rick nodded thoughtfully. It almost made sense... but maybe he just wanted it to make sense, because of what he was starting to feel for this girl. That thought made him more than a little nervous.
The doctor stood up. "I shall give you all time to get acquainted once more. Monsieur O'Connell, I wish you the best of luck. Madame, please send word to my office or telephone if there is any progress at all."
Evelyn nodded. "I will."
After the doctor had departed, Evelyn and Jonathan exchanged a series of indecipherable looks. Each was wondering how best to broach the topic of Hamunaptra, and what had taken place there, without sounding completely mad. Jonathan squeezed her hand comfortingly, and again, Rick entertained thoughts of violence.
"Please sit down," Evelyn suggested, looking from one to the other. "Both of you." All three of them took up chairs around the small dining table: Jonathan and Evelyn on one side, Rick on the other. "There are a few things we all need to discuss," she began. However, the next thing that came out of her mouth was not at all what she had meant to say. Looking at Rick, she demanded, "What happened to your bandages?"
Rick shrugged, infuriatingly deadpan. "Took 'em off."
"Now, that won't do, the doctor told you to keep those on. It's for your own good."
"They were too tight."
"They're supposed to be tight, that's to stop the swelling. Go and put them back on." She pointed in the direction of the curtain.
Rick stood up, but his posture made it clear that he wasn't going anywhere until he was good and ready. "Stop ordering me around like the goddamn Queen of Sheba!" he roared.
"I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head, damaged or not!" yelled Evelyn, before she could stop herself. This was not the man she'd married. She'd had enough of him, and his rude manners, and his mercurial moods. She'd been more hurt by the past two days than anyone.
"Hey, I talked to your goddamn head doctor!" he continued, inserting the curse word deliberately. "And your other doctors, too. And you know what they all said? They said I'm fine. Just a little bump on the head. So either you're nuts, or I'm nuts, or you're trying to pull one over on me--" A devilishly simple plot occurred to him, and he nodded slowly. "Okay, yeah. I get it. The box, right? You opened it. You two are gonna tell me that the three of us went to Hamunaptra, right?"
"Yes!" exclaimed Jonathan, before Evelyn could shush him. "So you--"
"And let me guess--I was the only one of our happy little group who knew the way there?"
Jonathan nodded uncertainly.
"Rick, it isn't what it looks like..." Evelyn protested.
"No, I think it's exactly what it looks like. I think you two want me to take you out there to look for treasure. Only you and this so-called head doctor are gonna try and convince me that it's the only way to get my memory back. I'm telling you right now, sister, that ain't happening. I wouldn't go back there if you paid me."
"I wouldn't either," said Jonathan, and shuddered. "Bloody awful place, it can stay buried for all I--"
"Yeah, sure. You may be selling, but I ain't buying. What'd you do, pal, slip something into my drink? And then you send in a pretty girl in her underwear to convince me to--"
"How dare you!" Evelyn rose out of her seat, face drained of colour. "I have done nothing but tried to help you. I have been understanding, and patient--"
Rick snorted derisively.
"If you don't want to be here--if this is really that much of a waste of your time--then perhaps you should just leave."
He folded his arms across his chest. "Maybe I should."
"Go on, then."
"Fine, I will." He turned and stalked off.
"Fine."
"Fine!" Each of them, it seemed, was equally determined to have the last word.
"Fine!"
"You bet your ass it's fine!" he yelled over his shoulder, charging out the door. After slamming it, so forcefully that the walls rattled, he had another one of those strange moments of deja vu, He looked down at his fingers, half-expecting them to be bruised. They weren't. He paused only a second, trying to shake her out of his head completely, before proceeding down the hall to the stairs.
~~~~
Translations:
1. "You're the new doctor?"
"Yes, Monsieur, my name is--"
"In French if you want, it's all the same to me."
2. "...You must allow this."
"All right."