The next week passed in predictable fashion. Evan stayed in the hospital ward, twiddling is thumbs and nearly going insane from boredom. He woke in the middle of the nights, usually drawing some sort of dream-picture and staring at it until his eyes ached. Something about these dreams were important, but he could not place what. He dreamed of the woman over and over, each time drawing her in a different light, or different way. Her smile, her sparkling eyes, her hands, her head thrown back in laughter, her scowl. He drew the weapons on the bed next to him just before he kissed her. He sketched himself as he saw his reflection in a mirror, spending hours on the minor details of the pockets, the sipper, the clip for the weapon he clearly remembered attaching to it. But, when he sat back and tried to look at the bigger picture, nothing came to mind.
A week after his first meeting with Josus, Evan sat in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He'd been up too early that morning, awakening from a dream before dawn and unable to return to sleep. For the first time since he'd awakened, he hadn't dreamed about the woman. He usually saw her somewhere in his dreams, and not seeing her there had shaken him. Was she still as important to him? He thought so, but. . . .
Letting out a deep sigh, he rose and walked to the window. He should have gone home by now. But where would he go? It wasn't like he had a home. Or did he? Every time he dreamed of the woman, he felt like he was in a familiar place, but none of the details became apparent. Forcing his memory wasn't working, and he set his hands on his hips as he debated his options.
He could remain in the hospital with no memory and wither away here. Or, he could get on with life, returning to his old one when he finally remembered. If he remembered. Evan ran a hand over his face. What if he could never remembered who he was? He allowed his hand to remain over his mouth and shook his head. That wasn't an option. One day, he would remember. And, when he did, he'd find the woman. If she'd moved on, he would cope and leave her to her life. If she hadn't. . . .He would be lying to say that hopes of a happy reunion hadn't already crossed his mind. Every time he dreamed of their kiss, he also daydreamed of repeating that kiss whenever he found her. He wanted to know if it was all his imagination or if they were just as good in real life as they were in his dreams.
"Evan." Andren's voice yanked him out of his thoughts, and he turned.
"Hey, Doc." Evan motioned to the chair and perched on the edge of the bed. "How are you?"
"I'm fine." Andren smiled and picked up the sketch pad. Evan had given him permission to browse through the sketches the second day he'd been awake, and he had taken to reviewing them each morning. Holding up the pad, Andren raised an eyebrow. "Still no recollection?"
"Other than that, no." Evan shook his head. "I'm wondering if it's all just figments of my imagination. You've never seen weapons like those before. But, when I dream, it's so real. I feel the metal in my hands, the kick of the weapon. When I'm awake, I can't remember. Well, I remember bits and pieces. But not the important stuff."
Andren just listened as he talked, his eyes assessing him. He nodded when Evan fell silent. "Well, you sound about as well as can be expected."
Evan merely shrugged in response. How could he answer that? He wanted to know who he was, and he would never truly be at peace until he found out. But that came with a caveat. He also needed to do something with himself. He could already feel the lethargy trying to creep in, and he'd never been a man to just sit around. Or so he thought. It was hard to know what was boredom and pent-up energy and what was truly him.
Rather than waiting for him to speak, Andren propped one foot on the opposite knee. "I came to see you about a place to stay." When Evan gave him a sharp look, he held up a finger. "You're almost fully recovered. In fact, I don't know that I've seen anyone recover quite as fast as you. And, while I know you enjoy Jadina's company, I'm not certain you really want to spend your days in a hospital."
Evan smirked at that. He and Jadina had become friends, but they were prickly friends. He liked to see a sparkle in her eyes, and she enjoyed trying to get under his skin. "What do you have in mind?"
"Well, I've spoken with my family, and we'd love to have you stay with us until you get your feet under you."
Evan stared. "And your family's okay with this?"
Andren waved a hand. "It's happened before, and we're happy to have you. You'll have your own room and privacy, not to mention access to the outdoors any time you want it."
Evan turned to the window. "Can I have a few moments to think about it?"
"Certainly." Andren pushed to his feet. "I'll be heading that way around the lunch hour, and I'll stop back by before I leave. Just be ready to go if you would like." He left then, allowing Evan his thoughts.
As soon as Andren disappeared, Evan reached for his shoes. He'd taken to spending time outdoors, talking to Josus if the opportunity arose. Of course, Josus wasn't always outside, and Evan had come to realize the man was haunted by what he'd seen in the camp. Evan had no doubt he'd be just as haunted, but he could not find the strength to be happy about his amnesia. Not in the way that Josus seemed to envy him. The other man talked about getting out of the hospital and going home, but Evan knew it would be a while yet. Josus had no family waiting on him. His wife had left him, and he was still a bit unstable.
Once outside, Evan settled in the bench under the large tree where he'd met Josus that first day. He stared at his hands, seeing the smudges of lead from the sketch book on the outside of his right pinky finger. Was this what was left to him? Sketching wisps of memory as they came to him in dreams? He rubbed at the smudges, but they remained, a constant reminder that he hadn't succeeded in his mission.
But what was his mission? Evan looked around. He knew he was here for a purpose. But he felt so out of place in this city. Maybe it was time for a change. Maybe getting away from the hospital environment was what he needed.
Just before noon, Jadina brought him some street clothes and left him without saying a word. She knew his preferences when dressing, and she hadn't offered to help him since that first day. He would miss her, he realized. In the way a guy misses his sister when he goes off to war.
He stopped unbuttoning his hospital tunic and frowned. Was he a soldier? It would certainly explain the weapons he'd seen in his dreams. Or was something else going on?
At noon, he waited for Andren, dressed in a high-necked white shirt, brown breeches, knee-high boots, and a brown tweed coat. A hat lay on the bed, but he hadn't put it on. He wasn't much for hats, and he knew that men wore them at their own preference. Gathering up his pencil and pad of paper, he sat in the chair, careful of his still-healing ribs but not minding the strange feel of the fabrics.
Andren appeared with a smile. "Jadina tells me you have accepted my offer."
"Yes, sir." Evan shrugged and looked around. "Ah. . .as much as I like it here, I think I'm ready for a change of scenery."
Andren laughed. "I can see that." He turned. "Shall we?"
The doctor led Evan out the front doors of the hospital and into the paved street. Evan stared at everything, wondering if he'd been here, seen this, or done that. They walked for several blocks before coming to some sort of depot. Inside, Andren and Evan joined the line of passengers filing into a long, cylindrical vehicle on a set of rails. Evan's mind supplied the word "train," though he couldn't be certain he'd ever been on one quite like this.
Beside him, Andren announced, "We've just achieved steam-powered propulsion, and it has made my time coming to work in the mornings much more enjoyable."
Evan wondered at the pride in Andren's tone. "I've seen these before," he said, motioning to the train. Then he shook his head. "At least, I think I have."
Andren laid a hand on his arm. "You'll remember one day, son. Of that, I have no doubt."
Evan wished he had no doubts.
Andren's home surprised Evan. After leaving the city, called Talgrom, the two men rode the train to an isolated depot. They disembarked, and Andren led Evan out of the tiny community that had sprung up around the depot. Birds circled overhead, their calls blending with the sound of the ocean. Salt scented the breeze, and Evan smiled. He liked it already.
Andren also smiled when Evan lifted his head and took a deep breath. "Now you understand why I live outside the city."
Rather than commenting, Evan simply nodded.
The road they'd taken dwindled to a path as the house appeared. Two stories high, it had dormer windows that looked out over the road. Lace curtains fluttered in the open windows, and the yard looked intentionally overgrown. The clapboard siding was white at one time, but weather and the ocean had weathered them to a pleasant yellow shade. Behind the house and down a rock hill, the ocean rolled in to a sandy expanse. The beach was lonely in a beautiful way.
Andren opened the white lattice gate. "Come. Maeryn and Kaela are anxious to meet you.
Evan followed him, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked. Andren walked into the house, leaving the front door open, but Evan hesitated on the threshold. Inside, Andren greeted an older woman with gray streaks in her dark brown hair. A second woman, much younger than the first, descended the stairs. This one wore a white high-necked blouse with a lace yoke and black floor-length skirt. Her red-blond hair was up, but curls formed a halo around her heart-shaped face. A few ringlets fell forward and moved as she swept across the room. "Hello, Father."
Andren turned and kissed her cheek. "Kaela." Then, he moved back to Evan's side and motioned for him to step into the house. "Evan, meet my wife, Maeryn, and my daughter, Kaela."
Evan nodded to each of the women, not entirely sure what to say. Kaela's face turned a pleasant shade of pink when he met her eyes, and she glanced down quickly. Even without his memories, Evan recognized that action. He'd seen it often enough on. . . . He struggled to fill in the name, but his mind locked up on him again. Either way, he knew what it looked like when a woman found him attractive.
Maeryn stepped forward. "Evan, come in." She smiled, and Evan relaxed when she drew near to him. She stopped just short of touching his arm. "I've made lunch, and my husband has promised to spend the afternoon at home."
"Yes, well," Andren said, "now that my priority patient is out of the hospital, I don't have to make that trip into the city every day."
Feeling more relaxed as the conversation went on, Evan waited for Kaela to precede him before he walked into the large, eat-in kitchen. "Do all doctors live out here? Well, in homes like this."
"Goodness, no." Maeryn laughed. "This is the family home, and my husband's position as Minister of Medicine has given him the means to stay here."
"I see." Evan settled into the chair that Andren indicated, watching as Kaela slipped into the one next to him. "Minister of Medicine?"
"Yes." Andren also sat down, leaving Maeryn to serve the meal. "Our government has several different branches, called ministries. Ministry of Medicine, Ministry of War, Ministry of Finances, and so on. Our Prime Minister resides over them all."
Evan nodded and gratefully accepted the plate Maeryn put in front of him. The stew smelled wonderful, and he waited politely until the rest of the family had begun to eat. As he ate, he peppered them with as many questions as he felt was proper, listening closely to each one. Kaela seemed to lose her bashfulness as the conversation went on, and he relaxed even more. Maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to figure himself out while he was here.
After the lunch, Andren showed him to a large upstairs room, and Evan let out a deep breath at the time alone. Kaela was a beautiful woman, and she clearly knew how to draw a man's attention. She'd used it multiple times, the bashfulness just another ploy to get noticed. Evan had figured it out in the middle of the midday meal, when Maeryn glared at her daughter. It hadn't mattered. Every time she batted her eyes or flushed, his mind replaced her with another face. His dream lady, as he'd come to think of her, smiled at him, her brown eyes replacing Kaela's green ones and totally distracting him.
He may have found a place to call home for a while, but he couldn't relax. Not just yet. He had too many questions that needed answering before he would be able to say he was at peace.
oOo
Sheppard walked through the gate with his glare firmly in place. Jennifer, who had just delivered a set of reports to Woolsey, let out a deep sigh. She'd become accustomed to seeing that glare on the colonel's face, and she knew it wasn't directed at her.
Evan hadn't been found. Again.
Jennifer had kept track of Sheppard's missions and knew that this was the fourth planet on their list. They only had one more left to search before Woolsey demanded that they call off the search. The whole "Leave no man behind" motto obviously didn't matter to Woolsey, who saw only the time and energy going into the search.
Rather than waiting for Woolsey to join her, she trotted down the stairs toward Sheppard and his team. Ronon touched her elbow on the way past, his silent way of supporting her. Ever since the quarantine, she and the Satedan had shared something that fell between attraction and a sibling friendship. Nothing like what she had with Evan. And Rodney smiled weakly, clearly wanting to say something but restraining himself.
Sheppard cleared his face as he stopped in front of her. "I'm sorry."
Those two words, something she'd come to expect hearing, broke through the control Jennifer had kept on her emotions. Instead of bursting into tears, as she wanted to do, however, she blinked a few times and nodded. "Thank you, Colonel."
Sheppard narrowed his eyes. "Hey, make it 'John.'"
Jennifer smiled at him, the offer of friendship meaning more than he knew. "Thank you, John."
She left the gate room then, seeking the solitude of her office. Evan had been missing for three weeks. It had been long enough that Jennifer had secretly suspected that he would never come home. Every time she thought that, her heart clenched so tightly that she could barely breathe. If Evan didn't come home. . . .
Letting out another deep breath, Jennifer straightened in her chair. If Evan never came home, it wouldn't be because he hadn't tried to get home. Something had happened out there, and they'd been restrained from knowing exactly what. Jennifer knew that their intelligence was false, and Sheppard—John—knew it as well. He wouldn't stop looking, no matter what Woolsey said.
"One more planet," she whispered. Only one more mission before she had a decision to make. Only one more chance to answer the questions left in her mind. Only one. . . .
oOo
The camp spread out in front of him, small wooden huts filled with men and women from several different worlds. At least, it looked that way. A flimsy fence separated the men from the women, and he knew that it did little more than segregate the prisoners when the soldiers were watching.
A strong hand behind him shoved him forward, and he stumbled into the men's portion of the camp. He'd been stripped, given new clothing, and had his weapons removed from him. His forehead stung where he'd cut it during a half-baked escape attempt, and his ears still rung from the fighting. Or was it the blow he'd taken from the butt of a rifle? He couldn't be sure.
A tall, gaunt man stepped forward, introducing himself as Josus. Josus seemed to be the official guide around here, and he listened as the taller man explained his situation. He was a prisoner of war, kept in this filthy compound for the angry soldiers to interrogate, torture, and otherwise humiliate because of his part in the civil war. Only, he wasn't part of this war. He was a stranger, but they wouldn't listen to him.
He decided to escape within his first hour in the camp. He just needed to plan, to learn the guards' weaknesses, to gather a group large enough to do so. And he did. Over the course of the week, a routine became apparent. Many of these prisoners were young and frightened, but a few, like Josus, believed in his cause. He gathered as many as he could, men and women alike, and set his plan into motion. Most shook their heads and walked away. But twelve of them agreed that they could accomplish their goals.
They enacted their plan late the evening of his seventh day in the camp. The guards weren't that smart because they allowed the prisoners too much leeway. Yes, the torture was demeaning. Yes, the interrogations were awful. He'd heard things while in the camp, things the soldiers did to the women to keep them in line. He knew he'd dream about the cries and pleas as men claiming to serve their country took advantage of women available. Four of his small strike force were women tired of enduring the nightly visits.
Two of them were killed in the initial attempt to escape. Somehow, Josus got his hands on some grenades, and he'd used them in his plan. But Josus barely made it over the line. The two weakest women, those he wanted to protect, couldn't get there before the guards' rifles cut them down. Another five members of their tiny group fell to heavy artillery that bombarded their position. He pushed Josus to continue, kept his people going with shouts just before he triggered the last line of defense between them and freedom. It had been close, but five had escaped. Five out of twelve. He glanced over his shoulder to see that they were clear from the blast radius, primed the grenades, and dove for cover.
The explosion lit up the night sky.
Evan woke in a cold sweat, the images fresh in his mind. He stared at the ceiling, bile swirling in his throat as he remembered the screams of the women and the sound of the rifles. He'd lost men before, but not like that.
Pushing the covers from the bed, Evan rose and walked to the window. The sky over the ocean had barely begun to lighten, and he knew the house wouldn't be stirring for another few hours. He grabbed his sketch pad, the one possession he had to his name, and quietly padded downstairs. Out the back door, he found a small table next to the house with a lamp. Lighting the lamp, he pulled out his pencil and began to sketch.
He sketched the two women who had died. The hope on their faces when they learned his plan would forever stay with him. He drew the wood huts, chronicling the filth and disease-ridden conditions of the camp. And he drew the soldiers. Some of them were silhouettes as the grenades exploded. Others were clear. He worked quickly but always took his time with each sketch. He needed to. If his memory was going to unlock, he needed a way to make sure it was accurate. And this seemed to be the only way.
When he finished, he looked out to the ocean and let out a deep breath. He started to close the sketch pad but stopped at the second page. The woman in his dreams, the one he needed to get back to, smiled at him. And he smiled back as he touched her face.
Tired of his thoughts, Evan stood and left the porch. He walked toward the ocean, finding a well-worn path down the rocky slope and onto the beach. The tide was coming in, but he knew he would have plenty of time to walk before the beach was covered.
His pace quickened, and he felt the burn in his muscles. Liking the pain, knowing it would only strengthen him, he continued to walk faster and faster until he ran. The sand under his feet flew into the air as he tried to put as much distance between his dream and himself as possible. But he couldn't. It was in his head, fresh and clear as if it had happened yesterday. But nothing else had unlocked. He didn't want to remember torture and horror. He wanted happiness. He wanted to know who he was and what he was meant to do. Not what others had done to him.
When he could run no longer, Evan slowed. He panted in the morning air, feeling the surf roll over his shoes. His ribs ached from jarring them around so badly, but he relished the pain. It reminded him that he was alive. Unlike those two women, innocents whose lives depended on him.
"Let it go, Evan," he said softly to the morning. Turning, he started walking back the way he came. "Let it go. You can't change it, nor can you take responsibility for their deaths. They knew what they were doing and what the stakes were. Let it go."
He kept up the talk as he walked, wanting to scream or cry or something. Instead, he rolled with the pain, letting tears trickle down his face as he coped with the emotional blow. He'd likely have a lot of these. But, when his emotion was spent, he took the memories and put them in a mental box labeled "Can't Help It." The box had other things in it, but he couldn't seem to pull them out and into focus. Instead, he stuck it on the mental shelf in his mind and resolved to let himself recover in his own time.
He just wished he'd been able to do more for those who had died. And that was the greatest regret of all.
~TBC