Chapter 13

The antiseptic smell of the hospital almost overpowered the lingering odors of soot and smoke that clung to his clothes and permeated his nostrils, but not quite. Wrinkling his nose, Peter sat at her side, stroking her hand, waiting impatiently for her to awaken. Doc wandered in and out of the room frequently, checking on the ventilator, occasionally suctioning her, always pausing to caress her face or kiss her forehead.
Her hand moved restlessly beneath his, alerting him to her rousing. Sliding forward in the chair, he leaned closer. "Alainna? Hey, Miss Writer, are you in there?"

He watched as her eyes slowly fluttered opened, her head turning slightly in the direction of his voice. Panic filled the sky blue eyes as she felt the tube within her throat. Her hand jerked from Peter's grasp, heading for the tube. He recaptured her fingers quickly. "No, you don't. Don't touch it, Alainna. I know it's really uncomfortable, but you need it right now."
Peter stroked her arm, taking care not to disturb the bandages around her wrist. "Settle down, Love. I'll get Doc, okay?" She closed her eyes, and Peter went to the doorway to speak to a nurse.
"He'll be here in a minute, Alainna." Dropping back down into the chair, he stroked her hair, causing her to open her eyes to gaze at him again. "It's good to see those blue eyes again," he told her. Voice dropping to a husky whisper, he confessed, "I was afraid I was going to lose you, too."

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she arched an eyebrow at him. Frustrated by her inability to communicate with him, she squeezed his hand.
"You want to know what I mean by 'too?'" She closed her eyes, then opened them again, giving a slight nod to her head, wincing when the tube pulled in her throat. "Well, besides the fact that I've lost my entire past life," he looked at her face, "Not that I'm complaining about the new one I've found, mind you," he smiled, "but when I stood there, about to dash into that fire, I remembered something quite clearly."

Tables turned, it was she who was stroking his hand. He pulled it to his lips and kissed it. "I…I lost my father to a fire like that, Alainna. I couldn't see his face, but I know it was him. He died, and I thought I was going to lose you to a fire, as well."
Tears were flowing more freely down her face. "Hey, now, none of that, Miss Writer." Peter soothed, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "No crying. Everything is going to be fine, now."
Alainna shook her head slightly, again causing the tube to pull in her throat. He could read the pain in her face each time she moved. "Alainna, be still. We need to have a code here, so you stop pulling on that tube. Let's do this. One blink for yes, two for no, okay?"
Slowly, she blinked her eyes shut, then reopened them. Trying to communicate with her eyes, she did her best to ask the question that was most important to her.

Peter was uncertain what the blue eyes were trying to ask. "What, Alainna? I'm not sure what you want."
She held his hand and traced a star on it. He shook his head, still looking puzzled. She then traced a "J."
Understanding dawned. "You want to know what happened to Jimmy?"
She blinked once.
Well, I don't have to tell her the details now. Gentle fingers smoothed the worried lines in her forehead. "You don't have to be afraid anymore, Alainna. He's dead."
Her eyes widened.

Doc bustled into the room, checking the equipment, then quickly leaning over Alainna to place a kiss on her forehead. "Good to see you awake, 'Lainna."
The blue eyes unleashed fire in his direction, causing both men to laugh. "I understand completely," the old man said, smiling at Peter. "She just told me that she would have been awake the whole time if not for me and my needle!" The two men laughed again. "You know, 'Lainna, this is the quietest I've ever seen you when you're not working."

She continued shooting daggers at the two of them while they continued to laugh at her expense. Grabbing Doc's hand, she guided it to the end of the respirator tube.
"I understand that, too, sweetie, but I can't take it out yet."
Alainna inhaled loudly through her nose, demonstrating her ability to breath on her own.
"You keep demonstrating that breathing for a few more hours, 'Lainna and then we'll see about weaning you, okay?"
She rolled her eyes at them.
"No, you do not have a choice. Although, I could decide to sedate you again, if you're going to lay there and give me lip, young lady!"
Peter laughed again, gently caressing the back of her hand. "Alainna, I think you'd better just give in this time. Just relax and maybe Doc will let you out of here by," he looked at the old man, "tomorrow?"
"Maybe. I make no promises. We'll just have to see how long it takes to wean her off the vent." Doc adjusted the ventilator, watching Alainna carefully. "The machine is set to help you only if you need it, 'Lainna. Now, I'll have the nurse draw some blood to check your blood gases, then we'll check them every hour for the next couple of hours. IF things look good then, I'll start to wean you off it, okay?"
She blinked once.
"That means yes, " Peter informed him.

The old man stroked her hair, dark brown eyes welling slightly with moisture. "'Lainna?" he whispered, voice somber. The physician glanced across at Peter. "Peter? Maybe you could give us some privacy?"
She tightened her grip on Peter's hand, blinking her eyes twice at her surrogate father.
"That means no," Peter informed him, evaluating the serious expression on the man's face. "What, Doc? Don't shut me out."
"It's just…well…" he stumbled on his words. Leaning over her head, he gazed down into the blue eyes, steeling himself for the questions he needed to ask. "'Lainna, this has to be asked. You can just blink your eyes in your code, okay?"
She stared up at him, alarmed by his expression. Blinking once, she gripped Peter's hand harder.

"Did Jimmy…did he…" The old man swung his head away, unable to look at her. "I shouldn't be doing this. I should have some other doctor in here, asking these damn questions," he muttered, swiping the back of his hand over his eyes.
Her left hand reached out between the bed rails to grab the edge of his shirt. Tugging on it, she reclaimed his attention. Straightening his posture, the man sighed, then took her by the hand. Professional mask in place on his face, he tried to think of her as any other patient. "Alainna, did Jimmy rape you?"

Drawing in his breath sharply, Peter turned his own head away. Daniel's voice echoed across his mind, "I'm not sure what else he did to her last night, but I heard her screaming." Biting down on the inside of his cheek, he swung back to seek answers in the sky blue eyes that were once again spilling tears.
Both men were staring deeply into her eyes. She began to shake, trembling at the on-rush of memories, the flood of remembered fear, the feeling of being pinned beneath Jimmy's body. Closing her eyes tightly to shut out the pity she imagined in their eyes, she ignored the two of them.

Alarmed by this response, Peter leaned forward, placing his left hand tenderly on her cheek. "Alainna, come on. Open your eyes and stop ignoring us. I know this is not easy. Whatever happened in that cabin scared you, but you've got to tell Doc what exactly happened." So we know what the hell to do, he thought, grateful that the man was dead, wishing he had disregarded the quiet voice and pulled the trigger himself.
The blue eyes opened gradually, fixing their gaze on a tile in the ceiling, pointedly bypassing the hazel and brown ones that were boring into them. The silence in the room swirled around them.

She blinked her eyes once, and both men felt knots form in the pits of their stomachs, before heaving a joint sigh of relief as the eyes blinked again. Their relief was short-lived when she then shrugged her shoulders. Shutting them out once again by closing the blue orbs, tears slipped silently from beneath the lashes.
Peter stroked her face. "Shh, Love. Take it easy. Everything's going to be okay." He glanced across the bed at the older man, who shrugged at him. Wheeling on his heel, the doctor left the room.

He returned quickly. "'Lainna, since you have to have that tube in for a while longer, I'm just going to give you light sedative. I know how damn uncomfortable those things are, not to mention I'm going to have the nurses turning you into a pincushion over the next few hours." He chuckled lightly, inserting the needle into the port on her IV, administering the drug. "You just relax, and hopefully, next time you wake up, we call pull that tube for you."

The two waited in silence for the next five minutes, until the mute tears stopped flowing and they were both certain she was asleep again. Peter gently disengaged his hand from hers, lying it down on top of the sheet, stroking it absentmindedly. He raised his eyes to meet the physician's. "Well, what's the real story?" he demanded. "You know something, I could see it in your eyes."
"I don't know that it's any of your business, Peter," the old man grumbled.
"That's what you think," he retorted. "Just tell me plain out. She was examined, wasn't she?"
Doc nodded.
"And?"

The old man pinned Peter with his eyes. "There…there was evidence of…. please, tell me you had sex with her recently." He lowered his gaze. "Never thought I'd see the day when I heard that come out of my mouth."
Peter's body sagged with relief. "Ok, Doc, I'll tell you. I guess you haven't been paying attention. That's what pushed Jimmy over the edge, him and his damned camera. Yes, I did. Uh, we did." His face turned scarlet.
"Good. Better you than that animal. Now, I really don't want to hear anymore about this. Tomorrow, when she can actually talk, she can give the deputies a full statement."
The doctor busied himself checking all of the equipment, and suctioned Alainna once more. A nurse came in to draw a blood sample. Peter sat silently at her side once more, until the doctor cleared his throat.
"Come on, Son. Let's go get some coffee. I could use some right now."



An uncomfortable silence accompanied them as Peter drove her home in the roadster two days later. Entering the kitchen through the back door, the dogs were waiting, and eagerly rushed their mistress. "Down, beasts. You'll knock her over, for crying out loud," Peter yelled as he reached out a hand to steady her.
Index finger pointed at the door, she ordered, "Let them out; I'm mad at them. I am not speaking to them right now."
Chuckling, Peter did as she instructed, while Alainna sank into a chair at the kitchen table. "Why?"
"I feed them so that they will protect me. They never warned me about him. So, I am mad at them, the big morons. I will never trust their judgment again."

Peter sat beside her, taking her hands gently in his own. "In their defense, they were right about me. And Manda did growl at him that day in the library when he tried to hug you. It wasn't their fault, Alainna. He fooled all of us."
She offered him a half smile. "Well, I noticed that you weren't too fond of him from the beginning. Why is that?"
Peter shrugged his shoulder at her. "Instinct? Basic jealousy? I don't know."
She arched an eyebrow at him. "Jealousy?"
He smiled. "Yes, you got a problem with that?"
She shook her head. "Nope." The half smile vanished, and he knew the roller coaster was about to take a downward plunge. She stammered as she spoke. "I..I still can't believe he fooled me like that. I trusted him. I…I thought he was my friend. We had so many good things between us…"

Peter pulled on her hand, tugging her into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and she snuggled into him, sighing in relief. Dropping his nose to her hair, he sneezed, then gently pushed her away from him. "Alainna, I don't quite know how to tell you this, Love, but, you really need a shower. You still smell like smoke. I miss the strawberries."
She smiled lightly at him. "Okay, I get the hint, Handsome. I'll go and wash the smoke out and replace the stink with strawberries." Crossing the kitchen, she froze at the bottom of the staircase.

Peter watched the hesitation. She had not told him everything that had happened, in fact, she had ordered him out of the hospital room while giving a statement to the deputy. He could see that there were going to be ghosts haunting her in her own home for some time to come. Closing the distance between them, he was quickly standing behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Something wrong, Love?"
Swallowing painfully past the lump in her throat, she shook her head.
"Alainna, come on. You have got to talk about this. You wouldn't talk about the Daniel incident, and that was fine. But I am not going to let you sweep this one under the rug. It will stay inside you and eat you alive."

She leaned back against him, gathering strength from his closeness, and spoke softly, "Jimmy dragged me up these stairs to my bedroom. Now, I have to climb them and go to that same room." Suddenly bolting for the hallway, she headed for the front stairs.
Peter quickly caught her in his arms. "No, Alainna. Avoiding it is only going to make it harder." He held her close, stroking her hair and her back, until she felt calm again. Then he released her. "Come on. You can do this. I'll go with you." Taking her by the hand, he led her to the kitchen stairs. Letting her go, he resumed his place directly behind her. "Go on; I'm right here."


She slowly began to climb the stairs, hesitantly, trembling. Her hand trailed along the banister lightly, gripping reflectively when she reached the top. Closing her eyes for a moment, she tried to shut out the memory of Jimmy peeling her hand from the banister, but found closed eyes only intensified the visions. She snapped them open again, jumping lightly when she felt a hand on her back.
"Easy, Love. Come on, you made it to the top of the stairs," came his comforting tenor from behind her. "Go on," he encouraged.
Straightening up, she pulled back her shoulders, releasing the banister. Taking a deep breath, she began the walk down the long hallway. Halfway to her room, she paused, sagging against the wall, covering her face with her hands. When Peter reached out to touch her, she pulled away. "NO!"
"Alainna," he whispered, "It's okay. Take your time."

When her hands finally slid from her face, he could see determination in her eyes. "I almost got away from him," she informed him. "Remind me not to wear just socks in the house anymore."
"Okay, you got it," he agreed with a slight smile.
She pushed herself off the wall, and strode the rest of the way to her room, but couldn't get past the doorway. Staring into the room, she saw the scene replayed before her eyes, Jimmy shoving her onto the bed, dragging her up to show the camera he'd used to spy on her, his sickening smile over her as she'd fought to stay conscious. She whirled to bury herself against Peter's chest, sobbing. "I can't go in there, Peter. He was watching me! He watched me in there for who knows how long. Please!"


He held her in the doorway for a while, then scooped her up into his arms and carried her into the room. Sitting down on the edge of her bed, he cradled her as sobs racked her body. "It's okay. Shhhh. Everything is going to be fine." Peter rocked gently on the bed. "The camera is gone, Alainna. The police have it and I patched that tiny hole in the ceiling this morning."
She lifted her head to look at the ceiling, raked her arm across her eyes, and began to giggle.
Uh, oh, thought Peter, here we go with the roller coaster of up and down.

"Thanks, handyman." The laughter did not last long, as he'd anticipated. She looked at him somberly. "I don't think I thanked you for saving my life, Peter."
Peter brushed the back of his hand along her cheek. "You think I did that for you? Heck, no. I did that for me. I couldn't stand the thought of being without you, Alainna. Besides, you have a book in process and who would finish that? I couldn't let your fans down, now could I?" Peter leaned closer and tenderly kissed her. "I love you, Alainna Anderson, and I didn't want to live without you."

Her eyes welled up with tears again. "Oh, Peter. I love you, too." She kissed the tip of his nose. "I was thinking about you, as I was…was," she swallowed hard, changing her mind, "never mind."
"What? Tell me, " he urged.
The words tumbled from her mouth in a rush. "I was waiting to die."
Peter's breath caught in his throat. Leave it to a writer to be so damned blunt about it, he thought. "Oh, Alainna…"
Running her hand along his cheek, savoring the feel of his smooth skin, she tried to explain. "I'm sorry, Peter. It's just that, Daniel had cut out on me, and I certainly didn't expect anybody to come dashing in to my rescue. I rather thought I had seen my last tomorrow. And you know what?" She continued to caress his face as he shook his head at her. "I was so glad that we had…um, lived for the moment."

He pulled her closer, kissing her passionately, desiring to replace the brush with death with an act of life. She responded for a moment, then stiffened in his arms. Puzzlement in his own eyes, he searched hers for answers.
"Not here…" she whispered.
"Yes, definitely here," he insisted. "Alainna, we are not going to let that creep take something beautiful that happened here and tarnish it." He kissed her again, more passionately this time, replacing the fear with a fire that burned under their control.
They spent most of the afternoon chasing the ghosts from her bedroom and making new, sweeter memories to replace her bad ones, and his missing ones.



"PETER!"
Uh, oh, he thought, hearing her voice calling from the library, heads will roll now! He slowly walked down the hallway from the kitchen to the library, hand trailing along the wall, dawdling as long as he dared, not wanting to face the wrath he was certain was about to explode all over the place. He stopped in the archway.
Standing in front of her computer desk, her hands were balled into fists, planted firmly on her hips. She was staring at the empty space where her computer had been.

"What's up, Miss Writer?" Peter asked, hoping she would hear the innocence in his voice.
She whirled to face him. Her eyes were black. "Where is my computer?"
"It was evidence, Alainna. Jimmy typed his little note to me on it. The deputies took it."
She chewed on that piece of information for a minute, then snatched the phone from the cradle on the desk.
Peter sat down on the sofa. This should be very interesting, he told himself. Boy, am I glad I didn't take that thing.

Tapping her fingers impatiently on the desk, she waited for someone to answer her call. "Yes, who's this? Oh, Lance, good. This is Alainna. I'm okay, Lance, thanks. Who's in charge down there now? Steve Patterson? Good. Let me speak to him." She tapped her fingers some more, then plopped down into the computer chair. "Steve? Yes, I'm okay. I am more than a little upset with you guys right now, though. What? Oh, I'm glad she liked it. Tell her she's going to have to wait a long time for the next one. Why? Because you MORONS TOOK MY DAMN COMPUTER! Steve, I cannot write without it and I want it back, now!"
Alainna pushed back in the chair, then looked over at Peter, rolling her eyes.
Peter laughed at her. I imagine now he's explaining why she can't have it back. I wonder how long it will take her to change his mind?

"Steve. Let me get this straight. Jimmy typed a note to Peter on the machine. It wasn't saved. It was just sitting there." Alainna listened as Steve Patterson explained a few more items. "Jimmy's prints are ALL OVER my damn house, for crying out loud. It doesn't matter now, anyway. He's dead." There was no remorse in her voice. "The case doesn't have to go to court. Listen Steve, I am really glad your wife liked Seasons of the Heart. I wonder if she will enjoy the scathing exposé I am about to write for the local newspaper regarding our sheriff's department? You know, with my name on the by-line, I'll bet it will even get picked up by the AP, what do you think? I wonder if that kind of publicity will help you win the next election for sheriff or not?" Alainna grinned at Peter, who shook his head at her.

"I think you're right. I think there's no reason for you to keep it. I will not let him do any more damage to my life than he's already done, so I need my work, Steve." Sighing, her voice became more mellow, "Thanks. Good, have Lance drop it off on his way home. That will be fine. Thanks, Steve. And hey, tell Becky to stop by for some coffee, anytime."
She hung up the phone and faced Peter, smug satisfaction on her face.
"Are you happy, now, Miss Writer? That poor man didn't stand a chance, did he?"
She grinned at him. "Hey! I was nice. But I meant what I said. I am not letting that creep take anything more away from me. I need to write, so I need that computer."
"Well, now that you have that settled, come on in the kitchen. I've got some ice cream for you."
Alainna laughed. "I'll bet Steve wishes you had given me the ice cream before I called him!"



Chapter 14

As the leaves changed from green to scarlet, crimson, and gold, the days slipped by for Peter and Alainna, days they spent living in the moment, enjoying the precious gift fate had bestowed upon them. Although they lived each day at a time, Alainna could hear the ticking as time crept by; ticking that seemed to grow louder with each passing day. She knew that the winds of change were gathering, preparing to blow into their lives.


Rummaging through the cupboards and refrigerator, Peter tried to plan a menu for dinner. Alainna was relaxing on the front porch swing. After the day she'd had, he wanted to coddle her a little more.
Hours had been spent at the sheriff's office, giving statement after statement, saying the same thing over and over again. The case was wrapping up, and the tying up of loose ends had been taxing on her. Peter had watched the weariness settle into her eyes and the tension into her shoulders.

Pushing the swing back and forth, Alainna stared into space, reliving the events of the past two months, since the day that Peter had walked into her life. She chuckled over the now-old joke. Peter Walker.
Something is bothering him lately, she mused. He won't admit it, but I know that he's getting more flashbacks. I can see it in his eyes.
His eyes were certainly windows into his soul. They were incredibly expressive, and the emotions that Alainna had seen in them recently worried her. She had seen fear in those eyes, and it, in turn, frightened her.

The slamming of the screen door made her jump. Striding to her side, Peter thrust a glass of lemonade at her. "Here, Love. I thought you could use something to drink."
She accepted the glass gratefully, draining half of it in a long sip. "What?" she asked, "No coffee?" She leaned over to set the glass on the white porch railing.
He laughed at her. "Like you need coffee after a day like today? So you can keep me awake all night long?" Pondering his own words, an eager grin filled his face. "On second thought, let me go make you a pot!"

Swatting him playfully, she grabbed onto his arm. "HA! I wonder if your libido is the same now as it was before?" He leered at her, wiggling his eyebrows. Laughing, she pulled on him. "If it is, then there's probably a string of women out there looking for you." That idea chased all the humor from her face, reminding her of the past she felt certain was about reclaim him. "Peter, sit down with me."
"I'm making dinner, dear," he drawled.
"So what? Please?" she begged, lowering her head a notch and making eyes at him.
Peter gazed into the deep blue eyes and felt himself losing the battle. Reaching out, he captured a few strands of her hair and tugged on it gently. "All right," he conceded, "but only for a few minutes."

Settling down beside her, he snaked out his arm and encircled her shoulders, drawing her close. With a sigh, she snuggled up against him.
"Peter?"
Getting lost in the sensation of her warm body next to him, and the rocking motion of the swing, he answered her lazily, "MMM?"
"Peter, I want to talk to you."

Straightening up, he moved her slightly aside so he could look at her. "I'm not so sure I like the sound of that, Miss Writer. What's up?"
"You are hiding things from me again, and I want to know what they are."
"Who me?" Hazel eyes flashing, he gave her the most pathetic look he could conjure up.
"Yes, you. Stop making those eyes at me, Handsome. They won't get you off the hook this time. I want to know about the new memory flashes."

The sad expression on his face this time was not an act. Sighing deeply, he averted his gaze from her face. "What gave me away?"
Capturing his chin in her hand, she forced him to meet her eyes. "Besides the fact that I can read your soul in your eyes? The aspirin bottle was empty when I needed some the other day."
Peter gently yanked his chin from her grasp. "Alainna, please…"
"Peter, you please. I love you. Please, tell me. You made me tell you every horrible detail about Jimmy. You were right about that. It helped. Now, you tell me what's going on." Fear washed over her, reaching icy tendrils into the pit of her stomach. I'm going to lose him. I can feel it coming.

Peter did his best to explain the glimpses he had seen: being a child in a place of unusual things, candles, a man's face hidden behind a pair of green sunglasses, an older blond woman who hugged his hurts away. There were other, harsher images, things he didn't want Alainna to have to hear.
She rubbed his back while he spoke, trying to offer him comfort. When he fell silent, she whispered softly, "Well, I knew it would happen. You are too good, Peter, to not be loved or wanted by someone out there. I knew that one day, that memory of yours would come back, or your family would find you here, and you would leave." Inhaling deeply, she then exhaled forcefully before continuing, "It looks like it's almost time to pack your bag, huh?"
"No! Alainna, no." His own eyes were glistening as he tried to grasp the depth of the pain he saw in hers. "Alainna, you are everything to me! You complete me. Here, with you, I'm happy; I'm content. You are what I want." Peter took her in his arms. "I see these images, Love. Some of them are safe, warm, but some of them…" A shudder ran across his body. "I'm safe here, this is a haven for me. I don't know exactly what life I led before coming here, but I was destined to meet you."
"But, Peter, what if…"

Placing his finger across her lips, he silenced her. "No! No if's, no what's, no! I am here, and here I will stay. Even if they come looking, I'm staying." He kissed her tenderly, then crushed her to his chest. His voice became a hoarse whisper as he murmured into her hair, "I don't want to go back. I don't want to see them. Don't look back, no regrets. I have none. I have no doubts about where I need to be, and that's with you."
He held her tightly, as if to reassure her that he would never let her go. Her tears soaking into his shirt, they rocked on the swing, each lost in their own thoughts.
The blaring of the fire alarm brought them both to their feet. Springing from the swing, Peter headed for the door. "What is it about you and fires, Love? Hopefully my past life was filled with fire prevention and extinguishing!"
"HA! You are so funny! Don't quit your day job. Try to salvage dinner, Handsome! And the kitchen!" Wiping the leftover moisture from the corner of her eyes, she chuckled as he dashed into the house to try to do just that.

He was back in the doorway several minutes later, a sheepish expression on his face. "Hey, Miss Writer? Did I ever tell you why they call me speedy?"
Caught in her thoughts again, she looked up at him and the pensive expression on her face vanished quickly, replaced by absolute amusement. Laughing, she told him, "I am not even going there, Handsome!"
He made a wry face at her. "I'll get you for that later, when I have the time to prove you wrong."
"Promises, promises!" She was still chuckling.
"Ahem. Anyway, it is because I am the speediest at picking up take-out." He dangled the keys to the roadster in front of her face. "I am going out to pick up something for dinner. While I'm gone, you do what you do best."
"What's that, Handsome? Write?"
Peter shook his head, grinning at her. "Nope."
"Something fun?" She leaned forward on the swing.
"Nope!" He began down the steps, heading for the car.
"Peter, what?" she called after him, exasperated.
"Start a fire!" he yelled, jumping into the car and revving up the engine.


Chuckling and shaking her head, Alainna wandered into the house. Leave it to him, she mused, to take something so horrible and turn it into a running joke between us. Entering the kitchen, she found the remains of the meal he had been cooking sitting in the sink. Sighing, she picked up the pan, carrying it to garbage to scrape it out. She pondered the discussion from the front porch. Well, he made his feelings pretty clear. I guess tomorrow I'll go and delete that web-page I made with his picture on it. He'd kill me if he knew about it, anyway. No one's replied to it, and they should have, by now.

Pulling two wine glasses from the cabinet, she grabbed a bottle of sparkling cider from the fridge and headed back to the library. She set them down on the hearth of the fireplace and laid a fire. Just as she was about to light the match, her computer beeped. She glared over at it. "Oh, no, you can just forget it, Miss Editor. I am preparing for a wonderful, romantic evening with the man I love, and you are NOT going to ruin it." Striking the match, she turned back to the fireplace, lighting the paper under the kindling.

Once the fire had begun to burn to her satisfaction, she gathered the other elements she needed for their fireside dinner, whatever it was going to be. Collecting some of the good china, she laid two places on the hearth. The dogs wandered into the library, sniffing. "Oh, no, you don't," she said, pointing her finger out of the room. "You guys are out of here for the night! Go on, git!" The dogs obeyed quietly, forlorn expressions on their droopy faces. "Oh, please! I see Peter's been teaching you how to look pathetic, like you needed any help. Keep going!"

The computer beeped again. Whirling, she glanced at her watch, then stalked to the computer chair. "Oh, all right. I'll see what you want, anyway. That doesn't mean I have to answer you right now."
Plopping down in the chair, Alainna opened the first e-mail and began to read. "YES!" She spiked her fist into the air, elated. "All right, Shannon! I am sooo glad you are back." She began to quickly compose a reply, welcoming her editor back to work. "Now, maybe we can get this book finished."

Clicking on the second new message, she began to read. Slowly, the color drained from her face, and she bit her lip. The e-mail was brief, but it shook her life to the foundation. To Whom It May Concern, it began: That man is a friend of mine. He hasn't checked in with us for quite some time and we are concerned. You say he has lost his memory. Please up-date us. The e-mail was signed, Kermit.

Kermit? What the heck kind of a name is that? Maybe it's a joke. Only Muppets are named Kermit. Heart pounding in her chest, Alainna opened the next e-mail that had arrived from the same e-mail address: If you are at all like me, you will want proof that I am a friend, not a foe. I am attaching pictures of Peter's family, and friends. The first one is Peter and myself. Also, I thought Pete might want some basic info about himself. If I know Peter, memory or no memory, he's going nuts about not knowing.
Hesitantly, Alainna reached out and clicked on the file attachments, praying there was some mistake, somehow knowing in her heart that there was not. She watched as the image slowly unfolded on her screen; there was the wavy brown hair, and then…Oh, Dear God. There's no mistaking those eyes, is there? The tears began to well up and spill over as she opened the various attachments. He is loved, she thought, and he is wanted, not just by me. Sobbing, she lowered her head to the computer table, torn between happiness and devastation.


Peter guided the green roadster to its proper place in the garage, thinking about Alainna as he did. I know you are going to enjoy this, Miss Romance Writer. I love you so much; I can't believe it. I feel like a kid at the fair. I've found the best ride and I'm never getting off. He laughed. Life with you is a roller coaster ride, all right. The past is past, and our ride is moving forward, Alainna.
Jumping from the car, Peter headed for the kitchen door, a bounce in his step, and a grin on his face. The grin got larger when he realized he had forgotten the dinner, and the flowers he had picked up especially for her. Opps! Chortling, he headed back for the car. Alainna Anderson, you sure do distract me.

Grabbing the food and flowers off the passenger seat, he raced back to the house, entering the kitchen. Setting the bag of Chinese food on the counter, he picked up the half dozen roses. Think roses, not thorns. He set out to find her. First bet, the library. I wonder if she did make a fire? he mused.
Pausing in the archway, Peter absorbed the sight before him. Yes, this looks like a scene set for romance. The fire was burning merrily in the fireplace, china set on the hearth. Two wine glasses were also there, along with a bottle of sparkling cider. Looking good.
He let his gaze travel over to the far corner, to the computer desk. Not looking good, he thought. There's something wrong over there, I can tell by the way she's holding her shoulders. Dropping the flowers on the sofa, he headed for his apparently weary writer.

Finally hearing him in the room as he dropped something on the sofa, she spun in her chair to look at him. He stopped short at the expression on her face. "What's wrong, Alainna? Did I worry you, being gone so long?" She shook her head. "Did I hurt your feelings with that fire remark?"
She smiled at him. "No, Peter, you didn't hurt my feeling with that fire remark. Actually, I thought it…was rather amusing."
Relieved, Peter smiled back. "Good." He turned, moving back to the sofa, intent on retrieving her flowers. "I have something for you."

When he spun back to face her again, flowers in hand, he was shocked to see tears streaming down her face. She was holding some papers in her hands. "Alainna? What is it?"
"Peter?" she questioned, jiggling her leg in nervousness.
"What, Love?" Peter ran his hand over his hair. What the heck is going on?
"You're wanted." She fiddled with the papers in her hands.
"Wanted for what?" Damn it, am I an outlaw? "A job?"
She shook her head at him. He was disconcerted by the silent tears that were continuing to stream down her cheeks. "No. Your…family and friends want you."

Her words kicked him in the stomach. "What…what?" A stunned expression filled his face.
"Your father…is not dead, Peter. He…wants his son." Standing from the chair, she approached him with the papers.
The flowers slipped from Peter's hand, falling to the floor, taking Alainna's heart with them. With a trembling hand, he reached out to take the papers from her, then sank down into her chair, reading about his life.

"Peter Caine?" he whispered. The name meant nothing to him, but the paper in his hand insisted that was his true name. He read about his family, his friends, his past career. "I was a cop?" Yet through the whole thing, he could not help but feel like there was something missing in this story. Where's the love? The woman pining for me? The great romance of this Peter Caine's life? There's no mention of that, is there?

Laying the papers down on the computer desk, Peter turned to face Alainna. She had thrown herself on the sofa, and the quiet tears were still streaming down her face. Those tears hurt Peter more than he wanted to admit. There's love, right there. And she's already pining for me, and I haven't even left. "Alainna?" he whispered.
Glancing up at him, she tried to stop her crying. "Yes, Peter Caine?"
He shook his head at her. "Don't call me that, Alainna. I'm not Peter Caine. Right now, I am still Peter Walker. Maybe someday, when I can actually remember that life, then I'll be Peter Caine again. But right now, Peter Caine is no more real to me than one of your characters."

He walked over to sit beside her on the sofa, reaching out to hold her in his arms. "I was right about one thing, Miss Writer," he murmured.
"What's that?" she asked, snuggling closer.
"I'm not married," he chuckled.
Sitting up away from him, she smacked him lightly. "Thank goodness for that! How can you even joke about this?"
He drew her back into his arms. "Because if we don't laugh about it, we'll get too serious about it. I thought we both agree, lighter is better, right?"

Raising her hand to his cheek, she outlined his face, caressing him, studying him. "Peter, we can't joke about this. Those people, they're worried about you."
"So tell them I'm fine and leave it at that." He leaned forward and kissed her gently. "Alainna, that's not me. I don't know who that person is." Flicking out his tongue, he traced the outline of her lips, then kissed her forcefully, passionately. Pulling her closer, he crushed her to his chest, pushing his tongue into her mouth, demanding her response.
The e-mail was forgotten as they stayed on the library couch, kissing, caressing, until the fire in the fireplace had burned to mere embers and the ones in their bodies had ignited to blazing infernos. Scooping her up in his arms, he climbed the steps, determined that his past was behind him, and his future lay in front of him, with this woman.



The light, even breathing from the other side of the bed told her Peter had fallen asleep. Slipping gently from beneath the covers, she crept across the room, cautious of the creaky floorboards. The dogs lifted their heads to watch her warily, but obediently put them back down when she stabbed her finger at the floor.
Wrapping her terrycloth robe around her to ward off the late night chill, she slipped down the front stairs and into the library. Slowly lowering herself into the computer chair, she flipped on the monitors, restoring them to life. She opened her e-mail program. It would be so easy to just delete these messages, she thought. Then I could keep him here. She propped her chin in her hand, thinking about the time they'd spent together. If you do that, you're no better than Jimmy. Wanting to hold him here is obsession, not love, she told herself.

Taking the mouse in her right hand, she clicked on the reply button. After rereading the second message, she quickly composed a response before she could lose her nerve. Dear Kermit, she began, fingers flying over the keys with well-honed skill, My name is Alainna Anderson, and I live…. She closed with: We will await your arrival.

Shoulders shaking, she moved the mouse to the send button - and hesitated. Foreshadowing, she thought. It's only fitting, isn't it, that as a writer you can appreciate the foreshadowing of what you're about to do? Click the mouse and send the e-mail, and soon it will be Peter that you're sending away. She removed her hand from the mouse, grabbing a tissue and blowing her nose quietly. Are you sure you want to do this? He doesn't seem to want you to.
Alainna reread the message she had composed. That's pretty flat and lifeless. Certainly not up to your usual standards. Somehow your heart just isn't in this, is it, Miss Writer? she asked, causing herself to cry even harder by using Peter's nickname.
Oh, knock it off, she scolded herself, wiping her eyes and sitting up straight. This is reality, not a romance novel where the formula calls for a happy ending. You've been living in a sweet, little fantasy. Now stop blubbering.
Grabbing the mouse in her hand, she once again zeroed in on the send button. You have to do the right thing. Before she could change her mind, she clicked down on the mouse button. At the bottom of the computer, the message was clear - sending. "I'm sorry, Peter," she whispered into the darkness, "Believe me, this is going to hurt me a lot more than it hurts you."

Part 1   Part 2    Part 3    Part 4    Part 5   Part 6   Part 7    Part 8

Back to author's index      Back to Story index