companion? What are you talking about? And why do you call me Ichabod?”
“That’s the name the Prophet gave you.” She laid a cool hand on his forehead. “You must have amnesia. If you can’t remember your companion, you must have taken a terrible blow to your brain.”
“My first name is Timothy. But I don’t remember a last name or much of anything else. I guess I must have banged my head pretty hard if I can’t even remember that I had a … a companion.” He glanced at a ring on his finger, a gold band with an embedded white gem. Could it be a wedding ring? Maybe. But it was on the wrong hand. “If I do have a companion, I don’t know what happened to her.”
“A companion is not a ‘her.’” She bracketed her hands in front of her chest as if holding an invisible grapefruit-sized ball. Her palms radiated a white glow that passed across the gap between her hands. A translucent egg appeared, slightly smaller than a hen’s egg, almost ghostlike and floating in midair.
“An ovulum!” Timothy whispered.
She lowered her head and peered at him through the egg. “That’s what the Prophet sometimes calls them. We just call them companions, because that’s what they are.”
“‘Ovulum’ just popped into my mind. I don’t know what it is.”
She separated her hands, and the ovulum faded, but its outline remained, barely detectable and floating without any visible means of propulsion. “The Prophet has a special, stationary one he calls ‘Enoch’s Ghost’ that he keeps on a table at his home, but ours are smaller and mobile.” The companion zipped up to her shoulder and perched there, rocking back and forth. “Clearly you remember something about them, or you would not have known its name.”
“I can still see it on your shoulder,” Timothy said, pointing. “It was invisible before.”
“It has always been visible.” She glanced at the strange lamp hanging from the ceiling. “Sometimes the lighting makes it hard to see.”
Timothy shut his eyes. There were just too many new and odd surroundings to figure out. Had he been abducted by aliens, or was this the most vivid nightmare in history? “I must be dreaming,” he said. “Or else I’m losing my mind.”
He felt her fingers comb through his hair, stopping at a spot near the top of his head. A slight twinge of pain blended in with the soothing sensation. “When we first found you, there was quite a lump right here, so it’s no wonder your memory is impaired.”
“How long have I been here? And where is here, anyway?”
She laughed gently. “The Prophet said that questions would fill your mind. He anxiously awaits your release so he can answer as many as possible.”
“What does the doctor say?” he asked, his eyes still closed. “Can I leave soon?”
“She says that you may leave. In fact, she insists that you leave immediately. The Prophet’s instructions were clear. Now that you have awakened, you must go to him.”
Timothy opened his eyes and smiled. Her fingers felt heavenly. “I’m guessing that you’re the doctor.”
“You seem to enjoy guessing, and you are correct again.” She pointed at a closet. “You will find your clothes in there. I will send my son in to assist you.”
“I heard him call you ‘Mother.’ Is he adopted?”
Her blonde eyebrows scrunched toward her shining blue eyes. “Of course. Aren’t we all?”
“Uh … No. I don’t think so.”
She set her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. “Timothy, I think we’ll have to work hard at understanding each other. I get the impression that some words have different meanings where you come from.”
“And we obviously have different customs. Not that I minded, but I was surprised that a child is allowed to come and go as he pleases.” He nodded toward the clock. “Especially in a military hospital.”
She looked up at the clock. “Military? What do you mean?”
“Uh … Army? Navy?”
“Ah!” she said, nodding dramatically. “We do have an army.” She deftly removed the needle from his hand, but as she wound the tube over the IV hanger, a single drop of the gray liquid fell to the floor.
Timothy rubbed the wound on his skin, wondering what kind of alien medicine had been pushed into his veins.
She lowered the bed rail and waved toward the closet. “Take careful steps.” As if demonstrating, she padded slowly toward the door. “We wouldn’t want you to bump your head again.”
Just as she reached the exit, the boy walked in, now wearing