314 on it. I noticed the lock was on the outside of the knob. Inside, the room was spare and drab. No color. No art on the walls or decor of any kind, unless you counted all the papers taped everywhere.
This is the closet said one taped to what was obviously a closet.
“Was I not only an amnesiac but a moron too?” I teased.
Rita laughed. “We figured better safe than sorry.”
Inside, the clothes were nearly all white and beige. Nothing with a pattern or color.
“Who was in charge of my clothes? Let me guess.” I shot my sister a look.
Delia lifted her chin, wearing her stiff, stubborn, I’m-always-right expression, which meant she was the guilty party. “I’ve been managing your money on things you need. Flashy clothes aren’t on the list.”
“Obviously,” I said, wandering the tiny room. Examining the little reminders on every wall.
This is the bathroom, on the bathroom door.
Smell your breath, said the one taped to the bathroom mirror. If it’s not minty, brush your teeth. If it is, you already brushed.
“Unreal,” I said, and then I realized I was tired. My lower back ached from the bone marrow extraction they’d said I had, and sensory overload made my eyes want to close. I climbed into the twin bed, propped up on the pillows. “Why is this room so godawfully boring? I didn’t stop loving art. Or Egypt. Or color. What gives?”
Delia started to speak up, but Dr. Chen intervened.
“Until the advent of Dr. Milton’s research, you were misdiagnosed,” she said. “Stevens believed you were completely unable to lay down new memory. That your few minutes of consciousness were all you had.”
“So it didn’t matter what I wore or what my room looked like? I wouldn’t remember it anyway?”
“Essentially, yes.”
Delia looked guilty again. “I felt the less stimulation, the better. To keep you calm.”
“I guess I understand. I can hardly explain what it was like for me. I was here, but I couldn’t grasp anything. Like trying to climb out of a box and constantly sliding back down. No thoughts. None that I could hold on to, anyway.”
I looked to Delia, sitting on the edge of my bed.
“But I know things,” I said. “I know things from these two years since the accident that I can’t actually remember knowing. I wanted to paint. Constantly. I was starving for it. I can’t remember feeling that, but I felt it.” Tears started to sting my eyes. “And music. And color. I wanted those things.”
“You had seizures, Thea,” Delia said. “Do you remember those?”
I met her gaze. “I remember wanting to be with you, every minute. Seeing you made me so happy but somehow, I knew you’d vanish. And it scared me. Terrified me. I know that without remembering it.”
I swallowed hard; the tears threatening to overwhelm me now.
“I remember asking you when Mom and Dad were coming,” I said, my chest hitching, my hands clutching the sheet. “But they never came. Not in two years. I don’t remember how I know that, but I know that. Tell me now, Delia. Tell me the truth. Where are Mom and Dad?”
From my other side, Rita suddenly took my hand, tears in her own eyes.
“No,” I said, looking between her and Delia, shaking my head. “No, please…”
“The accident was bad,” Delia said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. “It’s a miracle you survived.”
“But Mom? She didn’t make it?” I had to stop to breathe, the sobs wanting to erupt as the horrible truth bloomed in me like an icy black hole sucking the light and warmth out of the room. “And Daddy? He… He’s gone? They’re both gone?”
Delia’s eyes filled and spilled over as she nodded.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, tears streaming. I let go of Rita and held my arms to my sister. “Oh my God, Delia…”
Wordlessly, Delia moved to sit beside me, and I clutched her to me, sharp angles and all, and we cried. Her body shook soundlessly while the sobs tore out of me. Mom and Dad were gone, and now the memories were all I had.
Delia brushed the hair from my wet cheeks. “Get some sleep now.” She sniffed and turned to the doctors who were watching in solemn silence. “No more questions today.”
“Of course,” Dr. Chen said. The team filed out, Rita last.
“I’ll be right outside the door if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Rita,” I said, my voice a croak. “Deel,” I said, the tears starting again. “For two years, you didn’t tell me.”