Out On a Limb' **T** he moment was pure joy and relief. I'd been in bed with a head injury for four days, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to eat, unable to drink. And this was my first day of being awake, conscious, alert. I slowly blinked open my eyes. I was lying in a bed in an apartment. Who? Where? The memories of the day before raced back. I was with the others—no, they were with me. I was the one they were helping. With great care they eased me out of the house and into the car and drove me to this place. I was in a hospital. I was very ill. I could feel a soft, warm blanket across my chest and my right arm and leg. The rest of my body was cold and clammy. I tried to move my right arm and leg but was met by a hard plastic sheet, and, by sheer force of will, I tried to pull it off. "Take it easy," a soft voice said. "Just lie there and rest." "Who are you? Where am I?" "You are in a hospital. You were very sick, so the doctors brought you here." I closed my eyes and tried to pull the sheet off my arm. "What's your name?" I asked, but I was too weak and fell back against the pillow. My left arm hurt terribly and my leg felt strangely numb. "My name is Ann. Let's see now, your name is Ann, don't you remember? I'm sure you do. The doctors told me all about you and your husband, how they were worried about you." "My husband?" "Yes. You're married to an old friend of mine, Nathan." "My husband. Oh, my God. It's Nathan." I turned to look at her. The dark hair, the full lips, the wide cheeks, the small, dark eyes. The same woman. "Nathan." "Yes, I know. Nathan told me all about you." "Nathan. Nathan." I pushed myself up, then fell back against the pillow. "I've got to get out of here." She smiled. "You're not well. Let me get you a nurse." "Get me a nurse and I'll get out of here," I said. She paused for a moment, then said, "I'll get the nurse." She was gone and I was alone. I tried again to move my arm. The sheet resisted and held me still. My mouth was so dry it had no moisture left to speak with. I opened my mouth, tried to moisten it, but no water came. Again I closed my eyes. Why can't I move? What's wrong with my body? I opened my eyes and tried to pull the sheet from my leg, but again I was too weak. Again the nurse was at the door. I could see the outline of her through the white plastic curtain. "How are you?" "Where am I? Is there something wrong with my leg? My arm?" "No. You're going to be all right. Just lie back. You need to rest. It's a long story, so I'll go away and leave you alone." The nurse left. I tried to move my right arm and leg again, but they were immobilized, like something on a stretcher. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. **BOOK TWO** **Out of the Darkness** **8** **How can I believe it?** I asked myself, staring out the window, through the rain. _Am I crazy? Out of my head? Can I remember what happened?_ _Yes._ I knew with absolute certainty that I could remember what happened. _How can I remember something that hasn't happened?_ I asked myself. _Am I losing my mind? Could I have had a stroke?_ _I can remember everything. I'm very sure._ _Then who am I?_ I thought. _Where am I?_ _I'm Ann. I'm home, in my apartment, the same apartment in which I spent so many years in the dark. But how?_ I had remembered this room many times. It was a small studio with a window that faced the street. I always thought it was quite charming, but no longer. I'd been in this very room for a long time. During those years, I'd slept in the bed, sat in the chair, used the window. The apartment was small, with a sitting area in the living room, a bedroom in the back, and a large kitchen. My bed had been placed there by a painter who was friends with the man I was living with at the time. But he, too, moved on. He also was called Nathan. There was a cat named Nathan that would sit by the bedroom window. I lived in this room from the time I was a little girl. My childhood came to an abrupt end when my father put a long needle in my neck, made me sign a few papers, and shipped me off to a psychiatrist, or sanatorium, as I was told it was called then, one of the so-called government institutions. It had been a shock to me to see that familiar room for the first time after so many years. It was in that room that I discovered Nathan had been dead for two years. After I left him in the backseat of a taxi, I moved to his small apartment in the city and shared it with my sister, Judy, and two men I'd met in that hospital—Jerry, a former actor who had been a patient, and Steve, a recovering alcoholic who wrote best-selling novels. I'd been in that apartment for only a week, but in that short time I had started remembering. It had started with Nathan showing me photographs of a beautiful young woman who, they said, was his lover and my half sister. The second day I told them I'd had an abortion while I was a patient in the sanatorium. That's how I found out I'd been pregnant. The truth is I still hadn't fully recovered. And that was how I started remembering everything. I tried to move my right arm. The sheet came away. I reached with my right hand, and moved the sheet back. "It's raining," I said aloud. I lifted my right leg and the sheet came away, too. My legs and arms were naked. I pulled the sheet up and around me. "How embarrassing," I said. I moved to the head of the bed and stretched out my legs. I closed my eyes and started to cry. It was so pleasant to remember. I could remember everything. What the man in the taxi looked like, what we talked about, how long we sat in the dark room, waiting for something to happen. I remembered what I said, and what he said, and how it happened. And then he left me and I fell asleep. And then there was a dream, I remembered a dream, but it wasn't real. And then I awoke to the sounds of a woman screaming. And then there was more screaming and someone saying, "We're bringing in two more. They got out." I tried to move my body, my arm, my leg, but I couldn't. I closed my eyes. "Please help me," I said out loud, but no one heard. "Please help me. It's so painful. Oh, help me, Nathan. Help me. Help me. Please help me." I tried to pull the sheet away from my body. I tried to move my arm, but it was trapped, I couldn't move it. I felt someone behind me. I felt my hair. It was so painful. I wanted to move away from that pain. I wanted to turn around and see who it was. I opened my eyes. "Can you tell me your name?" I couldn't answer. "Listen, your name is Ann. Your name is Ann. You're in the hospital. You've had a brain injury." I heard the words, but still I couldn't move. "Do you remember what happened? I'll explain to you what happened." I closed my eyes and again tried to move. "Listen, Ann, Ann, I need you to listen." I could feel her hands at my temples. They were pulling, she was trying to lift my face. I opened my eyes and looked at her. "This is very important. Do you remember what happened? You remember? Can you understand me? You understand? Can you help me? Can you talk?" The words were hard to say. The pain was overwhelming. "Listen to me. You don't want to feel what you feel. You don't want to feel what you remember. You don't want to remember what happened. You don't want to be in that place, do you?" I didn't answer. The pressure and pain were getting worse. "Ann, you don't have to feel this. I know you're having a terrible time. I know it's so painful. I know that, but you have to listen to me." I tried to pull away. "Listen to me. I know