Page 16 of Prelude to Madness

He swiped to another, and I looked closer.

The photo was clearly taken on our wedding day, both of us dressed in matching suits, laughing at the camera, a picture of happiness. Confetti was in our hair, and an errant piece was on my tongue. We looked blissfully happy. Something stirred in my mind, a hidden, forgotten memory. I had a vague recollection of the day—sunshine, family, love.

I frowned and pushed the phone away. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real else I’d remember the day. Remember him.

“We’ve been married for five years. We met in a bar eight years ago where you were playing the piano. It was love at first sight. We’re soul mates, Rick. I just wish you could remember.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just…this accident has taken everything from me. I only remember a man called Hugo and a cat.” I couldn’t tell him about my captor and what we’d done together. I might not remember him, but he said he was my husband, and I wouldn’t hurt him.

“You were living your story. I read it.”

“My story? What do you mean?”

“A story you were writing about a struggling composer called Eric. He had a friend called Hugo and played in bars to make more money. I think you were probably hoping to turn it into a play, although you are a composer. Quite a successful one too.”

Eric. I knew that name. Wasn’t that me?

“I’m Eric.”

“No, you’re Rick. No one has ever called you Eric.” His pitying look annoyed me.

“You’re wrong. I’m Eric.” Nothing he could do or say could persuade me otherwise.

“I’m sorry. The doctors said not to push you, but I’m so fucking frustrated, Rick. Maybe if I showed you some more pictures, told you a little more about our life together.”

“I’m tired. Maybe another time. Why don’t you go home?” Home, again a niggle in my head. In my mind, I saw an apartment, a kitchen, a bedroom, my clothes on the arm of a sofa. I was starting to remember.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” he said. “I have nowhere else to be. We’d usually go out with friends, then go back to our place. You’d play the piano, and we’d watch Midnight Mass on the TV.”

“Tomorrow we’ll have a light breakfast in bed. You’ll have Buck’s Fizz, and I’ll have…”

“Plain old orange juice.” He finished my sentence, smiling.

I remembered his smile.

“I thought I’d lost you, Rick.” He hesitantly reached for my hand and looked to me for permission.

I nodded. Yes, he could take my hand.

“You almost died. He almost killed you.”

“I was driving home and was in an accident.” I also remembered I’d had a couple of pills that night at the gig I was at. I wasn’t high, but I’d definitely been feeling the effects. The rest was kind of fuzzy, though.

“He ran into you, skipped a red light. You’re lucky you aren’t dead.”

“What happened to him? Did he…?”

“Die? No, more’s the pity. He was badly hurt and…” Dex paused. What wasn’t he wasn’t telling me?

“Tell me.”

“He’s down the hallway. Coincidence or not, he woke up just after you did. He’d been in a coma, the same as you were.”

That was fucking strange, and part of me wanted to see him. See the man who had brought my world to its knees.

“I want to see him.”

“No, it’s not a good idea, and the doctors say you have to stay in bed a little longer.”