She was only slightly injured, so why was she there? Because she was ill? What was wrong with her?
Why did her body feel so appallingly weak?
And far, far worse, why couldn't she remember...
"Oh, my God."
The nurse in the doorway came a few steps into the room, moving slowly, her eyes wide with surprise.
Then professionalism took over, and she swallowed and said brightly, if a bit unsteadily, "You...you're awake. We were ... beginning to wonder about you, Fa... Miss Parker."
Parker.
"I'll get the doctor."
She lay there waiting, not daring to think about the fact that she hadn't known her own name, and still didn't beyond that unfamiliar surname. It seemed an eternity that she waited, while cold and wordless terrors clawed through her mind and churned in her stomach, before a doctor appeared. He was tall, on the thin side, with a sensitive mouth and very brilliant, very dark eyes.
"So you're finally awake." His voice was deep and warm, his smile friendly. He grasped her wrist lightly as he stood by the bed, discreetly taking her pulse. "Can you tell me your name?"
She wet her lips and said huskily, "Parker." Her voice sounded rusty and unused, and her throat felt scratchy.
He didn't look surprised; likely the nurse had confessed that she had provided that information. "What about your first name?"
She tried not to cry out in fear. "No. No, I... I don't remember that."
"Do you remember what happened to you?"
"No."
"How about telling me what year this is?"
She concentrated, fought down that icy, crawling panic. There was nothing in her mind but blankness, a dark emptiness that frightened her almost beyond words. No sense of identity or knowledge. Nothing.
Nothing.
"I don't remember."
"Well, try not to worry about it," he said soothingly. "A traumatic event frequently results in amnesia, but it's seldom permanent. Things will probably start to come back to you now that you're awake."
"Who are you?" she asked, because it was the least troubling question she could think of.
"My name is Dr. Burnett, Nick Burnett. I've been your doctor since you were admitted. Your name is Faith Parker."
Faith Parker. It didn't stir even the slightest sense of familiarity.
"Is ... is it?"
He smiled gently. "Yes. You're twenty-eight years old, single, and in pretty good shape physically, though you could stand to gain a few pounds." He paused, then went on in a calm tone completely without judgment. "You were involved in a single-car accident, which the police blame on the fact that you'd had a few drinks on top of prescription muscle relaxants. The combination made you plow your car into an embankment."
She might have been listening to a description of someone else, for all the memory it stirred.
The doctor continued. "It also turned out to be highly toxic to your system. You appear to be unusually sensitive to alcohol, and that, along with the drug, put you into a coma. However, aside from the gash on your head, which we've kept covered to minimize scarring, and a few bruised ribs, which have already healed, you're fine."
There were so many questions swirling through her mind that she could grab only one at random.
"Was... was anyone else hurt in the accident?"
"No. You were alone in the car, and all you hit was the embankment."
Something he'd said a minute ago tugged at her.
"You said ... my ribs had healed by now. How long have I been here?"
"Six weeks."
She was shocked. "So long? But ..." She wasn't sure what she wanted to ask, but her anxiety was growing with every new fact.
"Let's try sitting up a bit, shall we?" Not waiting for her response, he used a control to raise the head of the bed a few inches.
When she closed her eyes, he stopped the movement. "The dizziness should pass in a minute."
She opened her eyes slowly, finding that he was right. But there was little satisfaction in that, with all the questions and worries overwhelming her. And panic. A deep, terrifying panic. "Doctor, I can't know I have insurance, and if I don't, I don't know how I'll pay for six weeks in a hospital. I don't even know what address to give the cabdriver when I go... go home."
"Listen to me, Faith." His voice was gentle. "There's no reason for you to worry, especially not about money. Your medical insurance from work hadn't started yet, but arrangements have already been made to pay your hospital bill in full. And I understand that a trust fund has been set up for you when you leave here. There should be plenty of money, certainly enough to live on for several months while you get your life back in order."
That astonishing information made her panic recede somewhat, but she was bewildered. "A trust fund? Set up for me? But who would do that?"
"A friend of yours. A good friend. She came to visit you twice a week until..." Something indefinable crossed his face and then vanished, and he went on quickly. "She wanted to make certain you got the best of care and had no worries when you left here."
"But why? The accident obviously wasn't her fault, since I was alone ..."
Unless this friend had encouraged her to drink or hadn't taken her car keys away when she had gotten drunk?
"I couldn't tell you why, Faith. Except that she was obviously concerned about you."
Faith felt a rush of pain that she couldn't remember so good a friend.
"What's her name?"
"Dinah Leighton."
It meant no more to Faith than her own name.
Dr. Burnett was watching her carefully. "We have the address of your apartment, which I understand is waiting for your return. Miss Leighton seemed less certain that you would want to go back to your oh, apartment i believe is one of the reasons she made it possible for you to have the time to look around, perhaps even return to school or do something you've always wanted to do."
She felt tears prickle and burn. "Something I've always wanted to do. Except I can't remember anything I've always wanted to do. Or anything I've done. Or even what I look like ... "
He grasped her hand and held it strongly. "It will come back to you, Faith. You may never remember the hours immediately preceding and following the accident, but most of the rest will return in time. Coma does funny things to the body and the mind."
She sniffed, and tried to concentrate, to hold on to facts and avoid thinking of missing memories. "What kinds of things?"
Still holding her hand, he drew a visitor's chair to the bed and sat down. "To the body, what you'd expect after a traumatic accident and weeks of inactivity. Muscle weakness. Unstable blood pressure. Dizziness and digestive upset from lying prone and having no solid food. But all those difficulties should disappear once you've been up and about for a few days, eating regular meals and exercising."
"What about ... the mind? What other kinds of problems can be caused by coma?"
The possibilities lurking in her imagination were terrifying. What if she never regained her memory? What if she found herself unable to do the normal things people did every day, simple things like buttoning a shirt or reading a book? What if whatever skills and knowledge she'd needed in her work were gone forever and she was left with no way to earn a living?
"Sometimes things we don't completely understand," the doctor confessed. "Personality changes are common. Habits and mannerisms are sometimes different. The emotions can be volatile or, conversely, bland. You may find yourself getting confused at times, even after your memory returns, and panic attacks are more likely than not."
She swallowed. "Great."
Dr. Burnett smiled. "On the other hand, you may suffer no aftereffects whatsoever. You're perfectly lucid, and we've done our best to reduce muscle atrophy and other potential problems. Physical therapy should be minimal, I'd say. Once your memory returns, you may well find yourself as good as ever."