Читать книгу Not Without The Truth - Kay David - Страница 9

WHEN SHE FIRST HEARD the voices, she thought she was dreaming, then she became more aware of her surroundings and realized her mistake.

“I can take care of her,” a man said. “Your assistance is not needed here. They should never have bothered you with this.”

She struggled to open her eyes, her lids weighed down by sleep and pain. The man who spoke was the one she’d seen come into her tent before. His voice reverberated with a frightening kind of fervor.

“I am confident that you are able to handle the situation, Manco.” The second man answered in the same language of the first—Spanish—but his voice was much kinder, its tones softened by a sophisticated accent and polished manner. “I mean no disrespect. I merely want to help.”

She fought against her stupor and forced her eyes to stay open so she could study the visitor. His eyes were two black stones, polished and bright, his skin a burnished brown, his hair straight and black. He had the right coloring but she didn’t think he was local. For one thing, he wore American jeans and a T-shirt. Her guess was based on his attitude rather than what he had on, however. He had an air of authority about him, a self-confidence that told her he wasn’t about to give in to the man who stood before him. Her eyes shut again.

“I brought her back from the dead.” The tall man’s voice penetrated her fog but just barely. “If not for me, she would be in the ground at this very moment. Her family would be crying and lighting candles.”

“That may be true,” the stranger replied politely. “But you can’t talk to her and I can.”

“I speak the language of healing. English isn’t necessary.”

A paused filled the hut. As it grew, she beat her lethargy and turned to look at them again. The two men stared at each other, their faces filled with tension, and as she watched, the American, which she guessed him to be, stepped even closer to the older man, their chests now almost touching. His voice was so low she could hardly make out what he said. The steady conviction behind it, however, was unmistakable.

“You’re a very busy man, Manco. You have the farm to run, the animals to oversee, your people to guide. I’m sure you could handle this problem, but you don’t need another person to look after.” He paused, his silky voice at once respectful but threatening. “The burden of the woman’s care would require too much of your valuable attention. Your village could suffer. Your men were thinking of you when they came and asked for my assistance.”

He was offering a way to save face, which was nice because the outcome of this argument was not in question. The American was going to get what he wanted, in any event. For some reason, she suspected that was not unusual.

She didn’t know what Manco saw as he studied the man’s face but he must have read something in his expression that gave him pause. After a moment so long Lauren wasn’t sure it would end, he stepped back and held out his hand. “You are right, Doctor, as usual. Your wisdom far outweighs my own. I had not thought of the problem in those terms.”

The man in the T-shirt shook his head. “No one’s wisdom is greater than yours, Manco. The problem is your heart. It is too big. You try to help everyone.”

“You flatter me, but I will accept your praise.” The man smiled as he spoke but it wasn’t genuine. He wasn’t happy, yet there was nothing more that he could do. He waved his hand in dismissal and turned to leave. “I’ll send someone to help carry her out.”

Before Manco had even left the hut, the doctor, if that’s what he was, was at the edge of her bed and lifting the mosquito netting. He appeared pleased by her open eyes.

“You’re awake. That is good. Very good. You didn’t seem to know I was here when I first arrived and examined you.”

He stuck out his hand and confirmed his title. “I’m Armando Torres. I’m going to take you to my clinic so I can see to your injuries. It’s not far from here. Do you think you can make it?”

She attempted to speak but all that came out was a croak.

“Save your energy.” He brushed a curl of her hair off her forehead in a soothing gesture, misinterpreting her effort. “We don’t need to be polite. The niceties can wait.”

She had to try again. “Do you…”

He put his fingers over hers, his kind manner and authoritative air instantly winning her trust. “Do I what?” he asked, his eyes puzzled.

Her gaze fastened on his as if she could pull the answer from him. “Do you know who I am?”

ARMANDO STARED DOWN at Lauren Stanley in shock. When the men who’d retrieved him had said she wasn’t alive, he hadn’t understood. Defensive and angry, Manco had explained the situation with more arrogance than usual and left out the details as well. The Quechuan believed in more than a single state of being, he’d said haughtily, and Lauren’s ailment reflected one that was highly mystical. Armando had accepted the lecture, but he’d had no idea Manco had been referring to amnesia.

“You don’t know your name?” he asked in surprise.

She shook her head then winced at the movement. She was so pale beneath her tan, Armando thought he could see through her skin.

“I can remember a few things,” she said haltingly. “But I don’t know why I’m here or what I do.”

She waited for him to fill her in but Armando didn’t answer right away. Beneath the pallor and grime, she certainly looked like the photo Meredith had sent him, but Armando didn’t like to make assumptions and he wasn’t about to start now. “Did you have things with you?” he asked instead.

“I don’t know.” A look of frustration crossed her delicate features. “I tried to ask, but my sign language skills aren’t too good.”

Armando walked to the doorway. Tiachita, Manco’s housekeeper, lounged on the porch, her need for activity apparently less developed than Zue’s. She looked up as he spoke.

“Did the blonde have anything with her? A bag? Papers? Anything?”

Tiachita stood with a languid grace and walked to the kitchen of the hut, which was housed in a separate building off to one side. She returned a second later and handed him a small ripped windbreaker.

“This is it?”

She gave him the exact reply he’d expected. A slow nod of her head. He cursed beneath his breath and retraced his steps, flipping open the coat as he walked. If Lauren Stanley had fallen in the river with an entire suite of Vuitton luggage, the answer would have been the same. Unattended items didn’t last long in this part of the world. He was surprised even to have this.

He paused on the front porch and looked at the inside tag. Someone had written Lauren Stanley, Dallas, Texas, in small block letters at the top in indelible ink. Luxury had been printed underneath her name.

“There’s nothing left,” he declared when he came back to her side, “except this.”

She raised her head. “A ratty jacket? That’s it?”

He nodded as she fought to focus, her small source of energy obviously depleted.

“There’s a name on the tag,” he said.

In the dim light, her blue eyes seemed to glow. “What is it?”

“Lauren Stanley,” he said. “‘Dallas, Texas’ is written just below it.”

She repeated what he’d said then her eyes filled. “I’ve never heard that name before,” she whispered. “If that’s who I am, it’s news to me.”

LAUREN STANLEY DROPPED BACK into a fitful sleep and Armando began to organize the trip back to the clinic. It would have taken less than an hour in an ambulance, but patient transportation here had as much in common with its international counterparts as he did with Manco.

Lining the wooden floor of a cart with pillows and blankets, the men made a bed for Lauren, then attached the rig to the back of Armando’s battered motorcycle. When they finished, he stared at it and shook his head. She was going to feel every bump and rut in the path between Qunico and the clinic but he couldn’t give her anything to knock her out. Until he had a better handle on her injuries, he couldn’t risk the complications that might arise.

He went back inside and found her sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her head in her hands. Tiachita stood beside her. “Very dizzy,” the housekeeper said. “Very bad. No can walk.”

Tiachita seemed to support her boss’s bid to keep Lauren. Ignoring her try, Armando took a bottle of water from his backpack and handed it to Lauren. “You’re probably dehydrated,” he said. “It comes up on you fast out here.”

She accepted the water without comment, her dazed state and slowed movements disturbing to him. Had she hit her head while she’d been in the water? He hadn’t been able to see any signs of contusions but reactions to injuries like that could be delayed. A whole host of other possibilities raced through his mind, some of them with outcomes that could be very serious.

He capped the water bottle and dropped it into his pack. “You ready?”

Instead of answering, she tried to stand, but she swayed instead, her legs going out from beneath her. Grabbing her arms, Armando caught her just before she went down completely.

“Oh, God,” she murmured. “I think the woman is right. No can walk.”

Armando chuckled. “You don’t have to walk. I’m going to carry you. Just put your arms around my neck.”

She did as he instructed and he lifted her easily. Too easily. She’d probably carried ten pounds more before her accident. She’d lost none of her beauty, though. The luminous skin, the clear blue eyes, the heart-shaped face, they were all there now, the promise he’d seen in her features as a child now fulfilled.

When he laid her in the cart she groaned and curled on her side. Rearranging the pillows to better cushion her, Armando said a quick prayer then straddled the cycle and aimed it down the path.

THEIR RETURN WASN’T as bad as Armando had thought it would be. Maybe the Quechuan gods were impressed with Lauren Stanley’s altered state. Whatever it was, Armando didn’t care. He was grateful they got back to the clinic before nightfall. He’d been stranded before in the night in the surrounding jungle and it hadn’t been fun. The experience wouldn’t have been any better with an injured woman to care for.

The muffled hum of his motorcycle shattered the quiet as he pulled into the clinic’s compound. Zue hurried out to meet him, her tongue clicking before he could say anything. With a flick of her wrist, she had three men out to help. They gently lifted the blonde and carried her inside while Zue berated them the entire distance, cautioning them not to bump the patient while at the same time hurrying them toward the clinic’s four-bed hospital. Armando shook the dust from his clothing and went to clean himself up. Zue would bathe Lauren, then he’d examine her. They never had too many patients at one time but there was generally a steady stream. He and his nurse had their routine down.

He was stepping out of the shower when his cell phone rang. Seeing the caller ID number, he picked up the phone and, without thinking, fell into the coded speech he and Meredith used when discussing a job.

He greeted her, then said, “I have the package you were looking for—it was found late yesterday afternoon. Apparently it’d been around for a while but I hadn’t heard.”

She followed his lead, her voice relieved. “Armando, that’s great! It wasn’t…damaged, was it?”

“There’s some dents and scratches on the outside but I believe everything is okay on the inside. I haven’t had a chance to open it yet and see.”

“Where was it all this time?”

“It’s a long story,” he said. “I’ll call you later when the rates go down and explain.” This meant he’d e-mail her, but as he expected, Meredith didn’t have the patience for that.

“Tell me now,” she insisted. “The manufacturer wants to know.”

“It got wet,” he said with a sigh, “and had to be fished out of a nearby river. I’m not sure how it ended up there, but that’s basically what happened.”

“But it’s okay?” she asked again.

He hesitated and tried to think of a way to avoid the topic of Lauren’s amnesia. He needed to examine her before he could address that subject adequately, but his reluctance went beyond that. Something about the situation had begun to bother him during the trip home, but he couldn’t yet define what it was.

“Basically, it is okay. Yes.” He paused and Meredith sensed that he was holding something back.

“But?”

He licked his lips and stared out the window beside the desk where he stood. Night came swiftly in Peru and it was totally black outside now. He’d never seen a place with such an absence of light and he’d been in plenty of dark places in his life.

“I think it might be best if you could wait a bit before calling the manufacturer.”

“Why is that?” Her voice took on a puzzled but cautious note. “He’s quite anxious to hear any news we can give him.”

“I can see why,” Armando replied, “but something doesn’t feel right. You know what I mean?”

“I probably do,” she said with a weary sigh. “I’ll hold off if you think that’s best.”

“I do,” he said. “But I can’t give you a reason why right now. Maybe later I’ll understand better.” His eyes searched the void through the screen. “And then again,” he added, “maybe I won’t.”

SHE REMEMBERED LITTLE about the journey yet, when she woke up the following morning, she felt as if she’d moved across the world instead of across the valley.

She sat up in the bed and took in her surroundings. The clinic was spotless, the walls a white so stark they hurt her eyes, the floors so clean, she was sure they would squeak if walked on. There were three other beds in the room along with her own but they were empty.

The simple task of looking around took most of her energy and she fell back against the pillows. Her eyes didn’t open again until that evening when a tiny native woman came in with a dinner tray, the china and cutlery arranged with military precision. She insisted on feeding Lauren, then returned the next morning to do the same with breakfast. The doctor came twice, but each time she registered little more than the fact that he was examining her, his hands gliding over her bruised body with care, his voice comforting as he murmured to her.

On her third morning, she woke up with a much clearer mind. Recalling the name the doctor had told her was hers, she probed her memory for more details.

She had little success.

All she could force out was a murky mix of faces and facts that made no sense, each changing rapidly, and feeling more like bad dreams than memories.

That night, after she’d bathed Lauren and cleaned up the ward with the endless energy she seemed to have, the nurse began to braid Lauren’s hair. She was almost finished when the doctor came in.

Clearly upset by the intrusion, she finished her task and stomped from the room.

The doctor watched her leave before turning to Lauren with a bemused expression on his face. “I’m sorry to interrupt your salon time with Zue.”

Lauren found herself smiling in return. “She’s more upset than I am, believe me. My hair is the last thing on my mind right now, Dr. Torres.”

“Please call me Armando.” He pulled up a chair and sat down. “We do not stand on formality here.”

She wasn’t sure but yesterday, or maybe it’d been the day before, she’d realized he had a hint of an accent. She’d asked about it, and he’d explained he’d grown up in Argentina.

He looked at her intently. “So how are you feeling?”

Lauren had begun to realize Armando Torres had a habit of focusing on her so intently that she found it difficult to look away from him when he was anywhere near. Which wasn’t a bad thing. Armando was a man anyone could have stared at for a long time and Lauren was surprised to find herself attracted to him. She’d explained the reaction by connecting it to her weakened state, but she knew better. There was something about him that felt familiar…yet strange, and the combination was a powerful one.

“I actually feel better,” she said. Some of her aches weren’t as sharp and some of her bruises had started to fade. “I was doubtful there for a while but it looks like I might survive.”

“There was never any danger of that. The roughest part is behind you.”

“That was right after they pulled me from the water?” He’d told her the circumstances of her discovery.

“Yes. You were very lucky, you know. That’s not a river you would have chosen to go into, if you’d known how bad it is.”

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with it?”

“Besides the usual piranha-crocodile-snake thing?”

She arched one eyebrow. “Uh-oh.”

“A lot of bacteria thrive there that live nowhere else. I won’t go into the details, but they can enter your body in various ways and then they set up housekeeping. Getting rid of them can be tricky. You have to catch them early or they can do a lot of damage to your internal organs, especially to your heart.”

“I didn’t know that,” she said. “At least I don’t think I did.” Failing to keep the defeat from her voice, she spoke again. “I can’t believe this! Amnesia is something you see in movies or read about in books—it’s not supposed to happen to real people.”

“The condition has been glamorized,” he agreed, “but it obviously does affect ‘real’ people. It’s affected you.”

His reassurance made her feel much better but she immediately wondered why. She’d known the man for only a few days. How could he have such sway over her so quickly? “Will my memory ever come back?”

“I think that it will,” he said. “But amnesia is one of those problems we still don’t understand. If the source is organic—that is, you hit your head when you fell into the water and a physical part of your brain has been affected—your recovery time will be related to the damage that was done when you had the accident. If it’s psychogenic, that’s a different thing.”

“‘Psychogenic’? Meaning I’m making it happen to myself?”

“No. Psychogenic meaning the problem is psychologically based.” He paused and appeared to think of how to phrase his explanation. “Psychogenic amnesia occurs after some sort of stress takes place. People who suffer this form of amnesia sometimes have a history of depression.” His stare captured hers once again, the tension in the room notching up. “Psychogenic amnesia can be linked to suicide, as well.”

IF HE HADN’T BEEN TRAINED to notice such things, Armando would have missed the reaction that crossed her expression, but his medical degree gave him an advantage.

As did his past.

Knowing what he did, he would have been surprised if she hadn’t had some psychological problems. Her issues had roots that had been growing for years.

“Are you saying you think I was trying to kill myself by jumping in the river?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “If you are, I have to disagree. I would have picked a simpler way.”

“That’s not at all what I’m suggesting. I’m merely trying to explain that amnesia is a complex disease. You may not suffer from it for very long, though. Sometimes all it takes is a single detail and everything returns.”

“But it’s still frustrating.”

“I imagine that it is, however, I may be able to help you there. Your government has been contacted by a man who claims to be your father. He wanted help in finding you, and the person who handled the call knew of my clinic. She decided to cut through the red tape and phone me first to see if I’d heard anything.”

Lauren’s face filled with shock and she struggled to sit up. “Are you kidding me?”

He shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, my God!” Her eyes huge, she leaned forward as if she could get the information faster by being that much closer. “Who is my father? What was I doing here? Where is—”

Armando held up his hand. “I’ll answer your questions the best I can, but I may not know everything—”

“I don’t care! Just tell me!”

“Your name is Lauren Stanley and you are from Dallas. You’re a writer, for a magazine called Luxury, and you were here on assignment to do an article about Machu Picchu and some of the other ruins. Your father is a doctor and he started to worry when you didn’t call in as expected. Apparently you and he have some kind of system where you check in with him on a regular basis. He was afraid something had happened.”

Her expression became remote. “What’s his name?”

“J. Freeman Stanley.”

“Does he know I’m all right?”

“He’s been told. My friend said he was very relieved and he wants to talk to you as soon as possible. When we finish here, you can call him if you like.”

He fell silent. She’d asked all the right questions, yet there was something missing. After a second, he realized what is was; none of the information he’d given her was resonating. Her expression held no reaction whatsoever. Normally he wouldn’t have been surprised by that, but because of her eagerness, he expected disappointment from her, if nothing else.

“Does any of this sound familiar?” he asked, just to be sure.

She shook her head slowly. “You could be talking about a stranger for all I know.”

Armando stood. “Don’t worry about it for now,” he ordered. “Once you speak with your father that could change.”

Lauren opened her mouth to reply, but her expression went blank. Her eyes glazed over and became unfocused, then a second later, she jerked so hard the bed moved. Fearing a seizure or even something worse, Armando grabbed her shoulders and spoke her name loudly.

The episode was over almost before it began. She blinked then looked straight into his eyes and gasped.

“I was in a jungle and there were birds,” she said. “Th-then I was flying.”

He loosened his hold on her arms but he didn’t release her. “You’re not flying, Lauren,” he said forcefully. “You’re in bed. I have you. You’re safe.”

“It felt like I was looking at you behind a veil. I thought I was dreaming but it was more real.”

“Describe what you saw.”

“Thick foliage,” she said haltingly. “The sound of birds, a rope sliding through my hands.” She stopped abruptly and went silent, the intensity of the sensation obviously still frightening to her. “I was up high but I felt a rope,” she said. “There was a rope in my hands!”

He took her hands and turned them over, shaking his head as he stared at the scabs that covered her palms. “I thought these were rope burns but then I convinced myself they were scratches from a tree limb you’d tried to grab. I should have known better.” He raised his eyes to hers. “Someone must have tried to help you after you fell into the water. Was there anyone with you?”

She screwed up her face as if she could force the memory out of her brain, but in the end, all she could do was shake her head. “I don’t know! I guess anything’s possible, but I don’t know.”

He released her hands and patted her arm, his reassurance swift and soothing. “It will come to you,” he said in a comforting voice. “It will come.”

“Is that a promise?”

“This is Peru,” he answered cryptically. “Promises are all that we have.”