Charming Deception, Page 4

“He's been very worried about you. You've got yourself a good one here, Samantha.”

I look at Jakson uncomfortably. Why do I feel I am being manipulated?

“So, you’re feeling better?”

“Yes, Doctor, I feel fine.”

“Jakson, any hostility today?”

“No. She is her old sweet self.”

“Doctor, what happened to me?”

“We’re not quite sure. A virus, we suspect. It disrupted your memories. They'll come back. But you’re not very patient with yourself.”

“A virus? A virus took away my memories? But I can still speak and walk and tie my shoes? Did anyone else contract this selective memory-destroying virus?”

“No.”  

Now that’s convenient, isn’t it?

“And you’re sure it's not Alzheimer’s or some other form of dementia?”

“No dementia of any form.”

“Are my oxygen levels within the normal range?”

“Yes”

“And is my bloodwork normal?”

“Yes, bloodwork is good.”

“Any drugs in my system, like... oh, say, Rohypnol?”

“No date rape drugs in your system. And you haven't been out of control?” He shoots Jakson an alarmed look.

“You'll have to ask Jaks.”

“No, Doc, she's been fine. A little shaking on her feet and confused about her situation, of course, but that’s to be expected, isn’t it? Could you give her a little background information on herself? I'll go for a little walk, so that you two can have some private doctor-patient time,” he tells the doctor. Then in a soft whisper to me he adds, “Ask him anything about me, anything at all. I want you to trust me again, okay?” He leaves the room and goes outside. I watch him as he strides down the walkway.

“What can I help you with, Samantha?” the doctor asks.

“First of all, where am I?”

“At our private clinic. For my private patients. In Tampa, Florida. This facility is for the exclusive treatment of head injuries, brain trauma, and memory problems. My partner, Dr. Gregg, and I own and operate this clinic and we try our best to make it as comfortable and homelike as possible for our patients and their spouses.”

“Tell me about myself.”

Dr. Reynolds picks up my file and sits back in the chair. “You are Samantha Kay Hannery Blake,” he read from her chart. “You were born February 22, 1985, in Fulton Valley, Ohio. You graduated from Youngstown State University with a degree in early childhood education. You’ve been employed by PenMark for the last three years, doing national and international work improving the lives of children with health and educational programs. You started out doing relief work for the Red Cross when a devastating tornado hit your hometown. Last year on your birthday, you married Jakson Allan Blake in Clearwater Beach at a beachside wedding ceremony.” He quit reading and looked up at me. “I was there. You were a stunning bride. And Jakson, well, I’d never seen him so happy in his life. You two live on the beach in a condo on Gulfview Drive, just across the bay on the coast.”

“Do I have any family?”

“Parents are deceased. No siblings. But you have Jakson.”

4.