Dark Luck (A Suspense Thriller) (13 page)

Chapter 3.

JOSEPHINE

1.

Howl. Howl. Was ‘howl’ the important word he had to
remember? He believed that word had an ‘h’ in it, but it was not ‘howl.’ He
should keep trying; the word might pop up eventually.

2.

How were things going? How was he? 

Things were not good. A car crash. Yes, he had been in
a car crash. It had happened somehow, even though he’d always been very
careful. Had he gotten in the accident because of the safe? That thing weighed
nine hundred pounds, you know. Actually, he had indeed wondered what would
happen if you hit the brakes when driving sixty miles per hour with a
nine-hundred pound safe in the trunk of your pickup truck.

He could lose a hand. Or a leg. Or half his brain would
stop functioning. Yeah, he would hate that. True, he felt okay at the moment,
but he was not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot.

A car crash on a highway. Why? Wife. Sister-in-law.
Mister Fowler. Where was he going when he got in that accident?

Mister Fowler. He was on the way to recovery, that was
the good news. He had to recover as soon as possible because there was an
unfinished business he had to attend to. He also had to remember that damn
word; it was a matter of life and death.

An innocent victim. He was a victim of an accident. He
had caused that car crash. And his wife? What about his wife? 

3.

“Frank. Frank... Wake up, it’s me, Josephine. Frank,
wake up. ”

He unglued his eyelids but refrained from opening them
wide.

And pain... He was suspended inside a thick layer of
it, like a prehistoric insect frozen in a boulder of ice. The pain held him
firmly above the bed, straining every single muscle in his body. But he had
been learning to cope with it. Those good doctors supplied Frank with enough
analgesics for him not to writhe in agony. He was floating in pain and knew he
was alive because dead people feel nothing. 

“Frank, wake up.”

Wake up... What for? It was so pleasant to sleep. To
see those weird dreams, which he couldn’t remember right now. He was not sure
how many dreams he’d had since he’d fallen asleep. He thought he’d seen a
one-legged man in one of them, but it might have simply been a false memory. A
fraction of a second ago, he had known why the one-legged man was important,
but this piece of knowledge had just treacherously slipped out of his brain. If
he stayed asleep, he could probably have that dream again and find out why
Josephine was so dangerous. Dangerous to whom, by the way? And who was
Josephine?

“Frank, it's me, Josephine.” The voice was pleasant. It
was a pleasant female voice. God, what a pleasant voice! Keep speaking! Don't
stop, woman! Such a pleasant voice!

“Doctor Raynolds, are you sure he can hear me?” asked
the woman.

‘Are you sure he can hear me?’ Doctor Raynolds, are you
sure he can hear me? Are you sure? Sure? Oh yes, he was sure he could hear
her... But he was not Doctor Raynolds, she was not asking him. Who was she
asking? Who was Doctor Raynolds? 

“Yes, this morning he came out of a coma. I even talked
to him,” a male voice answered.

An alarming thought swiftly glided through his mind
that he ought to be afraid of Josephine. Why?

She is insane, buddy, she is batshit crazy.

This thought was absurd because Frank couldn’t
reconcile it with Josephine’s lovely voice. The thought vanished and never came
back.

This morning he’d come out of coma. This morning...
Morning... What time was it? What day was it? What month? Daughter? What
daughter? Or son? Did he have a son? Or wife? This morning Doctor Raynolds had
talked to him.

“Mister Fowler, if you can hear me, please move your
right index finger,” said the man.

Move a finger? Sure, he could do it. He would move his
right index finger for the good doctor. What a pleasant voice that woman had!
Frank had heard this voice before. Was she a relative? Who was she? What was
her name again?

Frank opened his eyes. A woman. A nurse? Was she a
nurse? The woman wasn’t young. She appeared to be in her mid-forties, but her
actual age could certainly be as old as fifty five if she’d been able to afford
facelifts and Botox shots. Her neatly arranged brown hair was immaculate, which
gave him a warm feeling inside: she had bothered to spruce herself up before
visiting him.

“Frank, it's me, Josephine,” said the woman, bending
over him. She was wearing an ambrosial perfume; probably some expensive fragrance
from France. What a wonderful smell it was. And her voice sounded beautiful. Or
was it just painkillers talking? “How are you feeling, Frank?”

Her eyes. She was touching them with her handkerchief.
She’d been crying, he guessed. Josephine sobbed and gave Doctor Raynolds a
hopeful look.

“Who are you?” asked Frank.

The woman startled, froze for a moment, and turned her
face to him, taking the handkerchief away from her eyes that were full of
tears. There was a mixed expression of sadness and surprise on her face.

“My Lord, he's going to be alright!” she almost wailed,
letting her tears loose.

“Mister Fowler,” Doctor Raynolds said. “Your
sister-in-law is here. Can you speak now?”

Frank looked at the doctor inquiringly and asked, “Who
is she? Who is this woman?”

Raynolds raised his eyebrows in slight amazement.

Josephine? Sister-in-law? Josephine... Josephine... The
name didn’t ring a bell at all.

“Mister Fowler, your sister-in-law has come to visit
you. Would you like to speak to her?”

Josephine... Josephine... Josephine... Still nothing.

“Frank, do you recognize me? Do you remember my name?”
the woman asked with a tinge of hysteria in her voice. “Do you have a headache?
How are you feeling?”

Josephine... Frank... Yes, his name was Frank Fowler.
He was sure of it now. The good doctor called him Mister Fowler. And Josephine
called him Frank. Frank Fowler. Had he really forgotten his own name a while
ago? Nonsense.

So who the hell was Josephine? And what was he doing in
the hospital? He must be in the hospital, right?

“I’m okay. I can hear you very well, you don’t have to
shout,” Frank murmured. He was mesmerized by these two names spinning in his
mind: Frank, Josephine. Josephine, Frank. 

Frank... Josephine... He didn’t know Josephine. And he
still needed time to get used to his own name.
And
 Frank
Fowler. Not as cool as, say, Cassius Clay or Chuck Norris of course, but he
could live with it.

“We were all so worried about you.” Josephine took his
hand, squeezed it, and gave him a significant look as if she was going to tell
him a very big secret. Or as if they shared a mind blowing secret and were
members of some underground society chartered to protect it.

She kept squeezing his hand. Her grip seemed to have
grown tighter, unless he was hallucinating that.

Frank... Josephine... Frank and Josephine.

“You were in a coma for thirty six hours, Frank. We all
prayed for you,” the woman named Josephine went on. “How are you feeling,
Frank? Please, say something.”

Who was she? She was his sister-in-law, according to
Doctor Raynolds.

“I have no idea who are you, Josephine.” Frank
disconnected himself from his surroundings and dove into his memory where this
damn name, Josephine, had to be stored. He scanned the name index inside his
head as thoroughly as he could and came up empty.  It was as though all
memories of his sister-in-law were buried under a skyscraper the size of the
Empire State Building, and Frank was unable to budge this monster and look what
it was hiding underneath it.

Frank Fowler and Josephine. Josephine was Frank's
sister-in-law. She was Frank’s wife’s sister. Frank did not remember he was
married either. What was his wife’s name?

“It appears Frank can't recognize you, Missis
Buckhaus,” said Doctor Raynolds. “He doesn’t remember you, I’m afraid.”

4.

Frank really couldn't
recognize Josephine. Her face was completely strange to him. He saw that woman
for the first time in his life.

“Why?” asked Josephine in a concerned voice. Her eyes
shifted from Raynolds to Frank and then back to the doctor. “How could he
forget me? We just spoke two days ago.” She sounded indignant now. “What does
all this mean, Doctor?”

Raynolds frowned but remained silent. He probably
believed that frowning made him look empathetic and cerebral. 

Josephine Buckhaus... Okay, enough memory trawling;
this name had vanished into thin air. He would just accept that Josephine
Buckhaus, a woman in her mid-forties, was his sister-in-law. He saw this lady
for the first time in his life today, but he had talked to her only a couple of
days ago, if she was telling the truth. He must have lost his mind.

“What do you mean he doesn’t remember me?” asked the
woman. “He has to remember me, Doctor.”

“Ask him yourself, Josephine,” said Raynolds. “Memory
loss is not uncommon in cases like this.” 

‘Cases like this?’ What kind of case was it?

Had Doctor Raynolds been hiding something from him?
Dear Lord, please don’t let it be schizophrenia.

Josephine followed the doctor’s advice and addressed
Frank, “Do you really not recognize me, Frank? It's me, Josephine. Kelly’s
sister.” 

Josephine, Kelly’s sister. If Missis Buckhaus was his
sister-in-law and her sister’s name was Kelly, chances were that Kelly was his
wife, right? Kelly. Kelly Fowler. His beloved wife Kelly. No, this name was
also securely entombed under the damn skyscraper. He didn’t know any Kelly. No
surprise, of course, since he didn’t even recall being married.

He’d done a great job figuring out his wife’s name, by
the way.

“No,” Frank said. “I don't recognize you, Josephine.”

He peered into her big, deep-set brown eyes in order to
take the last stab at spotting anything familiar in Josephine’s face. The
attempt failed. He still could not remember her.

Then whom did he remember? Did he remember anyone at
all?

“I'm Kelly's sister, Frank. We talked on the phone this
Monday.” Josephine lifted his right hand and pressed it to her chin, as if she
was going to kiss his fingers. Frank darted a quizzical glance at the doctor,
waiting for his professional opinion that would explain everything. Raynolds was
silent, knitting his brows, with his arms crossed on his chest.    

“I'm your wife's sister, Frank. Do you remember your
wife?” Josephine said pleadingly. “Do you remember Kelly? I can’t believe you
don’t remember Kelly.”

She had a pleasant voice, Frank thought again. He was
somewhat sorry that his words had distressed Josephine so badly, that she took
them so close to heart, but he had only told the truth. He had forgotten her
and her sister Kelly, who was evidently also his wife. He realized he was supposed
to know Josephine since she was his sister-in-law and they had hung out on a
regular basis, but he couldn’t just force his brain to remember her, it wasn’t
how it worked.

Why was it so important to Josephine that he remember
her, by the way? And how about that list of people he did remember?

Think, buddy, dig into that beautiful mind of yours.
Answer this question: what is your son's name? Why don't you remember it? You
forgot your son’s name. Don't laugh, you simply forgot everyone in your family.
Damn, you had a really bad luck, Frank Fowler (it has to be your name because
they call you that, right?). 

As Frank stared at Josephine’s face, it registered in
his mind that she used very little make-up, which explained the absence of
running mascara on her cheeks when she had teared up a few minutes earlier.
Josephine had probably gotten Botox injections in her forehead as it was
enviably smooth.

Frank heard Josephine’s and Doctor Raynolds' voices,
but didn't bother to listen to whatever they were telling each other. The
mumble of their conversation enlivened the room and had a soothing effect on
him. There were two living souls by his side, who were concerned about his
condition. He was glad they were here for him. 

Accident. Blood. Death.

A pang of fear wrung his heart.

He didn’t remember Josephine. Hell, he’d even forgotten
his own name. He’d forgotten his wife and son. Or daughter. He had wanted a
son, but dreams do not always come true, do they?

What date was it?

Don't torment yourself, bud; just ask Josephine. Why
torment, if you can simply ask?

What year was it?

Josephine loved him, cared about him. She had taken
time out of her busy schedule to come here and check up on him.

What year was it? Ha-ha, he must sound like a guy who
had traveled in time. He should ask what year it was and thus complete the
picture. Had he ever thought that one day he would ask himself this question?