Roses in December

Chapter 1

Someone's yelling, so loudly it makes my head hurt. Then the yelling stops, and my head still hurts, and I wonder whether the two were even connected at all.

Rolling along, somehow, on my back now. Even through my closed eyelids I can see lights passing. Wish my eyes would open. Wish the beeping would stop, even though it's kind of rhythmic. Like the soundtrack to my life.

"Sara, can you hear me?"

Definitely not rolling anymore, though it feels like I am. Like when you drive all day and you go to sleep and dream that you're still in a car, still moving forward, always moving.

"Sara?"

I crack open an eye, then slam it back shut. Now, why would I do a stupid thing like that? Opening an eye. Everyone knows that when you open an eye, the light stabs you like an ice pick. What's an ice pick?

"Sara, my name is Dr. Shedden. Do you know where you are?"

Shedden. That's a weird name. Hey, why'd you get rid of your dog? Oh, he was Shedden too much. I laugh, and the ice pick ignores the fact that I didn't open my eye, and comes at me again.

"Sara?"

I lick my lips. Funny how your muscles can obey your brain without you having to go "Okay, now tongue? Lick." They just know to lick. At least your tongue knows to lick. Other muscles know other things.

"Hospital." I'm really quite proud that I got the word out, raspy as it was.

"Very good."

"She answered your question, that's a good sign, right?" This voice is new. It sounds male, it sounds worried. Nice to know someone's worried about me.

"Yes, it's a good sign."

I want to tell him that "Slow Children At Play" is also a good sign, because whenever I pass it I want to laugh and look for dawdling kids.

"Do you know your name?"

"Sara?" Is my voice always like this? I sound like a smoker.

"What's your last name, Sara?"

I think hard, but to be honest, I didn't know my name was Sara. "Frankenstein?" The name is suddenly funny, and I wonder what exactly is dripping into my arm and why it was necessary to pinch me before to put it there.

"Tell the doctor your last name, honey." The worried man is back. He calls me honey. That's sweet. Honey is also sweet. Coincidence?

"Dunno." I hope he's not mad at me. I wasn't prepared to take a test.

"But you know your name is Sara, right?"

"Dr. Good Sign called me Sara." That can't be his name. But I can't remember what his name is, and darkness is pulling me in, wrapping me in tight. Worried Man is calling to me, but he really doesn't understand how tight and warm and dark it is in here. I should really tell him sometime.

I wake to the feeling of someone squeezing my hand. The beeping is slower now, and my head doesn't hurt nearly as much. I decide to take a chance, and crack open an eye. It's unpleasant, but not as bad as before, so I open both eyes.

There's a man sitting next to my hospital bed, holding my hand. He's looking at the floor.

"Hi." My voice sounds better, but still low. Kind of husky. Isn't there a breed of dogs called huskies?

The man looks up quickly when he hears my voice. "Oh, thank god." He squeezes my hand a little tighter. "Thank god."

He's probably around fifty, with graying hair and some wrinkles. Blue eyes. Am I a sucker for blue eyes? No idea, but his are nice. "Why am I here?"

"Car accident," he replies. "It was touch and go for a while." He looks down again, probably to keep me from seeing that his eyes are filled with tears.

"You were here before," I say. I recognized his voice. He's Worried Man.

"You don't know me." It's not really a question, so I don't feel compelled to answer him. There's something dear about his face, though, and I wonder if it's the remnant of a memory.

"What's your name?"

He sniffs a little, then looks up with a bright, false smile. "Grissom."

"Like the astronaut?"

"Just like the astronaut." He still hasn't let go of my hand. I look at my left hand and his, and they're both bare.

"How long have we been dating?"

His eyes widen. "We're not. uh. we're coworkers."

"Oh." Embarrassed, I try to explain. "You're holding my hand, and you called me honey."

He laughs. "Ever the investigator." He doesn't let go, and I'm relieved. I need something to hold onto.

It's not as scary as you'd think, not knowing who you are. It's actually kind of nice, because you have no idea if you're expected to be happy, or sad, or stubborn, or generous. You can just. be.

"Hey, Grissom? What's your first name?"

"Gil."

"Can I call you that?" I don't expect the simple question to bring him pain, but it clearly does. I have no idea how to fix whatever I've messed up, so I wait.

"Sure, honey. Of course."

"Can you tell me about myself?" He does, haltingly. I find out that my last name is Sidle, like moving sideways. I also find out that my life is utterly complicated, and I'm glad for a moment that I don't have to remember it. Instead, I let his voice lead me through the woods. He keeps stopping to describe our surroundings, not seeming to understand that all I want is to get out to the other side with him.

I try to make him understand, interrupting his story. "Gil?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for being here. I don't know you, but there's something about you that makes me feel safe." I want to tell him that he's like down pillows and patchwork quilts, but my brain is tired and I'm not sure he'll understand.

All of a sudden, my head is pounding. A huge group of people has just entered the room, and the racket they're making could wake the dead.

"Sara! Are you okay? Jesus, look at her head!" Their shouts are blending together, blinding me with their jabs. I squeeze my eyes shut.

"Everyone settle down, please." Gil's voice is quiet but firm, and I want to hug him.

I open my eyes and look at my visitors. There's a blonde in her forties with a lot of make-up and cleavage. A black guy with killer green eyes and a shirt unbuttoned halfway down, what's that about? A younger guy with dyed spiky hair, standing next to Superman. Well, not Superman, but close enough. And another blonde woman, who's shooting Gil a weird look.

"Hi, I'm Sara." I'm proud of how much clearer my voice sounds. "This is Gil, he's a coworker of mine."

They look at me blankly, and I realize they must know me better than I thought.

"Grissom!" the older blonde hisses. "She has amnesia?"

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I was hoping it was temporary. I thought maybe seeing all of you would jog her memory."

They're all staring at me, and it's making me distinctly uncomfortable.

"Have you tried contacting her family?" The younger blonde seems to think I'm comatose and can't hear her.

"Oh, that's a dead end," I supply helpfully. "My mother is in prison for murdering my father, and we don't know where my brother is." This pretty much ends all conversation, but the staring continues until finally Gil asks them to leave. Superman lingers for a second to squeeze my shoulder, and then Gil and I are alone again.

He looks at me shyly, and I wonder why. There has to be something in my life story, something about the two of us, that he's left out.

"You should get some sleep," he says gently.

I wonder how he can tell I'm tired. I want to ask him more, squeeze his hand like a sponge until my memories run out, but my eyelids are growing heavy.

"A ruffled mind makes a restless pillow," I murmur, and he laughs.

"Charlotte Bronte."

My eyes pop open. "That was a quote?"

"Yes."

I'm suddenly angry, so angry it's hard to speak. "So I can remember a Charlotte Bronte quote, and I can remember Superman and huskies, but I can't remember my own life?"

He shakes his head, looking so unsure and concerned that my anger wanes. "You'll get it back, Sara. Just give it some time."

I wonder if I love him in my real life, where I know I'm Sara Sidle. And where I know when I'm quoting Charlotte Bronte. "Will you help me, Griss?"

His eyes grow soft as he nods, and I wonder for a moment where I got Griss from.

"Good," I say, trying to sound decisive. I'm so tired, and it feels like the bed is pushing up against my body. "Because I need something to count on." The bed pushes higher and I sink lower into it. For a moment I'm afraid I'll disappear completely, but Gil tightens his hold on my hand and I relax, somehow knowing he won't let me go