Mystery Woman

Morg raised his arm and beckoned his love to cuddle. She pressed her naked body against his, stretched her arm across his chest, and nestled into the niche of his shoulder. He turned and gave her a kiss. "I love you," he whispered. She smiled as they both slipped into slumber.

The next day, Morg asked Charlie if they'd found a shelter for the patient yet.

"Not yet," he answered. "For the time being, the lieutenant used his ID to get her a motel room. She'll have to pay for it, but we all came up with almost six hundred bucks for her, so that'll help her out some, anyway."

"I've got another five hundred in here," Morg announced, holding up an envelope.

"Oh, jeez, that's great. That'll give her a little cushion, anyway. What do you have in the bag?"

"One of Brea's work out outfits. I wasn't sure if she had anything to wear out of here."

Charlie laughed. "Well, we went through the station's lost-and-found, but there wasn't a lot in it. We did come up with a shirt and a guy's pair of pants that we thought might fit her, but I'm sure she'd rather wear women's clothes."

"I also talked Brea into letting her stay with us for a while."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. We have a third bedroom in our apartment that's just sitting empty. We figured, hell, we're paying for it, we might as well use it."

"Jesus, Morg, everyone in the station will be happy to hear that."

"You... ah, you think they'll be happy enough to drive by the apartment occasionally? Brea's a little nervous that somebody might still be after our mystery woman and that we might be in danger then, as well."

"Oh, hell yeah," Charlie responded. "No problem. I'll ask the lieutenant to set up a regular patrol. He was going to do it for whatever motel she stayed in, I'm sure he'll have no problem just switching it to your complex."

"That would be greatly appreciated, Charlie. Seeing a patrol car drive by now and then will make both ladies feel a lot better."

The mystery girl was sitting up with a smile when Morg walked in. Although she couldn't hear what he and Charlie were saying, she recognized his voice. "Hi, Morg, come to see me off?"

"Of course. I also come bearing gifts," he said, holding up the bag.

"What's in there?"

"Well, I wasn't sure if you had anything to wear out of here so Brea, my wife, donated some workout clothes and a pair of sneakers. I think you and her are about the same size."

"Oh, Morg, please thank your wife for me. The police gave me a man's shirt and pants but they're way too big for me. I'd look like one of those scarecrows in the farmer's field," she joked.

"Well, that's another thing," Morg replied. "You can thank her yourself if you want."

"What do you mean?"

"We have a large three-bedroom apartment. The third bedroom has never been slept in. Brea and I talked it over and decided you can stay with us until you get your feet under you."

She just looked up at him, waiting for the punch line. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, not at all. It's up to you, of course, but it won't cost you anything and Brea doesn't work, so you won't have to worry about being alone most of the time."

She couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't some ulterior motive for his offer; after all, she'd only known him a couple of days. She searched his face for any underlying signs of malevolence but saw only caring and kindness. "Are you sure, Morg? You don't know me at all. Hell," she chuckled, "I don't know me at all."

"We're sure. Now, I'm going to go out and talk to Charlie while you get dressed. They'll be coming in to take you downstairs any time now. I'm going to take you shopping for some clothes. Oh, that reminds me, one of the guys at work took up a collection for you," he said, pulling the envelope out of his pocket. "There's a little over five hundred bucks in here for you."

"Oh, Morg, this is too much," she said, being a little overwhelmed. "I... I..."

He saw the tears welling up in her beautiful green eyes. "Hey, none of that," he told her. "I'd say you deserve a little good fortune for a change, wouldn't you? Now get dressed," he said as he left her room.

"She all set?" asked Charlie.

"Yeah, she's getting dressed. I'm going to take her to the mall so she can buy some clothes."

"You're not working?"

"I switched with one of the night shift photographers. I want to make sure she and Brea are properly introduced before I leave them alone together."

"Good idea," Charlie replied.

Just then they saw a nurse approaching, pushing a wheelchair. She asked Morg if he was a relative. Once they explained the situation, the nurse left the two men in the hall and went into the room to check on her patient.

"Well, I don't see any white horses in the parking lot, but it sure looks like you've got your own knight in shining armor out there," she commented to a smiling patient. "All dressed, I see. So... you ready to leave us?"

"To tell you the truth, I'm a little scared."

"Yeah, I can imagine. That guy who's going to take you home seems like a really nice guy, though. He says his wife will be with you most of the time, so it sounds like you're in good hands."

"Yeah, everybody's been so nice: you, the cops, Morg; please make sure you thank everyone for me."

"I will," the nurse assured her. "Now, hop in so we can get you out of here," she said, taking ahold of the wheelchair.

Charlie and Morg followed the nurse as she wheeled the mystery woman down to the first floor. "I'll bring the car up and meet you by the door," Morg told them.

*****

The imposing looking figure of syndicate crime boss, Vito Generissi, stood on the balcony of his Chicago high-rise apartment, looking out at the lake.

"You wanted to see me, Vito?" Tony, the button, Spinoso wasn't nearly as impressive looking, but as Vito's enforcer and hitman, he was no one to mess with.

"Yeah, did you see the picture of that broad in the paper?"

"The one who can't remember anything? Yeah, I saw it."

"You think she could be the one you shot at when you whacked Johnny?"

"Vito, stop worrying. I'm telling you, she couldn't identify me from that far away even if she was still alive... which I'm sure she ain't. She's probably still lying in the woods where she fell; most likely, the maggots have her half- eaten by now."

"I hope you're right. I still can't believe you screwed up so bad."

"Vito, there wasn't anything I could do. Jesus, we took him out to the most desolate stretch of road around. I put two in the back of his head and all hell broke loose. That broad came out of nowhere. I got one shot off at her and we had traffic coming from both directions. I couldn't help it. I threw Johnny's body in the trunk and got out of there.

"I got it handled though, didn't I? Nobody will ever find Johnny and that broad went down like a sack of potatoes. When have you ever seen me miss?"

Vito took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. "I hope you're right, Tony, for your sake, I hope you're right."

*****

When the mystery woman stood to get in the car, Morg noticed that she filled out that workout suit almost as nicely as his wife did.

"Got your money?"

"Yep, right here," she replied, holding up the envelopes.

"Any idea where you want to go, any brand names come to mind?"

"No, not really. I don't think I can even name a store, someplace where the clothes aren't real expensive. I need to conserve as much of this as possible," she said while looking in the envelopes.

"Okay, Target it is. There's one not far from here. What name do you like?"

She didn't understand the question. "Ah, Target is fine, I guess."

"No, I mean for you. You're going to have to pick a name, at least temporarily. We can't keep calling you Mystery Woman."

"Oh... yeah, I... I haven't thought of that. Gee, I don't know. How...how about Linda?"

"Linda? That's it? You don't want something more exotic like Lucrecia or Barbarella?"

She chuckled. "No, that's okay, just something simple, something I can remember," she said with a small laugh. "I'm praying I won't have to use it for very long, unless it's my real name, of course." She chuckled for the third time.

Morg wondered if he could keep a sense of humor in her situation.

In the store, Morg noticed that her practical attitude carried over to her shopping habits as well. She picked out two pairs of jeans suitable for working around the house or in the yard, two pair of casual slacks, and two nice skirts. Next, she found several tops, all different styles, but everyone could be worn with any of the slacks and skirts. When it came to underwear, Morg gave her some privacy but assumed she picked substance over lace. Lastly, she went to the shoe department and chose a pair of sneakers and two pairs of casuals with low heals.

When they checked out, Morg thought she was going to cry as she paid the three-hundred dollar tab. It was almost a third of all the money she had in the world.

Brea was waiting for them when they walked into the apartment. Morg introduced them, using Linda's newly chosen name. She was still overwhelmed with their kindness and generosity.

"Brea, I'm not sure how I'll ever be able to thank you and Morg. I never expected anything like this," she told them both.

"Well, we're happy to be able to help out," Brea responded. "Listen, Morg has to go to work in about an hour, so I was just making us all some lunch. Are you hungry?"

"Oh, wow, yeah, I'm starving. All I can remember eating is hospital food."

"Ewww," responded Brea while making a sour face. "Well, it's just soup and sandwiches, nothing fancy, but I'm sure it's better than hospital food."

She had never thought of it before, but as they all sat down to eat, Brea realized how hard it was to make conversation with someone who has no memory... what the hell do we talk about? She wondered. Luckily, Linda had an inquisitive mind.

"So, how long have you been married?"

"Three years," Brea happily volunteered. "Three long, dreadful ye..."

"Hey," Morgan interrupted. He knew she didn't mean it, but he still had to voice his objections.

Brea laughed. "No, I'm just kidding. I couldn't ask for a better man. I love the silly goof to death."

"I've only known him for a few days, but I agree. He's been incredible."

"All right, ladies, you're..." just then his phone rang. He finished his sentence before answering... "going to give me a big ego.

"Hello."

"Morg?"

"Yup, it's me."

"Morg, this is Jerry Wilson." It was another of Chicago's finest. "I understand the mystery woman is staying with you."

"Her name's Linda. Yeah, she's here right now."

"Linda? Is her memory coming back?"

"No, it's a name she picked out for herself. We couldn't keep calling her, "Hey You," he said while smiling across the table at her.

"Oh, okay, that makes sense. Anyway, my sister-in-law is a psychiatrist. I just got off the phone with her and she's willing to work with her pro bono. Her guess is that the woman's lived a hard life and that getting raped and shot is only the most recent tragedy in a life-time of traumas. She thinks that since the brain decided to block out her getting shot, it opted to go for it all and block out her whole life.

"She asked me how stable the woman is. She said once she starts to remember things, it's going to be extremely emotional for her. What do you think, Morg, will she be able to take that kind of psychological pain?"

"Wow, I don't really know, Jer. I'll have to sit down and talk it over with her. Did your sister-in-law say when she wants to start treating her?"

"No, and there's one other thing, she's in Des Plaines. If you or Brea can't take her she'd have to take public transportation, but Stacy's office is only two blocks from the Amtrak station."

"Yeah, I'm not sure how she'll feel about that. Can I get back to you tomorrow?"

"Well, here, take her phone number down and you can call her direct."

"Good idea, hold on a second.

"Honey, can you get me a pen and paper, please."

Brea jumped up and returned from their home office within seconds, laying the items on the table in front of Morg.

"Thanks, honey. Okay, Jerry, shoot." He wrote down the psychiatrist's name, phone number, and office address while everyone else around the table was anxious to see what the call was all about. "Thanks, Jer. If this works out we're all going to owe you."

Time was getting short. Morg had to leave for work, so he gave them the Reader's Digest version. "That was Jerry, he's another Chicago cop. His sister-in-law is a psychiatrist and says she'll work with you on getting your memory back, at no charge, but it doesn't sound like it's going to be all milk and honey. I have to run, but we have to talk about this tonight when I get home, okay?"

"Yeah," Linda almost yelled with excitement.

Brea put a comforting hand on Linda's arm. "Oh, wouldn't that be wonderful," she commented.

That night, when he got home, the three of them sat down to discuss the call. Morg wanted to emphasize how hard it might be for her. Would she be able to handle the trauma they would uncover in the meetings?

Linda was undaunted, she was determined to do whatever it took to find out who she was and regain her memory.

The next day, Brea helped her make the call. They both sat at the kitchen table as she dialed the number and set the phone on speaker so they both could talk. A secretary picked up on the second ring.

"Doctor Wahlburg's office."

"Yes, Hi, my name is Briana Johnson. I'm calling on behalf of a woman who has amnesia and can't remember who she is. The doctor's brother-in-law told us to call."

"Oh yes, the doctor said you might call. I know she wants to talk with you, but she's with a patient at the moment. Is the amnesia victim with you now?"

"Yes, she's staying with me and my husband."

"Good, would it be okay to have the doctor call you back in about twenty minutes?"

"Yes, that would be fine," Brea replied, before ending the call.

Linda got up and walked to the coffee pot. Her hand was trembling as she poured them both a cup.

"Not nervous or anything, are you?" Brea joked.

It was no joking matter to Linda. "I... I just don't know what I'm going to do if this doesn't work out. I can't stay here for the rest of my life. I don't even know if I have any skills or degrees. Hell, Brea, I could be a psychiatrist myself and not even know it," she derided.

"Huh," Brea laughed as she thought about it. "Wouldn't that be something? Listen, whatever you do, whoever you are, I'm sure you'll find out. I'm obviously not a doctor, but I know they've come a long way in medical science. They can even hypnotize you and bring your memory back that way," she said, remembering something she saw on TV.

As the two sat, sipping their coffee; about all they could do was wait. As she watched the minute hand on the kitchen clock, Brea was becoming as nervous as Linda.

After what seemed like an eternity, Brea's phone finally rang. She hit the speaker icon and answered it. The doctor introduced herself. Brea started the introductions on their end, informing the doctor that she was on speaker and that Linda was listening in. Doctor Wahlburg again emphasized the emotional pain she expected her patient would have to endure. Linda bravely expressed her willingness to do whatever it took. Next, they deliberated over schedules and logistics.

By the end of their conversation, Linda had a good idea of how difficult it was going to be. She had her first appointment for the following day and Brea said she could drive her.

When Morg came home later that night, Linda was already in bed, but Brea brought him up to date. She also admitted he was right about their developing friendship. She expressed her admiration for Linda's strength and resolve. "I don't know how she copes," she told Morg, "I'd be a total basket case."

The next morning, Morg was already at work by the time Linda came stumbling toward the kitchen. Brea was sitting at the table. "You look tired. Didn't you sleep well?"

"No, I just couldn't turn off my brain last night. I kept thinking about today," she said as she walked over to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. I also realized I forgot to buy something at the store."

"What's that?"

"A robe."

"Oh, you know what, I have an old one hanging in the back of my closet. You're welcome to it."

"Really, are you sure? You've already given me so much."

"It's yours," Brea told her.

"Thank you. I hate getting fully dressed before a shower. Is Morg gone already?"

"Oh yeah, a long time ago. He starts at seven when he's on days."

The two ladies talked a little longer before Linda got into the shower. When she came back out there was an old, but perfectly adequate, terrycloth robe draped over the corner of her bed along with two lipsticks and some eye make-up.

It took Brea about thirty-five minutes to drive to Dr. Wahlburg's office. They were about fifteen minutes early as she parked the car. Linda just sat, staring out the window without saying a word.

Brea finally broke the silence. "You want me to go in with you?"

"No, it... it's not necessary. I... I'm just a little scared, I guess. Maybe... no, I'm going to do this," she affirmed, mainly to herself. "It's... it's just that actually being here... I mean, what if I find out something really terrible about myself?"

"I doubt very much that'll be the case. Now go, you can do this," Brea told her.

Linda turned her head and looked at her new friend. "You're right," she said with a sigh. So, what are you going to do while I'm in there? You're not going to wait out here in the parking lot, are you?"

"No, there's a neat little shopping center not far from here. I'll probably just walk around and do some window shopping. I'll be back in an hour to pick you up though."

"Okay," said Linda while reaching for the door handle, "see you in an hour."

Brea watched as her friend straightened her back and marched into the office building. Once inside, Linda looked up the room number for Dr. Wahlburg. A nice looking young woman greeted her as she entered the office.

"Hi, you must be Linda," she said with a friendly smile.

The new patient smiled back. "That's me, at least for the time being," she chuckled.

The young lady hit a button on the intercom. "Doctor, Linda is here for her appointment."

From a doorway behind the receptionist's desk, emerged a very professional looking woman who appeared to be in her mid-forties. She approached Linda with a smile and an extended hand. "How do you do, Linda? I'm Doctor Wahlberg. Come right in," she said, leading the way.

Offering her a glass of water, the doctor made her patient comfortable before starting the session. "Linda, have you recalled anything from your past since we last spoke?"

"No, nothing."

"Okay. As we get further along in our sessions, your memory will most likely start coming back in quick flashes. It might last only a couple of seconds, then again you may remember entire episodes of events. Rarely does someone's total memory come back all at once. It's usually in bits and pieces. If this does happen, should you have a flash of memory, no matter how quickly it comes and goes, try to determine what triggered it, something you saw or heard, a smell maybe, or possibly a feeling of déjà vu, something that provoked the memory. Keep a journal with you at all times. If you should remember something, write it down, along with what you think triggered it."

This was all very encouraging for Linda. Her doctor sounded like she knew what she was doing. "Doctor, what, ah... what are the chances... you know, that I'll be able to remember things."

"Very good, actually," she answered right away. "Now, there may be things that your mind will refuse to remember, but I'm confident that we can restore most, if not all, of your past, anyway."