Page 6

Ft. Collins, Colorado

1968

“Miss?”

Floating in a fuzzy blanket of endless black, Syrie tried to ignore the irritating noise that threatened to pierce her slumber.

“Time to wake up.”

Some unknown instinct warned against leaving this comforting cocoon, but the outside world, in the form of a vague male voice, grew increasingly insistent.

“C’mon, honey, up and at ‘em. The city isn’t running a hotel out here.” A different, deeper voice this time.

Something nudged Syrie’s arm and, like glass tapped with a hammer, the dark world sheltering her cracked and shattered, forcing her to open her eyes.

“That’s a good girl,” the deeper voice that had awakened her encouraged. “Let’s sit you up, okay? Are you hurt?”

Syrie managed to shake her head in response to the question. Blinking against the glare of the light coming from a tube in the man’s hand, she tried to focus on him rather than on the light.

“Think we have one of the frats to thank for this?” the second man asked. “Must have been some party, from the looks of that outfit.”

“Could be,” the deeper voice answered. “What’s your name, hon?”

Her throat was drier than she could ever remember, and it took two tries before she could make her mouth form the words to respond.

“Syrie,” she croaked at last. “Elesyria A? Byrn, but I’m called Syrie.”

At least she was pretty sure she was called that, and by someone important to her, too. She could almost, just almost, hear her name being spoken by someone…but no, the memory was gone before it could ever be fully recalled.

“Well, Syrie Alburn, how’d you end up out here in the park tonight?” The man with the deep voice squatted beside her, one arm behind her, lending gentle support to her back as she sat.

Syrie stared into Deep Voice’s expressive eyes and knew he was someone she could trust. She couldn’t say how she knew, any more than she could remember how she got to this place. Or even where this place was. A second man stood a few feet away, one hand resting on an object strapped around his waist. Both of them were dressed identically, so she could only suppose they wore uniforms of some sort. It appeared as though these men held some authority here.

“I don’t know,” she answered at last.

Deep Voice nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. “Then maybe we should just get you home for now and worry about how you got here later.” He stood as he spoke, helping her to her feet, as well. “Where do you live?”

Where did she live? Syrie lifted her fingers to her temple, and stared at her feet, stalling for time. Where did she live?

She had not the slightest idea.

“I…I don’t know.”

“Well, what do you know?” the second man asked, his voice tinged with impatience. “Drugs, you think? I didn’t smell any alcohol.”

“No,” Deep Voice responded. “I don’t think that’s it. Trauma, maybe. What’s the last thing you do remember?”

Syrie searched for a memory of any kind, but found nothing but a dense, prickly black void, as if she were bumping up against a wall of invisible thorns. “Waking up here. With you.”

“Should we take her down to the station? Let them deal with it?” the second asked.

“ Them? ” Deep Voice repeated. “I’m senior officer tonight, in case you forgot that. Them is me. No, I have a better idea. We’re not too far from Ellie’s.”

“Your sister’s place?”

Deep Voice nodded, his hand at Syrie’s back, urging her forward. “I know this must be upsetting, but you’re okay now. I’m Sergeant MacKail and this is Officer Stevens. We’ll get you someplace where you’ll be safe for tonight.”

They walked across an open stretch of land and stopped at a black and white object, easily large enough for all of them to fit inside.

Sergeant MacKail opened a door and encouraged her to step inside. “Have a seat in the car,” he said. “Watch your head.”

Syrie waited quietly as the two men also entered, using different doors. She bit back a scream of fear when the car, as he’d called it, roared to life and began to move. By the time they came to a stop, fear had been replaced with total awe for the power of this amazing conveyance.

The door opened again and Sergeant MacKail assisted her out. The house they walked up to was large, with a light burning outside. Her companion knocked on the door and, after a few minutes, it opened to reveal a sleepy young woman.

“Danny? Is something wrong?”

“Not exactly,” he said, pulling on Syrie’s arm to bring her up beside him. “This is Syrie Alburn. We found her unconscious in the park. She can’t seem to remember anything except her name. I thought maybe this would be a better place for her tonight than down at the station.”

“Absolutely it is,” the young woman said, holding the door open wide in a clear invitation to enter. “You’re more than welcome to stay here, Syrie. Come on in.”

“Thanks, Ellie,” Sergeant MacKail said, backing away from the door as if relieved to hand over his charge. “We’ll check with campus police tomorrow morning to see if they have any missing reports that fit our little lady here. Until then, just give me a holler if you need anything, okay?”

“Go on back to work, Danny. I got this.”

The woman closed the door and then turned to face Syrie, shaking her head. “Sounds like you’re having a real bad day, Syrie. But don’t you worry about a thing. You’re going to be just fine now. Let’s get you a bedroom and then we’ll figure out everything else.”

“You’re called Ellie?” Syrie asked, following the woman toward a large staircase.

“Ellen,” her hostess corrected. “Ellen MacKail. My brother’s the only one that calls me Ellie, and I still hate it from when I was little and he called me Ellie Bellie just to make me crazy.” Ellen smiled, and started up the stairs.

There was something in the woman’s eyes that reminded Syrie of the brother who’d left only moments earlier. A goodness she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“He’s your older brother?” she asked, realizing as she compared the two that there appeared to be a big difference in their ages.

Ellen nodded as she stopped in front of a door midway down the upstairs hallway. “Older by fifteen years. I think he was supposed to be an only child, but my parents got a little careless and next thing you know, there I was. Danny always says Mom and Dad only had me to make his life more difficult.”

She grinned, her expression making her look even younger than she had before, and she pulled open the door to allow Syrie to step inside.

“The house is old and built mostly by my great-grandfather in a wonky kind of way. For some reason, he thought doors should open out into hallways rather than in to the rooms. But it’s comfortable and, having pretty much grown up here, I do love this old place.”

Syrie might not remember anything about where she came from, but she knew lovely when she saw it. “This is wonderful. I’m to stay here?”

“Yes,” Ellen said. “We’ll deal with clothes and stuff tomorrow. You’re a good six inches shorter than me, I’d guess, but I doubt having a nightgown that’s too long will matter all that much. Tomorrow, when Rosella gets up, we’ll see if she has any regular clothes you can wear. She’s closer to your height than I am.”

“No need to wait until tomorrow.” The young woman who stood in the doorway grinned. “I heard voices and thought I’d come see what was going on.”

“I’m sorry we woke you, Rose,” Ellen said. “I was trying to be quiet.”

“Oh, don’t worry. You didn’t wake me.” Again the other woman grinned. “I was up late reading and I heard the door. I waited as long as I could stand it before coming out. Who’s our guest?”

“Syrie Alburn, this is my tenant and best friend, Rosella MacKeon. Syrie’s going to be staying with us while she works her way through a bit of a rough patch.”

“Welcome, Syrie,” Rosie said, casting a quizzical glance toward Ellen. “Family troubles?”

Syrie smiled in acknowledgment of the introduction and then tried to be as inconspicuous as possible while Ellen recounted Syrie’s troubles to her friend.

A bit of a rough patch, Ellen had labeled her situation. That hardly sounded awful enough to encompass just how lost she actually felt. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she remembered hearing someone speak of amnesia, and this certainly seemed to fit the bill for what she suffered. Still, she could hardly have imagined that amnesia could mean that everything and everyone she’d ever known was suddenly hidden away from her. Not even the everyday things that these people took for granted seemed the least bit familiar to her.

“Syrie? You okay?”

Syrie jerked her attention back to her companions to find them both staring at her with concern.

“I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

Tired and confused and feeling so far out of her element, she couldn’t even remember what her element was.

“Well, of course you are. What should we expect for three in the morning?” Ellen shook her head as if annoyed with herself. “And here I am, keeping you up when I should have gotten you right into bed. Your bathroom is through this door. It’s shared with the attached bedroom, but nobody is staying there right now, so it’s all yours.”

Ellen pushed open a door and slid her hand along the wall, causing the room to come to life with light before stepping inside.

Syrie followed, her chest tightening with amazement. Maybe this was simply a side effect of having no memory, but everything here seemed so absolutely revolutionary. A room dedicated just to bathing? And…oh!

Ellen twisted a metal handle and water began to flow into a small basin underneath.

“Just wanted to check that the hot water is okay,” she said. “It’s a really old house, so you can never be too sure about the plumbing. The toilet is all new, though. We just replaced that last month,” she added with a grin, pressing her hand against another handle, sending the water swirling away down a second basin.

As she and Ellen had entered the wonderful bathing room, Rosella had slipped out the door, but now she returned, carrying a soft-looking bundle of cloth.

“Here’s a nightie and a robe, Syrie. We’ll find other stuff tomorrow. When you get up, just come on downstairs and one of us will be there, likely hanging out by the coffeepot.”

“If you need anything, just yell,” Ellen said as both of them left the room. “I’m right across the hall and I’m a light sleeper, so don’t even have a concern about bothering me. Try not to worry too much. Danny’s real good at his job. I’m sure he’ll find out where you belong by morning. You get some sleep now, okay? Good night!”

When the two women had left her alone, Syrie sank to the bed. Her earlier claim of being tired was suddenly more fact than excuse. She slipped the long, silky green dress she wore over her head and replaced it with the nightie Rosella had brought her. The thing barely reached her knees, but she was too tired to worry over it for now. She pulled back the covers and crawled into the bed, realizing only after she’d burrowed under those covers that she’d left the light turned on. No matter. If she’d managed to survive all the host of other bizarre things she’d seen tonight, a little extra light certainly wasn’t going to keep her awake.

And tomorrow? Unless her memory miraculously returned as she slept, tomorrow promised to bring a whole new set of surprises.