- Past Suspicion -

Prologue

 

 

1979

 

Lilacs . . . their sweet scent drifted into my nostrils, twirled through my
mind, and disturbed my sleep.  No matter.  It had not been a sleep of
rest anyway.

    Images of spring, butterflies and blossoms bloomed in my mind, prodding
at my memory.  Thoughts came slowly.  It occurred to me that my eyes were
closed and that I should open them.  But I didn’t want to.  It would take too
much effort.  And besides, I felt safe under the cover of my eyelids, seeing
only what I wanted to see, and I had a foreboding that if I opened my eyes,
I would regret it.  But something was pulling at me, a sort of fear of the
unknown, urging me to open them, and it was even stronger than the smell
of lilacs.  Too strong to resist.

    So I gave in and opened my eyes.

    Since then, I have not known peace.

    My surroundings brightened, revealing that I was in a small white room,
not unlike a hospital room.  In fact -- a wave of fear swept through me -- it was
a hospital room.  My heart pounded against my chest as my brain asked, What
am I doing here?

    It was a question I could not answer.  My mind refused to try.

    I realized then that there were people in my room.  But who were they? 
I did not recognize their faces.  My fear swelled.  I tried to get a hold of myself,
to understand what was going on, but my head hurt, felt disoriented.  And
I was hot.  I could feel the sweat trickling down my forehead.  My body ached,
and I couldn’t distinguish one limb from another.   Panic added to my fear.
 

    The strangers were talking, but I couldn’t make sense of their words;
the syllables blended together into an undecipherable hum.  I yearned for these
people to be silent so I could ask what I so needed to know.

    "Why -- am I here?"