Left for Dead by Kevin O'Brien Read Free Book Online Page B

to bed wearing the pearl necklace—and nothing else.
    She loved telling her girlfriends that story. Maybe that was why she remembered it so well. She still had the pearl necklace, of course, and always wore it on special occasions. She remembered wearing it to a funeral. But she couldn’t remember whose funeral it was.
    Her memory was coming back in fragments. There were big pieces still missing. She could remember Tammy Lampley from high school, and her girlfriends from college. So—how come she didn’t know this woman who accompanied her shopping in downtown Seattle? What was she blocking out?
    “Charlie gave me that necklace years ago,” Claire murmured. “We were living in Oregon at the time. It was before we even moved to Seattle.”
    She glanced over at the detective on the sofa. He quickly looked away. This time, he was the one who seemed to be avoiding eye-contact. Claire turned to Dr. Beal, who intently stared back at her.
    “I’m not remembering something,” Claire said. “And I don’t mean when I was attacked. It’s something else. I’ve blanked out on a big chunk of my past. And you know what it is, don’t you?”
    Dr. Beal’s mouth twisted to one side. She glanced down at her notes.
    Claire leaned forward in the wheelchair. “What’s the missing piece? Why can’t you tell me?”
    The psychiatrist sighed. “I think it would be better, Claire, if you remembered these ‘missing pieces’ yourself.”
    “Obviously I don’t want to remember.” Claire sat back. “It’s something painful, isn’t it? Why do you want me to work so hard—only to relive something painful?”
    “Because we’ll need you to do just that, Claire,” she replied. “How else are we going to know how Rembrandt got to you?”
     
    The police guard sat in a folding chair outside room 311. Lanky and handsome, the twenty-nine-year-old black cop kept his hair cut so short he was nearly bald. The name tag on his uniform read: Taj Harnell. The door beside him was open. Taj had his nose in a copy of Sports Illustrated, but then he saw someone out of the corner of his eye, and glanced up from the magazine. “Hey, doc.”
    “Oh, hi, Taj,” the doctor said, very soft-spoken. He stood by the door opposite 311.
    Taj didn’t remember meeting him before, but so many doctors came and went in there. For a moment, he thought the doctor was trying to peek past him inside the room.
    “She isn’t in, doc,” he said. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
    The doctor nodded at the empty bed inside room 311. “That’s Jane Doe’s room, right?”
    “Yes, but she’s not a ‘Jane Doe’ anymore.”
    “Oh, so they’ve identified her. Good.” He craned his neck to look inside her empty room again. “I’m one of the surgeons who operated on her when they first brought her in. I was just checking up on her. So—they must have tracked down her family then.”
    Getting to his feet, Taj pulled a pen from the top of the clipboard. “Can I tell her you stopped by, doctor—?”
    The doctor smiled and shook his head. “Oh, no, that’s all right. I was just popping by—like I said. In fact, I stopped in about an hour ago, and no one was here, not even you.”
    “The patient has been gone most of the morning,” Taj said. “But she should be back from Dr. Beal’s office within the hour. Sure you don’t want to leave a message?”
    The doctor shook his head again. “No, but thanks anyway.” He gave a cocky, little salute and started to back away. “I’ll come by later.”
    Taj watched the doctor walk down the hallway until he disappeared around a corner.
     
    The detective on Dr. Beal’s sofa was beginning to look very uncomfortable. Claire figured he also knew about the “missing pieces” of her past. She shifted in the wheelchair, then turned to Dr. Beal. The psychiatrist had that same sad, sympathetic smile.
    “Earlier you mentioned that you live on Cascadia Avenue in Seattle,” she said. “What can you tell me