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familiar items, to name such items, and to exhibit any understanding of function. Patient had no realization that gla.s.s was solid or that fire was hot. Exhibits almost childlike innocence of everything around her.

On the question of mental impairment- He stopped midsentence, unable for a second to write the next words. Images hurled themselves at him.

Selena, unable to put the square peg in the square hole, mouthing an endless string of nonsensical words.

Crying, pleading wordlessly, touching fire ...

The tests had gone on and on, failure building upon failure. And the h.e.l.l of it was, though she couldn't pa.s.s a single one, she seemed to understand her inept.i.tude. She wanted to succeed, wanted it as badly as he wanted it for her. It was like Maeve all over again, wanting the moon and getting nothing.

Except that he'd stopped wanting anything from Maeve years ago.

Selena was different. He needed to believe in her future. If she had no future, he had no future. It was as simple, as devastating, as that. Without her as a patient, he would be nothing again. A forgotten man in a forgotten place.

No. He refused to consider failure.

She was damaged, yes. More so than he'd thought. But he was Ian Carrick, the great Doctor Carrick to whom lesser surgeons had genuflected for years.

He could cure her, and when he re-created a whole human being from the fragments of her broken brain, he would be more revered than ever. She would be his greatest triumph.

He closed his eyes, drawing forth the dream, wrapping himself in its seductive warmth. The watchful eyes of his colleagues as he leads her onstage. The astonishment as he reveals her scar. The hushed murmurs of awe as he recites her case history . ..

When he didn't need it anymore, he let the fantasy fade and brought his pencil back to the paper. On the

60 question of mental impairment, there can as yet be no determination. It would be precipitous to infer mental deterioration from a mere inability to form words. Yes, he thought. Yes. It was still early in her recovery. All she needed was time, time with people and time alone. Time without pressure. Perhaps then her memory would float gently to the surface. As difficult as it would be for him to keep his distance, he'd give Selena some time to acclimate herself to the strange world in which she'd awakened. It would be difficult, but he wouldn't test her again for a while, wouldn't invite her to fail so repeatedly. He'd sit back and study her, watch and record her every move until the time was right. Then, slowly, patiently, confidently, he would begin to work with her, heal her mind as he'd healed her body. It would work. She hadn't seen G.o.d in a lifetime, and she missed him. Every time the door opened, she turned, hoping- praying-to see her G.o.d, but he hadn't been back in days. Not since she'd been so bad. So stupid. She felt better today than she had yesterday, and yesterday had been better than the day before. The tube was gone now from her throat, and the fiery pain had gone with it. Even the headaches were less frequent. She finally felt ready to try the horrid tests again. She turned slightly and stared up at the square gla.s.s box above her bed, trying to remember what it was called. Window. The word came suddenly, and she smiled. Golden light streamed through the gla.s.s and brushed her face, as soft and warm as G.o.d's touch. She reveled in the feel of it, the smell of it. Tiny green leaves fluttered against the gla.s.s, tapping when the breeze was just right. She wondered what the leaves smelled like, what they felt like, how they hung against the gla.s.s without 61 falling down. Her gaze slipped downward. She stared, mesmerized, at the millions of motes of dust that danced in the thick sunlight, wishing she could reach out and touch them, taste them. Everything she saw amazed her, sparked a dozen unvoiced questions. There was only that thin sheet of gla.s.s separating her from some glorious world out there, a place where leaves hung suspended as if by magic, where great puffy white shapes drifted through a blue, blue sky, where tiny winged creatures sang and chattered. A magical world lay just beyond her reach, just through the closed oak slab of her bedroom door. She was sure of it, and soon-maybe even today- G.o.d would take her by the arm and show her the marvels of this place. Be good. Be . .. smart. She closed her eyes and tried to remember words, any words, anything that would impress her golden G.o.d and make him smile down at her. Before, she'd failed him. Today she was determined to do better. The answers were inside her mind, locked up somewhere in a vault she couldn't quite open. But they were there. She knew it. Leaves . . . window. Every minute, she was improving. Suddenly the door swung open. "Well h.e.l.lo there, Selena," G.o.d said, strolling into her bedroom. The strangers shuffled in behind him, lined up against the wall. Her heart lurched at the sound of his voice. Today, she told herself. Today she would be smart enough. She turned to look at him. Click, click, click went his bootheels on the floor. Tap, tap, tap, his pen on the silver metal bookcase-no, tray-in his hands. She did her best to beam up at him, though her face was still so swollen, it was difficult, and it hurt to move her jaw. He set the tray down with a clank on the green table

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beside her bed and sat down beside her. "Good morning, Selena."

She began to hear the rhythm in his voice, the way he breathed between certain patterns of sound. Two words. Good ... morning.

Good ... morning ... It was a greeting. She looked up at him, wanting so badly to impress him. She concentrated very keenly, thinking the word over and over again. "M ... morning." She finally managed the single word, and disappointment washed through her. He'd said two words to her, two, and she couldn't remember the other one now, couldn't return the greeting.

He gave her a disappointed look, and she realized that he thought she'd simply repeated his word. How could she let him know that she'd understood? She frowned, searching for the words she needed and finding none.

"Today we're going to take the bandages off, Selena. Did Edith tell you that?"

He was speaking too quickly. Helplessly she stared up at him.

"It's okay, don't worry. It's okay to be confused. Normal. I'm not going to give you any more tests yet."

Confused. The word registered. "Yes. Con . . . fused," she croaked.

She saw the pleasant surprise in his eyes and was proud. He had understood her.

He picked up a pair of pants-no, something else, something silver and sharp-from the tray and very gently began to cut away her bandages. Snip, snip, snip. The layers and layers of linen fell away, became a blurry heap beside his feet.

He touched her chin, gently turned her face to the side. "The fracture is healing nicely, as is the bruising on your face. Soon we'll know what you look like. Yes, very nice . . ."

Nice. She understood nice. He liked her. "Thank

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you." The phrase popped out of her mouth almost before she understood it.

"You seem well enough for a bath today, Selena. Edith will give you one soon."

She didn't remember what a bath was, but she wanted him to give it to her. She tried to tell him, tried to find the words. "No ... you."

He laughed, a low, throaty sound that struck her as magic. "Even a rake like me knows that's not proper.

I don't think so, Selena."

Rake. Gardening. She frowned, trying to understand. "Confused," she whispered.

"Shhh, it's okay." He touched her swollen jaw, his finger lingering for far too short a time. "Soon, Selena,"

he whispered, stroking her puffy, discolored cheek. "Soon you'll be able to tell us what you want and who you are."

But she knew what she wanted. She'd known it from the moment she first heard his voice in the darkness. She wanted Ian beside her, forever and always. She tried to tell him. "Want ... G.o.d . . . need ..." She lost her train of thought completely. "No ... Aagh!"

"Don't worry, Selena. We'll get you fed and bathed and then we'll try again. It'll all come back. I promise."

She worked so hard to understand what he was saying. She recognized one word pattern; over and over he said it to her. It was part of the first word she remembered, fightselena. She concentrated with all her effort to force the single word up her throat. "S ... Selena?"

"We've been calling you Selena. Until you tell us your name, we have no other."

She was hopelessly confused. He was talking so fast___ He touched his chest. "Ian." Then he touched her, a breezing caress beneath her chin. "Selena."

She understood. He wanted to be called Ian. And she was Selena.

"Selena." This time the word rolled off her tongue I.

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like a song. It was beautiful, this name, and Ian-G.o.d had given it to her. "Selena. Nice." She started to say something else, but she couldn't remember what it was.

Chapter Six.

"Is her bath ready, Edith?"

"Aye, Doctor."

Selena didn't understand the words. Ian-G.o.d was talking to one of the strangers-a fat, gray-haired lady with a wrinkly face.

Ian-G.o.d moved toward her and sat on the edge of the bed. "Would you like to walk?"

She gazed up at him, mesmerized by the incredible hue of his eyes. She remembered suddenly that they were the exact color of a blue jay's wing. A giddy happiness bubbled up in her, and a sound slipped from her mouth. It wasn't laughter, not quite. Something else, something softer, but she couldn't give it a name.

It felt good, though. Wonderful. She was so happy that even the pain in her head seemed insignificant.

G.o.d was here, beside her, smiling at her and asking her something.

Asking her something. She'd forgotten. She blinked up at him, trying to remember how to ask him to repeat what he'd said and to do it more ...

"Slow," she said, suddenly remembering.

"Certainly," he answered, easing back the coverlet that hid her body. "Would ... you ... like ... to ...

walk?"

She forgot to listen to him again. She was enthralled by the sound of his voice and the sight of her own body.

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66.

He peeled the quilt back slowly, so slowly, revealing a thin, bruised body sheathed in clinging ivory lace.

The nightdress bunched around her middle and twisted across her thighs. Pale legs stuck out from beneath the lacy hem.

He touched her calf. She felt the warm dampness of each finger on her skin. "Would you like to walk-like before?"

She looked up at him. Some part of her mind wanted to answer, but she couldn't remember what to say.

Then she couldn't remember what he'd asked.

He threaded his fingers through hers, provided her with the anchor of his presence and gently pulled her forward. Her back arched, and her heavy, heavy head fell back. At the movement, pain shot into her skull.

She moaned softly, squeezing her eyes shut.

He was beside her instantly, holding her, stroking the swollen side of her face, his arm curled comfortingly around her shoulders. "It's okay. Breathe deeply, relax."

The words spun through her pain-ridden head, merging, elongating. Meaningless.

But it sounded so nice. She let his voice wrap around her, soothe her. She concentrated on that, only that, until the pain melted into a dull, throbbing ache. That, she could live with.

Letting out a sigh of relief, she opened her eyes, and found herself in his arms.

"All better? Nod if you're better."

She frowned. What was nod?

He touched her chin, held it in a soft grip, and forced her head up slowly, then down. "Nod," he said, repeating the gesture until she understood.

"Now, do you feel better?"

Hesitantly, staring up at him for approval, she nodded.

He gave her a bright smile. "Good." Carefully he eased his arm beneath her knees and helped her to