Chapter 9
Nine
“On a scale of one to ten, how painful are these headaches?” the physician asked. His name was Doctor Monroe, and despite his professionalism and clear concern for Cassian’s well-being, Cassian could not find it in himself to like the man.
“I am not…” Cassian huffed as he concentrated on the dull throbbing in the back of his skull.
The fact that he had to concentrate at all should have been good news. When he woke up just yesterday, he had barely been able to open his eyes, such was the pain he felt. In fact, were it not for Isolde’s beauty before him, he might have assumed that he had died and gone to hell.
Now, however, the pain was minimal. Certainly, it was less than it had been earlier today. Still there, a dull ache, but nothing to cause alarm.
“Perhaps a three?” Cassian ventured. “Although how one is meant to measure pain…” He scoffed.
“Three is good, yes?” Mr. Pemberton looked at Doctor Monroe.
“It is not a zero,” the physician said with a click of his tongue as he studied Cassian. “But it is not a five either.”
“Well said,” Cassian laughed.
“The point is, he is clearly improving. No doubt within a day or two, the headaches will be gone completely.” He nodded his head as if to finalize the point.
“And what of…” Mr. Pemberton glanced at Cassian as if he were afraid to finish his thought.
“I am not made of glass,” Cassian said. “There is no need to treat me as if I might break at the faintest touch.” He looked pointedly at the physician. “What Mr. Pemberton would like to know is when my memory will return.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Mr. Pemberton agreed. “That is where I was going.”
The physician sighed. “I am afraid that is one question I cannot possibly answer. I spent much of last evening reading on the subject, and most of today.”
“Ah, so you are well versed then,” Cassian joked, which received not so much as a chuckle.
“Head trauma is a most delicate and imprecise topic,” the physician continued. “And that is where memory loss is not concerned. There is still so much we do not know about the human brain, and the more we learn, the more questions—”
“Will you quit speaking around the topic?” Mr. Pemberton snapped.
“Easy, Mr. Pemberton,” Cassian said. “He is only doing his job. Or the best that he can do, all things considered. No sense scaring an answer out of him.”
Mr. Pemberton frowned at Cassian in a way that was becoming all too familiar. It happened whenever Cassian said something that Mr. Pemberton clearly found odd. Usually, after a joke was made, or a kind word was given.
Is it so strange that I am being nice? Is that why he looks at me that way?
“I have no clear answer for you,” Doctor Monroe said with some hesitancy. “I read every case study I could find on memory loss, and they all agree on one thing.”
“Which is…” Mr. Pemberton led the man.
“That we do not know anything. Most agree that following a traumatic head injury, the memories lost will return in time. It is like…” He clicked his tongue.
“It is like a painting damaged by water. Beneath the stains, the picture is still intact. But getting to that picture, finding a way to reveal it…” He shrugged. “There is no answer.”
“Wonderful,” Mr. Pemberton sighed and folded his arms. “Just wonderful.”
“But they will return?” Cassian asked. Not with hope, though. As strange as it was, there was a part of him that almost hoped his memories would never return. Although why that was, he could not say.
“With time, I am sure,” Doctor Monroe said.
“For now, all we can do is our best to make you comfortable. Living your life as normal will surely help. Friends, family, anyone that might spark something…” He nodded to himself.
“Yes, it is best not to sit in a room and hope they come back. Better to try and force them, if that makes sense?”
“As we will continue to do.” Mr. Pemberton rested his hand on Cassian’s shoulder and squeezed it. “I promise you, Your Grace, your memories will return. They must.”
Cassian smiled warmly at Mr. Pemberton.
It was a strange relationship that he felt with his head steward. He remembered nothing about him. He was a stranger, as much as any man one might cross on the street. But in him, Cassian sensed someone who truly cared for him, and who would move the heavens if he thought it would help.
He also rather liked him. Perhaps he was a little strict at times, and his sense of humor was severely lacking. But there was a paternal kindness in the man that Cassian could not ignore, and he was glad that he had someone like this in his life.
Surely, that alone is proof that I was a good man before all of this? I could not possibly instill such loyalty in someone like Mr. Pemberton otherwise…
“On your feet, Your Grace.” Doctor Monroe indicated for Cassian to stand. “Let us check for any lingering signs of vertigo.”
Cassian sighed but did as he was told. “You know, I spent the entire morning walking the estate. Surely, that is proof enough?”
“Better to be safe than sorry.”
“Again, well said,” Cassian chuckled, which brought another strange look from Mr. Pemberton.
On his feet, Cassian slowly crossed the small office, sure to walk slowly and look to his left and right as Doctor Monroe had told him to do the last time he’d asked.
“Any nausea?” Doctor Monroe asked. “Loss of balance?”
“Should I break into a dance?” Cassian joked as he reached the end of the office, spun quickly, and started back. “Funny that I do not remember what I did last week, but know that if asked, I could dance as I have likely been doing my whole life.”
“It is the same as knowing how to use a fork,” Doctor Monroe said. “Or knowing how to speak. We believe these memories are stored in different parts of the brain, meaning they are not connected to your short memory.”
“A good thing then,” Cassian said with a grin. “Imagine if I had forgotten how to put my own breeches on. Mr. Pemberton, I wonder if you would be so kind to me then?”
“I would endeavor to do my best, Your Grace.”
Cassian was determined to keep his spirits high, even if he was nowhere near as cheerful as he might seem. If he was being truly honest, frustration was what he felt, embarrassment also, and a lingering sense of helplessness as if he was drowning with no land in sight.
How was this possible? To have no memories of who he was or where he had come from. Worse, while those memories were gone, there was a sense somewhere deep within that they were near… just out of sight… but close enough that it was as if they mocked him.
And more than once, he would get a hint of an old memory that he did not understand.
A smell that was familiar. A word spoken that rattled something, even if he did not know what it was.
Time and time again, he felt as if his memories were ready to pour back through his mind, only to be blocked at the last second.
Truly, his jokes and his good cheer were all that he had left.
And that alone must be proof that this is who I am. How could I feel this way if it is not the real me?
But was it him? Again, too often, there were signs of a past life that he was scared to learn more about. The way the staff looked at him. The reactions from Mr. Pemberton. And even Isolde seemed reserved and unsure when he had pressed her earlier…
“Is there anything else?” Mr. Pemberton asked when Cassian reached where they stood.
“For now, no,” he said. “But tomorrow, I would like to see you again. Every day, in fact, until your memories have returned.”
“Well, I can’t say this has been fun.” Cassian clapped his hands together and smiled. “But if you are letting me go…”
“Ah, Your Grace, I was hoping you and I might talk for a moment.” Mr. Pemberton looked at him with a sense of concern. “Regarding Miss Isolde…”
Cassian sighed and rubbed his eyes. While he did like Mr. Pemberton, he had not failed to notice how cold the man was toward his betrothed. No doubt, he did not approve of her lineage, and Cassian wondered if this was an age-old argument that had been had a hundred times before.
“Later, Mr. Pemberton,” he said.
“But—”
“I intend to dine with Isolde this evening,” he said, hardening in his voice in a way that he hoped was commanding. “As I will be for the rest of my days. I do not know why you are so…” He clicked his tongue. “You do not like her, Mr. Pemberton. And do not deny it.”
“I only worry about you, Your Grace.”
“As does she,” he said, knowing it was true. “And as she worries, her presence alone is a tonic that cures me of my woes and makes me feel as if I am not so alone in a world that I do not know or understand.” He raised an eyebrow at the steward. “You want me to heal, yes?”
“That is all I want.”
“Then I assure you, Isolde is the cure. She makes me feel…” He exhaled deeply. “She is the only thing in this place that makes sense to me. A stranger, perhaps, but I feel as if I know her. If anyone might free my memories, it is her.”
This was a truth that Cassian wholly believed.
He could not explain why he felt this way about Isolde.
Even putting aside her obvious beauty, there was just something about her presence that made him feel warm and comforted and safe.
It was like having a familiar dream for the millionth time, one that couldn’t be remembered, but was known to have been had before.
Maybe that was love? A feeling that could not be explained but existed nonetheless. She was the key to everything, Cassian was certain, and he was excited to spend as much time with her as he could… for the rest of their lives, in fact.
“Very well,” Mr. Pemberton sighed. “If that is how you feel.”
“I do,” he said with a hardened stare. “Now, if there is nothing else…”
He had spent all day with Isolde, but he could not wait to see her again. Cassian hurried from the office, a smile on his face, laughter on his lips, and joy in his heart.
Yes, this is who I am… it must be. Someone as sweet and kind and pure as Isolde could never have fallen for me otherwise.