Page 74 of Stay Awake
“A person tries to resume his or her old life after suffering a trauma. They don’t realize that time has passed. We’ve had cases of people with dissociative fugue who have taken on new names, started new lives. There are even cases of people who have begun speaking in different accents, or languages.” He paused to let his words sink in. “You must have heard of the crime writer Agatha Christie?”
“Of course,” said Halliday.
“In 1926, after she discovered her husband was having an affair, Christie disappeared. The police dredged the local lake, believing she might have drowned. Thousands of volunteers searched for her in the countryside. Meanwhile, a woman claiming to be a grieving mother from Cape Town checked in at a health spa under a name very similar to the name of the mistress of Agatha Christie’s unfaithful husband. Eventually, one of the guests recognized her as the famous crime writer and alerted the authorities. Christie regained her memory, but she never remembered anything that happened to her during her time at the health spa.”
“You believe the same thing happened to Liv Reese?”
“It’s very possible. If anything, her situation is significantly more dire.”
“In what way?”
“Her fugue incidents are repetitive. They happen every time she wakes up,” he says. “That puts her in a constant state of confusion and makes her extremely vulnerable. It’s very rare. In fact, I don’t recall ever seeing another case with that presentation.”
“Do you know what might have prompted her to leave England and return to New York?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t seen Liv for a while. My wife and I have just returned from a visit to Australia for the birth of our first grandchild. Liv was supposed to see a colleague while I was away. It appears she didn’t attend her appointments. We only found out she’d disappeared when I returned to work a few days ago. I asked the social worker to contact the missing person department at Scotland Yard when she couldn’t get hold of Liv,” he said. “From what you’re telling me, she’s in New York again. Her old stomping ground.”
“That’s correct,” said Halliday.
“That’s very interesting. Very interesting indeed.”
“Why is that?”
“I suspect Liv’s subconsciously trying to find out the source of the trauma that caused these fugue states,” he said. “Killing her monster, as it were, may be her way to assert control. To break the cycle and get her memory back.”
Chapter
Forty-Two
Two Years Earlier
I stare at myself in the window as the train roars through a subway tunnel with a deafening howl. I wonder if the silk scarf tied jauntily around my neck is over the top, especially on such a sweltering summer day. Marco gave me the scarf as a gift. I thought it would be nice to wear it when I see him later tonight.
We’ve arranged to meet for dinner at Stefanie. There’s a two-month wait to get into the restaurant, but Marco pulled strings to get us a table. I’m impressed. I’m a food writer and even I couldn’t get a table at Stefanie on short notice. Marco hinted he’s taking me there because he wants to discuss something important. I’m filled with a nervous anticipation.
I sway in tandem with the passengers in the train car. It’s like we’re a single seething organism, moving to the familiar rhythmic ritual of the morning commute.
When the train reaches my stop, I push my way out of the car and through the mass of passengers waiting on the platform. My phonerings as I climb the stairs to street level. I answer it as I walk into my office.
“Liv? Where are you?” Amy sounds sleepy.
“I’m almost at work,” I respond, pressing the elevator button. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“No,” she yawns. “I just woke and heard creaking floorboards. You didn’t answer when I called out your name so I figured I’d call and see what’s going on.” She yawns again.
“It wasn’t me. I’ve just arrived at work.”
“It must be the new people in the apartment upstairs. They make such a racket when they leave in the morning. Listen, Liv, since I have you on the line, I think Shawna needs to see the vet.”
“Why?”
“She’s limping. She won’t put pressure on her right front paw. I think she might have been injured. Maybe she was in a fight or something. She seems spooked…” The rest of her sentence is swallowed up by the noise of the elevator doors opening.
“Amy? I can’t hear you.”
Her voice has been replaced by crackling silence as the call drops out. I take the elevator up to the office. Once I get out, I dial Amy’s cell phone again.
Her phone’s engaged so I leave her a message. “Amy, your call dropped out. Bad reception. I’m in the office now. Call me on my cell or my desk phone when you’re free.”
