Amnesia Page 3

  The wafting smoke affected her vision, made it nearly impossible to detect friend from foe. She then fired the gun only when fired at. She had to get the boy to safety—it was her singular goal. The enemy had no remorse, no empathy, no nothing of virtue. They were savages, all of them. They deserved to die.

  Please, God, she thought. Help me save this little boy.

  Gaia awoke on a gasp. Her heart rate was through the roof, perspiration dotting her fevered skin. Her breasts heaved up and down in time with her labored breathing, her nipples stabbing out against the silk nightgown.

  “Baby,” Ryan said. “Wake up.” He shook her shoulders a bit. “You’re having a nightmare.”

  It took her a long moment to orient herself, to separate the dream from her reality. She sat up in bed, still panting as her heart rate slowly returned to normal. “It felt so real,” she said hoarsely. “It was awful.”

  “Shh. It’s okay. You’re okay.” He pulled her into him, hugging her against his shirtless chest. “The wars are over. It was only a bad dream.”

  Gaia nodded. She put her arms around his neck, inadvertently smashing her hard nipples against him. She was too shaken at first to notice the arousing effect the action had on him, but became aware of their intimate position—and his resulting erection—as the last vestiges of sleep dissipated. “Ryan, I…”

  “I know,” he said thickly. He cleared his throat. “I was going to take a nap with you. I promise that was my only intention.”

  She believed him. He was still wearing a pair of boxers after all. “Will you hold me while we sleep?” she whispered.

  “Of course, baby.”

  It took them a moment to situate themselves, but Gaia melted into his arms as though she was meant to be there. Then again, she supposed she was. She had married him for a reason after all. Apparently her body remembered what her mind couldn’t.

  In that moment she had never felt closer to another human being. She hugged the knowledge close to her heart as Ryan hugged her closely to his chest. She fell back into a peaceful slumber, his heartbeat as soothing as a lullaby.

  * * * * *

  He blew out a breath, his erection bordering on painful. Ryan realized he wasn’t likely to get a moment’s rest with his nearly naked wife in his arms. He inhaled the scent of her hair, which smelled of vanilla and cinnamon, and contented himself in the knowledge that she’d already come to him of her own volition. She might not have been ready to make love, but she had trusted him. It was a start—and a damn good one at that.

  They hadn’t managed to destroy him despite their best efforts. Gaia was alive and well… and fast asleep in his arms. Tonight, when his wife stood by his side as he delivered his victory speech, the maggots would know she hadn’t succumbed to her nearly fatal injuries. They would know they had failed.

  Ryan kissed Gaia’s sleeping forehead as he possessively held her in his arms. She was his. What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.

  * * * * *

  Gaia awoke to an empty bed. She assumed Ryan was off working, which made sense on an election day, but then she heard the sound of the shower running and realized he must have been in there instead. She tiptoed into the wardrobe hoping to find something to cover herself with when the strained sound of pain came from the bathroom. Frowning, she quietly glided forward to investigate. Her eyes widened. Gaia backed up against the wall, her pulse racing. The sound coming from the shower was definitely not one of pain.

  Sneaking another look, Gaia watched the forceps and biceps of her husband’s left arm tense and flex as he masturbated. His eyes were closed, his teeth gritted, as he pumped his well-endowed cock up and down. His breathing grew more ragged as he neared completion. She knew she should look away, but couldn’t seem to. He came on a muffled groan, cum spurting from the head of his penis, his hand pumping faster and faster. She snapped out of the daze that had ensorcelled her, grabbed a robe, and quickly scurried into the living room as she donned it.

  Her skin a bit flushed, she hoped her expression was one of ignorance. Sitting down in front of the television, she picked up its remote and fiddled with it. Technology had apparently changed, she thought glumly, having hoped to pretend she’d been caught up in a TV show by the time Ryan emerged from the master bathroom. The damn remote was not cooperating. Sighing, she kept messing with it anyway.

  “You’re awake.”

  Startled, Gaia yipped as she turned in her seat and faced her husband. Wearing only a towel around his hips, she got her first good look at his powerful body. He wasn’t freakishly muscled like a roid-head at the local gym, but muscled he was regardless. His entire physique bespoke of a rigidly disciplined man who likely worked out every day of the week. He was a general, she reminded herself, and he had the military shape to prove it.

  “I just woke up,” she lied. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “I can’t seem to figure out the remote to this TV.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. She wondered if he believed her and suspected he didn’t. Thankfully, he let the subject go.

  “Here,” Ryan said, reaching for the remote. He gave her a quick tutorial of how to work it. “I have to meet with my advisers, but I’ll just be down the hall. You can open the door if you need me. One of the Secret Service agents will bring you to me or vice versa.”

  She was too grateful that he hadn’t questioned her to think of much else. “Okay,” Gaia said simply. “Have a good meeting.”

  Chapter Six

  She gasped as the television sprang to life. Apparently TVs were now entirely three-dimensional. She stared in awe as she flicked through the channels. It was amazing to watch everything as if it was happening with her right there—no headgear required. Her wonderment, however, was short lived.

  “What the hell?” Gaia grumbled. She tried to find a program—literally any show—that wasn’t divinely oriented. Even the talk shows and game shows were religious in theme. “What is going on?” She clicked the remote, changing the channel.

  The $100,000 Pyramid to Heaven.

  Click.

  Good Mormon America.

  Click.

  The Price is Right for Evangelicals.

  Click.

  Survivor: The Biblical Edition.

  Click.

  Catholic Crossword.

  Click. Click. Click. Click.

  She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or both. “This is unfuckingbelievable.” What in hell was going on?

  Gaia refused to watch any of the ludicrous TV shows, she wasn’t in the mood for virtual mass, and she highly suspected the news was something she should only watch in small doses. After all, the high-tech television consul alone was enough to suggest the doctors hadn’t exactly brought her up to speed very well on the world events she’d missed. Nearly every question she’d put to them throughout her hospitalization had garnered her the same response: we feel you should ask your husband. It’s a good way to re-bond with him.

  Feeling as disoriented as Alice after the girl had tumbled down the rabbit hole, she turned off the TV. A knot of apprehension formed in her belly. There was something more than a little odd going on here. She stood up and began to pace.

  United Christian America. A gold cross on top of the White House. Religious television programming on steroids…

  This was crazy. All of it. She had fallen asleep in a secular world of diverse art, thought, people, and religion and awoke in a disturbingly monolithic society of professed if tacky Christianity. She recalled the sea of mostly white faces that had cheered for Ryan as their motorcade drove by. Why had there been so few people of color?

  Gaia chewed on her lip—a nervous affectation she’d had since childhood. It’s not like she wasn’t accustomed to being one of the few faces of light caramel in the room, even within her own family. Her mother had been mixed race while her father was of Scottish origin, making Gaia only twenty-five percent black. Nevertheless, just as her mother had, she’d always identified as black.
Her mom’s mom had seen to that.

  She plopped down on the sofa and smiled as memories of her feisty grandmother—or her Madea as black grandmas were called in the South—washed over and through her. God, how she missed that wonderful woman. “Chile,” she would say, “your little yellow butt best never forget who she comes from.”

  Gaia never forgot. It wouldn’t have even occurred to her to try and pass as anything other than the entirety of who she was. Still, her grandmother had worried over the issue enough to bring it up every now and then. Her mom said it had been that way ever since she’d converted to Catholicism at Gaia’s father’s urging so they could be married in the Catholic church.

  All things being equal, she rarely thought about race since her own family was so diverse. It wasn’t until situations such as the current one presented themselves that the issue seemed at all relevant. Now, as she thought about the lack of variety she’d seen inside and outside these walls, not to mention on the television…

  Gaia frowned. It was creepy. It made no sense and it was downright disturbing to boot. She stood back up and paced some more. Walking past the fireplace, she stopped and did a doubletake. Backing up, she padded over to the mantel above the hearth and pulled down a framed photograph of Ryan and herself on what had presumably been their wedding day.

  They both looked happy. Very happy. Ryan was quite dapper in his military uniform and Gaia was striking in a lacy, form-fitting, white wedding dress. Her hair, she noted, was cornrowed to the middle of her back. She stilled. In this photograph she resembled the woman in her earlier nightmare to a tee. Her heart began to race.

  “Maybe I wasn’t dreaming during my nap,” she murmured to herself. “Maybe I was remembering.”

  Was it possible? Could she have actually fought in the civil war that had led to the revolutionary one? Did the redheaded little boy truly exist? Goosebumps formed on her arms, but she set the question aside. It was, after all, mere conjecture that was hard to credit. The Gaia she remembered knew nothing about guns, ammo, and the like.

  She ran a finger over the glass partition separating her from the photograph. Deciding she wanted to hold the filmy paper herself, she opened up the back of the frame and took the picture out. Her gaze raked over every inch of it, memorized it. She could discern from the background scenery that they’d married near to Christmas. She flipped the photograph over and examined the back. “Ryan and Gaia: December 1st” had been scrawled in blue ink.

  Her nose wrinkled. How odd that whoever had written their names and the date on the back had neglected to add the year. She sighed. At least she now knew she had an anniversary approaching in less than a month. What she didn’t yet know was how many years they’d been wed. She decided to put the question to her husband as soon as he came back.

  Returning the photograph to its frame, Gaia placed it back above the mantel. She wondered where her old photo albums were and supposed they were likely packed away in the house in Atlanta along with the rest of her old life. Absently running a hand through her hair, she turned around and glanced at the television again. She supposed she should watch a little bit of news if she hoped to jar her memory.

  Making her way back toward the living room furniture, she picked up the remote from the coffee table and plopped down onto the sofa. This time when she hit the on button she was prepared for the 3-D display. She rolled her eyes, noting the name of the program that was now on: Save Your Soul Train. She sighed. Well hell, at least she’d finally found some people of color. There was a lot of booty shaking going on, but apparently it was being done in the name of Jesus.

  “This is insane,” Gaia snorted. “Completely batshit nuts!”

  She clicked the remote. Good Mormon America was still on even though it was mid-afternoon. As she watched, it rapidly became apparent that this was a special election edition of the TV program and it would therefore remain on until the UCA’s first president was declared.

  “I voted for Ryan Evans,” one of the blonde hostesses announced.

  “So did I,” the other blonde hostess admitted. “Or should I say I voted against Tom Vickers more than I voted for Ryan Evans. I’m sorry, but I’ll take a Catholic president over a Lutheran any day of the week.”

  “Right? Me too! I’m going to have to disagree with your view of Evans as the lesser of two evils though. I think the general has been a good ally to the Mormon community.”

  “That’s true, Rachael. Good point.”

  “Thank you, Mary.”

  Gaia blew a stray curl out of her line of vision. Good grief. If this wasn’t the least riveting thing she’d ever had the displeasure of witnessing then she didn’t know what was. Watching paint dry would have been orgasmic by comparison. She was about to turn the channel when it dawned on her what the other oddity to the situation was: both of the TV show’s hostesses were wearing scarves on their heads—scarves that were reminiscent of Muslim hijabs. She blinked.

  “Rachael, it’s time to bring in Ken who’s been questioning voters as they exit the polls right here in Washington D.C.! Ken, what kind of feedback are you being given? Who are the people saying they voted for?”

  “This should be exciting!” Mary enthused. If her fervent smile was fake, Gaia couldn’t discern as much. “Do tell, Ken!”

  The 3-D imagery switched to Ken and where he stood outside a polling station. His smile was as plastic as a used car salesman’s. “Thanks Rachael and Mary. I have to say the name on most lips today is Evans! I’ve had a few Vickers supporters make themselves known, but all the polling stations I’ve visited so far have been overwhelmingly pro-Evans.”

  The camera panned to show the long voting line where men and women stood preparing to cast their votes. Gaia’s jaw dropped. She blinked a few times in rapid succession to make certain she was seeing correctly. She stilled. “Oh my God,” she whispered.

  Every woman—literally every single female—was wearing a hair covering. Some wore hats, others scarves, but all of them had, at minimum, the tops of their heads concealed. The sight was jaw dropping. “What. Is. Going. On?” she bit out. She was so lost in thought that she almost missed the camera going back to Rachael and Mary.

  “I have to admit,” Rachael said, “I’m also a sucker for an epic love story.”

  “Me too!” Mary enthused. “Sorry viewers,” she teased, “but that’s all the information we can give you right now.” She winked conspiratorially at the camera. “If Ryan Evans wins, tonight the world will find out who his—and our—new First Lady is.”

  “And if he doesn’t win,” Rachael assured the audience, “the mystery will end when he gives his concession speech tonight with his wife by his side.”

  “What a lucky girl,” Mary said. “General Evans is so dreamy.”

  Gaia blinked. Dreamy? Had she been transported back to the 1950s?

  “Okay okay!” Rachael cut in, all smiles. “That’s all the information the UCA’s Board of Censors will let us release right now!”

  The two hostesses shared a Stepford giggle. Gaia quickly turned the channel. Unfortunately, they were also discussing Ryan’s mystery wife on the next program she switched to: 60 Minutes with Jesus.

  “I’m telling you!” an older man with a bad toupee job decried. “I saw photographs the press took of Ryan Evans this morning seated in a black SUV with his wife. If she is who I think she is then all I can say is it’s a miracle from God.”

  Gaia couldn’t take anymore. She switched the television consul off and stared open-mouthed at its blank screen. Clearly all these people guessing at who she was thought Ryan was married to someone—anyone—other than her. There was nothing gasp-worthy about Gaia or her life. Unless a bartender slash waitress was somehow noteworthy in this new, bizarre world, she couldn’t think of a single thing she’d done to warrant all this dramatic speculation. No, they definitely thought Ryan was married to someone else, someone far more controversial or exciting.

  Gaia pulled her robe closed tighter as a shiver work
ed down her spine. This day was turning out to be beyond weird. It was downright surreal.

  Chapter Seven

  Gaia was a tension filled wreck by the time Ryan came back. When she told him about what she’d seen on the television, he sat her down on the sofa and held her hands. “They don’t have you confused with another woman, baby. We married during the civil war.”

  “When?” Gaia snapped, pulling her hands from his grasp. “I found the date December 1st on the back of that picture—” She waved a hand toward the photograph on the mantel. “—but there is no year on it.”

  “Calm down,” he said softly. “I’ll answer all your questions. Okay?”

  She sighed. Everything was getting to her. “I’m sorry. Okay.”

  He inclined his head. “We’ve been married almost three years. Our third anniversary is just around the corner.”

  “Then how is my identity unknown to everyone?”

  “Not everyone, just most everyone.” At her look that said same thing, he quickly added, “That part is harder to explain because of your amnesia. Basically, neither one of us was known to the public when we married. I was just a nameless, faceless general and you were my wife. I didn’t rise to political prominence until the revolutionary war. By then you were in a coma and I refused to discuss you or your condition in public because I didn’t want the rebels to know if you were dead or alive. It just seemed safer for you that way.”

  It was a lot to unpack and digest. She blew out a breath. “Why would they care?”

  “You became a famous symbol during the wars. It happened quite by accident, but it still happened.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “A television cameraman streamed live footage of you saving a little kid.” Her eyes widened, recalling her dream. “The footage was picked up and aired all over the world,” Ryan informed her. “Here was this beautiful woman with a child in one hand and a gun in the other, getting the little boy to safety. I guess you could say the footage became iconic.”