This Was Your Life

Dave the dog did not like the drone. Neither did Ellie. Both she and her canine companion ducked and flinched when the harsh buzz grew from merely disturbing to frightening. Dave’s lead retracted all the way when the German Shepherd wrapped himself around Ellie’s knees. Ellie stumbled, cursed, and drew her shoulders up to her chin. The flying menace headed straight for them. What the heck? With a yelp of mingled fear and outrage, she leapt backward and staggered into her porch, heels first. Dave didn’t need any encouragement to follow, despite not having yet had his morning walk.

The over-large drone dipped and rose as if it struggled to maintain altitude. Bemused, Ellie and the dog stared as the drone dipped, rose, dipped, and dropped precipitously to make a hard landing right in front of the house. Only then did Ellie notice the package strapped to the machine’s undercarriage. Dave yipped as though unsure whether he wanted to be brave or comforted. He turned warm-caramel eyes up toward Ellie in a plaintive bid for reassurance. A brittle chuckle escaped Ellie’s lips, and she scratched Dave behind his flattened ears until the dog managed a gruff ‘woof’ and a single thump of his long, fluffy tail.

Ellie jumped and screeched when the drone emitted a piercing alarm. Hands over her ears, she crouched and studied the outer casing, in search of a mute button. Upon finding nothing, Ellie reached out and tugged the box until the mechanical fingers released their hold. As soon as the parcel came free, the alarm ceased and the drone roared to life and rose, ponderously, into the air. Within seconds, the flying machine had disappeared as though it had never been—Dave’s continuous growl, and the plain brown cardboard carton on the gravel, the only evidence of its visit.

Wide-eyed and with trembling hands, Ellie reached out and lifted the box. It’s small size belied its solid heft, and she almost dropped it. After a clumsy two-bounce juggle-fumble, Ellie hugged the package against her chest and manoeuvred herself and Dave back into the hallway. As soon as Ellie released Dave’s lead, the dog scampered into the kitchen and onto his bed, where he lay with flattened ears and a look of disdain on his usually placid face.

The box bore no identifying marks nor sender details. It better not be from Ben. Her ex-husband had a penchant for nasty surprises, and Ellie eyed the package with a healthy dose of concern. In the end, curiosity killed trepidation and Ellie retrieved a pair of scissors from the kitchen utensil drawer. In one deft move, she slit the tape along the flap join and eased open the two halves of the lid. Off-white tissue paper peeled open to reveal a thick, square hardback book, which boasted the title, Book of Days. Intrigued and less afraid, Ellie picked up the book and let it fall open to the first page.

A picture of Ellie as a newborn filled the thick, glossy opening leaf. She needed no caption as, from the times of her earliest memories, Ellie’s mother had loved to sit snuggled on the sofa while they perused one family album after another. The premature death of Ellie’s father, when she was just eleven years of age, had only cemented the monthly ritual between mother and daughter.

A lone tear pooled in the corner of Ellie’s right eye and slid down her cheek—grief without fanfare. Memories merged into the mists of mind.

<> <> <>

‘Like a small boat on the ocean. Sending big waves into motion.’ Ellie’s ringtone, from Fight Song, brought her into awareness. Where had she gone? Ellie blinked and glanced around the kitchen. From his bed under the kitchen island, Dave tracked her every move with doleful eyes. Across the tiled expanse, his tummy rumbles triggered a hot flush of guilt. Why, though? Always, she fed him after their morning walk.

Distracted and disoriented, Ellie swiped the screen to answer the incoming call. Professor DeSantio, her boss, sounded concerned. ‘Ellie? Are you sick? Did something happen?’

‘Um, no. Everything’s fine. Why?’

‘Where have you been?’

Ellie glanced at the wall clock—fifteen minutes after ten. ‘I-I lost track of the time.’ Why would DeSantio call her for being a smidge over an hour late? ‘I’m sorry. I’ll be there in half an hour.’

‘Where were you? We had the faculty meeting—’

‘That’s not until eleven.’ Confusion had Ellie crease her brow.

‘Yesterday.’ The professor sighed. ‘Ellie, are you okay? This isn’t like you.’

She shook her head and ran a hand through the tangles in her hair. ‘No. The meeting’s at eleven today. If I leave now, I’ll make it. Mike, I am sorry. The morning got away from me.’

Static white noise imitated silence for a full six seconds before DeSantio said, ‘Ellie, what day is it?’

‘W-wha?—Um, er, Tuesday?’ Then, more forcefully, ‘It’s Tuesday. Mike, what the heck’s going on?’

In a whoosh of air, Professor DeSantio let out a pent up breath. ‘Today is Wednesday.’

Ellie shook her head and repositioned her phone so she could check the date on the screen. Wednesday, November 16th. Not possible. She cast her gaze around the kitchen. Apart from Dave’s dejected-doggy demeanour, all seemed normal. Well, that and the fact her phone and her boss seemed to have skipped a day. Her eyes stalled on a thick hardback book, which lay open on the dining table. Book of days. Where had that come from? The steely glint of a licked-clean bowl arrested her attention. Slowly, the evidence around her asserted itself and planted its feet in the quicksand her brain had become. Somehow, she’d lost a whole day. Dave’s pristine food bowl offered all the evidence she could ever need. Not to mention DeSantio’s OCD-bordering fastidiousness when it came to all things diaried.

Her boss’s voice swung a wrecking ball into Ellie’s already scattered thoughts. ‘I have another call coming in. Hold on.’

Ellie put the call on speaker, dragged the 15 kilo bag of dog food over to the empty bowl, and tipped it until the kibbles overflowed the dish. After hauling the sack back to its corner by the kitchen door, she filled Dave’s drink bowl with fresh water from the tap. A wet tongue nuzzled her palm, and Ellie patted Dave’s head and smiled. ‘Good boy.’ The dog’s tail thumped a rapid staccato on the tiles and his tongue lolled while he panted. Then he buried his nose in his food bowl and, seemingly, forgot all about Ellie, who sank onto a dining chair and tugged the Book of Days toward her. Where had it come from? Idly, she flipped the pages.

<> <> <>

Shafts of painfully bright sunlight poked through thin, tatty, striped curtains, closed carelessly, and awoke Ellie, who blinked and grumbled. She lay on a single bed with barriers raised at each side. Drab grey curtains on tracks divided her bed from identical others. She marvelled, ‘I’m in the hospital.’ From beyond the limited area she could see, the buzz of a large room filled with many different conversations and activities rushed into her ears in a surge-and-retreat pattern much like the sea’s surf, only nowhere near as relaxing.

A thin sheet and lightweight duvet covered Ellie up to her lap, and a pale-blue, cotton hospital nightgown hung limp and creased from her thin shoulders. Her head throbbed and ached abominably. After heaving a heavy sigh, she pushed herself into an upright seated position and tried to wriggle toward the foot of the bed to escape the cot sides. A passing nursing assistant paused and frowned. ‘Mrs Foucher, you need to stay on the bed until the doctor has seen you.’

Ellie paused in her escape efforts and smiled at the young woman. ‘Why am I here? What happened?’

The aide’s frown deepened until she collected herself and smoothed her features into a neutral expression. ‘What do you remember?’

‘Er …’ Concentration puckered Ellie’s brow. ‘I remember Sally’s birthday bash.’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘I left early to work on my paper.’ In a gesture of helplessness and confusion, she lifted her hands to shoulder height, palms uppermost.

The nursing assistant took slow, measured steps toward Ellie and perched on the edge of the mattress at the foot of the bed. She pushed a half-smile onto her face and gave Ellie’s foot a brief squeeze before settling hands over knees. ‘I’m Kyra. It’s okay, Mrs Foucher, we’ll get to the bottom of this—’

‘Why do you keep calling me that? I’m not a Mrs anything. Goodness, I’m far too young for all that marriage nonsense.’ Ellie chuckled but it felt and sounded fake and forced. ‘I want to finish my Masters before I get serious with anyone.’

Kyra frowned again and took a breath. ‘May I call you Ellie?’

‘Of course.’

The assistant nodded. ‘What’s your surname?’

On familiar ground for a change, Ellie smiled fully. ‘Broadbent.’

‘If you don’t mind my asking—’ Kyra cleared her throat. ‘—how old are you, Ellie?’

‘Twenty-three. I have a year to go yet .. with the Masters.’

Kyra chewed her lower lip and eased to her feet. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Other than wondering why I’m here, I feel good. A bit of a headache but nothing major.’

‘Good. I’ll go and let the doctor know you’re, er, awake. He’ll be keen to see you.’ Kyra bustled away.

Bemused, Ellie stared after the nursing assistant. Question after question butted against her brain, which felt gloopy and slow. Had she had a stroke or something? Upset, she flopped against her pillows and sighed. Impatient to get off the narrow bed with its too-firm mattress, she contemplated trying to climb out via the foot of the bed again but decided to wait and see what happened. If the doctor didn’t come in the next half an hour, she’d make a renewed bid for freedom then.

<><><>

Twenty-seven minutes after the nursing assistant had left, Kyra returned with a doctor and a nurse. All three smiled down at Ellie, who did her best to hide her annoyance and anxiety. The nurse smiled and made the introductions, ‘Ellie, this is Doctor Edwards. I’m Kathy, your named nurse.’ She nodded toward the aide. ‘You remember Kyra?’

‘Yes. Yes, I do.’ Ellie stared at Dr Edwards. ‘Why am I here? What happened?’

Edwards tapped a couple of fingers on the clipboard he carried and held her gaze. ‘You had some sort of catatonic episode, Mrs … um, Ms Broadbent. What’s the last thing you recall?’

Unable to come up with anything new, Ellie repeated what she’d told Kyra earlier. The doctor nodded. ‘I see.’ He dangled the clipboard from his left hand and rubbed his smooth-shaven chin with his right. ‘If it’s okay with you, I’d like to perform some basic neuro obs.’ While he spoke, the doctor retrieved a pen light from his pocket and fiddled with it.

‘Yes. Of course.’ Ellie smoothed the bed covers, which gave away her nervous state rather than hid it.

Dr Edwards approached carefully, as though she were a skittish colt rather than a confident and capable woman. She held her tongue and allowed him to commence with shining the thin beam of the torchlight into each eye before he retrieved a small, metal hammer-type thing from the nurse and proceeded to tap Ellie’s knees and the soles of her feet. He wanted her to squeeze his fingers, which made a change to most of the guys in her classes, who wanted her to squeeze something else. He took careful note of her body’s responses and subjected her to a few more checks and tests. When he’d finished, the doctor nodded but wore a solemn expression. ‘Would you like to have a walk around the ward?’

‘Yes, please. I feel so stiff just sitting here.’

The doctor smiled at nurse Kathy. ‘Could you help Ms Broadbent out of bed and walk with her? Perhaps she may recognise a few faces.’

Kathy nodded and strode up to the bed. After pressing a catch Ellie couldn’t see, the nurse lowered the cot side and helped Ellie swing her legs over the edge of the bed. When she slid to her feet, Kathy and Kyra took up station at either side of her and held her elbows lightly, ready to take her weight should she need the assistance. After a slight wobble and momentary dizzy spell, Ellie found she could walk unaided. The nurse and assistant kept pace with her but held their arms at their sides instead of holding her. Dr Edwards trailed behind the trio.

Ellie passed the beds lined up along the ward and to the left of hers but didn’t recognise anyone they passed. At the fifth bed, she paused when its occupant—a middle-aged guy with a salt-and-pepper goatee—hailed her. ‘Ellie! How wonderful to see you up and about.’

After studying the man, she smiled politely. ‘I’m sorry, but do I know you?’

Sadness darkened the bloke’s eyes and tugged his lips downward. ‘It’s me. David.’

Perplexed, Ellie shook her head.

‘We’ve worked together for ten years.’

At a loss, she stood mute and stared, her mouth working open and closed but producing no words.

On his bed, David paled and looked inexplicably distressed. ‘Ellie, you must remember. University College? The Back in the Box program?’

None of what he said made any sense to Ellie. Oh, but what she would give to finish her Masters and obtain a position at the University College of London. UC had the best neuroscience R & D in the country, not to mention the funding to go with it. The doctor stepped forward and smiled toward David. ‘Thank you, Mr Moss. I’ll pop back in a moment.’ To Ellie, he said, ‘Shall we continue?’

The rest of the walk-around brought more of the same. Ellie recognised nobody while another three people, two women and another man, seemed to know her and claimed they’d worked together at UC for years. They also insisted that not only was Ellie on the faculty but also a department head. If only.

<><><>

A professor from UC, Mike DeSantios, sat across the table from Ellie in the hospital cafeteria with a steaming mug of black coffee cradled in his cupped hands. Ever more distressed, Ellie pressed the tips of two fingers against the edge of the mug’s handle, first pushing the cup of hot cappuccino to the left and then to the right. Back and forth, left and right. Ellie double-checked, ‘And you’re the head of the neuroscience department?’

DeSantios nodded and sipped his coffee. ‘I appreciate this is difficult for you, given that you’ve lost all your memories of the last thirteen years.’

In an effort to buy herself some processing time, Ellie rubbed her eyes and drank from her mug. ‘Right, and some disgruntled student did this to me … to my colleagues?’

‘I’m afraid so. The disciplinary council expelled a third-year student, Jack West, for unethical practices.’

‘What did you call his project?’ Her headache of yesterday had returned in full force.

‘Dementia in a Box.’

Ellie shook her head. ‘Even the name sounds terrible.’

DeSantios set his mug on the table and ran the fingers of both hands through his thick, black wavy hair. ‘West created a Book of Days for each member of the disciplinary council along with any of his friends from the student body who turned away from him after his expulsion.’

A gasp escaped Ellie. ‘How many victims?’

The professor shrugged and cradled his mug again. ‘As far as we’ve ascertained, I believe around forty or so. We’re still trying to track down a few of the students. We’ve accounted for the entirety of the staff now.’

‘What’s the Back in the Box program? Some patients mentioned it yesterday.’

For the first time since he’d appeared at her bedside this morning, DeSantios smiled openly. ‘It’s a reverse-engineering of the Dementia in a Box that West created.’

Ellie leant forward. ‘So there’s a chance you can undo my … our memory loss?’

DeSantios leant forward too, and excitement radiated from him. ‘Better than that. We think we can use it to reverse dementia for every sufferer the world over. We’ll need your expertise to fine tune it.’

A sardonic chuckle pushed past Ellie’s lips. ‘Yep, just as soon as you Guinea-pig me into getting my life back.’

The professor took hold of her hand in what felt an overly familiar move. Ellie fought the urge to pull away and reminded herself they had, apparently, once been close friends as well as colleagues. ‘Already, we’ve returned Emma Torres and William Jones to near full functionality. From what we can tell, they’re missing a few days at most. Which makes us confident we can give you enough of you back for you to help us nail the last crucial elements with your specific area of expertise.’

Ellie mulled over all they’d discussed over the course of this strange morning. ‘West used neurolinguistic programming, via photographs and key words, as well as chemicals impregnated into the pages, in the books he made for us? That’s fascinating … horrifying and alarming but brilliant nonetheless.’

‘Quite. West is a genius. Shame he went down such a dark track, really. Just think of the good he could have done.’

A thought had Ellie rock back in her chair. ‘Where’s West now?’

‘Still at large.’