Anamnesis

“What do you remember?” Dr. Spelling asks me.

The doctor sits across from me. His elbows are on the hard surface of the desk. Papers are strewn about. Many of them have notes scribbled in words that I cannot fully understand. A file is before him. It is a large folder with dozens of papers peeking out from the pockets. It’s a blue folder with a stark white sticker plastered to the front. A name is printed in perfectly straight letters.

“Demeter,” I whisper. The name sounds familiar though I am unable to place it immediately.

Dr. Spelling shifts around, his hands cover the front of the folder. He tilts his head to the side and watches me for a moment. I feel my body begin to burn with a feeling of anxiety. The fear of saying something wrong forces me to snap my mouth shut tightly. Dr. Spelling mimics my movements. His lips form a tight white line though he looks calm.

“Is that a name that you remember or are you just reading the file?” he asks. The corner of his mouth quirks upwards. He sounds amused.

I bite my lip and shrug. I did read it but the name sparks something in my mind. Demeter. It certainly isn’t Dr. Spelling’s name. It sounds too feminine. Someone must have said it while I was around. I try my hardest to remember what this name could mean. I whisper it. My lips press together as I try it again.

The black cloud in my mind mocks me as I try to shake it away.

“Demeter.”

It is not me saying the name. It is Dr. Spelling. His voice is low in what is not quite a whisper. The way he says is sends a shiver down my spine and light eliminates my clouded memory. Everything seems to make sense now. I can remember. Not much. But I understand.

“That’s my name,” I say. My voice is thick with surprise.

It has been years since I have heard my name being spoken. Here I am nothing but a number. 8.3.0.6.7. My identity has been erased and I have been marked with scars. I look the same as every female here. We are uniform with our clothing, numbers, and blank memories.

Now it is different.

Now I know that I am not just a number. I have a name. This means we all have names.

I look up and Dr. Spelling is smiling widely at me. His brown eyes are sparkling with excitement. It is a look that I have seen many times before. I cannot place it but I know it is something from my past. Much like my name, this man before me is familiar. I know him when he is dressed in all white and talking about memories. I also know that smile and that look. I know what he sounds like when he laughs. I know what he looks like when he gets something that he wants.

Everything begins coming back to me in waves. Memories crash into me like tidal waves. I can barely hold on to the images but they leave lasting impressions once they break through the wall of black. My breath catches in my chest as I try to make sense of it all.

Only one name stands out among the rush of memories.

“Braydon?” I ask staring at Dr. Spelling.

He moves fast. First, he is sitting at his desk and then... He scrambles from his chair and flies over to me. His hands clasp my face as he falls to his knees. His eyes lock on mine and do not look away. That smile is even wider if it is even possible. He is happy and it is contagious. I feel myself grinning along with him.

“Dee.” His voice is filled with relief and excitement. “Please,” he begs, “please tell me you remember who I am and not just my name.”

My teeth dig into my bottom lip as I search for the word I want to say. It has been so long since I have been faced with a relation other than patient and doctor. Even as my memories flow through my mind like a never ending stream I am still clawing for any semblance of comprehension.

I am young in the memory I settle on. There is laughter coming from my lips as I run through grass. There is a boy behind me pumping his legs as fast as he can to catch me. He too is laughing. When I look over my shoulder I see brown eyes sparkling with excitement. It is Braydon. He looks so much younger than the version of himself kneeling before me. This has to be years and years ago because I cannot recall any other time I have been outside and felt so happy.

How long have I been in this place? I do know that Braydon came after me. In quick succession I remember days of loneliness shadowed in dark fear. Doctors with unknown faces surround me in earlier memories. It is only in my most recent recollections that Braydon appears. As if he is brand new.

“How long have you been here?” I ask.

Dr. Braydon Spelling frowns and pulls his hands away from my face before answering. “A year.”

My brows furrow as a memory of being taken sets the feeling of uneasiness in the pit of my stomach. “How long have I been here?”

This question seems to hurt the doctor that kneels before me. Pain flickers through his eyes before he glances towards the closed door of his office. “Almost ten years.”

He answer sends a sharp stabbing pain through my chest. Ten years. I have been in this place for ten years and I can barely remember any of it. My lungs do not want to work and my brain begins to fog. That black wall that blocks memories begins to descend as if trying to save me from the painful memories of this place. I do not think I want to know what happens to me here. I do want to know why it took Braydon so long.

“Why did it take nine years for my brother to find me?” I ask beginning to feel the fire of anger.

There are mixed emotions on Braydon’s face. He is hurt but he cannot keep away the smile stretches his lips widely. His lips part as if he wants to say something but no noise comes out. He tries again. And again. All words seem to have left him. Instead he throws his arms around me in a tight hug. A reflex in me wants to scream and pull away but I push that feeling down. This is my brother. Even after years there is still a lingering feeling of love within me.

“I’m sorry, Dee. I am so sorry.” He buries his face in my neck as he apologizes over and over. I can feel his tears slide down my skin as he cries.

His words are enough to quell my anger. I lift my arms up and wrap them around his shoulders in the first hug I have shared with my brother in ten years. There is a feeling within me that wells up. It starts at the center of my chest and flows through to the tips of my fingers and toes. It’s overwhelming and my mind cannot wrap around what it is. I find myself crying along with Braydon. Tears slide down my cheeks in earnest.

We hear nothing but our cries. Braydon whispers his apologies still. I say nothing but I welcome them and accept them. I am not sure how long we sit here. Our reunion can be minutes or hours. There is something about the warmth of belonging and the idea of family that makes everything seem much better. Neither of us wants to let go.

It is only when we hear a door slam into a wall that we are forced apart. Braydon’s eyes are wide with fear. All color leaves him. He looks at me then towards where the noise came from. This can only mean one thing. Something bad is about to happen.

One sentence is enough to send ice cold fear swirling through my veins.

“What the fuck is this?”