Music in the Night (Logan 4)

"What happened out there?" he demanded. "You look like you've seen a ghost. You're so pale and--"

"I almost . . . remembered someone," I said. "Someone special."

"Special?"

"Someone very special," I added.

He understood. His eyes flinched with pain and he released my hand.

"Oh. Well that's good," he said. Then he smiled. "That's good, only . . . I wish that someone were me."

I woke the next morning feeling as if my bed had been a boat adrift on the sea as I tried to sleep. That was how much I had tossed and turned. I was exhausted, drained. It was as if all the memories that had drifted away had come back during the night and added weight to my head. They lay in waiting now, bunched in a knot, anticipating my unraveling them and returning them to their rightful places.

I strained to sit up, my head spinning for a moment. I grew so dizzy, I lost my breath. When something like this had happened earlier, Doctor Southerby described it as an anxiety attack. He advised me to try to relax, take deep breaths, and concentrate on something pleasant.

Even after I had done what he had advised, my head still felt like it might just snap off my neck. I wobbled when I walked and a number of times, stopped to press my hand to the wall to steady myself. My stomach was hollow, empty, but I had no appetite. When I gazed at myself in the mirror, I saw how drained I looked, how pale my face was and how my eyes were empty, without thoughts behind them, orbs of glass that merely reflected whatever was in front of me.

My hands shook when I went to wash my face. Had I caught Lawrence's panic attacks? I had a ten o'clock appointment with Dr. Scanlon today. I realized I was afraid, afraid of having to meet and confide in a new doctor, especially after it took me so long to trust Doctor Southerby.

Somehow, I managed to get myself to breakfast, although I couldn'

t remember walking there. I must have looked like someone floating in a dream, sleepwalking her way through the clinic. Everyone was there already and starting to wonder about me.

"You don't look so good," Lawrence said.

I blinked and realized I was standing in the middle of the cafeteria. He was just heading back to the table with his tray.

"I don't feet-so good this morning."

"Why don't you sit at the table and go get you what you want," he offered.

"Thanks, but I'm not that hungry. I'll be all right," I said and went to the line.

I barely picked at my breakfast. Lawrence grew more and more concerned about me.

"Maybe you should go see the nurse," he said.

"No, I'll be all right. It will pass," I assured him, even though I wasn't so sure myself.

He wanted to stay with me and be sure I was okay, but he had his therapy session right after breakfast and had to leave. He did escort me to the rec room lounge before he went off to talk to his therapist.

As the hour of my first meeting with my new doctor drew closer, my heart began to thump and my dizziness became so intense, I had to sit with my eyes closed and wait for the spells to pass. Finally, I felt someone nudge my arm and looked up at Mrs. Kleckner. She was squinting, her forehead creased in thick folds. Her complexion was as gray as her hair, the tiny veins at the crests of her bony cheeks more vivid and more like crimson spiderwebs than ever.

"It's nearly ten o'clock. You're going to miss your appointment," she said.

"I don't feel so good," I groaned.

She stared down at me.

"Do you have any pain?" she asked.

"Not pain exactly. I have these dizzy spells and feel nauseated every once in a while." I put my hand on my stomach.

She lifted my wrist and took my pulse. Then she felt my forehead. The palm of her hand was clammy, cold, and rough.

"You're fine," she said.

"But I'm sick. I feel very sick," I insisted.