Song of Memory

By Sharon Ricklin

Sara's humdrum world is turned upside down when she meets a stranger who says he knows her from the past and that she'd disappeared without a trace twenty years ago. She's bewildered and confused; why would someone play such a cruel prank on her?

Jack spent nearly two decades searching for her. But when he finally locates her, he is faced with a gut-wrenching discovery: Sara has absolutely no memory of him - or their life together.

Like a puzzle, Jack and Sara must piece back together the shreds of a life that was ripped apart. Their heartwarming story is one about loss, loneliness, and renewed love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sharon Ricklin
• Release date: Nov 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311152503

Sharon Ricklin

Sharon Ricklin grew up in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and always knew she wanted to be a writer. She's had many titles in her life, including: wife, mother, grandmother, medical assistant, ranch-hand, and teacher. While still home-schooling her youngest son - she finally started writing. However, after finishing her first romance novel, circumstances in life forced her to set the book aside for a few years...No longer working full time and having an empty nest, (and no more excuses) she decided to get to work on editing that novel. Little did she know, her muse had other ideas. A fantastically vivid dream forced her to set that book aside, yet again. This dream gave birth to the Ravenswynd Series, and the muse hasn't shut up since. (After finishing her paranormal Ravenswynd Series, she did finally get that first novel published and (Song of Memory) is available.Sharon is a member of Romance Writer's of America (RWA), Wisconsin Romance Writers, (WisRWA) the author of two blogs, and involved in several Writer's Groups.Now living in Racine, Wisconsin, Sharon is working on another time-travel novel, tentative title: Island of Time.Her other 3 time-travel (romance) novels, River of Time, Garden of Time, and Frozen in Time are stand-alone novels - NOT a series.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

You can only come to the morning

through the shadows.

~J.R.R. Tolkien~

Sara

The morning light tickled my eyelids as it glinted through the thin folds of the blinds – and like a thief, stole me from my dream long before my alarm was set to go off. My first impulse was to bury my head under the pillow, to will the dream to come back, to ask this man who he was, but seconds later the aluminum siding began to make a soft crackling sound as it warmed from the sunlight. Trying to fall back to sleep now would be useless; dawn was making herself a nuisance, the birds had already begun their loud chirping and squawking, and some thoughtless idiot was honking their car horn. With an annoyed sigh, I reached up and yanked the cord of the blinds, pulling them up about halfway. Stretching and yawning, I gazed out the window, watching the bright yellow leaves shivering in the chilly autumn breeze. The pale blue sky was streaked with pinks and purples and small wispy clouds feathered by. Another morning…

I used to enjoy mornings - back when my kids lived at home, but lately, it felt like my days had blended into one big haze of unyielding monotony. I seriously didn’t think my life could get any more tedious and wished that just once - something would happen; perhaps something exciting - like in my dreams. Little did I know…

As I lay there thinking about the dream; it occurred to me that the day wouldn’t be quite as dull as usual. I’d be leaving for Longview, Washington to visit my father. Although it broke my heart to think that he no longer remembered who I was, I had to keep visiting him - regardless of his mental state. But going home was always bittersweet. Perhaps it wouldn’t be quite as difficult if Dad didn’t still live in the same house I’d grown up in. But it was much cheaper for the twenty-four hour care he received there - than if he lived in a nursing facility. At times I felt guilty for not bringing him into my own home, but he needed so much medical attention, and I wasn’t equipped to give it to him. Not to mention, Vincent would have had a fit.

While drying my hair after my shower, I gazed at myself in the mirror. Not that I was conceited, but for a woman of forty-three, my reflection wasn’t half-bad. Some people actually said my daughter and I could pass as sisters, and it was nice to hear that I appeared too young to have children in college. I ran my fingers through my thick, chocolate brown hair. I wore it in a shoulder length cut, parted on the side with a wisp of bangs, and so far, hadn’t found even one gray hair. My eyes were jade green, my skin was still firm and silky, and when I wore just a touch of makeup it made me look even more vibrant and young.

Not bad at all. A cocky smile grinned back at me from the full-length mirror as I finished dressing. I tucked my red silk blouse into my black dress slacks and tried on two jackets before deciding on the black blazer. Gathering up the last few unpacked items, I threw them into a smaller bag; grabbed both suitcases and headed for the kitchen.

A quick glance at the clock told me that there was just enough time for a quick cup of coffee and a piece of toast. While eating the toast, I wandered around the house one more time - watered my plants, checked doors and windows, turned off all the lights, and made sure the answering machine was on. Going over my list again, I finally stuffed it in my pocket and headed out for the train station.

The thing I dreaded more than having no one to see me off would be arriving in Longview and not having anyone there to pick me up. It meant catching a bus to my father’s house, and even though I’d made this trip many times with my kids, I just couldn’t get used to doing it alone.

The train ride from Klamath Falls, Oregon was a little over 9 hours long, but I remembered to pack a few books and magazines to ward off some of the impending boredom. Even so, I found myself gazing out of the window for quite a long time, daydreaming and watching the scenic views. The Cascades were striking, especially this time of year, the forests ablaze with color. And I couldn’t wait to get farther north where I could see Mt. Hood. I loved that mountain. It’s awe-inspiring beauty always gave me an incredible sense of peace.

Comfortably settled in my seat, I read a few articles in a magazine, had a light snack, and then chatted with a gentleman who sat next to me after our second stop. He was one of those elderly men who was easy to talk to, asked just the right questions, and made me feel as though he was truly interested. I told him all about my children, how they’d always been my main joy in life. But I was faced with a sense of emptiness now that they were older and spent less time at home. It’s funny how comforting it can be to talk to a complete stranger about real feelings. I suppose part of the easiness is there’s no room for judgment - and knowing the chances were that I’d never see him again.

The friendly man had to get off in Eugene and for the rest of my trip, his seat remained empty. Dozing off a bit later, I had my favorite recurring dream: A fantasy filled pleasure trip to Paris. We were young and in love; I could never make out his face, but it was always the same. I was extremely attracted to him, and the feeling was definitely mutual. We were on our honeymoon and the sensations were so real - so arousing in fact, that I’d never shared this dream with anyone. It was almost embarrassing how detailed it was, and every time I woke from the dream, I’d be stirred to reflect upon my life and everything that I’d been missing.

When the train whistle jerked me awake, a feeling of emptiness engulfed me and I longed to continue the dream. But, gazing out the window, I now had a better view of my mountain. As I watched the passing scenery, the majestic mountain remained steady - set far off in the distance. My mind filled with wistful thoughts, making me secretly wish for that life known only in my sleep.

The last stop before entering Washington was Portland, Oregon. A female voice came over the loud speaker and announced that during the layover, there would be enough time for passengers to get off the train and stretch their legs, stop for a snack, or just get some fresh air if they wished. As wound up as I felt from sitting so long, the minute we came to a stop, I was up and out of the doors like a bullet.

The station was crowded; travelers, people greeting loved ones, folks still waiting for the next train. Glancing around while making my way out of the ladies room, I spotted the snack machines and made a quick stop. While scrounging through my purse for some change, I noticed a man standing near the drinking fountain who appeared to be studying me. He looked like any other weary traveler, wearing blue jeans and a Seahawks jacket. But he was speaking on a cell phone and held something in his other hand. He kept looking down at the item and then he’d stare up at me again. He had a serious look on his face, and his words, although muffled, seemed almost frantic.

The way he continued to study me started to feel creepy, and I decided to head back to the safe haven of the train – eating would have to wait. I took a quick peek over my shoulder and for a moment, lost the man in the crowd. But when I caught sight of him again, he was on the move and following me! My heart thumped in my chest and my stomach lurched in panic. I quickened my pace, pushed through the glass doors, and rushed to the waiting train. After I took a step up onto the platform, I ventured one more look back. He had stopped, thank God. He was just outside the entrance to the station, phone still up to his ear, eyes still monitoring me. With my heart in my throat, I hurried up the stairs and found my seat, all the while - hoping and praying he stayed where he was. Peering out the window, I kept my eyes glued on the man until the train finally left the station. He never moved away from the doorway, and he never took his eyes off the train. Needless to say, it scared the hell out of me.

Once I was sure he hadn’t gotten on the train, I finally began to relax and convinced myself it was all my imagination. Why would anyone want to chase after me anyway? Taking a deep breath, I fixed my eyes on the scenery once again. When we crossed over the Colombia River Gorge I knew we’d soon be in Vancouver - which was the last station before mine.

Something about this last leg of the trip always disturbed and agitated me. It could have been the apprehension of seeing my dad deteriorate so quickly, or any number of things that going home tends to do to people. But I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was and, once again, the familiar heavy sadness and feelings of remorse engulfed my soul.

Traveling through Washington usually caused me to think a lot about my childhood - which made me miss my mother. There were vast portions of my life that I didn’t allow myself to think about, except for these times when I went home. Most of those thoughts were far too depressing and I was much better off not dwelling on any of it. The worst memory of all was the accident that took my mother from me. My father and I had only barely survived the crash. It left him in a wheel chair and left me with permanent scars. Although the physical ones healed with scarcely any notice at all, the emotional ones remained like a haunting nightmare. I kept them all to myself, wondering at times if anyone really knew what was going on in my head, or if anyone even cared. They had told me it was not my fault, and I didn’t remember the accident itself, but I knew instinctively - my father held me responsible for it all those years.

My coma lasted for about a month, so they told me, and rehab was just over a year. I’d had episodes of amnesia from the head injury ever since, and the way it was explained to me was that I suffered from Anterograde amnesia, which they said was the term for the inability to remember events after an incidence of trauma. As if that loose explanation helped me to understand what was happening. The only positive thing: I was able to remember my childhood and teen years prior to the accident. But the time between the accident and when I’d met Vincent were filled with giant gaps. I called them my Swiss cheese years. I have a vague recollection of meeting him while working in a bookstore in Longview and, fortunately, I remember most of my pregnancy and the birth of my children. Most importantly, the memory lapses ended after their birth. I loved being a mom and loved every moment of time with my babies. But the years flew by like an arrow and I was now faced with the knowledge that they no longer needed me. As luck would have it, I had no trouble retaining the numbing memory of all those empty days since the kids left.

There were still days when I’d have strange dreams and wake up completely depressed, wondering if the dreams could be disjointed, senseless imaginings brought on by head trauma. And sometimes I’d have those other dreams - the fantasy-filled, erotic ones, and I’d secretly wish that was my real life.

The train finally arrived at my stop and I quickly gathered my luggage. Wanting to get to the bus before dark, I darted out into the station and took a quick survey around, checking for any suspicious looking characters. There was one man who glanced at me as though he might have recognized me, but since this was my hometown, I didn’t think too much of it. Besides, he was surrounded - and distracted by two little kids, and really didn’t look the least suspect.

I hurried out of the station and ran out to catch the bus. The air was brisk now and I wrapped my jacket over my shoulders, feeling chilled and anxious. Some people enjoy going home; I felt nothing but heartache and often wondered why I even bothered. It wasn’t as if my dad would even know the difference, but I also knew the guilt would eventually catch up with me. Heaving a big sigh, I was relieved to see the bus’s headlights within a few moments and I climbed aboard as soon as the driver opened the door.

As we sped down the highway I watched the sun setting behind the green blur of trees. The sky was deep red, and the beautiful view only made me wish I was watching it from another place – like on the ocean or some distant romantic setting. The restlessness creeping over me magnified; I was hungry and tired, the growing darkness came fast, and my father would probably be sound asleep by the time I arrived.

About a mile down the road the bus made an unexpected and abrupt stop. I took a quick glance forward, thinking I’d see red lights from an accident up ahead, or maybe someone pulled over because of speeding, but all I could see was a long, black limo parked just off the road. I spotted someone standing in front of the bus, waving us over. It made no sense at all. One would think anyone in a limo had, at the very least, a cell phone, and wouldn’t need to flag down public transportation for help.

The bus driver opened the door and a tall man stepped in, leaned forward and whispered to him. Straining to hear what he was saying, several indistinct words floated through the air.

Disappeared…reward…money… My heart flipped sideways and I peeked around, wondering if there was a dangerous convict aboard who might try to grab a hostage; but there were only three other people on the bus, besides me. An elderly couple sat a few seats behind me – far too old to be running from the law, and across from them, a young man who looked to be about 20, clean-cut and so engrossed in his magazine that he didn’t even look up.

I glanced toward the front of the bus again just as the tall man handed the driver what appeared to be a large wad of money and then he glanced down the aisle - directly into my eyes. He made his way past all the empty seats and sat right across from me.

Miss, ah…Mrs. Brown? He started slow, hesitating, and asked, You are Mrs. Sara Brown, aren’t you?" He seemed flustered and nervous, but attempted to remain composed. Apparently this was as unusual for him as it was for me. Something in the way he searched my face made me think he knew me. But I didn’t recognize him at all.

When I first tried to speak it was only in a whisper, but then as a myriad of terrifying thoughts entered my mind, my voice escalated to the point of yelling. Yes…Yes, what happened? My kids…Oh my god, are my kids okay? Is it my husband? What is it?

Surprising me, he reached over, patted my hand and calmly said, No. Everyone is fine. Please don’t worry, Sara. He quickly corrected himself saying, I mean, Mrs. Brown.

Then who are you and what do you want with me? I asked, now feeling reassured that the kids were okay. His presence still bewildered me, but suddenly recalling my early morning dream, my curiosity was aroused.

I’m wondering if you could just come with me for a moment, and everything will be explained to you. He looked earnest and worried at the same time.

I continued to calm myself, taking in a few deep, relieved breaths and at the same time trying to guess what this could possibly be. Everyone had my cell number, and after desperately rummaging through my purse and yanking out my phone, I saw there were no missed calls. I started to drop it back in my purse, but then decided to keep it handy. The man never flinched.

So, no one’s hurt? My kids are okay, and my father? I asked once more.

That is correct, Mrs. Brown. No one is hurt. Nothing is wrong. But I would appreciate it if you would please come with me; there is someone who would like to speak to you. He swallowed and continued, saying, I know it’s asking a lot, but I’m imploring you to please trust me.

As far as I could tell, he seemed like a decent man with an honest looking face, clean-cut and dressed quite nicely in a crisp, clean, black uniform. He held a chauffer’s hat in his hand and fumbled with the rim as he spoke. He couldn’t possibly be some deranged murderer or rapist who went around in a limo picking up women, could he? I pondered all my options. I could just say no, and then spend the rest of my life wondering who wanted to speak to me so badly that he’d flag down a bus. I even thought about asking the driver if he would come with me to see who this mystery person was, but I highly doubted he would agree.

Or, I could just take a chance.

Why should I trust you? I asked looking him square in the eye. I have no idea who you are or why you’re here. Maybe you should give me a little more information?

Mrs. Brown, my name is Nelson. I am simply trying to do my job here. I’ve been asked by my employer to bring you to his car so that he can speak to you. His voice was calm and he looked sincere. I’ve been his chauffer for over twenty years, and I can tell you that he is an honest and upright man; his integrity is nearly flawless.

A deep voice boomed from the front of the bus as the driver belted out, Look Lady, I have to get this bus moving…I got a schedule to keep. Make up your damn mind!

I glanced over my shoulder, wondering what the elderly couple thought. They gave me a quick smile. The young man farther back glanced up for only a second, shrugged his shoulders and returned to his magazine. For a split second, I even pondered the idea of calling the police as I toyed with the phone in my hands, opening and shutting it several times. I felt very much alone, and realized that if this was some sort of horrible trap, I certainly didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. There was really no way out of this dilemma and I was sure the driver wasn’t about to give me any help – not after accepting the ungodly amount of money he’d just crammed into his pocket.

Finally gaining a bit of courage, I said, Okay. Leaning into the aisle to get a view of the bus driver, I called out, Will you wait for me?

He ignored me, and the man sitting across the aisle from me stood up with a disgruntled sigh, walked to the front of the bus, and whispered something into the driver’s ear again. Glancing back, he said, Mrs. Brown, he says he will wait for you if you hurry up. Would you please follow me? He held out his hand as a gesture of kindness.

I grabbed my purse and jacket, and made my way to the front of the bus. I’ll leave my luggage here, and I’ll make this quick. Giving the bus driver a nervous smile, I added, Thanks for waiting for me.

Folding his arms and leaning back, all he did was shrug and grunt, Yeah, whatever.

The intensity of my curiosity now outweighed my nervousness.

Who could this be?

The chauffeur stepped down, turned to take my hand to help me out, and gave me a small cordial grin.

Wow, a real gentleman.

We walked side by side on the shoulder of the highway. The tiny bits of stone and gravel crunched under my feet, a cool breeze flittered through my hair, and just as Nelson opened up the back passenger door for me, I made the mistake of looking back at the waiting bus. The headlights were bright, nearly blinding me, and when I attempted to see who was sitting inside, all I could see was the effects of the bright lights. Giant white orbs blinded me, exactly like when someone takes a photo using the flash. I blinked a few times, trying to regain my sight, just standing there.

Please, Mrs. Brown. There’s nothing to worry about; why don’t you have a seat, he said, putting a careful hand on my shoulder. I glanced back at him and, even with the bright lights shining on his face; he was just barely visible to my watery eyes. He looked pleased with me for trusting him. Figuring I’d come this far; why not climb in. As far as my messed up memory went, I couldn’t recall ever being inside a limo before, and just maybe this would be a new experience, something exciting, exactly like I’d been wishing for that morning.

I took a seat and Nelson shut the door behind me. My left hand rested on the fine leather cushion and I slid farther in, adjusting my purse and jacket on my lap. The driver’s door opened and then closed. As my eyes began to adjust to the dim interior, I saw a man sitting across from me. His cologne reminded me of something woody and citrus, and was quite pleasant.

For a split second, I recalled the man who had been watching me in Portland, and wondered if he was the same man. After he lit a cigarette, the flickering flame of his lighter revealed his face. He was not the guy from the station.

Cigarette? he offered.

No thanks, I quit.

His voice was strong and deep and he sounded cool, calm and collected - almost too calm.

How often does this creep stop busses and ask women to join him?

As my stomach tied itself up in knots, I slowly wrapped my fingers around the door handle, readying myself for a quick escape.

The man assured me, saying, Please, Sara. I would never hurt you. I only want to ask you a few questions.

I detected a sudden change in his cool tone; there was now a tense desperation in his voice.

What could this be about?

He offered me a mixed drink, and I stupidly accepted. It was refreshing and cold, but I was starving, and drank it far too fast.

Well, Mr. – What is your name? I asked, beginning to feel impatient.

We’ll have to hurry this up; that bus driver won’t wait for me forever.

He clicked on a light near his armrest, and after blinking several times, I could see clearly again. Our eyes met, and he just stared at me, as if he was waiting for a response. I guessed he was mid-forties, had a handsome face - not at all what I expected, and – definitely not the man from the train station. This man was much better looking. I took quick mental notes on what he was wearing: a dark blue business suit, a crisp white shirt with an impeccable collar, and a striped, red tie. The handkerchief in his lapel pocket matched the tie. It was difficult to see his skin tone in the dim light, but I could see that he had dark, wavy hair - trimmed short in the back and longer on top, and a thick black mustache. I also noticed his gold wedding ring when he put the cigarette up to his mouth and took in a long drag.

He blew out a slow, wispy plume of blue-gray smoke, his eyes still on mine. My name, he said in an almost cynical tone. He paused for a moment and sighed, Just call me Jack. He shook his head and frowned, expressing his frustration.

Alright then, Jack, I said growing impatient. What is this all about? I tried to sound business-like, hoping to get some concrete information out of him. I swallowed down a few more gulps of my drink, instantly realizing it contained quite a bit of alcohol; my head felt woozy already.

He put his cigarette out in the ashtray and cleared his throat. Leaning forward and looking into my eyes, he said, "Sara, I just want to know…no, I need to know where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing for the past 19 years." A definite undertone of uncertainty had now permeated his voice.

Suddenly filled with a sinking feeling, I asked, What? I was totally bewildered.

Please, Sara, he pleaded.

My throat began to close up, dry and tight; as if someone had wrapped a noose around my neck and pulled it taut. I drank more than half of my drink down at once, nearly choking on a piece of ice. Finally finding my voice, I blurted, "Who the hell are you?"

Sara. His voice softened and all but cracked as he said, I didn’t think you would ever forget me. His eyes looked pained and his face crumpled, as if someone had just punched him in the stomach.

My dream came rushing back to me like a tornado. Is this really happening…Or am I dreaming again? Or, was this morning’s dream some sort of premonition?

A moment later I realized the limo was in motion and I lurched forward, calling, Hey, what’s going on? Where are you taking me? I wanted to pound on the glass window separating us from the driver, thinking I’d made a huge mistake to trust him in the first place. But before I could, the window opened up and the driver told us that the bus had taken off and he’d decided to follow it.

I wondered if he had heard our whole conversation, or if he was just being kind. Not that it mattered anyway; I was far more freaked out about Jack’s questions.

Thank you, Nelson. Jack’s voice was cool and collected, and he gave a quick wave to signal his driver to close the window. I waited for it to close, and took another sip.

Trying to keep my composure, I asked, What did you just say to me, ah…Jack?

I said - that I did not think you would ever forget me, he answered, sounding uneasy again.

My head began to spin, my mind reeling, and all my thoughts began to blur. I seriously couldn’t tell if I was in the middle of another weird dream. Taking a large gulp, I gazed out the window - watching in the darkness as the streetlights zipped by. I racked my brain, trying desperately to remember this man: Jack. And at the same time, my mind wandered, imagining horrible thoughts of kidnapping, ransom, murder, or worse yet, rape.

Right…that probably wasn’t even his real name…

My fear was muddied by my confusion. I took a breath, mustered up my confidence, and said, Well, Jack, I’m sorry to tell you, but I have no idea who you are, and if you think you’re going to get any money by kidnapping me, you are indeed mistaken. My family has no cash to speak of, and besides, I added with a shrug, how do you know anyone would even miss me?

Filled with self-pity now, I began to imagine that Vincent wouldn’t even consider paying a ransom; my return would never be worth it to him. Of course, I was only feeling sorry for myself; feeling unappreciated was not a new concept to me. And surely this Jack character wouldn’t care what I said if he was truly after money anyway. Wiping my burning eyes, I realized that no amount of talking would help me now; it was useless. I folded my arms across my chest. He suppressed a grin which only made me more angry.

He glanced away and, holding back a chuckle, said, I certainly don’t want any money from your family, and trying to be more serious, added, I can see that you’re upset. Perhaps you don’t remember me… but I need you to trust me. In a quieter tone he said, Listen, Sara, I have absolutely no intention of hurting you. I just need to know what happened.

He sat back and just stared at me. I stared back, still trying to make sense of everything. After several minutes, he reached into his pocket, saying, If it will make you feel any better, here, take this and call home.

I have my own phone, I mumbled. Feeling calmer, I reached out and took his cell. The reception on my phone sucked and, as usual, it was ready to die anyway.

Call your family, the police, call whomever you want…just please, please, spend some time with me tonight, and help me understand what happened. I’m begging you, Sara. Please help me. His voice trailed off, sounding defeated.

I had his phone in one hand, and my drink in the other. I finished the rest of the drink and set the glass down. Glancing at the phone, I saw the time was nearly 8:45. Vincent wasn’t home from his trip, rarely answered his cell anyway, and the number of his motel was in my luggage, which was in the bus and, with any luck, was still on the road ahead of us. My son would be at basketball practice and my daughter was most likely at her boyfriend’s or his parent’s house, none of those numbers committed to memory. By now my father would be in bed for the night, and I was at a loss. Who could I call? A girlfriend? My aunt in California? Regardless of whom I wanted to call, I’d have to find the number to tell them I’m okay.

Wait! No one even knows that I’m missing yet! If…I was missing…no one would even notice! I had planned to be gone for at least a week. This was my life; we were all pretty much on our own now. The kids came and went as they pleased; my family had become distant ships passing in the night.

Ahoy! Feeling sorry for yourself again, huh Sara?

I was my own worst enemy. I didn’t even know what I’d expected out of life, but was convinced that this was not it. Sighing, I dialed the only number I knew by heart – home…knowing the answer machine would pick up after four rings. Finally it clicked, the familiar voice said, Brown family, please leave a message. I spoke calmly into the receiver, saying that I’d arrived safely in Washington, I hoped everyone was well, and I’d see them all soon.

Jack let out a relieved sigh, refilled my glass and handed it to me. I took another few sips. I felt more at ease now, but kept the phone on the seat where I could reach it. He lit another cigarette, asked me again if I wanted one. I glanced at the pack; it was my old brand. Nodding, and completely disgusted with myself, I took one. He reached over and lit it for me and I inhaled; surprised that after not smoking for over 6 months, it felt natural, tasted great, and didn’t even make me cough. The pathetic excuse I gave myself - was that it would help keep me calm.

Nelson opened up the partition and said, Mr. Hamilton, sorry to bother you, Sir, but the bus has stopped. Do you want me to catch it again for Mrs. Brown?

Jack gave me a questioning gaze. He looked like he wanted to say something, but kept quiet, apparently leaving the decision up to me. At the same time, he seemed sad, as if he really needed me to stay. Turning to the driver, I surprised everyone, including myself.

Nelson, do you think that you could get my luggage from the bus, please? I think I’ll spend some time with Mr. Hamilton, and then perhaps you could drop me at my father’s place when we’re finished talking?

He nodded, and pulled off to the side of the road.

Jack looked all at once amazed and relieved and gave me a warm, genuine smile. He reached out and touched my hand to thank me. Although his touch was gentle and reassuring, and he seemed to be a kind and gentle man; deep down inside, I was still confused about the whole situation.

If I did know this guy, why - oh why - would I ever let him get away?

Nelson jumped out, and within a few minutes the trunk opened and closed, hopefully now containing my two bags. Once again we began to move along the completely dark road. I had no idea which direction we had been traveling while following the bus, but I was fairly certain we’d turned in another direction. I wasn’t sure whether it was the drinks making me less nervous, or if it was Jack’s grin. The first thing I noticed, and immediately liked, was his fantastic and infectious smile. It was enough to make anyone comfortable.

Maybe it’s both! I mused, feeling giddy and light-headed.

The only thing agitating me now was the fact that I’d worked so hard to quit smoking, and here I was, taking extreme pleasure in a cigarette.

Finally, Jack spoke. It seemed he was trying, with much effort, to formulate his words with exact precision. He spoke clearly and quietly, yet with so much passion, it was hard to breathe while he explained.

Sara. As I tried to tell you earlier, I thought you would never forget me. You were the best thing that ever happened to me. I’ve spent so many years trying to find you. I’ve searched everywhere here in Washington, where you told me you were born. If only I’d known your maiden name sooner, I could have located your father a long time ago. But it was just last year I found your birth certificate and was able to finally find him. Shaking his head, he said, He was of no help to me at all, but just knowing where he lived eased some of my pain.

I sighed, and took another sip. He’s not been himself for years now.

Jack nodded. He tried to tell me you died in an accident when you were a teenager.

I closed my eyes, guilt ridden once again; thinking about the accident which drastically changed all of our lives.

At first I didn’t understand why he said these things, Jack went on, "and I thought perhaps you had been in another accident, or that he had his timing mixed up. I saw the recent pictures of you around the room, but he seemed oblivious to them. I hired people to keep watch at all the airports and train stations, knowing that eventually you’d visit your father again. I told myself it didn’t matter how much money it took, nor how long; I’d never give up. That I would find you again."

Taking a deep breath, he peered into my eyes. I never stopped loving you…and I never remarried, Sara. I spent all of my time working and building my company. But all the money in the world could never replace what we had. Nothing can.

My heart started pounding like a jackhammer. This man sitting before me was saying that we had not only a relationship, but also a marriage! And he still loved me! I blinked and frowned, trying to remember. But there was nothing.

I heard myself talking, but my ears started ringing. I said something about living in Klamath Falls, Oregon, not in Washington. I told him he had to be wrong…and this was some kind of big joke…and that I never knew him. My head spun in circles as Jack explained - something about missing persons, police searches, sadness and loneliness. But his voice grew dimmer and dimmer as he went on; I had to rest my head back on the seat, and closed my eyes to think.

I had no clue what he was talking about; I was dumfounded. Was he someone I’d dated within those blurry Swiss cheese years, or was he from high school or college?

Why wouldn’t he have known my maiden name? I was so confused. Why did I have that second drink? My eyelids started feeling heavy, tired; so tired I could barely stay awake. I hadn’t eaten since lunchtime, and then only had a quick snack; the drinks were too strong. I felt so drained, so exhausted. I couldn’t open my eyes no matter how hard I tried, and the continuous movement and steady hum of the tires on the road was like a lullaby. My last thought before drifting off was:

I’m still on the train; this is only a dream.

CHAPTER 2

You left, and my heart is a ceaseless

sermon of loneliness.

~Terri Guillemets~

Jack

"Hello, J.J.H. speaking," I sighed into the phone. It was Pete, my private detective, calling with an update and, more often than not, the news was usually negative. I’d been searching for her for so long already, and although I didn’t plan to ever give up, it was a gut wrenching and heartbreaking ordeal every time one of my investigators checked in with me.

Mr. Hamilton, I believe I’m looking at Sara right now! Pete’s voice was loud and excited, and he went on before I could ask questions. I’m at the Portland train station and she just stepped out of the ladies room. She looks almost exactly like this photo that you gave me!

My God! Could it be true?

My heart lurching, I bellowed, Portland? Are you sure it’s Sara? I was in my office in downtown Portland that very moment. Without waiting for his response, I said, Hang on, Pete, buzzed my secretary and yelled into the intercom, Have Nelson meet me out front immediately!

Pete’s voice hissed in my ear, Sir? I think she’s spotted me. Should I follow her?

Do not let her out of your sight, do you hear me? I shouted into the phone, already slipping into my suit coat and heading for the elevator."

She’s leaving the station…I think she’s getting back on the northbound train.

Pete’s voice cut out for a moment and I had to tell him to hang on while riding the elevator down to the lobby. Once we had a better connection, I asked, Northbound? Is it the train to Vancouver? I hurried out of the corridor toward the main glass doors in the foyer.

Calculating in my mind, I recalled that it took about 15 minutes to drive from my office to Vancouver. I saw my limo was already parked in front of the building, and my driver, Nelson stood with the door open. He gave me a respectful nod as I jumped in, still holding the phone to my ear.

Pete, are you sure she got back on the train? I asked feeling breathless, noting that I should seriously give up smoking one of these days.

Yes, now she’s sitting in a window and staring right at me. Should I get on the train?

No! I don’t want to frighten her! Just watch to make sure she doesn’t get off, we’ll see if we can get to Vancouver before the train does. Thanks, Pete. Good work!

I slid my cell back into my pocket and explained the situation to my driver, then said, I don’t care if you get ten speeding tickets; I need you to drive as fast as you can.

Yes, sir, Nelson called from the driver’s seat, already pulling out into the rush hour traffic.

This was going to be tricky. I didn’t want to freak her out and make her run. But at the same time, I had to know what happened. Why she left me so abruptly without even a word. I had thought we were so happy; we were happy! And then suddenly - she was gone.

As Nelson sped through downtown, I thought back to all that had happened when Sara went missing. At first I imagined someone had kidnapped her, but never receiving a call for ransom, I feared she was dead. I’d checked and rechecked every hospital in a hundred mile radius. Nothing; no sign of her anywhere. It was as if she’d been abducted by aliens.

I lit a cigarette and Nelson immediately closed the privacy window between us. I cracked my window open and poured myself a stiff drink. My palms were so sweaty, I nearly dropped the glass. My heart raced as we sped through the streets.

My God, please let it be my Sara!

We would have reached the Vancouver station before the train left again, if it hadn’t been for all the damn traffic. Not that I had a definite plan in mind, but I figured I’d hop the train and, assuming Sara was headed to see her father, find her before it got to Longview. Although he seemed confused the last time I’d spoken to him, I knew she would eventually return to visit. One of his nurses had told me she came at least twice a year, but no one seemed to know where she’d been living all this time.

After seeing we had missed the train, I told my driver to head for Longview. Another 40-minute drive and with any luck at all, I’d finally get to see Sara. I settled back and finished my drink, then lit another cigarette.

The partition opened again. Sir, we need to stop for gas, Nelson announced, sounding apologetic. Apparently, speeding does actually use up more fuel. I knew I had enough to get you home, but…

I waved my hand. It’s fine. No need to explain, Nelson. You’ve never let me down before, and I don’t think you plan to this evening.

Apparently the alcohol was acting as a buffer. If I’d been completely sober, I might have been in a panic. But it didn’t upset me that we’d have to make a quick stop since I knew exactly where to find Sara now; before the night was over, I vowed to have her back in my arms.

Two drinks and three cigarettes later, we pulled into the train station - only to discover that all the passengers had already left the depot. After Nelson spoke to a very helpful man with two children, I was informed that he’d seen Sara leaving the station just a few minutes before we arrived. He had no idea where she’d gone, but suggested we try the bus stop. Most folks took the bus from the station to their various destinations in Longview, he’d said.

Nelson pulled onto the highway, and after catching up to the only bus in sight, he passed it and zoomed quickly ahead, pulled over and flagged it down. I was quite impressed with his ingenuity, but he had been with me long enough to know me – and exactly how crucial this was.

Leaning down and glancing into my open window, Nelson said, I’ll check the bus to see if she’s on it, sir.

I nodded and turned to watch him head to the bus. The hazard lights blinked, flashing up the stretch of empty highway. But as fast as they blinked on and off, my heart raced even faster.

My nerves were at their maximum capacity and I poured myself another drink.

It felt like forever, but finally I saw them approaching the vehicle. Nelson held the door open. She bent to peek in. I knew she couldn’t see me; it was too dark. But with the headlights from the bus illuminating her face, I had a clear view of her. And the moment I looked up, my heart nearly slammed right out of my chest. It was her…it was my Sara! The lump in my throat was as big as a baseball and I nearly started bawling like a baby. I gulped down another few sips, hoping to gain some fortitude.

Nelson urged her to get in. She hesitated for a moment, but finally slipped inside, across from me. I couldn’t speak. It was far too surreal to be so close to the love of my life after all these years. Trying to control my shaky hands, I lit another cigarette and asked her if she’d like one. She told me she’d quit. Hearing her voice was as mind-bending as seeing her.

I saw her reach for the door handle and I panicked, nearly begging her to stay.

Dammit, now I sound desperate!

I offered her a drink, thinking that perhaps it might help her to calm down. When she asked me my name, I turned on the inside light so she could see me. Surely seeing me would help. When our eyes met, she only studied me. I sensed no recognition on her part. My heart sank. How the hell is this possible? I took a disgruntled drag of my cigarette and told her to just call me Jack. It became obvious that she was growing impatient, and after stubbing out the cigarette, I gazed into her eyes, feeling half heart-broken and half mesmerized.

My God, she’s just as beautiful as the last time I saw her.

"I just want to know…no, I need to know - where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing for the past 19 years, Sara."

She shrank back, looking appalled, frightened, and perhaps sick to her stomach. Suddenly she drank most