Jesabel

              Who am I? The last thing I remember is also the first thing I remember. I woke up here, on a beach, surrounded by these strange people in white coats. They took me to a large white room and made me lay down. I say they are strange because I have never seen them before, like everything else here. But I’m not worried about them – not right now, at least. Right now, I want to know who I am. That question has been burning in my mind since they brought me to this place. Do you know? Does anyone? Who am I?

              The black fog surrounding my mind lifted slowly, leaving me in a sleepy daze. I was vaguely aware that I’d been dreaming, but I couldn’t remember what it had been about. My sleepy daze gone, I finally noticed the bit of color in the corner of my sterile room. I recognized it as a figure and, puzzled, I swung my legs out of the bed, planting my bare feet on the cool white tile of the floor. Unsteady on my feet, I tried to make my way to them, curiosity getting the better of what common sense I had, but the figure – a woman – reached me before I had even gone one step.

              “There, there,” she said, the noise sounding dim to my ears. “You shouldn’t be moving just yet, Jesabel.”

              Jesabel. The word had a strange flavor to it as I rolled it around in my mind. I realized with a mild shock that it was my name – or at the least a name given to me. My lips moved to form a response, but when I tried to speak, all that came from my throat was a gargled croak. The woman – she had not identified herself – watched me with what I felt was a pitying stare. I scuffed my toes against the floor, and she patted my arm comfortingly.

              “Back into bed, Jesabel. You haven’t recovered from your injuries well enough to move around so much. Relax, and let me take care of you.”

              I was all too happy to comply, settling myself back down on the bed. I smoothed my hands on my bare thighs, not knowing enough to be shocked by my lack of covering. I did noticed with some interest that, while my caretaker was a sort of bronzed tan, my own coloring was almost as pale as the room I lived in. That was not shocking either, but somewhere, deep in my mind, I felt as if I should be more responsive to what I was learning. Oddly, though, I felt… nothing.

              “Now,” the woman was saying. “My name is Keira, and I will be taking care of you. You’re suffering from amnesia, Jesabel. No one is really sure what happened to you, I’m afraid. We found you on the beach, and, I must say, you were pretty torn up. Scrapes and bruises everywhere. There was some damage to your vocal cords, but it should go away in a month or so, but no one is sure how long your amnesia will last.”

              I’m afraid I couldn’t quite comprehend what Keira was trying to tell me, but I did try. I took comfort in the fact that they – whoever ‘they’ were – were trying to help me, but I was still afraid. What had happened to me? I looked at her with pleading eyes, helpless against this knowledge.

              She smiled at me, and I felt my lips trying to return the expression, but it felt strained, and the smile died before it had even shown itself. I jumped as a low humming throbbed in my mind, raising gooseflesh on my bare arms. I wrapped my limbs around my torso, drawing my knees up to my chest, trying to maintain my body heat.

              “Oh, you poor girl,” murmured Keira. “Ill get you some clothes and blankets. That they should have left you indecent for so long…” she clicked, shaking her head. I had no idea what she was talking about, but I felt my cheeks warm in response to her words. I vaguely recognized this reaction as an emotion, and felt another flush of warmth, though at the time I did not recognize these reactions as embarrassment and pleasure.

              I wondered what she had been about to say about ‘them’, but a door I’d not noticed before opened, allowing two more figures in. I was relieved to find that they were also female, now that Keira had indicated her disapproval of my nakedness, though I was confused at the lumps of white these women carried in their arms.

              “Well, I’ll be,” muttered Keira. “I didn’t know they’d put an intercom here. It isn’t like Jesabel can talk yet, after all, and we’ve got life-sign monitors to make sure she doesn’t have a relapse.” It sounded to me like she was speaking to the two women, but I had the impression that she was actually talking to herself. I felt myself smiling at her oddness.

              “Goodness me, Keira!” exclaimed the shorter of the two new women, her dark hair a stark contrast with my white room. “She smiled at you. That’s a good sign, is it not?”

              Keira glanced at me, a strange, thoughtful look in her eyes, her lips pursed tightly. “It is. Very good, in fact. Jesabel is showing an extremely fast rate of recovery. She got out of her bed when she first woke up, but her motor skills have not completely returned to her. Anyways… let’s get her dressed before the men come in. Why they left her in such a state is beyond me.”

              I watched with wide eyes, listening and trying to learn, but there was a reason I was in this sterile room. I simply did not have the capabilities required of me to function as a normal person. The women slipped a white shift over my head, helping me to stand so that the cloth would go all the way down. The material reached my knees, and the embarrassment I’d been feeling eased as they helped me sit back down.

              A wave of dizziness washed over me, and my right arm twitched as I tried to bring my hand to my forehead. Keira noticed this small movement where the other two did not, and I was only mildly surprised to notice that she said nothing to them. I wondered at this, and tried to give her a puzzled look. I believe I succeeded, because she gave me a tiny shake of her head. I hoped that meant she would tell me later, but I couldn’t be sure. Besides, what could I do? I was injured, with no memory, and no control over my own muscles. In short, I was helpless.

              The day passed by slowly, men and women of various colors and builds came to poke and prod at me, while the only constants I had being the stark white room and Keira, who never allowed me to be alone with these people. If she had to go somewhere – and she often did – then they all had to leave.

              True, she would be polite about it, with “Excuse me, gentlefolk, but Jesabel needs to rest, and I think now would be a splendid time for all of us to eat,” and other such niceties. It worked, for the most part, and I was left in relative peace during these moments. Keira would return with food for me once the room and been cleared, and she helped me eat, marveling all the while at how quickly I seemed to be recovering.

              By the end of that first day, I could lift my hand to my lips, though my fingers still only barely twitched. I could also take roughly five steps on my own before I was forced to sit back down. Keira said this was very good progress and showered praise on me. It made me glad, to know that I was healing well, but I was still not allowed some things. For instance, one of the women had been looking at something in glass. When I’d motioned toward it, Keira shook her head and told me I did not need to see a mirror yet. I wondered what a mirror was and when I would be allowed one.

              Later on, that night – at least, Keira said it was nighttime – she helped me to put on a clean gown, and even the undergarments the first two women had forgotten. I put myself in the bed, overwhelmed by my exhaustion. I had not realized how tiring it had been, to just sit and be examined, but now I knew, and I was not looking forward to the next day. I wondered when this endless barrage of people and their poking would end, and found myself hoping it would be soon. These people, with the exception of Keira, scared me.

              My caretaker stayed for a while, pulling out a bit of string, which she began to play with. I watched her, curious, and she must have noticed, for she smiled at me. “Cat’s cradle,” she said, showing me the webwork she’d created with the string. She was good at reading people, I decided, and smiled slightly, wistfully. I wished I could move enough to make something as intricate as her ‘cat’s cradle’. “When you are better,” I heard her say, “I will help you learn. I think you might like it.”

              I nodded excitedly, pure, innocent joy blossoming in my heart. I decided to bend my will – all of it – toward getting better, but for now, I allowed myself to relax, eventually drifting off to sleep, images of Keira’s webs and her soft humming staying with me through the night.

              The lights flickered on, and my eyes flew open in response. It must be morning, I thought drowsily, and frowned. I had dreamt again, of strange places and people and things. The dream had seemed so real, like a memory, but I had no memory… or so I’d been told. Suddenly I was scared. What if my memory wasn’t gone, merely buried? Keira had told me I might get it back, but the other people – doctors, I’d been told – had said that amnesia was, more often than not, permanent. Somehow I didn’t believe them. So now I wondered… what was the point in lying to me? There must be some reasoning for it.

              The door opened, and Keira walked in, my breakfast tray in her hands. She smiled at me, but I looked beyond it and saw the strain in the way her lips were set and the lines around her eyes. “Good morning,” she called to me, her voice as cheerful as always, but there was a quaver so small as to be unnoticeable by the unwary; I, however, had learned.

              My lips formed a response – good morning, Keira – but still I had no voice. I sighed and clasped my hands in my lap, depressed that I could not speak. I gave her a sad smile as she set the tray on my legs, then took a seat beside me.

              “Oh, Jesabel,” she breathed, picking up the napkin to wipe at my eyes, which had suddenly become wet with tears. “I wish you could tell me what’s wrong. I wish I knew, could help.” Responding tears glinted in her own eyes, and my heart ached, though I did not know why. After all, I’d only known Keira for a day – why should I be attached to her? But I was, and there was no way to change it.

              So much pain, I thought, anguished, my mind reeling. So much pain and anger and despair and I don’t know why!

              Keira rocked back slightly, reeling from some invisible blow, though I saw no reason, could conceive of no explanation why she should look so injured. “Jesabel,” she whispered, awe and horror coloring her voice. “Jesabel, is that what you feel? You feel so sad, and alone… and angry. Why are you angry, Jesabel?”

              Because I cannot speak! I cannot move, I cannot remember! I thought, despairing further. But how could I tell Keira that? I couldn’t, because I had no voice. Tears streamed down my face, my sadness so great that it seemed I would never be able to stop the flow of the salty liquid.

              Keira was sobbing beside me, curled up, her body shaking with the force of her silent cries. “Don’t you see, Jesabel?” she gasped between her cries, when she had breath to speak. “You do have a voice! It may not be like mine, but you do!”

              A shiver of apprehension passed through me, my skin going cold at her words. Carefully, a sliver of thought formed in my mind. I was confused, but not so much that I couldn’t understand… was my mind speaking to her?

              “Yes,” she whispered, no longer sobbing. The answer to my question. And suddenly, I saw. I saw it in her mind, saw the joy for me, and the awe at my – my power? I faltered, but took a calming breath and delved further. I saw truth, saw she was a kind woman, a woman who had cared for me even before I had woken up, had sat with me and calmed me down during troublesome dreams as my body recovered. I felt her amazement at how quickly I recovered, and when I watched her memory, I, too, was amazed.

              For the first time since I had awoken, I saw myself. I was lying on the bed, surrounded by and covered in white. I had already known I was pale, but I finally saw my face. I noted with detachment that I had a thin, long face, high cheekbones, and a slightly rounded chin, all framed by hair so dark I thought it would put Keira’s night to shame. I inhaled sharply as Keira, in her memory, pulled the sheets back so that she could gently turn me over. I cringed on seeing how badly damaged my back had been, criss-crossed with angry red welts, some of which oozed a yellowish pus that made me so queasy, as it had made Keira queasy. I withdrew, shaken, and stared into my lap, watching my hands clenching and wringing about themselves.

              What is this called, this thing I can do? I thought sullenly, the question doubting it was even possible, even as I felt Keira stir beside me, preparing her response.

              “It is called telepathy, Jesabel, and it shouldn’t be possible. Although… I have an idea as to why and how. The stories I’ve heard of telepaths all suggest that they were born with the ability, but couldn’t access it unless mute or had powerful injuries done to their speech. That could explain it. Your speech was taken away, so you found a way to talk.” Keira rocked slightly, seeming to consider what she’d just said.

              Well, it certainly made sense to me. I remembered, vaguely, that I had once been able to speak, and my desire to do so again when I clearly could not had triggered this… telepathy, Keira had called it. I mused on this for a while, until my hunger got the best of me, proven by the growling of my belly. Keira laughed at me – and, I think, at herself – and handed me a spoon before lifting the cover of a bowl. A rich, sweet smell wafted toward me, and I raised an eyebrow at the brown glop that rested in the bowl. What is it? I asked her, wondering why something so foul-looking could smell so good.

              “It’s called oatmeal,” she told me, laughing softly. “It has two types of sugar and a bit of honey in it – that’s why it smells so sweet.”

              She watched me as I picked up the spoon, my fingers still not curling around the handle properly, but I held it nevertheless. I very carefully lowered it to the bowl and scooped up a bit of the oatmeal, then slowly brought it up, hoping I didn’t spill before it reached my lips. I got lucky, this time, and was rewarded by the warm, thick oatmeal sticking to my tongue and the roof of my mouth. I squished it around, picking out the flavors, and smiled with pleasure at its sweetness.

              Keira obviously noticed my pleasure, for she resettled the tray in my lap and made sure the bowl was in easy reach. That done, she took her seat beside me and pulled out her string. She began to create a new web, and I watched with interest, noting how her fingers wrapped the string and pulled. I wondered if this new web had a name, like the ones the previous night did.

              My telepathy was either very strong, or my control weak – and I suspected the latter, though there was doubt in my mind. A bond, perhaps? Whatever it was, I’d not directed my question toward her – it had been simple musing – but she’d heard it anyway. “No, Jesabel, this weave does not have a name, though if it were to be documented, both the process and the result, and could be duplicated, it could be given a name. For now, though, it is merely a weave.”

              It is a very pretty web, I told her. She might call it a weave, but web seemed to fit better, although I didn’t quite know what the word really meant. I wondered if I would ever regain the knowledge I’d lost. I hoped so, but I thought it rather likely that I wouldn’t, or if I did, it wouldn’t be soon enough.

              Oh, how wrong I was. The oatmeal had made me drowsy, as had watching Keira play with her string, and soon I was lulled into slumber, which I knew had been induced by the hypnotic effect of my caretaker’s movements. My mind fell into blackness, and I floated there, watching the nothingness with some detachment. Slowly, cautiously, a soft glow broke through the dark, like the glow of starlight or moonlight, though I did not immediately know what those were or why the glow brought them to mind.

              What I did know was that the gentle light was comforting, and my consciousness moved toward it, though I remained wary. The glow suddenly showed the outline of a door, and now I slowed, stopping in front of it, admiring how the golden light seeped through the cracks in the frame. Curiosity overwhelmed my senses, and, not knowing why, I raised my hand to the blackness and rapped my knuckles against the smooth door. Odd how I could move here, in my dreams, when I could not yet do so in reality.

              The door opened soundlessly, and I blinked several times as my dream eyes adjusted to the sight before me. The light came from not one, but two moons, hanging high in the sky. Millions of stars glittered around them, only partly dimmed from the glow of the soft white discs. All around me grew tall stalks of grass, waving playfully in a breeze I could not feel. Come to us, they seemed to say. Walk among us and be free. Across this meadow, I saw towering trees, their canopies lost in a misty haze that threw the glow of the stars and moons over this place. I heard a soft burbling, and spotted a stream not far from me, the sky above reflected in its playful water. I succumbed to the lure of the place and left the door, into the loving caresses of the grass.

              When I arrived at the stream, I noticed a low, flat rock, and this I sat on, content to be surrounded by this beauty. I sat there for some time, smiling happily, before I noticed there was another presence. I turned, startled, and met the calm amber stare of the most extraordinary woman I’d seen since my ‘arrival’.

              Her skin was dark, a kind of brownish-black in the starlight, and her hair was the color of the moons that hung above us. Most startling were those amber-colored eyes. They seemed to bore into me, a hard glint in their depths. I shivered and turned my own gaze away, suddenly unsure of myself. I gathered my courage and looked back up at her. “Who are you?” my dream self asked of her.

              She smiled, and it transformed her face. No longer hard and cold, she was beautiful and warm. “I am you,” she replied. “And you are me. We are the same, but different.” She gestured with one long finger toward a pool of water I’d not noticed before, and cautiously I approached. The water so still and pure that it acted as a mirror, and I saw both. She was right. Our faces had the same high cheekbones, the same long structure. Our eyes slanted just slightly, almond-shaped. Our hair was long and came well past our shoulders, a hint of waves in their fullness. That was where the similarities began to end.

              I realized with a start that, while we were mirror images in basic features, we were also inverses of each other; me, pale-skinned, dark-haired, with eyes the color of sapphires; she, pale-haired, dark-skinned, and her extraordinary amber-hued eyes. She smiled at our reflections, and, without knowing why, I smiled back. They were the same smiles, and created the same tiny dimple in our left cheeks. I began to think of us as being the same person, as she’d said, but now I was confused.

              “If we are the same person, what is our name? Where did we come from? Why are we here?” I asked these questions in a rush, confused and all-too aware that something was wrong.

              “Our name I cannot tell you. We are far away from home – we are in another time and on another planet, distant from our own. We were dreamed here through magic, which this world does not know. Perhaps we are here to bring magic back to this world, which has forgotten its past and is destroying its future.” My twin laughed harshly, shaking her head, and then gave me a sad smile, as if she knew what I was thinking. Then again, maybe she did. “I wish I could help you to understand,” she told me, her voice quiet. “The best I can do is give you knowledge of this world, and to heal you properly.”

              As one, we rose, and she turned to me completely, giving me such a sad look I felt I would weep. Just when the first tear was slipping down my cheek, she took me in her arms, embracing me, and as our breath mingled, I felt a new strength flood into me. I closed my eyes, contented for the moment, and I stayed in the warm comfort for as long as I dared. When I next opened my eyes, it was to stare into Keira’s concerned face.

              “What happened?” she demanded of me, her eyes wide with her fear.

              Suddenly too tired to think, much less explain, I shrugged. I don’t know, I said wearily into her mind. I fell asleep, and I dreamed, and then I woke up. I looked around the strange room with new understanding, and I realized that my dream companion had, perhaps, done as she said, for now the names of these odd-looking contraptions came to me, unbidden, as if I had always known what they were. Experimentally, I wiggled my fingers and toes, pleased to discover that I had recovered their mobility. I wondered what else had been healed, but felt it best not to let anyone, even Keira, know of my ‘miraculous’ recovery.

              A thought occurred to me so suddenly that I nearly flinched at its abruptness. I had to get out of this room, this hospital – the word burned in my mind, and I felt a distaste so strong as to be hatred fill my mind. This was an unnatural place, and I could tell I did not belong here. Keira must have seen the disgust on my face, for she recoiled from me in surprise. “Jesabel,” she began slowly. “What’s wrong? Is it something I did?”

              No, no, I rushed to calm her down. I just want to get outside. Can we do that? I feel as if I am suffocating here, and I need to breathe the air outside. What is here is so stale and the room so bland, I feel I’m going to simply die from the monotony. I offered her a small smile, and she visibly relaxed.

              “I think I can manage that,” she replied thoughtfully. She helped me into a wheelchair, making sure I was well-covered by a thick blanket, explaining that it was cool out despite the sun’s position high in the sky. I think we had both been holding our breath as she rolled me to the door, for we gave simultaneous sighs of relief when the door opened and allowed us through. No one was in the corridor, for which I was very grateful.

              Keira quickened her pace just slightly, although she maintained an outward appearance of calm. I tilted my head back to look up at her, and she glanced down for a brief moment, giving me a tiny, encouraging smile. I smiled back and dropped my head, staring down at the white tiled floor as it passed beneath us. The harsh lights of the hospital glared down at me, and I thought we’d never get out. Then I noticed that a softer glow was creeping in on the fluorescent lighting, and I looked up, anxious to see what had caused the difference. I spotted several windows – the main source of light – but perhaps fifteen yards down the hall stood clear glass doors.

              It felt as if I had only blinked when we were suddenly outside, and tears stung my eyes, reacting to the sunlight and the chill of the air. The cold bit through the blanket and my inadequate hospital gown, and I shivered, wanting to rub my arms to warm them but not willing to risk showing my new motor skills to Keira while we were still in sight of the hospital. She patted my shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. Is there a garden where we can be in peace? I asked her, using my newfound ‘memories’ to show her what kind of garden I was hoping for.

              It seemed she did, for she paused only a second when the chair got caught in the pathway. She had to free the wheel, but we were soon off again. It didn’t take very long to reach the garden. She wheeled me to what I felt was a secluded enough area for the purpose I had in mind. Huge stalks of bamboo gave a deep green backdrop for the enormous yellow heads of sunflowers. There was only one way in, and only two low stone benches in the room created by the flora. To me, it was perfect.

              Keira helped me out of the chair, my legs wobbling like limp noodles, and gently guided me down onto a bench. She took the seat beside me, rearranged the blanket over my lap, and turned to look at me, her eyes – a creamy golden brown – trying to puzzle me out. I smiled wryly.

              I know we have only known each other for a little more than a day, I began slowly, picking my words carefully. I waited a moment, and she nodded curtly, her features expressionless, so I took that as a sign to continue. I don’t really know why, but I feel I can trust you, and I have something important to ask.

              Still she kept her gaze neutral. “What is it you need, Jesabel?” she asked slowly. “Obviously you think I can help, although what a simple nurse can do for you is beyond me.”

              You are anything but simple, I assured her. And you are in the perfect position to help me. Keira, I need to get out of the hospital. Far, far away from it, if possible. There is something wrong here, although I don’t know what it is.

              She pursed her lips slightly, and it took her a long time to answer me. “I might be able to get you away, but I will need a few days to plan. Is that acceptable?”

              I was amazed that she trusted me so much. She asked no questions, wanted no reasons for why I had asked for such a thing. She merely accepted it, and I had to be grateful for that. I think I can manage a few days more, but it will be difficult, I told her and, to show her what I meant, I reached up with one hand and pushed a lock of my dark hair behind my ear. She gave a little gasp and looked around furtively, as if there were spies and fiends behind every group of bamboo, every sunflower head.

              She leaned forward, closing the distance between us. “But how? You shouldn’t be recovering so quickly!” she whispered, her breath tickling my ear. It was an odd sensation. I shrugged at her question, one hand gesturing helplessly.

              I don’t understand it, either. I fell asleep. I dreamed. When I woke up, I was better than before. I’ve no idea how fast it will go, but I have the feel that I’ll be recovered enough to move on my own, without your help, within the next few days.

              “It’s almost too much to believe,” she said, her face filled with awe. “You’re right in that you must get out, though. If those damned doctors ever found out about this, you can bet they wouldn’t want to let you go. Not until after they’d run even more tests on you, anyway.” She grimaced as some new thought came to her. “They especially can’t know about your gift. They would try and make you their pet guinea pig, I’m sure, just to try and unlock the secret.” At that, she snorted and spat on the ground, giving a clear indication of her feelings on that matter. “No, my dear Jesabel, I’ll not let you fall into their greedy hands. I swear on my life that I will help you get away from here.”

              Thank you. I let her feel a touch of my joy and relief at knowing she would help me, then cut her off from my mind, afraid I would overwhelm her with the power of my feelings. I couldn’t be certain, but I had an idea that a mental wave like that would be painful, especially on the unsuspecting. I reached out and patted her hand, and then leaned back slightly on the bench she’d placed me on, the bamboo supporting me as I allowed my muscles to go lax, my hand falling limply into my lap.

              A good thing, too, for only seconds later a white-robed doctor came around the curve and entered our ‘secluded’ garden area. “Ah, Keira! There you are! Giving our Jesabel a bit of fresh air and greenery, I see. Do you suppose she’s enjoying it?” He peered at me with calculating eyes, and I had to suppress the shiver that threatened to run down my spine.

              “I wouldn’t know, doctor. I cannot read the patient’s mind, and she is still in a mostly vegetative state, it seems. She may as well be a child, first learning to walk, much less speak.” Ah, Keira. How clever she was! She gave my shoulder a motherly pat, pity coloring her voice and compassion heavy in her touch, but even then I could feel the tension radiating from her body. Clearly she did not like this man any more than I did, and my dislike was based on intuition alone.

              The man gave me a little frown. “I would have thought she would be showing some signs of recovery by now,” he said, his voice rumbling.

              “Oh, but she did! She smiled just yesterday, doctor. However, you must take into account that she’s only regained consciousness in the past forty-eight hours. Surely that has an effect on her recovery? Especially such things as her speech and motor functions?” Keira was brilliant – at least, I thought so. She was effectively steering this man toward the belief that I was as all patients seem to be under the circumstances I was in.

              He gave another odd little rumbling sound, as if he were considering. “Yes, well, I suppose that’s true. Anyway, I’ve much to do back inside. Don’t keep her out here too long, Keira. With the sun dropping, it’s likely to get cold quickly, and we can’t have her relapsing for any reason.” His voice was stern, and he gave Keira an equally stern glare before he turned and left.

              “Yes, of course, doctor,” she replied to his retreating back before sinking once again to the bench at my side. “Oh, that horrible man,” she muttered under her breath. “That was close. I think we’d best get you back inside soon.”