Read Online Amnesia by G. H. Ephron - Free Book Online

Sergeant MacRae is around.”

    Who, I wondered, was Sergeant MacRae?
    Daily police interviews began shortly after she regained consciousness. Her first recorded words to the detective were, “I just want to know what happened.”
    â€œDo you mean about Tony?”
    â€œDid something happen to Tony?”
    Her interrogator told her Tony had been killed. The transcript said simply that she wept upon hearing this.
    When the questioning resumed, the detective said to her, “Tell me about Stuart.”
    She explained that Stuart was her husband. She didn’t appear to realize that they were divorced. She wondered, “Why hasn’t Stuart been to see me?” The detective didn’t tell her that Stuart had been a nearly constant visitor during her first weeks in the hospital. But by the time Sylvia Jackson woke up, the police were keeping all potential suspects away, including Stuart.
    The following day, the recorded questions began: “Do you own a gun?”
    She admitted that she did. She couldn’t remember what kind, but it was a little gun. Stuart had gotten it for her and taught her how to shoot.
    â€œWhere do you keep it?”
    â€œIn my bedroom. By the bed. In a drawer.”
    â€œOn what side?”
    â€œOn his side.”
    â€œHis side?”
    â€œOn my husband’s side.”
    â€œDo you keep it loaded?”
    â€œYes.”
    Then the officer shifted his focus. “Do you want to know what happened to you?”
    â€œWho shot me?” she asked.
    â€œWe’re not sure.”
    Over the weeks that followed, Sylvia Jackson complained of recurring nightmares. And she started to reconstruct her past,
the hole in her memory shrinking like any other wound. She realized that she and Stuart were divorced. She remembered her birthday party, a month earlier. Each day she remembered more, got closer and closer, until she started to recall the night of the murder.
    â€œTony and I went out to dinner. We ate in Chinatown. When we got home, I parked in the driveway and came in through the back door.”
    â€œWas the door locked?”
    â€œI opened it with my key.”
    â€œDid you notice anything unusual about the house?”
    â€œThere weren’t any lights on. It was dark.”
    â€œWas that unusual?”
    â€œNo, not especially.”
    â€œWhere did you keep your keys?”
    â€œIn my purse.”
    â€œWere there any other keys? Did you have any hidden around the house?”
    â€œThere was one under a rock by the back door.”
    â€œDid Stuart have a key to your house?”
    â€œNo. He used the key under the rock when he had to get in.”
    I could only imagine the pause that occurred next as Sylvia Jackson wondered about the direction these questions were leading. She asked, “Are you insinuating that Stuart did this?” And although the detective denied it — he was just asking about her keys — from then on, the questions focused on Stuart.
    In the middle of an interrogation two weeks later, Sylvia Jackson broke down in tears. The notes describe her staring out the window and weeping.
    â€œIs something wrong?” the detective asked.
    â€œI keep having these nightmares,” she said. “I’m afraid of them.”
    â€œCan you tell me about them?”
    â€œI keep see ing the same thing, over and over.”
    â€œWhat do you see ?”

    â€œA man. He’s driving my car. He has a gun.”
    â€œAre you afraid of the man?”
    There was no record of an answer.
    â€œAre you in the car?”
    â€œIn the back. He made me get into the backseat of the car. And Tony — Oh God — Tony …”
    â€œWhere’s Tony?” the detective asked.
    â€œHe’s in the trunk. The man made him get into the trunk.”
    â€œWhat happens in the nightmare?”
    â€œIt’s very cold. I climb up into a tower and I look out from the stairs. I see myself down below, on