Pandora's Hart--Part One

"Jo—"

Jennifer was cut off by the violent jarring of the Mercedes as a large black van pulled out in front of them. The car groaned in metallic pain as it began a head over feet tumble towards the shoulder of the road. The screams of the passengers within were drowned by the horrific wails of metal tearing from its frame.

Jennifer turned towards her husband, hoping to catch a glimpse. But consciousness fractured like the front windshield and shattered into a thousand jagged pieces, raining on the helpless occupants.

The phone rang only once before a wrinkled, weathered hand swooped it up. "Yes."

"The problem has been taken care of, Sir." The disembodied voice assured.

"Thank you."

1 Year Later

Jonathan tossed and turned in his bed. The night was hot and sticky, despite the air conditioning. The sheets grabbed at his legs and tangled wildly. Frustrated, Jonathan jumped out of bed cursing under his breath. Out of habit, he looked to the his wife’s side of the bed, and the emptiness there battered at his heart relentlessly. Closing his eyes against the onset of pain, Jonathan turned on his heel and made his way to the kitchen.

Before he even reached the door, he saw a familiar yellow-warm glow spilling into the hallway. The low murmur of Max and Freeway conversing was comforting and Jonathan afforded himself a small, strained smile. Noiselessly he walked into the kitchen.

"Hey, Mr. H!" Max’s feigned joviality jarred them both, and Max turned away. The teapot began whistling and Max busied himself with the preparations of their nightly tea.

It was a ritual, you see. One that had been performed every single day since that fateful night. When Jonathan was released from the hospital and hollowly informed Max the Mrs. H was gone, they had immediately headed to the kitchen for a discussion. They reverted back to the days when Jonathan was just a kid and he used to hang out in the kitchen of Max’s employers. They would solve the world’s problems. Only, that night, the problems couldn’t be solved.

"She’s gone, Max." His voice was sandpaper rough, tears causing the jaggedness of his soul and his speech.

Max was stunned silent by the admission. He stood unbelievingly for a few minutes before he managed to gather his wits. "Whaddya mean? I thought they told you she was all right."

"I mean she’s gone." There had been no emotion in his voice that time. "Gone."

"You mean she’s…" Max couldn’t even make himself say the word.

"Missing." Jonathan turned haunted eyes on Max. "She’s missing, Max."

Max tried not to let his relief show. He waited for Jonathan to continue. The story tumbled out. There was a black van, it had come out of no where. It nicked the Mercedes. The car spun out and flipped several times before coming to rest in a ditch. By some miracle, Jonathan had managed to stay conscious, but Jennifer wasn’t so lucky. He called her name over and over, but she never stirred. Someone must have called the paramedics, because they showed up nearly instantly. They were placed in separate ambulances, the EMT’s insisted on taking Jonathan on a stretcher. At the hospital, he saw them wheel her in. They assured him over and over that she was very much alive and had even woken up in the ambulance. Relief.

But when he had inquired about her after his injuries had been attended to, no one knew of the redheaded woman. No one had seen her since admittance. She had, essentially, disappeared. The hospital staff was flummoxed. Jonathan went into a rage and was removed from the hospital. The police assured him they would do everything they could.

And Jennifer was gone.

Alive, but gone.

Jonathan searched tirelessly for months. Exhaustion finally overtook him, however, and he succumbed to a slight case of pneumonia. Then the depression hit and, like old times, Max had to kick Jonathan in the rear to make him see the light.

"She’s out there, Mr. H. And she’s waiting for you. Maybe she can’t remember or maybe she can’t help herself, but she’s waiting for you. And you’re going to find her. But you can’t find her if you’re dead or you don’t care about yourself."

"Why should I care, Max? She was my life."

"She is your life, Mr. H. And you’re her’s, too. You’re all she has left and you can’t give up. If you’re too busy feeling sorry for yourself, to care about yourself, at least care about her."

That inflamed Jonathan. How dare Max question him like that? But the moment passed and as Jonathan cried in the arms of his old friend, he resolved to find his wife, no matter what.

But the nights haunted Jonathan. He was ripped from dream night after night when he would reach for her and find a cold void. Jonathan took solace in Max’s tea and their quiet talks.

And as Jonathan slowly sipped his Earl Grey he wondered, for the millionth time, where Jennifer was. And he prayed with every ounce of faith he had that she was safe.

Jennifer Smith, an ordinary name for a woman who wasn’t so ordinary, sat quietly in the arms of her lover, thinking about nothing in particular. She savored the feel of the strong arms, delighted in the warm breath stirring her hair gently. It was almost noon, and she and Scott hadn’t moved from their luxurious bed in their Canadian cabin. The bed was a minor extravagance that still made Jennifer cringe when she remembered the price tag, but it was well worth it. The down comforter surrounded them, frothy and white, making the bed more of a fantasy cloud rather than the oversized piece of furniture that it was. No matter that they didn’t have a dresser or a night table. They had the bed.

Sunlight filtered through the blinds and the slivers of warmth lulled Jennifer into a drowsy haze. She didn’t even realize she had fallen asleep until she woke up with a strangled sob. Scott hovered over her, concern all over his face.

"Another one??" He pushed her hair off her forehead and placed a kiss there.

She could only nod. The nightmare was similar to one she had very rarely, but regularly. An instant of supreme happiness, looking into the eyes of a handsome gentleman. But it was not to last, because even as she sat helplessly in the dream, spiderweb cracks begin crackling across her consciousness and the image shattered into jarring pain and helplessness. There was an overwhelming rushing noise followed by the high-pitched, frantic voice of Scott. And then it was over, as quickly as it had come.

"Come on, let me get you a pill." He slithered out from behind her and padded barefoot into the bathroom. Jennifer climbed out after him and headed to the kitchen. The tile was cold against her feet, so she sat down at the table and folded them up underneath her. One long nail tapped at the oak of the table absently and Jennifer rested her chin on her other hand.

The pill Scott spoke of was a small diamond shaped bit of relief. Trioxcylene. He prescribed them for her while she was still in the hospital. They helped calm her nerves when the fractured memories and terrifying nightmares came. They helped suppress the Before. Before is what they called the missing 35 years that occurred prior to her appearance in St. Christopher’s hospital, wearing only an evening gown and a few pieces of extravagant jewelry. Before haunted Jennifer in every way shape and form, and Scott seemed set on making the before disappear forever.

"Here, darling." The endearment made her jerk, a flash of recognition causing a shiver to trill through her. He held out the pill to her, only concern alighting his features. A diamond-shaped bit of relief.

Jennifer grabbed the pill and knocked it back quickly. Goodbye, Before.

Jennifer walked through the spacious cabin she and Scott shared and marveled at the view outside. The cabin was made entirely of wood and glass, more wood than glass. It blended in with their natural surroundings, including the décor. Everything was neutral. Overstuffed white couches, wooden end tables, stuffed game. The cabin itself was huge, plenty big enough for the both of them, and since her release from the hospital, it had become her haven.

The trees outside were very green, thanks to the recent rain. Canada was gorgeous in the springtime, and she was just getting ready for a hike in one of its beautiful forest. She laced up her tennis shoes and headed into the greenery. The air still held a bit of a sting from the rain and the branches dripped tears of rain onto the still-damp forest floor. It smelled clean and green and rejuvenated Jennifer.

During her hikes, she liked to let her mind drift and as always, it drifted to the accident. She remembered nothing before waking up in a hospital and staring into Scott’s eyes. At the time he had been Dr. Bonsaint, and his eyes had reflected nothing by doctorly concern. He checked on her regularly for a week before they spoke.

"You’re lucky to be alive." His fingers felt papery against her wrist as he counted off the steady glub-glubbing of her heart. "Very lucky."

"I don’t feel lucky." Jennifer had fallen into a depression the moment she realized she could remember nothing but her own name. Jennifer. Jennifer what? Jennifer sans surname. "What was my name before?"

"Before what?" The doctor asked. Had she said it out loud? Dr. Bonsaint looked at her quizzically.

"Before the accident." His feigned ignorance irritated her and there was no mistaking the venom in her voice.

"Jennifer, you know as much as I do. You showed up in my ward with only your own name on your lips." He let go of her wrist and motioned for her to open her mouth.

"How do you know it was my name, and not someone else’s name? My sister? My friend?. My_" her voice broke. "My daughter."

"I don’t. But it seemed as good as any to call you." He plopped the thermometer under her tongue. "Now just relax."

The days bled into weeks and it became popular opinion that Jennifer was physically healthy. The bumps and bruises had faded to yellow splotches and her cracked rib merely ached dully. Her memories had not returned, and the nightmares were being controlled by the trioxcylene. She was ready to be released, but with nowhere to go. When Dr. Bonsaint, now officially known to Jennifer as Scott, offered his home, none of the staff were surprised. Once Jennifer had become accustomed to her plight, her anger at the doctors began to wear off. She would seek out Dr. Bonsaint’s company and together they would chat and laugh. It seemed only natural that he would take care of her once she was released.

So he had spirited her away to this cabin, hidden in the forests outside Vancouver. No phones, no neighbors. The nearest market and telephone were two hours away. The solace gave Jennifer lots of time to think, and gave her a new clarity. After two months of living with him, Jennifer became convinced she loved Scott. Until two days ago, however, she had been unable to allow him into her bed. And even as she had enjoyed the physical nature of their lovemaking, she doubted they would be repeating it any time soon. She loved Scott. He had saved her, loved her, healed her. But he didn’t make her heart sing with joy. He didn’t make her want to forget Before. And even as the frequency of the Before episodes diminished, she could not wholly let them go. Who did she love before? She loved Before, that she knew.

As she wove her way between tall pine trees, Jennifer felt in her pocket where the still-soggy trioxcelyne pill sat. She no longer wanted to say goodbye to Before. To who she loved Before. Even if it meant sacrificing Scott. There was someone from Before waiting for her, and she knew that Before was still her future.

The only light in the room came from the fire, which cast dancing shadows along the walls. Jennifer took no notice, but stared at her husband before her. His eyes were bandaged in gauze and she realized she was reaching up to remove them. As each layer unraveled, her heart began pounding faster, until she was sure her husband could hear the erratic tattoo. <Please, please, please, please>

Jennifer jerked to consciousness to the sound of her own voice chanting over and over. "Pleasepleasepleaseplease." She sat on the floor of the forest, her fists curled tightly around handfuls of leaves and pine needles. The memory was so real, so poignant, that Jennifer’s heart still raced with the terror of it. She stood on unsteady legs and headed back to the cabin to await for Scott’s return. Maybe Before wasn’t what she wanted. Her heart began slowing.

"Heart." She said the word out loud and felt a flicker of recognition and then it was gone. "Heart."

She repeated the word over and over until it began to sound foreign to her ears. She rolled it around her tongue, whispered it, yelled in, chanted it. Why heart? She stepped through the glass French doors into the living area of the cabin. Grabbing a pen and a paper, she sat down at the glass coffee table and wrote the word down over and over. <Heart, heart, heart, heart. I love you. Heart. Heart. Heart.>

The pen flashed across the cream of the paper as Jennifer began writing down what she remembered from Before. The words that had made imprints on her mind before the trioxcelyne erased everything else.

Heart.

Darling.

Heart.

Max.

Heart.

Freeway. Freeway?

Jonathan.

Jennifer stopped at the last one. Jonathan. The name slipped from her lips unbidden, and she knew she had said it a thousand times before. Jonathan, I love you.

Jonathan. Heart. Jonathan. Where are you?

She closed her eyes and continued to write, the words crossing and clashing across the paper. Minutes later, she opened her eyes. The sheet was no longer legible, save for a small drawing in the upper right hand corner. Two hearts, entwined. Where had she seen that before? Two hearts. Two hearts.

Jonathan.