Chapter 3

            A few hours later . . .

            She was admitted through the Billings Clinic Hospital emergency room. She explained what had happened – or what she thought might have happened.

            The staff was efficient and fast. They had taken X-rays, done a CT Scan, and an MRI. Once that was done, the ER doctor admitted her as an inpatient.  All of her tests results weren’t back yet but what they could tell so far was she had a concussion, her left arm was broken, and she had a sprained ankle. Bruises and cuts were on her arms and legs. There was even a large red bruise on the side of her abdomen that she didn’t know she had. Apparently, she had a few cracked ribs as well. Pssh, all she really knew was she was sore all over her body. The Tylenol Redd had given her only took forty percent of the pain away for a few hours.

            Once they got her a room and settled in, Redd came to visit her for an hour and then said he had to go. “I’m always on the road, but if you need me to swing back this way or anywhere give me a call.” He gave her a business card for Getter Done Trucking with his name and number on the back.

            “Okay,” she said, despite not having a cell phone. She was sure she had one but was probably lost in the accident.

            He kissed her on the forehead and left.

She had her own private room on the third floor of the hospital. Laying there alone she realized that if she didn’t know who she was how was she going to pay for being in the hospital and all the tests they had run on her.

            I guess I’ll just deal with it as it comes.

            That’s when she looked over at the cosmetic case. After all this time, she assumed it was hers since she was the only one on the plane.  But for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what she put in it.

            Well, it is a cosmetic case, I probably have make-up in it.

            That’s when she realized she must have looked a fright despite the quick shower the nurse helped her take when she first got into the room. She had been covered in dirt, smoke, and soot.  And she had smelled like smoke. It was like she had smoked twelve cigars before arriving at the hospital.

            A little foundation and blush won’t hurt.

            She carefully got out of bed and walked to the side of the room where the little case was. She picked it up and got back into bed before someone came in and yelled at her for not being in bed. The nurse had instructed her to not get out of bed by herself – to use the call button if she had to get up.  But she wasn’t going to do that for just a small case.

            Once she got comfortable, she flipped up the latches to the buckles. Thankfully, it wasn’t locked. She lifted it open to see a mirror on the bottom half of the lid. Unfortunately, she got a good look at her face. She physically shuddered, sending tremors down her shoulders, as she looked at the bump on the side of her head and the pink bruise on her cheek.

            “God,” she whined with horror. “It will take more than make-up to fix this. I need a plastic surgeon. Yuck.”

            Adverting her gaze from the little square mirror, she began searching the case.  There were a few pieces of jewelry in the removal drawers. Some of the pieces looked extremely expensive. She was positively in awe.

            Am I some sort of jewelry thief? Nooo, she thought as she shook her head a little. I’m too classy for that – oh god! Am I some sort of kept woman? A mistress to a wealthy man.

            “Hmm,” she mused as she kept examining the pieces. There was one piece that wasn’t so ornate or expensive looking. It was a yellow gold ID bracelet with the name Ava engraved on the plate in cursive writing. She flipped the plate over to see more engraving. She brought the bracelet up closer so she could read the inscription.

            No matter how old you get, you’ll always be my little girl.  Happy Sweet Sixteen. Love, Daddy.

            “Daddy,” she repeated.  She had a father. Then she rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. Everyone had a father – in some way. She wondered what her parents were like. Her father had to be nice at least. He had bought her such a personal and touching birthday gift. Sweet Sixteen. Then she wondered how old she was. She began digging through the cosmetic case again, hoping to find some sort of ID that gave her a hint of who she was and where she was from. She found several compacts of make-up. Four different color lipsticks, foundation powder, perfume. No driver’s license, credit card, or even a library card. Then she found a little pocket purse. It was the size of the palm of her hand. She unzipped it to find a small folded bundle of cash.  She unfolded it to count it. She knew it probably wasn’t enough to pay the hospital bill but she hoped it was enough to get her a down payment on an apartment once she was discharged.

            Her neck rocked back at the some of the large bills – hundred dollar bills. She had a collection of hundreds and twenties. There were a few ten dollar bills but nothing under that.

            Well, being a pilot I might need cash at the ready.  Hmm.

            She put her things away and tucked the case close to her on the bed.  What she had was valuable and all she had in the world at the moment. The last thing she needed was for the case to be stolen. She leaned her head back against the pillow and closed her eyes.

            “Ava,” she said out loud. Then she said the name again. It felt right. And as far as names go it could be worse. Her name could be Agnes or Hazel or something else old sounding.

            Ava. My name is Ava.

            Ava what? She didn’t know but for now Ava was good enough. She wondered what her mother and father were like. We’re they pilots, too? Or perhaps doctors. Or dentist. She wondered if her mother was beautiful and brown haired like her. And her father must be a handsome sort. Where else would she have gotten her looks from. Granted, she looked like death worn over at the moment but surely the scrapes and bruises would fade over time.

            She didn’t realize she had dozed off until someone called out to her.

            “Miss . . . miss.”

            She opened her eyes to two men in white lab coats with hospital name tags hanging from them. They were too far away for her to read them.

            “Miss, sorry to disturb your sleep but we have reviewed your case and hoped to go over things with you,” one of the men said.

            She blinked a few times to focus as she raised her head from the pillow. She cleared he throat.  “Yes?”

            “I’m Dr. Miles. I’m a neurologist here at the hospital.”

            “And I’m Dr. Neil. I’m a psychiatrist here at the hospital.”

            “Nice to meet you.”

            “We reviewed your MRI and CT scan of your head more closely. It appears you are suffering from a bad case of amnesia caused by trauma,” Dr. Miles said.

            “So, having a concussion is the least of my problems in other words,” she said.

            “It appears so for the time being,” Dr. Neil said

            “How long will I have amnesia?” she asked with concern.

            “That’s the tricky part,” Dr. Neil said. “Amnesia is . . . unpredictable in most cases. In some cases, patients have gotten their memory back in days. In others, it took weeks or months.”

            “And the worst case scenario?” she asked.

“In some . . . mind you less than seven percent of cases, the patients didn’t get back their original memories back at all,” Dr. Neil said.

“Heavens,” she heaved out with worry. “Do you think I’m one of those?”

“More than likely not. Like Dr. Neil said, it happens seven percent of the time. What we think will help you is therapy,” Dr. Miles said.

“What kind of therapy?”

“Memory testing sessions and hypnosis,” Dr. Miles answered. “There is no physical reason why you can’t get your memories back according to your test results. You definitely have a concussion, but there is no swelling on your brain nor any other abrasions. So, Dr. Neil believes it’s phycological.”

“Emotional trauma and distress,” Dr.  Neil chimed in. “That’s what we believe has caused your amnesia.”

“Well, that does make sense.  I don’t even remember what happened before the crash,” she said thoughtfully.

“Exactly,” Dr. Neil said. “Once you start therapy, either your memories will come back a little at a time or all of a sudden, remembering exactly who you are – or even both. It varies.”

“All right, great,” she said with some hope in her tone. “When do we get started?”

“Well, that’s just it. We don’t have the specialists here or even in Billings as a whole to provide the type of services you need. You need to go to Helena,” Dr. Neil revealed.

“Helena? Where in the world is that?”

“It’s the state capital. They have a whole department at the hospital there dedicated to memory loss and recovery,” Dr. Neil explained.

“For you to get proper treatment we have to refer you there. It really is what’s best for you,” Dr. Miles said.

“All right. How do you I get there?”

“We’ll, assign you a case manager to help you plan your trip and for you to get other . . . help,” Dr. Miles said delicately. “In the meantime, we would like for you to stay here as an inpatient for a day or two to make sure you don’t have any after affects from the accident - like delayed brain swelling. Then we’ll discharge you and send you to Helena.”

“All right.”

“Do you have any other questions, miss?” Dr. Miles asked.

“Ava,” she corrected. “Just call me Ava.”

That much she knew. Her first name.