What is Love? (21 page)

“Hello?”

Her heart melted at
the sound of his voice. “Rory, it’s Sam.”

“Sam, it doesn’t
sound like you. Where are you?”

Sam coughed and
tried to change her voice. “I’m in the hospital—”

“What? The hospital?
But I just saw you. What happened? Are you okay?”

“No—yes. I’m
here—it’s hard to explain. Something has happened.” She started to cry.

“Sam, you sound
weird.”

“My voice is
 …
it’s strained. I can’t explain on
the phone—just come visit me. Please. I need you
 …
I
 …
I—it’s
horrible. I’m in room 602B at the General.”

“What happened? Are
you okay?”

“No. Well
 …
I look different.”

“Why?” Rory asked.

“I dunno,” she said
in an almost whisper, as her voice cracked. “I was hoping you could help me
figure it out. Please come, I need you.”

“I’ll be there,
right after work, say six?”

Sam hung up the
phone and dried her eyes with the back of her hand.
He’ll know it’s me.
He’ll
help me.
She picked up the phone and tried her roommate at work. No answer.
It would be at least three hours before Rory would come by. Three long hours.

Sam lay back and
tried to remember what might have happened that got her here and into this
mess. The last thing she remembered, she was at the store with Sienna and
Rebecca trying on wedding dresses, then they went out for drinks to celebrate
her upcoming wedding. She had come home, alone. She was sure of that because she
remembered hitting her head on the mirror of the medicine cabinet and Sienna
still wasn’t home yet.

Could the bump
have caused this?
She touched the back of her head.
No.
But she did
drink too much. Had she actually taken a pill of something—or whatever that
Patty woman said she took? Why couldn’t she remember? She could ask Rebecca or
Sienna, but they had been drunk as well
 …

The door opened and
she turned and recognized Jonathan. “Johnny!” she cried out.

“Hello dear
 …
glad to hear that you are well and
can see again.”

“Yes, it’s great,
only
 …”

“Only what?”
Jonathan removed his coat, placed it on the chair back, then walked up to her
and kissed her cheek. She inhaled his familiar sandalwood aftershave and
smiled.

“No, here.” Sam
pointed to her lips. “I want a real kiss—I need one.” He puckered his lips and
gave her a quick old man peck, then pulled away fast, before she could get hold
of him. As he stood straight, she looked up at him, wondering why he was acting
strange.

“Only what?” he
asked as he pushed the chair further away from the bed and remained standing.
“You were saying it’s wonderful, only
 …”

“Only, I’m not me
 …
I’m not Ellen. I’m Sam—you see?”

“Yes, dear.” He
patted her hand, like a father humoring a small child. “They told me you might
feel this way. Look Ellen, you aren’t well. You have been through a lot. No one
wants to upset you, but you must stop this wanting to be Samantha Miller.”

Sam watched him sit
and cross his legs, unable to believe she was hearing this, from him, from the
man who loves her more than life itself.

“But, damn it,
Johnny, I’m not her. This
 …”
She
pointed to her body. “Is not my body. You should know. You have to help me. I
am not this old, decaying hunk of flesh. I am Sam. This is not my body. It’s
hers. It’s that stupid wife of yours
 …
it’s
her body. I don’t know what the hell happened—but it’s all screwed up.”

“Yes, dear,” he
said, petting her shoulder like a cat. “Yes, I know. But we must calm down.
I’ve arranged for Dr. Sutton to come and talk to you in the next day couple of
days.”

“Dr. Sutton, who’s
that?”

“He’s the doctor you
were seeing before—”

“I never did. I
never saw anyone—”

“You just don’t
remember it, dear,” he said, his voice cold and restrained.

“Stop it! I’m Sam.”
She banged her fists on the bars along the bed. “I know all about you. About
us. I know all about what we did together. I can tell you things she would
never know. In fact, she’d die if she knew what I did with you—”

“Now Ellen, get a
hold of yourself. Come on, stop talking such nonsense—” He stopped speaking as
Rory walked into the room.

“Rory!” Sam yelled.
“Oh Rory, thank God. Help me.” She stretched out her arms.

Rory stopped and
looked at Sam, then Jonathan. His face tightened in confusion. “Where is Sam?
She called me and told me—” Rory’s eyes darted around the room, searching.

“I’m here!” Sam
called out from the bed.

He stepped back.
“No. I’m here to see Samantha Miller. I don’t know you.”

Jonathan stood and
spoke. “I’m sorry. This is my wife, Ellen. She recently came out of a coma and
there is a lot of confusion in her mind. She thinks she’s Samantha Miller.”

Sam cringed at the
mocking in his voice. “I am her.” She tried to reach for Rory’s sleeve.

“But Samantha phoned
me, and told me to come here—”

“I did,” Sam
interrupted. “I phoned you. Johnny, please leave,” Sam demanded, pointing to
the door. “I need to speak to Rory. Alone.”

Jonathan put his
hand on Rory’s shoulder. “Young man, I apologize for the confusion. My wife may
very well have called you thinking she’s Sam Miller. Unfortunately, she’s been
doing a lot of that lately. Please, pay no attention to it.”

They turned their
backs to Sam as Jonathan led Rory to the door. “You will find your good friend
Samantha Miller safe and sound at home where she belongs.”

Sam shouted, “But
she’s not me! She is not me! I am Sam. I am Samantha Miller. Doesn’t anyone
believe me? Why won’t you listen?” she demanded.

Jonathan and Rory
ignored her pleas and stood conversing in the hallway.

She called out
again, “I know who I am, why don’t you?” But no one answered.

The sound of their
muffled voices continued, then faded into the distance.

After a few minutes,
a nurse came in carrying a small tray with a large needle.

“What are you
doing?” Sam asked the nurse, as she set the tray beside her.

“It’s only a
sedative.”

“I don’t need any
damn sedative!” Sam yelled. “If everyone would just listen to me.”

“Now, come on, hold
still.” The nurse reached for her arm.

Sam pushed her arm
away and tried to pull out the IV. “I’m getting out of here. You’re all crazy!”

The nurse pushed
down on her arms as Jonathan came in. “Ellen, dear
 …
you must calm down and cooperate. This is for your own
good.” He held Sam’s shoulders as the nurse plunged the needle filled with
clear liquid into her IV.

Sam tried to lean
forward, attempting to resist but fell back, unexpectedly weak and confused.
“I’m me,” she called out. “I’m Sam
 …”
Her eyes closed from sudden heaviness. “I am. I really am
 …
Please listen,” she said silently,
before drifting into a relaxing deep sleep.

***

Sam awoke feeling
groggy—her mouth dry and gritty. She reached for a glass of water and noticed
the phone. She picked it up and dialed her mom’s number. The call wouldn’t go
through. She spotted a small label below the room number: No long distance
calls.
Cheap bastards.
She tried the number to her apartment.

“Hello.”

It wasn’t Sienna and
she didn’t know the voice.

“Hello
 …
who is this?” the voice repeated
into her ear.

Shit. It’s my
voice!
Sam suddenly recognized her own voice in the phone.
What the
 …?
“It’s me, Samantha Miller. And
just who the hell is this?” Sam tried her best to refrain from screaming.

“I’m sorry, who are
you?” the voice asked.

“They think I’m
you—that I’m Ellen—but I’m really me
 …
you.
I’m Samantha Miller.”

“You have the wrong
number,” the voice said, sounding calm and confident.

Sam wanted to see
who was pretending to be her. But she knew exactly who it was, didn’t she? “No.
You’re Ellen Horvath. Admit it. I know you’re Ellen. I don’t know what
happened, but admit it,” Sam demanded.

“I don’t know what
you are talking about. Please don’t call here again.” Click!

“Bitch!” Sam yelled.
“That stupid bitch. She’s done something. It’s her, I know it’s her.” Sam
shouted. “I’ll fix it. I’ll show her.” She dialed 911.

“Hello? Yes?
 …
Help me. I’m being held against my
will. They think I’m someone else, but I am not, and someone else is in my body
right now
 …
Yes. You need to go
and arrest her and question her. She’s an impostor
 …
She’s not who she says she is
 …
she’s in my apartment right now, 267 St. Nicholas Avenue,
apartment 818
 …
Yes
 …
If you hurry, you can catch her
red-handed
 …
Me? I’m here at the
hospital, at the General
 …
room
602B
 …
Yes, please hurry
 …
No one believes me, but I can prove
it
 …
Yes. I’ll be here. Thank
you.”

Sam hung up and
pulled the intravenous tubes out of her hands. She lay back, planning how she
would explain and prove all of this.

Twenty minutes
later, a nurse came in with another needle. “I’m not going to take that!” Sam
screamed as she scrambled out of bed. “Get away from me,” she yelled, leaning
against the wall. “The police are coming. I need to talk to them.” She tried to
move to the door but her legs collapsed and she fell to the floor. Another
nurse arrived and blocked the doorway. They grabbed Sam and pulled her to her
feet, guiding her toward the bed.

“What are doing? I
need to talk to the police
 …”
Sam tried to resist and struggled to break free. “Stop! Stop it,” she yelled.
“Don’t do this to me. I’m Samantha
 …
I’m
Sam
 …”
she cried as they pushed
the needle into her arm.

***

Ellen was sitting at
the fifties-style Formica and chrome kitchen table, in the apartment she shared
with Sienna, the apartment that cost her almost half of her measly paycheck,
looking over her recent bills, when Rory entered.

“Hey,” he said, and
stepped into the kitchen, removing his coat.

Ellen reached for
his coat. Drips of colored paint were splattered all over his pants and shirt,
like a bad Jackson Pollock canvas. Even his shoes were covered. “Remind me
again why you have a key to my apartment?” Ellen asked as she hung the coat in
the closet.

“You gave it to me.”
Rory held the key up in the air and dangled it over Ellen’s head. “Because
we’re friends, you silly girl. You got tired of getting out of bed to let me in
for your midnight cravings.” He sat on a stool in front of the counter and
reached for an apple. “You aren’t gonna believe what just happened.”

“Try me,” Ellen said,
still hesitant about the key arrangement and Rory’s ability to wander in
whenever he pleased.

“I got this call
from you,” he said, between bites.

“Me? I didn’t call
you. I don’t even have your—”

“No, not really you,
but from someone saying they were you.” His eyes shone as he smiled and took
another big chomp of the apple.

“Why would anyone
 …?
” Ellen began, knowing exactly who
would and why. “You should wash that first.” She tore a paper towel from the
roll, wet it and handed it to Rory.

“This woman, she
thinks she’s you, but she’s—now this is funny, she’s your Jonathan’s wife,
Ellen. Weird huh?”

“Very weird.” She
leaned against the fridge, playing with the magnets.

“And I met your Mr.
Jonathan.”

“Where?” Ellen
replaced the magnets and stood next to the counter, reaching for a mug.

“At the hospital,
the one Mrs. H is at. Poor lady. She’s completely off her rocker. She called
me, saying she was you and asked me to come, that she needed my help. I got
away from work early, thinking it was you and some kinda big emergency. Well,
she—now get this—she thinks that someone has switched bodies on her. She thinks
she’s you. It’s too bizarre.”

“I’ll say. Funny,
Jonathan never mentioned it.” She poured a cup of coffee.

“He seems really
ticked off by the whole thing.”

“Is he?” Ellen
sipped her coffee, enjoying the fact that Jonathan was annoyed.

“Yeah, he’s got a
shrink coming. I guess this weird stuff happens after a coma.” Rory shrugged
his shoulders and stood. He walked over to the fridge, opened it and leaned forward,
one arm hanging over the door as the other rummaged through the bottles. “Mr.
Johnny said I should ignore her—not be concerned with anything she says since
she’s not mentally stable.”

“Good advice.”

“It would be weird,”
Rory added, opening a bottle of beer and taking a swig.

“What?”

“To not believe that
you are you. You know, not knowing who you are.”

“Yes, I imagine it
would,” Ellen said, walking away from Rory and picking up a magazine. She lay
back on the sofa, stretching her long legs across the cushions.

Rory set the beer on
the counter and jumped on the couch. He grabbed her feet, massaging them. “So
lover boy has his hands full at the hospital,” he said, rubbing her toes.

“Not that busy.”
Ellen jerked her feet back and sat up.

“I thought the other
night, you said he was.”

“Not anymore.” She
crossed her legs and set the magazine onto the table. “He called and we are
going out on Saturday.” Rory pushed her back and hovered over her, the scent of
musk combined with spice and something clean, fresh. Ellen inhaled and closed
her eyes.