“No, thank you.” She couldn’t stop crying. She didn’t care that it was the first firm memory that fitted itself back into its proper place in her mind.

It was solid.

It was real.

That it hurt as badly as it did told her it was the truth. It wasn’t just an idle thought or a false memory planted by something someone said.

And it was hers. Something she could hold on to and hopefully build upon to bring back more. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for giving them back to me.”

* * *

It was a bittersweet victory. Laura immediately began pouring through the older photo albums again, focusing on any pictures of her parents, or of her at the approximate age of the cookie-making memory. She discovered as she looked through them, now some memories of the events had returned, as if they’d never left.

It seemed that regaining the traumatic loss of her parents, which Laura discovered also included remembering receiving the news of their death and most of that time period, of dealing with the loss and grief and funeral preparations, triggered something in her brain.

It didn’t, however, include everything. She still couldn’t remember how she met Rob, or where. And more current memories were still a blank.

By lunchtime her small victory had turned into frustration. Shayla ran out to bring them back subs for lunch, and they sat watching the local noon news.

“Can you call those other people for me and ask if they can visit?”

“Which ones?” Shayla asked.

Laura struggled to recall names she’d heard Rob and Shayla mention. “Leah? And her husband.”

“Seth. Leah and Seth Erikkson.”

“Right. Them. There were more though, weren’t there? Tilly?”

Shayla once again had that deer-in-the-headlights look. “Yes, but I think Rob’s right that we shouldn’t overwhelm you right now,” she quickly said. “I’ll call Leah and see when they can come visit. Besides, they live the closest to the hospital. Everyone else is either up in Sarasota, or clear up in Tarpon Springs.”

Laura bumped up against a blank wall, frustrating her. “Where are those?”

Shayla looked up from her phone. “Where’s what?”

The tears fought a valiant battle to break through, but Laura beat them back into submission. “Sarasota. And Tarpon Springs. I heard about Sarasota on the TV. But where are they?”

The look of sympathy on Shayla’s face almost finished Laura off again, but somehow, she held on and didn’t cry.

“Here.” Shayla tapped into her phone and then held it so Laura could see. A map was displayed on it. “We’re right here,” she said as she pinched the screen and zoomed in. “There’s where the hospital is, in Pt. Charlotte.” She flicked the screen with her finger, panning it to the north. “Here’s Sarasota.” She pinched again, zooming in farther. “Here’s my house.”

Once again, she zoomed out and pointed. “Tarpon Springs is way up here. North of St. Petersburg.” More zooming in, south of where Shayla lived, but north of the hospital. “Here’s where Leah and Seth live.”

Laura found the geography lesson helpful, but it didn’t trigger any more memories. “Where do I live?” she quietly asked.

Without replying, Laura zoomed in more and showed her. “Englewood. There’s where your condo complex is.” She panned a little to the west and south. “There’s the house.” A little more panning, onto a peninsula on the other side of Charlotte Harbor from Pt. Charlotte. “And there’s where your shop is.”

Nothing.

From elation to frustration, the ebbs and flows of emotion wore at her energy levels. After lunch, she lay back to watch TV with Shayla and found herself dozing off.

She awoke to Shayla gently touching her shoulder. “Laura? The psychiatrist is here to see you.”

She rubbed her eyes and sat up. An older, matronly woman with a warm smile stood just inside the closed door. “Hi. I’m Dr. Katherine Simpson. Pastor Ben Pelletier suggested I come see you.”

“Do you want me to wait outside?” Shayla asked.

“No, please stay.” She waved Dr. Simpson in as Shayla pulled another chair over to Laura’s bedside.

The psychiatrist began by going over Laura’s recent ordeal, taking notes as they talked and putting her at ease. Dr. Simpson agreed recovering the memory of her parents’ funeral was a good step.

“It’s also encouraging that you had a chain of memories recovered as a result, especially interconnected like that.”

“But you can’t tell me if or when they’ll all come back.”

“I’m afraid not.” They talked for over an hour before Dr. Simpson gently confronted Laura. “You realize there is a lot more at stake here than just recovering your memories, don’t you?”

“What do you mean? What could be more important than getting my life back? Well, other than catching the guy who did this to me.”

“You might never regain your memories of the attack. However, as Ben told you, there is every real possibility of developing post-traumatic stress disorder. It can manifest itself in very odd and unexpected ways.”

“If it does, it does. Frankly, I don’t care if I get it or not if I can get my memories back.”

“You might find yourself very jumpy, startling easy. You might have panic attacks. You might have bad dreams.”

“I haven’t had any bad ones yet. Just what I told you. And I don’t know if they’re dreams or memories.”

“Well, you should pay attention to your dreams. They may hold answers.”

“Calling Dr. Freud.” Laura laughed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

The doctor smiled. “That’s okay. Believe me, next to lawyers, shrinks hear a lot of jokes.”

“I bet you do. What else can I do to help bring back my memories?”

“You need to keep talking to people. Talk about pictures, feelings, whatever hints of memories that come back. And I suggest, if you’re open to it, seeing a hypnotherapist.”

Laura looked at Shayla. “We’ve been doing a lot of that. Talking. And photo albums.”

“That’s good. Exactly what you should be doing.”

“It was the shortbread cookies this morning that triggered all those memories,” Laura said.

The doctor smiled. “It doesn’t matter what triggered them, if it helped.”

“If it’ll help, I’ll try anything. One of my doctors mentioned using medicine?”

“Yes, but that’s not something I want to mess with except as a last resort.” She stood. “And there’s a hypnotherapist who works in my office. She’s very good, if you decide to go that route.”

“Thank you.”

She handed Laura a card. “I’ll tell my office to make sure they fit you in as soon as possible when you call for an appointment.”

Laura looked at the card. The address might as well have been in Greek to her for all the recognition she had. “Thanks. I might go home Monday.”

“I’m going to talk to your doctor first, but I’ll leave a prescription for some anti-anxiety medicine for you in case you need it. Nothing strong, just something that if you start feeling too overwhelmed, you can take it to help calm you.”

When Laura was alone with Shayla again, she felt exhaustion wash over her. “I want my life back,” she said, her head on the pillows. “I want whatever was normal for me. I’d give anything to have it back. I don’t even care if I thought it was crummy.” She turned to Shayla. “I didn’t think my life was crummy, did I?”

“No, you didn’t. You were very happy.”

Somehow, that almost made it worse.

* * *

Rob showed up a little after eight that evening, just as he’d promised. Laura wasn’t happy to see Shayla go, but she did want the alone time with Rob. And Shayla promised to return—once again bearing an omelet—first thing in the morning.

Once Laura was alone with Rob, she closed her eyes and happily pressed her face against his chest as she filled him in on her day.

“That’s great that you remembered the funeral. Well, you know what I mean.”

She smiled, but didn’t want to lose her contact with him. “I know what you meant. Dr. Simpson said it was good because it was a connected chain of memories.”

He gently stroked her back, mindful of her sore ribs. “Little by little, you’ll get it back. I know you will.”

“But what if I don’t?”

“You will.”

She wished she felt as confident as Rob sounded.

* * *

Thomas didn’t expect to have any trouble with Rob’s friends, but he still left word with dispatch where he was going before he drove north to Sarasota Friday evening. Fortunately, the worst of his headache had popped after lunch, leaving him with a nagging ache that he could ignore and live with.

Tony and Shayla Daniels lived in a rural neighborhood of larger, expensive houses sitting in the middle of lots ranging from one to ten acres. Many of the properties also had barns, with horses or cows milling in the pastures around them.

Daniels didn’t have either, but several cars were parked in the driveway of his house. When he walked up, a man opened the front door.

“Det. Thomas?”

He held out his hand. “Mr. Daniels?”

“Tony.” They shook. “Look, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot this morning. This has been hard on all of us.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Tony led him into the living room, where several women and men were gathered. Other than unusual necklaces or bracelets on several of the women and two of the men, any of them could have been upper-middle-class people indistinguishable from any other average citizen.

Tony started the introductions. “This is Det. Thomas. Can I get you anything to drink? Tea, water, coffee?”

“No, thanks. I’m good.” He looked at the assembled group after Tony had introduced everyone to him. “As I told both Rob and Tony, I’m not here to out anyone. I don’t care what you all do in your bedrooms, or who you do it with as long as they’re consenting adults. All I’m interested in is any information that might possibly lead to us figuring out who this guy is.”

One of the men, Sullivan Nicoletto, raised his hand. “Has FDLE got back to you with the DNA results yet?”

That must be the former cop. “Not yet.”

“Do you want to speak to everyone together, or individually?” Tony asked.

“Since you’ve already had time to compare notes, I guess it really doesn’t matter.” He turned to Nicoletto. “Let’s start with you.” He jotted down the man’s full name, address, and other information. Yes, he was the former cop, now a writer and lecturer. “Your thoughts on this?”

The man, who’d said to call him Sully, grimly shook his head. “Based on what Rob told me, I’m guessing she opened her door for whoever it was. Meaning either she didn’t feel threatened, or somehow knew the person. But I don’t know anyone who’d want to do something like that to Laura. She’s a good person, has a lot of friends in the community. Between all of us, we know a lot of people in this area in the lifestyle.”

Everyone nodded in somber agreement as Sully continued. “We’re a pretty tight-knit group. We look out for each other. I haven’t heard any rumbles of anyone so much as speaking badly about her. I’m guessing you already went through her emails and FetLife account?”

“Done. Any theories?”

Sully met his gaze. “My gut tells me it’s someone she came into contact with at her dive shop, or there in Englewood locally. While out shopping, eating, something. Maybe someone Rob knows who met her. She’s a member of the Chamber of Commerce. She’s spoken publicly at state and county meetings about fish and game laws.”

His heart sank a little as he noted all of that. Yes, they’d had some pretty contentious hearings over the years about fishing regulations and restrictions, the latest one just a few weeks earlier. That was one thing Rob hadn’t mentioned when they talked, although he didn’t blame the man for forgetting it.

He’d have to talk to Rob again about his coworkers, if she’d had contact with any of them.

If any of them had started acting odd following the attack.

And they were already slowly working their way through interviewing customers and students at the shop, a very painstaking process considering just how many customers passed through her establishment on a daily basis.

Not to mention many of their customers were tourists, or part-time residents.

He went around the room, taking everyone’s name and information and getting nearly the same answers from them with few new insights. Leah Erikkson mentioned that Laura had helped her, Tilly, and Loren with a Christmas charity drive in Sarasota. Loren offered up their regular “girls day” outings to get their nails done together and eat. Tilly’s husband, Landry, mentioned that they all attended a Mote Marine charity event a month earlier, a dinner and special marine documentary film screening.