Sing You Home by Ava Hunter

Seth paces. Five hours. That’s how long they’ve been waiting for word on Sal. He snakes a hand through his hair, hating hospitals, thinking about the shitshow that’s gone on since they arrived.

Questions from doctors, glares from suspicious nurses. Stale coffee. Dead phone batteries. A missed gig in Perdido Key. Finally, an hour ago, they identified the unidentified girl in that hospital bed.

Seth knew it by the tattoo on her palm, but dental records confirmed it.

It’s Sal.

It shouldn’t be this easy, and yet it is. She’s here.

She’s alive.

And she doesn’t remember. Seth’s heart plummets as he thinks about Sal, so confused, so lost, on that beach. Now his biggest question is not where she got the brain injury, because that’s obvious, but where Sal has been all this time and what’s wrong with her?

From his spot on a hard plastic chair, Jace says, “Would you sit the hell down? You’re making me dizzy, man.”

“How long does it take?” Seth gestures in annoyance at the window of Sal’s hospital room, where the drawn curtains shield any glimpse of her. The only evidence she’s in there the gut-wrenching scream she let loose hours ago.

“And where the hell is Luke?” Seth gripes. “He ain’t answerin’ his phone.”

He and Jace have both been calling Luke for the last three hours. His phone’s been off, the calls going straight to voicemail. Even Mort isn’t answering, and he’s always on that goddamn phone of his.

“He never picks up,” Jace says, but his voice betrays worry. He and Seth both wonder if they were right to leave Luke alone so soon. “Keep tryin’.”

Seth’s crawling out of his skin. He needs answers. He needs his brother here. Now.

Then, in a low voice, Jace says, “Seth.”

Seth turns to see the doctor coming their way. “Fucking finally,” he says, surging forward to meet the doctor in the middle of the hallway. The badge on her coat reads NEWSOME. “How is she?”

Beside him, Jace settles in silently to listen.

“She’s sedated and resting.” Dr. Newsome hesitates. “She’s confused. There’s damage to her memory, but we’re not sure to what extent.”

Seth rips a hand through his hair. “She can’t fuckin’ remember us, that’s the extent.”

“Seth,” Jace admonishes.

“We’re planning to order a series of brain scans for tomorrow.” Dr. Newsome’s mouth is zipped in a tight line. “But, Mr. Kincaid, until her husband gets here, I’m afraid that’s all I can say right now.”

He swallows. “Can we see her?”

The doctor gives a slow nod. “When she wakes up, if she consents, then yes, you can see her.”

“Ask her,” Seth says, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Ask her.”

I am alive.

The thought jolts Sal as she brushes curious eyes around the sterile hospital room. A nurse has opened the shades to let the early-morning sunshine in. Sal angles her face toward the window, ready for a healthy dose of vitamin D, listening to monitors cheep and beep. Though she’s still groggy from the sedative, she’s calmer and clearheaded. For once, her temple has stopped throbbing, courtesy of whatever drugs she’s been shot up with.

There’s a swift flash of white, and then Dr. Newsome is perching beside her.

Eager, Sal sits up in bed as straight as she can. The hospital gown’s too big; it keeps slipping off of her shoulders. Wires and tubes tug at her. The thin skin on the top of her bandaged hand stings from where she ripped out her IV, but she barely feels it.

She’s close to something. She just doesn’t know what.

She keeps her eyes on Dr. Newsome’s face. She’s kindly looking, with curly salt-and-pepper hair that frames her face like a halo. She wears a bow tie and speaks slow. The room’s extra quiet, tilted with concern. A nurse hovers in the corner. Sal’s been given scant details about her condition, but their hushed whispers lead her to believe there’s something more going on.

Dr. Newsome smiles. “Miss, is the name Sal Kincaid familiar to you at all?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“What’s the earliest memory you can remember?”

“Waking up in bed.” She licks chapped lips. “Sick. I was sick.”

Newsome frowns. “Was it your head?”

“Mm-hmm. It was split open.” Her hand goes to her scalp, where a long, crooked scar treks behind her ear. She traces it like a lifeline. “I get really bad headaches, go dizzy sometimes.”

“I see.” Newsome plugs something into the electronic pad she holds. “Who took care of you?”

“My husband. Roy.” She tilts her head, wondering. The doctor looks unhappy. “Is that not right?” A sudden suspicion rushes her. She’d call it intuition if she weren’t so loopy. “Am I not . . . Jenny?”

“No. You’re not.”

An electric sizzle screams in her head, and Sal leans forward. She rests a hand on the doctor’s arm, resisting the urge to dig her nails in. “Tell me,” she breathes, her chest so tight it hurts. She can’t take it, but she can take it.

She has to.

The story tumbles out, a slow trickle of information given cautiously to her. Plane crash. Trauma. Memory loss. Missing. High-profile case. Sal Kincaid.

She is Sal Kincaid.

Sal sits there in disbelief. She’s dizzy, like a top whirling into space.

“How do you know?” Her voice is barely a whisper.

“You were identified by the tattoo on your palm. Dental records confirmed it.”

“We can’t just hand you out to anyone,” the nurse jokes.

Drifting from the doctor’s words, Sal stares down at her open hand, at the tattoo etched across her palm. Fine, minimalist print that says: “All the Roads.” Roy told her it was the name of a poem she had loved in college. She closes her eyes. Was that a lie too? Was Roy even her husband? Who the hell was she? She rubs at her brow, frustrated.

The doctor’s calm voice interrupts her thoughts. “Miss Kincaid, do you understand everything I just said?”

Miss Kincaid. Her new name startles her. Shaking herself out of her daze, she looks up and nods. She closes her palm and makes a fist. Who would she swing it at? She doesn’t know. “Yes . . . I . . . why don’t I remember?”

“We’re working to understand that. We plan to run scans and order a panel of tests. MRI, STD, pregnancy,” she rattles off, and Sal wants to tell her there’s no need, that Roy would barely touch her in that way, but Newsome continues. “Right now, the important thing is that you rest.”

Sal wants to laugh. Rest. How can she rest when her mind’s reeling from everything she’s just been told? She always knew her memory was fucked, but she didn’t know her entire life was a lie.

There’s a rustling as Dr. Newsome stands. She says, “There’s someone who can explain your past better than we can, but first, we have to ask if you want to see him.”

She bristles with fear. Oh God, not Roy. Anyone but him. “Who is it?”

“The man who brought you here.”

Instantly, Sal’s mind lights on the man from the beach. The man who said he’d help her. Those words had felled Sal. Had given her hope when she had none. And now . . .

“He’s here?”

“Him and another man. They’ve been here since they brought you in.”

The nurse, with her cotton-candy-colored hair, bustles to Sal’s bedside. “They say they’re family.”

“Are they?”

Dr. Newsome nods. “It appears so.”

The nurse stares down at her. Sal sees her scrutinizing her face, and Sal remembers the bruise on her cheek, the ones on her throat, and knows this woman is only trying to protect her. She’s fierce. Like a matronly guard dog. “You tell us, honey. If you say ‘treat this person like family,’ we will.” She gives Sal a pointed look. “And if you say ‘no visitors,’ then no visitors it is.”

Sal would slap a no-visitor sticker on Roy in a heartbeat. Sal closes her eyes, remembering the kind way the man had reached for her. His hand held out like a promise everything would be okay.

“No.” She juts a brave chin. “I want to see him.” When she says it, for some reason she feels better. For some reason she feels safe.

As the doctor and nurse exit, Sal takes a moment to collect her thoughts, dissolving back into the pillows and closing her eyes.

Jenny.

She shudders at the name. It had always sounded so wrong to her. Like it was never hers to begin with. But this new name.

Sal.

She likes it. It’s like a slinky dress she could slip on and wear. It fits because it was hers.

But what else was hers?

Certainly not the life she was living. She doesn’t know if it makes her feel better or worse. Panic threatens to take over, but she goes to the place inside her head. The place where the song lives. She begins to hum, the lyrics like a tattoo on her brain.

Minutes later, a noise sounds, the door cracking. Sal opens her eyes, rolling her head across her pillow. Hovering in the doorway is the man from the beach. His clothes are wrinkled, his face drawn and worried.

Sal searches her mind for his name, then says, “Seth.”

Immediately, his expression softens. “Hey.” His drawl is deep and worn. He steps into the room, rubbing his hands together. “How you feelin’?”

“I’m okay.” She smiles. His familiar face is a welcome relief from the strangeness, the sterility of the hospital. Sal smooths her hands across the sheet on her lap as nerves eat at her. Still, a sense of calm laps at the back of her mind. “You helped me. Thank you.”

The words flatten him for a moment. A muscle works tight around his jaw as he moves deeper into the room.

“Can I sit?” Seth asks, and when Sal nods, he perches in a chair beside her bed. His light blue eyes track her face. There’s anguish in his expression, but also relief and awe. Sheer awe. The way he’s looking at her—like she’s a ghost. A living, breathing ghost.

“The doctor said she explained some things.”

“She said I was in a plane crash?” She searches her mind hard for the memory but finds only black corners and raging silence.

“You were.” Seth squeezes his eyes shut, pained at the question. “Nine months ago.”

“I don’t . . . I don’t remember anything.” Sal bites her lip. She feels bad, like she knows this admission will hurt this man. “I don’t remember you. My brain feels scrambled as hell, but I feel like I know you.” She watches as Seth’s face breaks into a happy smile. “Are we friends?”

“The best,” he says, his voice thick.

His hand moves for hers, then stops, only to fall helplessly against the edge of the bed.

“We’re family?” she asks, recalling what the nurse said.

“I’m your brother-in-law.”

Her mind works it over, slow like molasses. “I’m married?”

He nods. “To Luke. My brother.”

Sal’s slapped silly. Holy shit. She’s married. To someone other than Roy.

Acrid bile warms Sal’s throat, slops into her stomach. She’s seasick, dizzy with revelation. There’s no more close-ups. The camera’s pulling back on her life like the final reveal of a horror movie. A slow and sickening montage. The memory loss, the plane crash, it makes sense. But Roy. If she’s married to someone else, then that means—

Tears of frustration blur her eyes. “I don’t remember Luke either. I don’t remember any of that . . .”

“It’s okay,” Seth soothes. He shifts his body to scoot closer. His warmth is palpable, and Sal shivers. “You don’t have to remember right now.” Seth draws the blanket up over her legs. His action so tender, so genuine, Sal could weep. “You’re safe, you’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

Alive. She wishes she felt that way. She’s trembling; her entire body feels stripped down to its bones.

Stretching an arm out, she gestures at the pitcher of water on the nightstand. Her mouth is dry, parched. “Can I—”

Seth’s already in motion, understanding what she wants. “Here.” He holds the cup for her, letting her sip from the straw. Her hands are shaking so bad she doesn’t trust herself not to spill it.

The water releases the words that have lodged in her throat. Out they tumble, like dice. “I thought I was his wife. Roy. He told me that. I believed it.” She looks at Seth, whose face has grown dark and dangerous and she knows something is wrong. “He lied, didn’t he? That fucker. He’s not my husband.”

“No,” Seth says, anger curling his fists, his voice. “He ain’t.”

Despair settles over Sal at the weight of Seth’s words. She really was a prisoner. Roy kept her there. Kept her weak and sick and helpless in their shitty shotgun shack.

Oh, sure, they had a miserable fucked-up marriage, Sal hating him on the daily, but she never thought that it was all a lie. That the nightmare she was living wasn’t hers—and never had been.

She can’t breathe.

She shakes her head in denial as air refuses to push through her lungs. Then she’s panicking, her throat closing up, her body curling forward into itself as she strains for a breath.

“Hey, hey, hey . . . ”

Seth moves quick to sit on the side of the bed. Sal’s hands fly up to grip his shoulders. Seth gently, yet firmly, takes her face in his hands. He keeps his blue eyes locked on her face. “Breathe, Sal. Breathe. Fucking take a breath. You got this.” He nods and slowly, so slowly, she nods back, following his lead, his breathing. “Because we’ve got you.”

For a long moment, Sal thinks she will die. Then she takes a gasp of air and bursts into tears.