Into the Light (The Light, #1)(3)

My eyes could already be healed. How could someone else know if I could see? As the instinct to remove the bandages grew stronger, the word obey sounded in my head and I lowered my hands. Jacob had said my vocal cords and eyes had been injured in an accident. As I shifted, the pain told me he was right about the accident. I was probably more injured than he’d said. I took a mental inventory: my side hurt the worst, but my left leg came second. Reaching below the blanket, I found the edge of something hard, a cast.

I sighed and allowed my head to sink into the pillow. Each discovery was too much. Nothing seemed familiar. Nothing seemed right.

My cracked lips as well as the stale, dry taste in my mouth reminded me of the damp washcloth Jacob had offered me earlier. Fumbling for what I couldn’t see, I reached beyond the bed rails. When I did, I realized there was something attached to my right arm. An IV? Beyond that I found only air. My shoulders slumped, and I tucked my suddenly cold hands under the warm blanket and rubbed my still-sore fingertips.

Beneath the blanket I reached for the fourth finger of my left hand and found a ring. As I slowly turned it, the smooth surface remained the same. I was wearing a wedding band. I was married. How could I be married and not remember? Was I married to Jacob?

Questions continued to come fast and furious, each one without an answer, each one more unsettling than the one before.

While I searched for memories, the sound of the opening door brought me back to the present. Footsteps shuffled about the room while multiple people spoke at once. Though none of them spoke directly to me, I seemed to be the topic of conversation. Struggling to understand the ongoing discussions, I listened for Jacob’s deep voice. Finally the roar faded to a low murmur and then to silence as anticipation filled the room.

“Sara,” Jacob said, breaking the tension.

With a sense of relief, I inclined my face ever so slightly toward his familiar voice. His warm breath grazed my skin.

“The Commission,” he continued, “confirmed that you can’t speak, not yet, but they have questions. Right now they need to know that you’re hearing and understanding. So”—he picked up my hand—“I want you to respond by squeezing my hand.”

I tried to keep up, but I had no point of reference. Who or what was the Commission? Why did it have a say in my care? Unable to voice my concerns, I waited as Jacob’s fingers intertwined with mine.

“When a question is asked,” Jacob directed, “squeeze my hand once for yes and twice for no. Do you understand?”

I squeezed my answer, ignoring my tender fingertips.

“Brother Timothy is here to ask you some questions.”

Brother? Is he my brother? Do I have a brother?

I’d expected to see my doctor, or rather expected that he or she would see me. My mind spun. Brother Timothy was perhaps a part of the Commission. As Jacob’s grip tightened, I sensed that he was genuinely worried about what was about to happen. This must be the situation he’d been thinking of when he warned me not to embarrass him. I wanted to comply, but I also wished he’d given me more prompting, more background. Then again, I hadn’t spoken. There was no way he could know that I didn’t remember anything.

“First,” Jacob began, “the Commission wants confirmation that you remember me, your husband. You do remember me, don’t you?”

I hesitated, wanting to squeeze his hand only once, to give him something for his dedication and support. After all, I recalled him in recent memories—he’d been by my bedside while I slept in the darkness. But I couldn’t lie. Unless . . . unless he was the man with the blue eyes. I latched on to that glimmer of hope. If he was my blue-eyed vision, then I did remember him.

“Sara, stay with us. Tell everyone that you remember me.” His plea swelled with emotion, not only in his voice, but flowing in waves from his hand to mine.

In this unknown world, he’d been my one constant. Apprehensively I squeezed. The room seemed to hold its collective breath as I deliberated the second squeeze. Finally I relaxed my grip.

Jacob sighed, leaned closer, and brushed my hair away from my forehead. This still felt wrong. Nevertheless I needed time to make sense of everything. During that time, I didn’t want to fight the darkness alone. I took strength from his warm breath and adoration.

An unfamiliar voice spoke from near the end of my bed. “Sister Sara, I hope you recognize the seriousness of this situation.”

Why did they all talk strangely? I couldn’t understand why he called me sister, but by the way the small hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention, I recognized that whatever was happening was serious.

“Sara,” Jacob reminded me. “Brother Timothy needs you to respond.”

I squeezed Jacob’s hand once to indicate I understood.

“She understands,” Jacob said.

“If you could speak,” Brother Timothy continued, “I’d ask you for a full account of the incident. I’d ask you to describe in detail your role and the aftermath. Since you’re unable to talk, we’ll begin with questions. Once I have your answers, I’ll take what I find informative back to the rest of the Commission. We’ll decide what should be passed on to Father Gabriel. Of course, the final decree regarding this transgression lies solely with him. The two of you will abide by Father Gabriel’s decision.”

My tired mind spun. What decree? Who is Father Gabriel? And by “the two of you,” does he mean Jacob and me? What have we done?