“Where am I?” she croaked, confused and horrified at his gentle touch. “Who are you?”

“My name is…” He hesitated, sighed. “Silas. And you’re in my cabin in the woods.” She let that information sink in, trying to get the world to make some sense.

“Why am I tied up?” She pulled at the zip tie again, whimpering.

“You were walking in your sleep,” he explained. “You went outside in your bare feet. It’s snowing.”

She didn’t remember that at all.

“Who am I?” she whispered, reaching up to touch her throbbing head. There was a thick bandage there.

The man was quiet. Then he said, “I was hoping you could tell me.” She didn’t remember that either.

* * * *

Silas couldn’t deny his relief-she was getting better, eating now, getting up to use the bathroom-but she still couldn’t remember her name or what had happened. He prompted her as much as he could, knowing head injuries could cause amnesia, that memory could recur any time, triggered by anything.

“You found me in the snow?” she mused, sipping the tea he’d made. It was good to see her sitting up, although she didn’t do it for long and she still slept a great deal. Her head hurt her and although the wound was healing nicely, the bruises on her forehead were growing a deeper, angry purple by the day. He had taken the zip-tie handcuffs off since she seemed more lucid, but he didn’t go far, never out of sight of the house.

“There was an accident,” he reminded her.

“And you didn’t take me to the hospital because…”

He nodded toward the window. The snow had drifted against the pane, a good four feet high. He had to use snowshoes everywhere now. He’d plowed out the driveway, but the cabin wasn’t built near any real pavement or labeled roads, and the way out couldn’t be called anything more than a path-room enough for one vehicle in and out. It was ten miles by car to anything resembling civilization.