A Right to Remember

         She couldn't have seen the black Peugeot coming, not through the torrential rain that was splashing angrily on the road. It had sliced through the puddle that had taken over half the road and skidded 12 yards straight into the window of a carpet showroom. It had hit her 6 yards into its final journey across the street. Even the rain seemed to fall in slow motion as she bounced over the metal bonnet like a ragdoll and only she could have seen the horrified expression of the driver as she smashed into the windscreen before being vaulted up in the air and over the roof. Any nearby pedestrians looked on helpless, like startled dears in silence as her broken body dropped onto the tarmac road like a discarded toy. Her right leg stuck out at a strange angle, her arms were limp and bruised lying on the cold, wet road and her red hair was stuck together with a mix of rain and fresh blood. The final shards of glass fell from the shop window which was now the Peugeot's final resting place.
         The first movement happened suddenly as the owner of the nearby newsagent darted out of the shop straight towards the prone body in the middle of the road shouting “CALL 999!!” as he crossed over to her. A teenage girl who had been standing, hunched under an umbrella at the bus stop fumbled in her jeans pocket for her mobile and moments later was speaking urgently down the line.
         “Somebody check the driver!” As the hero's words broke the quietness there was a crash from inside the wreckage as the driver himself stumbled out. Blood was pouring from a wound in his forehead and he cast a stricken look back before promptly vomiting in the gutter. The hero from the newsagent turned his attention back to the woman on the floor, quickly removing his jacket and placing it over her. Within seconds a stream of blood was running into the nearest drain.
         Jane looked on at the scene, not able to do anything. The kind hero was still leaning over the woman and the teenage girl was now hovering over them holding up her umbrella. The only other person out on the sodden street was a young lad standing stock-still a few metres away. His hoody was already soaked but he seemed quite unaware as he looked at the broken body with a sad look in his blue eyes. His long hair was tied back in a soggy ponytail and his innocent face had an expression that was a mixture of terror and frustration as if he was trying to remember something. And he was.
         His name was Jamie, but sometimes he didn't know it and he spent his days at the Village Community Centre and sometimes he didn't know that either. It wasn't his fault that his memory was sporadic at best, so Jane's job was to help him have an enjoyable life, even if he wouldn't remember it.

         It was a sunny day the last time Jane had taken Jamie out, they'd gone to a cafe. Jane put down two lemonades.
         “Hullo!” said Jamie brightly. “My name's Jamie.”
         “And I'm Jane.” Sitting down she pulled out her notebook, embossed on the front was the word “Jamie”. Jane believed that it was the saddest thing to lose one's memories. So she had decided to remember on behalf of those she cared for by asking them about their lives and record them in her notebooks. Everyone deserved to remember and this was why Jane gave her life to her job.
         “So Jamie, what have you done this week?” Her interest baffled him for a moment before he took a sip of his drink and spoke.
         “It's been brilliant! I went out with erm...” His eyes gazed over as he searched for the name but he gave up with a shrug “...really nice girl, she was.” He smiled. “...you're Jane right? I used to known a Jane. She took me out every Wednesday when I was younger.”
         Jane smiled to herself and her eyes flicked to her notebook “WEDNESDAY 25TH MARCH”. She had cared for Jamie for 10 years and she loved him like a little brother, or a nephew. Not a son though. Jane couldn't imagine herself with a proper family, in her mind it was selfish to settle down when she could help so many more people. A couple of children ran past the cafe, laughing loudly and Jamie's attention was distracted. He turned back to her with a distant look in his blue eyes.
         “Hullo... my name's Jamie. Are you the one looking after me today?”

         “Jamie! Jamie!” she called out. “Stay there!” She ran towards him but he just stared with that frustrated look on his face. “We'll get you back to the Centre, okay? The nice blonde man's taking care of her now.” He didn't hear her. “Jamie? Are you listening to me? It's Jane, we have to go now.”
         He just stared on. Jane followed his gaze to the poor soul on the road. Her short red hair was plastered to her forehead and her eyes were closed, as if she were sleeping. But nobody slept in that position. Jane looked at the woman's face again. Her horror grew as Jane realized it wasn't a stranger's face... it was her own.

         In an instant the world faded to black. The kind of blackness that you can't focus on, where all you can think of is how vulnerable you are. Jane didn't like to feel vulnerable, she was a grown woman and she wasn't ready to be vulnerable again, not yet. But the choice had been taken away from her... by a black Peugeot skidding in the rain.

                                                                                                             6th July 1993
Mother,
                   You've avoided contact with us since you moved to Australia with Uncle Mike but you ought to know that last week Dad died. They caught the cancer too late and he collapsed whilst we were out shopping. Even 5 years later he still loved you and he would have wanted you at his funeral. Dad deserves at least that. It's on the 14th, just a week away. Please get in touch.
                   And please come to the funeral.
                                                                     Jane.

         The next thing that Jane was aware of was walking down a corridor. But no corridor was this long. The blue doors managed to have a menacing aura and she'd never seen a tiled floor shine so. Looking ahead of her there was just endless shining floors and blue doors stretching out into the distance.
         She pulled her sweater tighter around her as the sheer loneliness of the corridor chilled her to the bone. She turned to the closest door and tried the handle... it wouldn't budge. Running forward, a feeling of panic rising in her chest she grabbed the handle of the next door, it was also locked. As was the next door and the door after that. Panic overflowed and Jane found herself running down the corridor like a scared child rather than a woman of 37. The end of the corridor still wasn't in sight as she stumbled to a halt, breathing heavily. Dejected, she slid down the wall, curled up on the floor.
         She studied the closest door. It looked bigger, more imposing, with a kind of self-importance that she would never have associated with a door. With her last ounce of hope she pulled herself upright and tried it. To her surprise it creaked open. Cautiously she peered in. It was bricked up, nothing but red brick.
         Instantly Jane turned and tried the next door, it revealed more red brick. She rushed to the next one. Red brick. And the next one. Red brick. Another. Nothing but bricked up doors filled the corridor. She let out a sob into the silence. Suddenly she could hear the creak of a door opening of its own accord. She turned around slowly. No red bricks this time. Just a ghostly darkness.

Beep beep beep.

         Jane thought her ears were deceiving her but there was a strange, steady beeping.

Beep beep beep.

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Get the crash trolley!

3...2...1... clear!

         The sounds were so familiar, before but she couldn't understand why she was hearing them now.

3...2...1... clear!

         Then nothing. Jane's own heart was racing, she didn't know what this was, what to feel, what...

Time of death 13:47.

         Jane felt her blood run cold. Then utter darkness. Straight away her senses were dulled to the point where she couldn't feel, hear or smell anything... just darkness and quiet. Her first thought was of a coffin and the image made her shudder as she lay in her prison of imagination. Then a strange feeling washed over her and suddenly she found herself in a cemetery on a cold and dull morning, three people stood around a fresh grave. A rather sullen vicar, plus two people she recognized. Yvonne, a social worker who ran the Centre and Jamie, Jamie who was the closest thing she had to family. Tears ran down Jamie's cheeks as the vicar spoke and it broke Jane's heart that she couldn't comfort him. The vicar finished his words and promptly sped off back to the church. Yvonne looked sadly at the grave. Jamie sniffed.
         “Can I go and see Jane? Jane always makes me feel better even if I don't know why I'm sad. I know it's not a Wednesday but...” Yvonne just looked at him, her eyes glistening and a expression of realization and grief crossed his young face.

         It could have been seconds, or days, but sometime later Jane found herself in a new darkness. As the emptiness around her came into focus a shining fog seeped in, filling the endless space around her.
         “Hello? Hello?” Jane turned, startled. An old woman in a flannel dressing gown looked up at her sweetly.
         “You haven't been here long, have you? I've been here a while now, it's got to have been at least... um... well, some time at least. I know it happened to me in my sleep, well... why else would I be in my dressing gown, eh? Haha. I was with my husband... Harold, no, Henry... Herman... oh how silly of me...” A scared look crossed her face, “Look at me forgetting the name of my... must be my age... my... um...” With that she wandered off, back into the mist. Jane tried to follow her but within moments was lost.
         “Hi there!” A young man appeared in front of her, dressed like he'd stepped right out of the 1920s. “I don't suppose you erm... I mean, urm. What's your name?”
         “J-j-jane,” she stuttered.
         “I'm... um.” His eyes turned sad. Confused he just ran off.
         “What a strange young man!” A large grey-beareded man materialized, with a pipe in his hand. “Hullo, I'm Arthur. You are...?”
         “Jane... I'm Jane.” He inspected her with a friendly glance.
         “How young you are. Just like me, eh! Cut down in my prime!” He let out a booming laugh which wrinkled his eyes, reminding Jane of father Christmas. “Don't worry, love. You'll get used to it... Most remember nothing of their lives, few even know their names. I, thankfully, am completely intact.” Something behind Jane caught his eye and she turned to see what it was.
         Through the gloom she could see a child. She looked back at Arthur to say something. He smiled suddenly at her and puffed on his pipe.
         “Hullo there! My name is Arthur.” His unknowing smile terrified her, Jane didn't want to become like this, a shell, with no past. She had vowed to remember the lives of the people she cared for and refused to break that vow. Turning on her heel she ran blindly into the mist almost ploughing headlong into the little girl. Her youthful eyes were red from crying and she clutched a ragged-looking bunny in her tiny fist.
         “Help me, I don't know where I am. Why am I here? Wh-wh-where's my Mommy?!” She sniffed and sobbed, so scared. Jane knelt down to her level and took her in her arms. She stroked her hair as the little girl sobbed into her shoulder. “I d-d-don't know my n-name.” Her sobs continued as tears rolled down Jane's face, unheeded.

         Jane watched as the man knelt down by a grave on a hot Sunday in July. His ponytail, bright blue eyes and kindly face meant nothing to her. He placed a bunch of daisies on the grave.
         “I walked here by myself,” he said to the grave, “I'm not entirely sure why but I feel it's... right ...I picked the daisies myself, from the field behind the Centre. We used to go there a lot... we... I wish I remembered you Jane. I have a feeling that you meant a lot to me. And it makes me sad to be here.” It came as a surprise to him that he was crying. He stood up. “I hope you like the flowers.”
         She watched as he walked away then turned to the grave. “Jane...” She looked sadly after the young man and suddenly she was back in the empty place.

         Through the mist one could see a middle-aged woman staring blankly. Her short red hair was bright in the gloom. She looked like she had spent her life caring for others though the story didn't reach her eyes. Behind them there was nothing, no memories, she was just a shell. She opened her lips as if to say something.

         But then she realized she had nothing to say. Nothing at all.