Amy woke with a groan, feeling the dull ache of an unbearable pain her brain fought against registering. Upon opening her eyes, she realized the dullness was more likely numbness, as she was buried chest-deep in the snow. “Wha-,” she breathed, “where am I?” She struggled to assess her surroundings as she slipped in and out of consciousness. Flashes of moments stood out in her mind - hospitals, waves, questions - but struggled to separate her dreams from reality. In one waking moment, she tried to sit up and wiggle herself out of the snow, but the aching proved to be too much exertion. She must have cried out as her body fell back with a ‘pff’ into the snow, because someone noticed her. "Over here! Hey! We got someone," she heard in the distance, or maybe it was a dream. She drifted away again, "Hold on, ma'am, we've got you. We're here to help, just stay with us. Paras, hurry up and get the suit!" Amy's consciousness returned more clearly this time. Unable to sit up, she registered two things: she was wrapped tightly in a warming suit, and she was moving. "Wha-what's happen-," she mumbled, too weak to lift her head, but finally able to look around clearly. The cold wind pierced her face like a thousand needles as she regained feeling in her body. She’d been laid on a board with hooks securing her suit at the shoulders, wrists, hips, and knees. She looked like a puffy cocoon on a giant surfboard, and with the motions she felt, she imagined herself surfing through the snow. "Ma'am, we need you to stay still please, and let the warming suit do its job. My name is Roy and my partner's name is Paras. We're lucky to have found you. Hey Paras - pull over, she's awake!" Roy unhooked her shoulders and wrists from the board to help her sit up. The gruffness of his voice contrasted with the kindness in his eyes, the rest of his face hidden beneath the robust beard with hairs sticking out at all angles. His partner, Paras, sat next to her. He was a tall and slender man, even with the layers of puffy clothes. He, too, had kind eyes, which was all she could see as warm fabrics obscured the rest of his face. Paras didn’t hesitate, "Here's some water for you. Can you tell me what your name is?" He held the water to her mouth as her hands were zipped into the suit. "Thank you. My name is Amy Lupont. I do-don't remember much else. Where am I?" Her voice was weak. “Ma’am, you’ve just survived an avalanche. We need to ask you some questions first,” Roy announced. Paras continued his questions, "Do you know what day it is, Amy?" "No,” she started, disbelief strengthening her vocals, “what?" Paras pressed on, "It’s January fourth. Can you tell us your birthdate, Amy?" "No, I'm-I'm sorry I don't remember anything," Amy's mind went white. She remembered a white ocean crashing over her. Roy stood up, examining the snow-covered trees and vast blankets of white surrounding them. He paced a few feet away as the winds raged in the bitter cold, leaving footsteps behind in the snowy mountainside before his eyes narrowed and hands lifted. “Paras, we must continue.” Paras nodded and hooked Amy back into the boards. She complied; her need for warmth outweighed her discomfort. The board dragged behind the snowmobile Paras drove, surfing again across the tundra. The water improved Amy’s awareness, as she watched the sky and trees above her move with them on their journey. She wondered where they were taking her, but drifted off again, slipping into a stage of torpor. ______________________ Amy woke again with a groan in a hospital, the dull ache of unbearable pain masked by modern medicine. A change in her machine’s beeping alerted others to her responsiveness. A tall, slender nurse walked in with familiar eyes. “Paras?” He stopped so sharply his sneakers squeaked on the tile. “I’m sorry, have we met?” “Of course we’ve met - you rescued me from the avalanche! Was that yesterday? Oh, I’ve lost track of time,” Amy began, but only confused herself. Paras, failing to hide his skepticism, examined her chart. “Can you tell me your name?” “Amy Lupont.” “Can you tell me what day it is?” “January fourth.” “When is your birthday?” “I-,” she stopped, confidence gone, “I don’t know.” Paras scribbled her answers, nodded his head, and announced, “I’m going to give the doctor a call. It’s good that you’re awake.” Feeling crazy, she glanced at her hospital bracelet: CARTER, HELEN DR. BOSCOV Her mind filled with such fuzz she didn’t notice when her doctor walked in. He reached the foot of her bed before she noticed him, but nearly screamed when she did. “Roy?” “I prefer Dr. Boscov,” his beard shook at he spoke, still sticking out in all directions, “Good evening, Ms. Carter. Lovely to see you awake again.“ “What’s happening,” she demanded, exposing a touch too much panic than intended. “Another episode, I assume,” he whispered to Paras, their eyes not nearly as kind as on the mountain, “give her another dose. Stronger this time.” Paras nodded. She shrieked, “no! Tell me what’s happening!” Restraints slithered from the side of her bed, encasing her from the chest down. She thrashed as much as she could, but in vain. Paras sunk a needle into her IV; she fought the haze of her attack. “This is good, her memory is being altered. Continue the plan,” Dr. Boscov instructed, “its time to change her hospital tag. So long, Helen Carter.” Paras nodded. She sank into the haze.