His head felt as though it were about to explode. Mark looked back towards the car. He could barely make it out through the dense fog that clung to the forest floor. Only the dimming tail-lights, still glowing after the accident, were clearly visible. The body of the vehicle was nearly perpendicular to the ground. He could smell the steaming liquid that leaked from the radiator and sizzled on the remains of the wrecked engine.

It was a wonder he wasn't killed, he thought. He should have known better than to try to drive at night through a fog on a winding gravel road. He silently thanked God for letting him survive. Mark looked around. It was dark and misty. The fog floated along the ground to a height of about five feet. The moonlight reflected off its surface, giving it the appearance of a gently churning ocean.

He tried to recollect the accident and found that his memory was full of holes. He could not, for example, remember where he was going or why, just the horror of the crash itself, of crawling from the wreck onto the damp forest floor. He knew, or felt he knew, pretty much all the other pertinent details of his life. He knew where he lived, what he did for a living, even what he had eaten for breakfast that morning. What he didn't  know was where he was or how to get home. The only noises he heard were the night-sounds of the woods and the distant strain of bluegrass music originating somewhere ahead in the darkness.           

Mark considered his position. He was beaten up, his head hurt, and he couldn't remember where he was. His options were limited, he could either wait for help that might never come along the obscure trail upon which he had crashed, or he could head toward the distant music and ask for help. The plummeting temperature helped him make up his mind. He needed to move or he would freeze. Distant bluegrass it was.

He followed the sound of fiddles and squeeze-boxes through the trees and bramble, stumbling several times over boulders hidden beneath the shrouding fog. As the music grew louder, Mark could make out a glow in the distance. As he trudged on, the glow became discernable as a residence, lit by a row of lamps that led to the front door of a pleasant looking ranch-style home set about 100 yards from a wide dirt road. Mark's heart lifted in relief. He had half expected to come across some ominous Deliverance-style abode inhabited by paranoid inbred moonshiners. He brushed himself off, took a deep breath, walked to the front door, and rang the doorbell.

The door was opened by a well-groomed twentyish man wearing a dark brown cardigan. The young man seemed neither surprised nor curious at his late-night caller. He slowly shook his head.  

"You again? Jeez Mark, this is becoming a habit," he opened the door fully for the stunned wanderer. "You might as well come on in."
Mark followed him in and was about to speak when the man interrupted him.

"Let me guess," the man said with a wry smile, "you've never been here, you don't know where you are or who I am, and you've had an accident."

"Yes, yes, but how..." Mark stuttered.

"Beats me," the man said cheerfully, "but this is the fourth time you've done this. My name is Carl by the way. Where did you crash this time?"

"About a mile from here. A gravel road...ditch...I don't understand."

"You and me both. You might as well make yourself comfortable. I'll get us a drink...scotch, right?

"Yeah, thanks," Mark said, his head swimming at the absurdity of the situation, "Where is this?"

Carl called back over his shoulder from the kitchen while he poured the drinks, "We're outside of Cogitan. It's about ten miles from here over the mountain. Before you ask, my car's on the fritz like it always is when you come calling. I half expected you when it didn't start this morning. Anyway, you should just settle in and we can see about getting you there in the morning. Oh yeah, lets see...I don't have a phone, my wife is visiting friends, and I'm self-employed...those are the questions you usually ask."

Mark didn't speak. He took his drink and swallowed it quickly. Carl looked at him and smiled sympathetically.

"I wish I knew what was going on here...for both our sakes. My wife thinks I'm either nuts or messing with her since she's never here when you show up. I've got to admit I like the idea though. It makes me think that there are things going on that are outside the realm of normal experience. I lost my mother when I was young and I've missed her my whole life. Somehow this thing with you, whatever it is, kind of reassures me that there's more to life and death than we know. He looked Mark in the eye, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have be talking about how wonderful this is. I know this must be quite a trauma for you. Look...finish your drink, take the spare bedroom and get some sleep and we'll see about getting you to Cogitan first thing tomorrow...okay?"

Mark nodded, "I am tired, that sounds good."

Mark awoke early the next morning to the smells of coffee and frying bacon. He made his way to the kitchen in time to see a smiling Carl serving breakfast at a table in the enclosed porch. He sat down, took a sip of his coffee and addressed Carl.

"So, is this what I eat every morning I'm here?" He tried to sound chipper, but the bizarre nature of his situation began to overwhelm him even as he completed his question.

"Actually," Carl answered, "this is only the second time you've spent the night and the other breakfast you had was cornflakes and fruit, if I remember correctly."

Mark weighed this revelation, "So this isn't some kind of mystical, mumbo-jumbo, destiny thing. What did I...do I...do now...when I finish eating?"

"Hell if I know. I'm not some kind of prophet or anything. I guess you head to Cogitan and arrange a way to get home. Sorry I haven't got a phone. No lines out this far and no cell signals in this wilderness."

"And your car's busted?"

"I checked before you got up. I think it's the coil. I'm not much of a car guy. I'll have one of my buddies fix 'er up when they come for our card game this weekend."

"I guess I'll be walking." Mark said matter-of factly.

"It looks that way," Carl affirmed. "Just take a right on the dirt road. It's pretty crooked. Cogitan is about ten miles as the crow flies, but at least fifteen on that road." He could see the disappointment on Mark's face, "It's not that bad. There's some folks along the way. The nearest is no more that five miles. People are pretty friendly around here. I'm sure you'll get a lift. Once you get to the mountain, there's a short tunnel and Cogitan's right on the other side. I'll pack you something to drink and a few snacks."

"Thanks, Carl. I head out after I finish this great breakfast. You've been very kind."

"What about the weird stuff?" Carl chuckled.

"I'll think about that when I get home," Mark laughed, "I don't want my head to explode."

It was warm and pleasant. A light breeze, scented with honeysuckle and pine, blew gently along the path as Mark began his journey. He was a bit sore from the previous evening's mishap and his head still throbbed like a pumping heart, but all these minor discomforts were nothing compared to the confusion and disorientation he felt since his encounter with Carl. Had he really been here before? How was that possible? Why didn't he remember?

Mark tried to put these concerns out of his mind and after a time he was somewhat successful. He focused on the trail ahead of him, taking in the beauty of the forest and the fields, scenery which suddenly seemed disturbingly familiar.

He sat on a large boulder at the side of the road and rested. He tried to remember the details of his crash. Why was he driving to Cogitan? Did he have friends or family there? Business? And where was Cogitan anyway? Upstate obviously, somewhere in the mountains, away from the urban landscape of concrete and steel that he called home.

It bothered Mark that he had such obvious holes in his recollection. He realized that this was not unusual in cases of head trauma, but it was always different when it was about you and not some unknown case you'd read about. His biggest concern was that nothing he could imagine accounted for the bizarre repetition of his actions that had apparently occurred. He silently cursed himself for not asking Carl more specific questions, questions that might actually lead to answers. Finally, with a sigh of surrender, he stood and continued up the road.

After another hour on the road, the dense woods thinned until there were scattered fields of wildflowers interspersed with thickets of ash and beech trees. Mark smiled despite himself as the sun bathed the scene in a magical golden glow. Up ahead, at the boundary of the field he could see a small house. To his relief, an old jeep was clearly visible at the entrance to the home. He continued walking with a renewed sense of purpose. As he reached the edge of the path leading to the pleasant-appearing white dwelling, he brushed the accumulated dirt from his clothing, then took a deep drink from the canteen Carl had given him, and approached the front door.

He knocked loudly, but not in an aggressive way, making sure he could be heard without sounding threatening, a slow, forceful knock. He heard the inhabitant walking toward the door.

The door opened and Mark was confronted by a lovely woman of about forty, dressed in a grey gingham dress. Her eyes widened as she stared wordlessly into his face. A look of anguish transformed her. She seemed to lose all strength and dropped to her knees. Tears streamed down her eyes and she began to whimper the word 'no' again and again. Mark stepped back in shock. Thoughts flew through his head. What had he done to this poor woman? He had obviously been here before, as he had with Carl, but in a far less innocent encounter. She continued sobbing and he stumbled back, feeling guilty and ashamed.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry," he said desperately," I...I don't know what I did, but I won't hurt you...I'll go...don't be afraid."  Mark was finally so overcome that he too began to sob. He turned and retreated. As he reached the road, he could hear her call out."

"Stop! You didn't do anything wrong, Mark. Wait!"

He turned. She had stopped crying and a soft smile crossed her face. She rose and approached him. He was still quivering with emotion. She reached out and touched his face, staring deeply into his eyes.

"You didn't do anything wrong," she said gently, "I was just hoping that you had made it to town. Come in," she reached out her hand, which he took. She led him into the house like a scared, stray dog.

Once inside she motioned to the couch in the front room and disappeared into what Mark assumed to be the kitchen. He seated himself and she reappeared shortly thereafter carrying a tray with a teapot, two cups, and a variety of cheeses and crackers. She sat down across from him and poured out two cups of tea. She reached out her hand.

"My name is Emily."

He gently shook her hand and looked at her closely. She seemed very familiar and he found himself very comfortable in her presence. He tried to recall his last encounter with her, because by now he was certain, that like his previous encounters with Carl, he had been here before. He couldn't quite remember, but unlike his stay with Carl, Mark felt less confused and less adrift. He took a sip of tea.

"I apologize for startling you. I'm lost. I totaled my car back in the woods and your neighbor Carl sent me in this direction."

At the mention of Carl's name, Emily smiled broadly, "I'm not sure Carl knows I'm here. I'm only visiting. I'm sorry for my reaction out there, but I had really hoped you'd have made it to town after the last time you came by. You were so desperate last time...it made me sad. You seem much better now."

Mark chuckled, "I really don't have any point of reference. Everyone I've met since the accident seems to know what I did and didn't do better than I do. I don't even know why I'm going to Cogitan. I guess I'm just going there to try to get home."

"Can you think of a better reason?" Emily asked.

"I guess not. Can you drive me there? Carl said there's a tunnel up ahead on this road, if you could take me to town and drop me at a gas station, I'd greatly appreciate it."

"It's not that kind of tunnel. It's part of the hiking trail, pedestrians only. It's not wide enough for a car, but I can take you to the entrance...you'll have to walk the rest of the way."

"Fair enough. I've walked this far. It seems simple enough."

Emily looked down at the floor, "I've taken you to the entrance a few times and you always end up back at my door. It's disconcerting."

"I can't remember any of it. This is all new to me. I can't even fathom what you and Carl told me, it just doesn't make any sense. All I know is my car crashed and I want to get back home. I don't suppose you could walk with me when we get to the tunnel?"

Emily was silent for a while, "There's not really any way to get lost in there, it's a straight shot, but I'll wait until you've made it through if it will make you feel better."

"I think it will, Emily. I don't know what's going on, but somehow having a friendly face with me seems a good thing. If I zone out or anything, you can kick me in the butt." Mark chuckled and was pleased to see that Emily let loose a little laugh as well.

"All right, Mark, I'll play scout leader. Why don't we finish our tea and head out before it gets dark."

"Sounds good to me."

It was a fairly short trip along the road to the edge of the cliff face. The jeep sputtered and strained a bit the final mile as it climbed the ever steeper path, but when Emily finally parked it alongside the stone steps leading upward toward the tunnel, it seemed to almost purr with gratitude before she removed the keys and locked its doors. Mark felt nervous, but with Emily leading him by the hand, he calmed significantly as they both climbed the stairs leading to the upper trail. There was a stone platform carved into the stairway about halfway up and they both took a few minutes to rest.

Mark stared down at the valley. It was a beautiful view, familiar and foreign at the same time. He couldn't help wondering how often he'd seen it before. He looked over at Emily. She looked so peaceful and lovely in the sunlight. He found himself wishing he could spend more time with her, time that had substance and meaning. Time he could remember. He felt a connection, a longing to be with her. Then he remembered why he was here and how lost he felt and he knew he needed to continue upwards to the tunnel. He needed to get home. Mark smiled and extended his hand. Emily took it and together they continued to ascend the steps.

They reached the elevated trail and walked a short distance to a narrow tunnel carved into the body of the mountain. Though the interior was dark, a distant flickering within the tunnel held the promise of light.

"Well here it is," Emily said brightly. She pointed into the tunnel, "Cogitan is about two hundred yards that-a-way."

"Aren't you coming with me? " Mark asked in an injured tone.

Emily looked embarrassed, "I can't, Im claustrophobic. I would freak out. I'll stay on this side and talk you through." She laughed, "I need to be sure you make it this time, I'm running out of tea and crackers."

Mark turned toward the entrance and took a deep breath. Before he could move forward, Emily put and arm on his shoulder. He turned. She leaned forward and kissed him firmly on the lips. It wasn't sexual, it wasn't casual or polite, it was sincere, genuine affection. He smiled and then faced the tunnel once more and ventured in.

His head began to throb almost immediately. The space was dark and confining with flickering light bulbs housed in metal cages hanging from the ceiling every hundred feet. He thought he would simply run through to the far end, but try as he might, he could only bring himself to plod forward slowly, one lead-footed step at a time. It seemed like hours until he reached the halfway point. The pain in his skull forced him to his knees. The tunnel began to spin around him. He was on the verge of passing out when he heard Emily's voice echoing down the shaft.

"You must keep moving! Don't give up Mark!"

He steadied himself. Mustering his strength, he stood and leaned against the wall before lurching forward and heading once more in the direction of the far end of the tunnel. He could make out the light of Cogitan shining in, leading him on.

"That's it, you're almost there!" Emily shouted.

Mark stumbled forward, now almost blind with pain. Ten feet more, he thought as the bright light of the tunnel's end drew him on. As he took the final steps, the pain ceased and the fractured memories swimming in his mind coalesced. Tears streamed down his face as he turned his head back and howled in the pain of remembrance, "Emily!" before falling forward out of the tunnel and into the light of Cogitan.

The nurse burst through the door like a runner crossing the finish line. Doctor Porter looked up from his desk.

"Doctor! It's Mark Res." She said loudly

"What about him?"

"He's awake!' the nurse blurted out with genuine enthusiasm.                                   

The doctor stood, "Res? Really?"

"Yes doctor, really. Just like that. I was changing his pan and his eyes opened and he spoke."

The doctor had already left his desk and began to head out of his office. The nurse followed.

"What did he say?"

"He said, 'Emily'."

The doctor moved quickly along the hospital's halls with the nurse in tow. He arrived at a room near the end of the corridor. Medical charts hung on a hook on the upper center of the door. Porter took them down and studied them carefully. The nurse smiled.

"It's really amazing, isn't it? How long has it been?"

The doctor paused his reading and thought for a second, "Almost eight years. He came in not three weeks after I started here. It almost doesn't seem possible. And he spoke you said?"

"Yes doctor, he said 'Emily'. Who is she?"

Porter's demeanor darkened, "His wife. It's very sad. She died in the same accident that put him here. Their son Carl was with them. She was driving. The boy nearly died as well, but she managed to shield him with her body when the car rolled. It was the only thing that saved him. He still visits Mark every month"

The nurse slowly shook her head, "That's horrible and wonderful at the same time. And Mister Res doesn't know any of it. It's almost too bad he has to wake up to that kind of news. At least his son is still alive. That has to be some comfort."

"I hope so, Ann. We'll soon find out." He opened the door and entered into the brightness of the coma patient's room. Mark Res was smiling, even as the tears of realization ran in streams down his grateful face.