Regina . . . Regina . . . The name echoes along the corridors of his mind, through empty chambers from which amnesia has removed all furnishings. Presences haunt that abandoned mental architecture, people he once knew, who might be dead or might still be alive but dead to memory. He says aloud, “Regina,” and in the ghost-ridden halls within his skull, a figure floats, more mist than material, a beautiful woman with pale hair and purple-blue eyes, who passes in a moment and recedes into a darkness where he cannot follow.
