Remember the Dark

Prologue

I remember laughing . . . I remember turning the radio up louder . . . I remember the song, I love Rock and Roll . . . I remember approaching the intersection . . . I remember the truck . . . I remember the screeching sound of metal being collapsed, the sound of glass shattering. I remember being spun, jerked against the seatbelt, smashing my head into the steering wheel. I remember the sickening pop of my femur breaking as the door and dashboard pinned it excruciatingly. I remember people screaming . . . I remember the brightest pair of blue eyes telling me to hang on.

“Jane how are you feeling today?” the cheery voice of Nurse Susie asked.

I know it’s not my name. I’m just another Jane Doe at County Mercy. I’ve been here six weeks in recovery. My leg still aches in the full cast. I feel weak and useless.

“Jane?”

“I’m ok,” I answered flatly watching her do her rounds checking machines. Her warm blue eyes came to me at last.

“You can’t lose hope Jane,” she insisted. “The detectives are doing everything to find out who you are. It takes time but your mind will heal just like your body.”

I nodded absently. She gave the same speech every morning. I was getting tired of it.

“How’s my favorite girl today?” Dr. Talbot asked entering the room. Nurse Susie giggled and I turned my head starring out the window. Dr. Talbot was a middle-aged charmer type. Most days it irritated me, today was no exception.

“How’s the leg?” he queried nearing the bed.

“Sore.”

“On a scale of one to ten,” he reminded me.

“Six.”

“I’ll adjust the pain killers,” he noted. “You have a visitor today do you feel up to it?”

“Visitor,” I repeated dubiously. It was usually a translation of another cop with questions to things I could not recall.

The door opened and I froze. It was blue eyes. Dr. Talbot looked me over studiously. “Do you remember him?”

“Paramedic,” I breathed and he nodded.

“We’ll give you some privacy,” Dr. Talbot said motioning for Nurse Susie to follow him out.

The paramedic came close to the bed standing awkwardly. “I’m Bryce McKenna,” he introduced breaking the silence.

“They call me Jane Doe,” I answered softly shifting to sit up ignoring the pain throbbing through the cast. “I don’t remember my real name.”

He nodded shifting his weight. I glanced up into his bright blue eyes and he went still. “I heard you were still unidentified,” he acknowledged. “How are you holding up?”

I exhaled dropping my gaze. “I’m getting tired of the questions,” I confided.

“Sorry.”

“It’s ok,” I assured scanning those stunning depths. “I remember your eyes,” I admitted blushing slightly.

“Really?” he asked in awe.

“Uh yeah,” I stammered, “thanks for . . . saving my life and all Bryce McKenna.”

“Happy too,” he grinned moving to the chair beside the bed sitting casually. “I remember your eyes too.”

“My eyes?”

“Sure haven’t you seen your eyes yet?” he queried. I shook my head sadly.

“The doctors didn’t want to stress my brain,” I explained. “They said I had to have a lot of reconstructive surgery. That my brain won’t recognize my face and it could be traumatic.”

“They can’t change your eyes though,” he offered. “You’ve still got the same eyes I saw that day.”

I lifted my hand touching near my eyes hesitantly. The swelling, bruises, and cuts have been gone a while but what color were my eyes.

“You wanna see?” he questioned and I looked over at him.

“You think it would be ok?”

“I think you tougher than they think,” he confided. “You surviving that crash are a testament to that.”

I smiled gently.

“So do you want to see?”

“Yes.”

He gave me an encouraging smile and stood fast. He went to the bathroom and brought back a hand mirror. “Eyes closed,” he ordered.

I shut my eyes and felt a nervousness wash my stomach. I felt his body heat tease my arm as he moved close.

“Ok, breathe out and open your eyes,” he whispered.

I exhaled and lifted my eyelids slowly. My mind saw the reflection and I went numb. It wasn’t right, I didn’t look right.

“Easy,” he soothed touching my arm. “Just look at your eyes,” he reminded me. I saw the girl nod but I focused on my eyes. They were a strange mix of pale green around the iris before blending out to brown. I remembered when I cried they’d go bright green.

I shivered closing my eyes from the sight.

“Are you ok?” he asked calmly.

“I don’t look like me,” I murmured hesitantly, “my eyes are the same but the rest.”

“Do you remember what you looked like?”

I lifted my eyes to his avoiding the mirror. “Why are you here?”

He stiffened removing his hand. “They thought it might help if you saw someone you recognized; that I might help you trigger your memory.”

“You’re just here for them,” I repeated feeling that withdraw that came when I was around people. I knew I didn’t like people and his actions reminded me why. You can’t trust people.

“I’m here to help you,” he corrected sitting back down. “You were dying in that crash, flat-lining when I jolted you. Your eyes flew open to mine. They were almost bright green before they shifted like mood stones. I told you to hang on and you did. Your car was totaled. We couldn’t find any trace of registration or a license. You were like a ghost.”

“It wasn’t my car,” I said hearing the chair scoot closer.

“You didn’t tell that to the police,” he murmured.

“I didn’t remember,” I countered. “I know it wasn’t my car though. I don’t know whose it was but I was just going to . . .” My mind went black, “damn it,” I growled. “Where was I going? I was singing, laughing. I remember the song.”

“What song?”

“I love Rock and Roll by Joan Jett,” I answered. “It was one of my favorite songs. The light was green.”

“I know,” he soothed touching my hand gently. I flicked my eyes to him. “The driver of the truck was drunk. He ran a red light we saw it happen.”

“Saw it?”

“I was in a parking lot waiting for a call across from the intersection. Its how we got to you so quickly,” he admitted.

“I never drove much,” I recalled sitting back closing my eyes wearily. “I didn’t like to drive. It scared me.”

“Why?”

“A friend was killed in high school, he was young and made a mistake,” I said automatically before stiffening.

“What high school?”

“I don’t know,” I breathed. “His name was Charlie. I remember that. Charlie was a nice kid, nicer to me than most.”

“Do you remember his last name at all? We could try and track it down find your high school,” he stammered excitedly.

“Why are you doing this McKenna?” I questioned darkly. “What difference does it make to you if I know who I am?”

“Are you happy being some random Jane Doe?” he demanded. “Do you want to be sent to a shelter or a psych ward when you’re released because you don’t know who you are?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I replied shutting my eyes.

“Of course it matters,” he barked.

“If someone out there gave two shits they’d have found me,” I growled.

“You said yourself it was your friends car, you have a friend at the very least,” he argued.

“Then where are they? It was plastered on the news, the car type, the video, the pictures,” I hissed. “I couldn’t turn the damn channel for a month without seeing it. Are you telling me my friend who gave me the car didn’t recognize their make and model? That they wouldn’t have thought hey it’s been six weeks and my cars still not home? Whoever lent me that car didn’t give a damn.”

“You don’t know that,” he breathed.

“I know people aren’t worth a grain a salt,” I retorted. “They’re vicious, spiteful things with hidden agendas.”

“Helping is not a hidden agenda,” he rumbled and I narrowed a look at him.

“You’re not helping me McKenna, you’re helping the state’s budget surplus by trying to make me remember so they’ll know what insurance foots the bill,” I stated coldly.

“Have you always been this cynical?”

“I was born this way,” I answered automatically freezing at the remark. An image flashed over my mind. I was fighting with a girl. She had bright red hair and jade colored eyes. “Have you always been this cynical Sienna?” The memory left as quick as it came. “Sienna,” I repeated smiling sadly.

“What?” he asked in confusion.

“My first name is Sienna,” I sighed looking at his perplexed gaze. “I remembered it.”

“Sienna?” he smirked. “It’s a start.”