18. ANASTASIA
Chapter eighteen
T he last few days had passed in a fog of amnesia, each awakening a disorienting plunge into an unfamiliar world. They’d stepped me down from the ICU to a progressive care unit three days ago, and now I was finally in a regular hospital room. It felt like I’d lived a month in this hospital, but it had only been a couple of weeks since my accident. The progressive care unit was quieter and less intense, which was nice, but something about hospital care made me crave the outside world like never before. Hopefully, this new room would give me a little privacy.
Conan, the nurse who had kind of adopted me since I’d landed in the emergency room, was a great distraction through it all. On his breaks, he would often pop in with a milkshake or some fast food, making the hospital seem less like a prison and more like some kind of weird dorm. He talked—a lot—and through his stories; I was getting to know not just about him but about his brothers and Samantha too.
Although he was careful not to say anything that might bring back bad memories, I could tell he was curious to figure out who I really was. He had been great, but even he couldn’t stop the waves of frustration that hit me hard when the neuropsychologist visited. Dr. Schneider had come by a few times, trying to jog my memory using various techniques and even hypnosis, but he’d had no luck—my past remained a blank slate.
When I wasn’t doing sessions with the neuropsychologist, seeing various therapists, or being visited by Conan, I vegged out a lot by watching TV and trying to read. Reading was tough at first; my brain functioned like it had short-circuited, but gradually it was getting better. I could now get through a few chapters without feeling exhausted. It was progress, I guess.
Now that I’d been moved to a regular room, I was looking forward to starting physical therapy in the gym. I had a gut feeling that I used to be super active. Maybe I was a runner? Or did yoga? Who knew? I was curious to find out. It was weird, but moving my body felt like the one thing that might help me connect with who I was before all this.
The transition from room to room hadn’t been easy. Each move had brought a mix of relief and anxiety. It was bizarre, being so disconnected from myself while my body ticked off all the boxes on the recovery list. Perhaps it was the lingering uncertainty about who I was or what my life had been like before the accident that unnerved me. Sadly, while my body healed, my memories lagged far behind. Some were muddled, but most were still missing entirely because of the amnesia.
Just as I’d finished settling into my new hospital room, there was a knock on the door before it clicked softly and swung open. A woman wearing leggings and a cute sports top breezed in. When she took a step closer, I noticed a nursing badge attached to a lanyard around her neck. She seemed to be about my age and had an easy smile to go along with her fiery red hair. Everything about her lit up the room. This woman was instantly likable. She had to be the one Conan had told me about.
“Hey there! You must be Angel. I’m Samantha, but you can call me Sam. I work down in the ED alongside Conan and Dr. Thorin. Well, I’m actually engaged to him, so I guess it’s okay to call him Atticus since I’m not on duty. I’m still getting used to the idea of marrying a doctor I work with.” She giggled. “Do you mind if I come in and hang out for a while? I heard you’ve been through quite a lot, kinda like what I’ve experienced myself.”
“Sure, I could use some company. So far, no one claims to know me.” I rolled my eyes and gave a half-shrug.
“God, that has to suck. At least when I fell and cracked my head on the concrete, I woke up with most of my memories and was surrounded by people who cared about me. I didn’t recall what happened just before, but it was a crazy scene, so that was probably for the best.” She pulled a chair closer and plopped down onto it.
I shifted slightly on the bed, trying to get more comfortable as I turned toward where she sat—intrigued by her openness and willingness to not sugarcoat my situation. “It’s nice to meet you, Sam. Conan has mentioned you a few times.”
Sam smiled. “Oh, God, can that man talk. Am I right? He’s been worrying over you since the moment you came through our doors.”
The thought of him worrying about me sent a thrill skittering down my spine. “Yeah, he can for sure talk a lot. But I have to admit, though, that I loved him singing to me. I swear it was his music therapy—as he called it—that triggered me to wake up. His voice was like warm honey on a hot buttered biscuit. I could listen to it all day. And, oh, was he particularly pleasant to wake up to!” I sighed.
Sam laughed again. I guessed she could tell by the look on my face where my thoughts had drifted off to.
She leaned in a little, and the playfulness in her face faded into a more serious expression. “I wanted to come and see you because, not too long ago, I was pretty much where you’re at now. I had a traumatic brain injury and figured I might be able to offer some…I don’t know, insider advice, or just an ear. Conan told me a bit about what you’ve been dealing with…the amnesia and all. I can’t imagine how discombobulating it must be. After my injuries, there were so many things I had to work through just to feel safe again.”
I appreciated her straightforwardness. There was no pity in her tone, just an understanding that came from a lived experience.
“Conan said you were involved with some serious stuff,” I probed, curious despite myself.
She let out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah, ‘serious stuff’ is one way to put it. A Russian mafia organization called the Volkovi Notchi kidnapped me. Ever heard of them?” At my shake of the head, she continued. “Well, it was terrifying. They’re really bad news. There was a shoot-out in a warehouse at the Port of Tacoma. Atticus, Conan, and their brother, Braxton, came to the rescue along with a security team.”
It sounded like the plot of a crime thriller, not something that could happen to a person in real life. “That’s insane. I can’t believe that happened to you.”
“It’s definitely one of my least-fond memories,” Sam said dryly. “The head of the mafia syndicate in this area, Viktor Volkov, managed to escape with a couple of his thugs. They’re probably in Russia now. We don’t know who all is involved or if they’re still trying to hurt us. But we know he’s out there somewhere.”
I sat up a bit straighter, my heart thumping. The idea of such violence was horrifying. “That sounds awful, Sam,” I said. An icy shiver made the hair on my arms stand up.
“It’s like living with a constant shadow over your head, knowing that someone could be lurking around waiting to kill you.” She paused, glancing down at her hands. “And the not knowing is the hardest part. I still get nightmares, and it sucks because it’s not just me it affects—it’s Atticus too.” A wave of melancholy crossed over her face.
“Having to look over your shoulder all the time… You’re brave, Sam. No one should have to live in that kind of fear.”
She shrugged, brushing off the compliment. “We do what we have to, right?”
As she revealed more details about her abduction and the sinister dealings of the mafia, the name “Volkov” snagged in my subconscious. With each mention, the unease grew in my mind.
Samantha leaned back in the chair and sighed. “And honestly, Viktor Volkov is just the worst sort of scum. It’s like his heart is made of that cold Russian ice or something. The stuff they were into—drug dealing, human trafficking, kidnapping, you name it—was so, so bad.” As she spoke, her hands moved to emphasize each word.
At the third or fourth mention of that name, something snapped inside me, triggering a rush of fragmented images. A vivid, jarring memory burst through the fog that had clouded my past. I saw a ruthless man with a snarl on his face. Power and danger rolled off him in waves. Next to him stood a striking woman. She had sharp features, and her lips were painted a bold red .
The room faded, and Samantha’s voice became a distant buzz as the memory consumed me. My face twisted in pain, my body went rigid, and my gaze locked onto something only I could see while I began to relive a heart-wrenching separation.
The scene played out on the steps of a massive estate. A giant, ornately decorated wooden door loomed behind the man and woman. The woman’s hand reached out and clutched my forearm painfully tight, pulling me away from a boy who stood frozen next to the vile man. The boy’s eyes met mine, helplessness and anger filling them as the woman forcefully dragged me toward a waiting car. In desperation, I kicked my legs against the stone pavers, my screams piercing the air, but it was no use. The man shoved the boy through the door before disappearing inside the house and slamming the door shut.
“Angel? Hey, are you okay?” Samantha’s voice penetrated the haze. She gently touched my arm.
I blinked, the room snapping back into focus. She was now standing next to the bed. “I…I just remembered something,” I said in a shaky whisper.
“What was it?” she asked, stroking my arm reassuringly.
“It was…confusing. Children being pulled apart. It was just so sad.” The words were inadequate to describe the intensity of the memory, but they were all I could muster. The pain of being dragged away from someone I loved twisted my insides, but I couldn’t tell if it was my own memory or something I’d seen on TV.
“Children?” Sam repeated, her brow furrowing in confusion.
“Yeah, it’s all a bit jumbled. But it felt very real.” I rubbed my temples, as if I could smooth out the creases of my disheveled thoughts.
“Was it someone you know?” she prodded gently .
“I’m not sure. It was too disjointed for me to make sense of it fully.” The connection to the name Volkov lingered in my mind, but I chose to keep it to myself, unsure of what it meant or how it tied everything together.
Sam gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay. These things might take time to piece together. And hey, if you need someone to talk to, or if anything else comes back to you—any memories or feelings—just know I’m here, okay?”
“Thanks, Sam,” I said, managing a smile. I was grateful for her support, even as the shadows of my memory loomed large in the back of my mind.
Without warning, the door to my hospital room swung open, and Conan’s massive frame filled the doorway. Despite his intimidating appearance, he radiated warmth and happiness like a human golden retriever.
“Damn, Angel, look at you! You’re looking great today!” he exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s good to see you out of the PCU and in a private room. This is a serious upgrade!” Walking up next to my bed, he swept his arms wide, assessing the small room.
“Oh yeah, I’m sure I look great with this scar running across my forehead and over my brow,” I said sarcastically.
Conan leaned in closer, dropping his hand to the mattress next to me, and gave my head a closer look. “Well, if you ask me, it looks totally badass, like a villain in a movie. You raise that brow at somebody and give them the evil eye, and they’re gonna think twice about crossing you.” He gave me a wink. “If I were you, I’d keep it. It’s sexy as hell—like a well-placed tattoo—and in that, I’m an expert,” he said, standing up and raising the hem of his shirt to his collar.
At the sight of his ripped abs, covered in a montage of inked images, I gasped. I swallowed hard as my eyes traced his V-cut to the edge of his pants, where a hint of a red-lipstick tattoo made me want to take a taste.
Before I could respond, he released his shirt and swooped over to Samantha, effortlessly hoisting her off the ground in a bear hug. “How’s my favorite sister-in-law?”
Samantha laughed, kicking her dangling legs slightly. “I’m not your sister-in-law yet, Conan! Put me down, you big oaf. This is not the place for rowdiness.”
Conan chuckled and set her down, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Since when did you start caring about being proper? Atticus’s influence, I bet. You used to be fun.”
Samantha put her hands on her hips, feigning indignation. “Excuse me? I’m still fun. It’s just that someone has to be the adult around here.”
“Oh, yeah?” Conan teased, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Bet you haven’t even touched those video games I left you guys. Atticus too stiff to learn how to handle a controller?”
Samantha shot back with a playful smirk, “Oh, we’ve been playing, just not the kind of games you’re thinking about. Let’s just say Atticus has his hands full.”
Conan groaned. “Jesus, Sam, there are things a brother just doesn’t need to get a visual of! Already been there and done that. I’ll never be able to get the cabin-hot-tub incident out of my mind.”
“Shut up! Don’t even go there,” Sam retorted playfully, pretending to be offended.
While I listened to their banter, the heaviness that had settled over our earlier conversation dissipated, and I found myself smiling, genuinely amused by their dynamic. It was a welcome distraction from the dark memory my mind had dredged up after Sam shared her terrifying mafia ordeal with me .
“All right, you two, that’s too much information,” I cut in, chuckling. “Keep it out of the gutter, will you? My imagination is already running wild.”
Conan pulled up a chair next to Sam’s, his gigantic frame making it squeak in protest as he sat down. “So, what were you guys getting into? Anything I can help with?”
“Just hearing about the mafia goons that kidnapped Sam when a disturbing memory flashed into my mind,” I said, glancing at Samantha, who nodded. My face fell, and I worried my lower lip with my teeth.
Conan’s face softened. “Anything new pop up that’s bothering you?”
I hesitated. Images of the stern man and woman were still vivid in my mind. But I shook my head slowly. “Just bits and pieces. Nothing clear enough to make sense of yet.”
“Well, if there’s anything you remember, any detail that may lead us to figure out your identity, you know we’re here for you, right?” Conan frowned in concern, his usual bravado tempered in light of the seriousness of the situation.
“Yeah, I know,” I assured him. “Thanks, Conan.”
He nodded, then stood up, stretching his back with a grunt. “All right, I’ll let you ladies get back to it. I just wanted to stop by and say hi. Sam, try not to corrupt my older brother too much, yeah?”
Samantha waved him off, shaking her head. “Ha! Me? Corrupt him? That’s a good one.” She walked with Conan toward the door, and he stopped and gave her a quick side-hug.
“Well, you did manage to break through all that ice surrounding his ‘bachelor for life’ heart. I’ll give you that,” Conan said with a smirk before walking out.
Samantha rolled her eyes and chuckled, but I caught the blush that crept up her neck. As she brushed off Conan’s departing shot, he spun on his heel and returned to the doorway, a second thought bringing him back into the room. “Wait, I almost forgot,” he said, his gaze softening as he looked at me. “Pretty soon, they’ll kick you out of here. I bet you can’t wait.”
I managed a weak smile, but the thought of leaving wasn’t as comforting as he probably imagined it was. “Yeah, and straight into a jail cell with that cop watching me like a hawk,” I muttered, nodding toward the officer stationed outside my door.
Conan glanced at the officer and grimaced. Turning back to me, he leaned in, lowering his voice. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna help you with that. Atticus and I have been talking. He’s got a lawyer friend who’s already on board to help with your case at the arraignment.”
His words should have eased my mind, but a chill ran through me instead. “But what if I did something terrible?” I whispered. “What if I actually broke into that place or…or worse?”
“Hey,” Conan said, his voice firm, “we’re gonna figure it out. And if you remember anything about why you might have been at the Volkov estate or why you ran, just tell us. It may help clear things up.”
A wave of nausea passed through me at the mere idea of having any association with such people. I shook my head. “I can’t imagine I’m tied to people like that, to a mafia crime family. It just doesn’t fit. Mafia, crime…it’s not me. I don’t remember much, but I know I’m not like that.”
The distress must have shown clearly on my face because Samantha quickly interjected, “If you were friendly with the likes of them, you wouldn’t have been running away like your life depended on it. We don’t think you’re one of them, but maybe you were caught up in some sort of entanglement with their dealings, like what happened to me because of my dad. ”
Conan nodded. “Let’s put that aside for now. Soon you’ll be out of here and hanging out with me. You’ve got to know that’ll be a—”
His words were cut short as two Tacoma police officers stepped around him and entered the room.
“Good afternoon, Miss. I’m Detective Brady from Tacoma PD, and this is Officer Miller,” he said, indicating a female officer behind him. “We need to ask you a few questions. This is regarding what happened on the morning of May twenty-eighth—when you broke into the old Volkov estate, stole a car, and fled from police before crashing into a tree.” He walked further into the room, with Miller trailing behind him.
Conan stepped in between me and the officers, his size instantly filling the space like a protective barrier. “Is this necessary, guys? She’s still recovering and just getting her bearings,” he asked, his tone respectful yet firm.
My stomach churned, and I braced myself for the interrogation to come.
Without responding, Detective Brady glanced at Conan, then back at me. “Miss, before we proceed with any questions, I need to inform you that I have a warrant for your arrest and inform you of your rights.” He paused, ensuring I was paying attention. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?”
I nodded, feeling a lump forming in my throat. “Yes, I understand.”
Detective Brady sat down in one of the chairs beside my bed, his partner moving to stand just behind him, effectively forcing Samantha and Conan to stand at the foot of the bed.
“Ma’am, we need to go over what happened,” he said, making no effort to ease into the questioning. His tone was more accusing than inquiring. “You’re facing serious charges: evading police, reckless driving, trespassing, car theft, and breaking and entering.”
I stared at him, my mouth dry. The words barely made sense, and his harsh tone made it worse. “I…I don’t remember any of that. I remember nothing before waking up here. I can’t explain something I don’t remember,” I stammered.
“That’s convenient,” the officer said sarcastically. “But amnesia or not, you were found at the scene in a stolen car after having broken into a home. Once you’re medically cleared, you will be taken into custody, transported to the station, booked, and brought to the courthouse for arraignment.”
His partner, who had remained quiet thus far but was equally imposing, leaned forward slightly and said, “With all of these charges. You’d better hope you can find a way to post bail, or you won’t be going anywhere.”
The room spun a little. My heartbeat roared in my ears, fast and loud, drowning out their voices. The walls seemed to close in on me, and I struggled to catch my breath.
Samantha, who had been quietly observing, stepped in swiftly. “That’s enough,” she said sharply, moving to stand on the other side of the bed. “She’s clearly not in any state to discuss this right now. And as a nurse in this hospital, I’m telling you, you’re causing her unnecessary distress.”
The stern officer looked like he wanted to argue but glanced at his partner and then back at me. I was still shaking and struggling to breathe. Samantha was in her element, standing there confidently and not backing down .
“You need to leave. Now,” she insisted, pointing to the door. “This woman is under our medical care, and I will not allow you to jeopardize her recovery.”
Reluctantly, the officer stood up and gave me a long look. “We’ll be back once the doctors clear you to be discharged,” he said gruffly. And with that, they both left the room.
Once they were gone, Samantha reached for the controller attached to the bed, raising it so I could sit up straighter. “Breathe with me, Angel. In and out, slowly,” she instructed, counting for each breath.
I followed her lead, though each inhale was sharp, and each exhale was a bit shaky. Gradually, my breathing evened out. The room stopped spinning, and the trembling subsided.
“Thank you. I’ve never experienced anything like that before,” I whispered once I could speak again.
“Don’t mention it,” she said, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’ve suffered from panic attacks since I was a little girl. You’re going to be okay.” Samantha gave me a comforting smile. “Why don’t you plan on coming to stay with Atticus and me once you’re out on bail? Our new house is ridiculously large for just two people, and you can even babysit Murphy.”
I paused, a little taken aback. “You guys have a kid?” I asked, imagining a toddler running around a sprawling living room.
Samantha burst into laughter. “Oh, no, not a kid. Murphy is our almost eight-month-old shih tzu puppy. He’s a handful and loves attention.”
I smiled at the thought of babysitting a playful puppy. But then I was snapped back to reality. “I don’t have any money. Even if the bail is small, I won’t be able to pay for it. I don’t even know who I am, so there’s no way I could find anyone willing to pay to get me out.”
Conan waved off my concerns with a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry, Braxton knows the chief of police. They’re old friends. And Atticus is getting you the best attorney. I’ll cover the bail. It’s no issue.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek, my anxiety flaring up again.
“Money’s not a problem, Angel,” Conan said. “I’ve got it covered. You can pay me back whenever, or not at all. I just want you out and safe.”
I tried to protest, the idea of owing such an enormous debt weighing heavily on me. “I can’t just take your money, Conan—”
“Seriously, stop worrying about it,” he insisted, his voice firm yet kind. “I wouldn’t offer if it was a problem. Focus on getting better and sorting out your memories.”
Reluctantly, I nodded, accepting his generosity with a heavy heart. “I don’t know how I’ll ever make it up to you guys, but I promise, somehow, I will.”
Samantha smiled. “You don’t owe us anything. Just get yourself back on your feet. That’s payment enough.”
Conan glanced at his watch, his brows rising. “Shit, break ended ages ago. Gotta get back to the ED.” He turned to leave, then paused at the door. “Just hang in there, all right?”
Samantha stepped back. “I’ve got to head home as well. I’ll set up a room for you. You focus on getting your strength back. We’ll handle the rest.”
When they left, I lay back against my pillows. The room abruptly felt too big and too empty. I was alone with my swirling thoughts again. It was almost too much to believe that Conan, Sam, and even Dr. Thorin were willing to help me so generously. To them, I was a complete stranger, yet here they were, coming to my aid. Their support was surprising and hard to accept, but I guessed there truly were good people out there, and I just happened to have been lucky enough to meet them in my darkest hour. They hadn’t asked for it, but they had my utter loyalty, and somehow, one day, I would figure out a way to repay them.
Samantha’s stories about the Volkov family consumed my mind, stirring a dark fear. Was I connected to the mafia? The thought terrified me. Despite the support from Samantha and Conan, anxiety about my past—and my potential ties to an organization as sinister as the Volkovi Notchi—nagged at my conscience. I shivered, hoping against all odds that my past was not as dark as I was beginning to think it might be.