21. ANASTASIA
Chapter twenty-one
T he last ten days had gone by painfully slow.
Each one had rolled into the next, a blur of relentless routines that were both comforting and suffocating. A range of rehabilitation treatments—from the exhausting to the mind-numbing—filled my schedule. Physical therapy was the only one I looked forward to. It wasn’t just the physical exertion that helped; it was also the one thing that made me feel like I was truly doing something to fight back against the fog in my brain and the annoying weakness in my muscles. For that one hour a day, I could channel all my frustrations into pushing against the limits of my recovering body. Outside those sessions, my reality was increasingly constrained by the barrage of therapies aimed at unlocking my mind, which remained stubbornly closed off.
Particularly grating had been the neuropsychologist, a man whose smile seemed permanently absent. He poked and prodded at my psyche like I was some strange phenomenon to be studied. “This might jog your memory,” he would say, introducing yet another set of bizarre tests. I didn’t have any problem meeting with a therapist who wanted to talk. I craved conversation. Any human contact beat sitting in my room feeling like a pound puppy nobody wanted. But Dr. Schneider was an odd man with no personality who treated me like a science experiment. He was uninterested in small talk or understanding my feelings in any genuine way. Yuck. No thanks.
Worse than the therapies, though, was the silence from Conan. Since the kiss, he hadn’t shown up. He hadn’t even sent a message through Samantha.
She had been wonderful, dropping by with a laptop, some books, and more clothes, trying to keep my spirits up. Earlier today, when I’d finally dared to ask about Conan, she had swiftly steered the conversation elsewhere. But I needed to know, so I’d pushed her for an answer. Her eyes had shifted between me and the doorway as she picked up the TV remote and turned up the volume. Then, she’d leaned in and whispered, “I can’t say too much, and when you get out of the hospital and all, Conan will explain. He’d be all sorts of pissed off at me if I told you anything. Let’s just say he has good reasons not to come see you, and you shouldn’t be mad at him. It’s something that’s beyond his control. Just so you know, HR really doesn’t want me hanging out with you either. Hospital policies are complicated, but it’s nothing you should worry about. Trust me on this, okay?”
I’d slowly nodded in agreement. Her words hadn’t made any sense, but I let it go, not wanting to get her in trouble or push her away. My best guess was that the hospital didn’t want its staff hanging out with criminals like me. I bet the guards told the higher-ups about how Sam and especially Conan had been visiting me a lot. Couple that with Conan’s obvious regret for kissing me, and I couldn’t blame him for steering clear of me. But it still hurt that he made no effort to explain after spending so much time with me. He could have at least sent a note with Sam or something. Maybe I was being petty, but he of all people should know how disappearing would affect me. I didn’t understand, and it was really pissing me off. But what could I do about it? Absolutely nothing.
After Sam’s visit, I dove back into searching for any clues as to who I was, using the laptop she’d brought me to comb through the internet.
I’d already spent hours scrolling and typing queries into search bars in hopes of uncovering anything that might give me a hint. Over the last week I’d perused social media sites and news archives, looking for anything a normal person would have out there. But it was like I didn’t exist. I even took a picture with the laptop’s camera and uploaded it for a reverse-image search. Nothing. No matches. It was unnerving. How could someone my age not exist online?
As my frustration mounted, I redirected my energy into learning more about the Volkov family and the notorious dealings of the Volkovi Notchi. If I couldn’t find anything about myself, maybe I could at least determine why my first memory that had come back was full of fear, why that name kept raising red flags.
Finding information about the Volkovs wasn’t difficult, considering the violent showdown at the Port of Tacoma that Sam and the others had gone through just six months ago. The articles painted a vivid picture of a ruthless crime syndicate involved in human and drug trafficking, smuggling, violence, and corruption. I read about Samantha’s ordeal, the shootout, and Viktor Volkov’s role in it all. The stories were harrowing, reminding me of the potential danger I could be in once I was outside of these walls, especially if I was connected to them in some way as I suspected. I had hoped to find pictures of the family in hopes that they would stir a memory, but I couldn’t find any. Mafia types must really know how to stay under the radar.
Despite finding no direct link to myself and the Volkovs, the fear that I was somehow entangled with them ate at me. It all seemed too coincidental—my presence at the estate, fleeing in one of their cars, and the fact that no one had come for me. But then again, maybe no news was good news. Maybe my lack of a digital footprint was a shield, protecting me from a past intertwined with criminals.
With all the uncertainty, I threw myself harder into my workouts, each session fueled by anxiety and loneliness. Every rep, every set, helped me build strength—not just physically but mentally. If my past was going to come back to haunt me, I would be ready. I’d make sure of it. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow my life was tangled up with the dark legacy of the Volkovi Notchi. And not knowing how worried me more than anything else.
I was more than the sum of discovered—or undiscovered—facts. And if my past wouldn’t come to me, I’d build a future that didn’t need it. But the question of who I’d been before all this remained. This was a puzzle I was determined to solve, with or without Conan’s help. No matter what truths lay buried, I would face them head-on. After all, wasn’t that what survivors did?
6/23
As I zipped up one of the suitcases Samantha had brought me, the reality of leaving the hospital tomorrow hit me hard. It was the closing of one chapter and the uncertain start of another. Tomorrow morning, the hospital room I’d grown to know so well over the last two weeks would be only a memory, and I’d be walking into the harsh confines of a police station.
Earlier in the day, Samantha had come by with news that both lifted and sank my spirits. She’d been bubbling over with reassurance, telling me that Dr. Thorin had everything arranged for my discharge and subsequent arraignment. “ You’ll be out on bail before you know it, ” she’d said with a confident smile. The attorney they’d hired was optimistic and apparently armed with a slew of information that could help my case. This news was supposed to be comforting.
Yet, as I folded another shirt, the reality of handcuffs, mug shots, and fingerprints clawed at me. It felt degrading—the prospect of being paraded around like a criminal. Samantha had tried to lighten the mood, instructing me to pack up and prepare for a new start at her place. “ Just think of it as moving from one room to a much nicer one. It’ll be like a long sleepover, ” she had joked.
I appreciated her—more than she probably knew. But as I placed the last item in the second suitcase, my thoughts drifted to Conan. He had completely vanished. I still hadn’t heard a word from him, and it stung more than I cared to admit. I worried about how this could affect things with Samantha and even Dr. Thorin. The last thing I wanted was to bring drama into their lives. But the more I thought about it, the more determined I became to clear the air with him once I was out of here. It was ridiculous for Conan to avoid me like this.
Finally, almost everything was packed, my life neatly contained in two suitcases except for what I needed for tonight and in the morning. I sat on the edge of the bed, looking around the dimly lit room. It was strange to think I wouldn’t see it again .
I climbed into bed and tried to find a comfortable position, my mind racing with what the next day would bring. Despite the softness of the pillows and the quiet of the room, sleep didn’t come easily. But eventually, exhaustion overtook the anxiety, and I drifted off into a restless sleep peppered with dreams of courtrooms and unfamiliar faces.