4. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Allie
W earing a white gown, I lay on a bed in the hospital room they brought me to. My feet have been treated and bandaged, and I have IVs in my arm. Dr. Westmore says one is to give me fluids while the other is antibiotics. Jax was instructed to step outside as the detectives asked me questions, and I wish he was back in here with me. I may not know him, but something about his presence comforts me.
Detective Parsons is a taller man with a bald head who wears a permanent scowl. It’s the only expression that appears on his face as he asks me the same questions over and over again. I’m so tired of everything. The earlier rush of adrenaline has faded, and now I just want to lie down and go to sleep.
"When you say they , are you talking about one or more than one person?" Detective Shields asks.
Detective Shields is an attractive woman a couple of inches taller than me with black hair and brown eyes. She's clearly the good cop to Parsons' bad cop. At least she's tolerable. I find I don't much care for Detective Parsons.
"One person. But I don't know much about them. They always covered themselves head to toe. Only their eyes showed through the mask."
"What did their voice sound like?" Parsons asks.
I sigh in annoyance. "I've already told you this multiple times. They never said anything."
How many times is he going to ask me the same damn questions? I’m exhausted, and this is mentally draining. Not to mention utterly annoying.
"Then how did you know what you were supposed to do?"
"They communicated by clapping at me. It wasn't a hard system to figure out. Frantic claps meant what I was doing was wrong or needed to be sped up. Normal claps were to get my attention. Not rocket science," I say.
Shields flashes me a sympathetic smile. "And you couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman?"
Shaking my head, my greasy hair falls onto my face, and for the first time, I notice how terrible it smells. It makes my stomach churn. "No. Either a small man or a larger woman. I'd say to split the difference between you two for the height. Their frame was difficult to determine because they wore all black, and the basement had no windows or lights. When they were there, they used a light, but it never shone on them."
I wonder if they’ll let me shower soon. With real soap and warm water. I’d give just about anything to do that.
"So, no eye color or distinguishing features? Nothing at all that may help us identify them?"
I pause as I think back. No, everything was very routine. Very, very routine. "No, not that I remember."
"That's okay," she assures. "We'll figure it out. "
"It has to be someone who knows me, right?" I say, and Parsons finally looks at me with an expression other than disbelief. "Because a stranger wouldn't have anything to gain from keeping me alive like this. And I wasn't hurt like you'd expect. But what did this person gain from keeping me locked up for seven years? That's how long I was gone, right? Seven years?"
"You remember how long you were down there?" Parsons asks.
His pointed stare has me instinctively folding my hands in my lap, and I look at them as I shake my head. "No, that's what Jax told me. My concept of time was messed up. I had no windows, and the time the food was brought varied so much, I never knew if it was morning or night."
"Explain something to me one last time, Allie," he says. "Why did you go to the house instead of the police station? Especially given your supposed memory loss."
" Supposed memory loss ?" I retort with a dry laugh. "You are really unpleasant, you know that?"
What am I doing? I shouldn’t be instigating them. It’s better to keep quiet, but I can’t help it around him. He’s insufferable.
Shields turns her head to hide her smile, but I catch it. It seems I'm not the only one who feels this way. To his credit, Parsons looks contrite and says, "I apologize, Allie. I didn't mean to offend you. In my line of work, I tend to expect people to be dishonest."
"I have no reason to be dishonest. Trust me, I want to remember. But to answer your question, again, I got out of the woods on instinct. I had no idea where I was going, and I couldn't see much of anything, but I got myself out. When I recognized the street, I decided to follow my gut. It may not have been the conventional method, and I'm not even sure if it was the right decision or not, but it was the only thing that felt familiar."
"You weren't worried?" Shields asks. "What if you remembered the house because the person who did this lived there?"
"The person who did this could live there," Parsons adds.
Now it’s my turn to stare in disbelief, as I tilt my head to the side. "You think Jax did this?"
"He's our most likely suspect."
"Then why would he immediately call you and bring me here?" I ask, trying to follow his logic.
"To throw suspicion. He’ll want to keep you close to be certain your memory really has disappeared. Or maybe he feels remorse. He could have deliberately given you a chance to escape, but now he wants to make sure you don't recognize him. There are many possibilities."
My gaze shifts to Shields who doesn't appear as convinced as he is. "Then just put me back in the basement. It seems as though you want to have him as the person who did this. A quick open and shut investigation? Don't think I didn't catch the undertone of the questions you asked. You tried to lead me in his direction without saying it, but the truth is, he's taller than you. And wider than you, too. There is no way he was the person dressed head to toe in black who came to bring me food every day."
"It doesn't mean he isn't working with this person. Assuming this person exists."
"And now we're back to disbelieving me,” I say, tossing my arms in the air slightly, flinching at the pull of the IVs. “You volley back and forth between Jax doing this and me faking it with the clear implication I locked myself up for seven years. I want to know who did this and why, and I'm going to be very honest with you, Detective Parsons. I don't feel like you really care. All you’ve done since you walked in here is dismiss everything I’ve told you, just because it doesn’t fit into the neat little box you’ve created in your head. Strangely enough, I don’t believe that I'll ever get the answers I need while you're working this case."
His eyes widen in surprise at my outburst, and even Shields has a look of shock. I'm not sure why I feel so defensive of Jax. And the thought I'm faking this and pretending I don't remember anything is not only frustrating, it's also rather offensive. Does he honestly believe this is something a sane person would do to themselves? Disappear in an underground bunker of sorts for seven years, malnourished and never seeing the sun, only to pretend they have no idea who the hell they are.
"Allie, I apologize if I offended you—"
"I don't believe you're sincere. I may not have a say in whether or not you're the one investigating this, but I don't know that I want to cooperate any further. It’s clear I'm not going to give you whatever it is you're looking for to fit your agenda. I also find it extremely insensitive to continue to imply I'd do this to myself. That points to some type of mental instability, and I don't believe that's me. The doctor may disagree, and I'll believe him, but I don't trust you much at all."
Detective Shields holds a hand up. "I think there are a lot of high emotions right now—"
"I'm not interested in your good cop, bad cop routine. I just want to know what happened to me and why. And who did it. That's it. But I do not trust him at all," I say and point at Parsons. "I'd like Jax to come back in here now."
"Of course," she says, cutting off whatever Parsons planned to say as his mouth opens .
She walks to the door, and I glare at the bald man who makes me so angry I want to hit something. It's strange because aside from fear, I don't remember ever feeling any other emotion.
"Are you okay?" Jax asks, hurrying into the room with his tie undone. "What's wrong?"
I point to the male detective. "I don't like him."
"He's not exactly my favorite, either, but he's supposed to be the best."
"At what? Forcing false confessions?" I snap. "He's convinced it's you. Or it's me. There's very little belief any other way, and he thinks I'm faking. That I really do remember and just want everyone to believe I don't."
Just as I finish my tirade, Dr. Westmore walks into the room wearing a white jacket and holding an X-ray in his hand. He's an attractive man with light hair and a strong jaw with high cheekbones. He's a little pudgy around the middle, but overall, not the worst looking man I've seen since I've been here.
"Her amnesia is real," Dr. Westmore says as he slides the image onto the lighted box. "You see this jagged crack here?"
As Jax and the two detectives look at the X-ray, I reach up to trace the mark on my head with my fingers. "I remember,” I say in a whispered tone. “It was the only time they were there more than once a day. They treated the injury and gave me pain relievers."
"It's a six-inch remodeled break that really should have had staples. It wasn't treated by a medical professional in a clinic or hospital. This accounts for the lack of memory of everything prior to the abduction."
"Is it permanent?" I ask, my stomach sinking.
My biggest fear is never remembering. It sounds like I had a good life before this happened, and I'd really like to remember it. It might also help me identify who my captor was. Something tells me it's someone I know. It'll be difficult to identify who that person is if I don't know anyone.
"I'm not positive. There is a chance, but there's also a chance that your amnesia is, in part, due to trauma. Many victims who have been held captive repress their memories because they're too painful. Something may trigger your memories of your life before the injury, but there’s no guarantee.”
"But she's okay otherwise?" Jax asks, fear on his face and in his voice.
I know without a doubt there's no way he could have had any hand in what happened to me. He may be a stranger to me, but I feel a connection to him. He also truly seems to care, especially about me. There’s no way I could believe he’d be capable of creating such vivid emotions without truly feeling them. I also don't feel like he can create such vivid emotions without feeling them. Everything comes across in the way he speaks or looks. Unlike Parsons, Jax appears completely sincere.
"The rape kit came back negative, and the only other injuries we found are the ones we've already treated. The cuts on your feet, arms, and face. You're severely malnourished, and we're giving you high doses of antibiotics because you have a slight fever. You do have some bruising around your ankles and wrists consistent with ligatures, but time will heal those."
Glancing at Parsons, I narrow my eyes. "I bet you think I shackled myself up and forced these bruises before deciding it was time for my miraculous reappearance, yeah?"
Jax snorts beside me. "You may not remember being Allie, but that is all Allie," he says .
"Allie, I do apologize for how I came across earlier. I would like to find out what happened to you and arrest the perpetrator," Detective Parsons says, and he actually sounds sincere this time. "Can we start over?"
"As long as I don't have to answer the same questions any more tonight. I'm really tired."
"We're keeping you overnight to monitor you, and when you're released, I'll prescribe you antibiotics as well as supplements to get your nutrients back up to normal," Dr. Westmore says.
My eyes widen, and I feel a strange sense of worry. "I... I don't think I have money to pay for that. I don't think I have money to pay for a hospital stay."
"Allie," Jax says, his hand taking mine as I start to panic. My heart races, and I can't breathe. "Allie?"
"It looks like she's having a panic attack," Dr. Westmore says and moves to the drawer to grab a bottle and a syringe.
"Don't give her that. She hates medication. Allie, look at me," Jax says, tugging on my hands until I do as he says. "You're okay. Don't worry about the money to pay for this. The only thing we're going to focus on is getting you better. Whatever it takes. Money isn’t an issue. Okay? Breathe, baby. Deep breath in and let it out slowly. It's okay."
I take a deep breath and let it out, and my heart rate starts to slow. "I don't like that feeling."
"Did she get panic attacks before?" Shields asks.
"Yes, but not this bad. She hated taking her anti-anxiety medicine, so she found other ways to cope when they'd come on. She'd always say she was overwhelmed or overstimulated, so she'd either focus on her breathing or something else to calm her," he says.
"Oh, yay. My body remembers something from before, but my brain doesn't. It would have been nice if my body forgot this like I forgot everything else," I say.
This makes Jax chuckle, and I'm thankful he's here. I don't like the IVs in my arm, so I don't think I'd like whatever it is Dr. Westmore was about to give me. Although the thought of something calming me enough to truly sleep sounds very tempting.
"How do you feel, Allie?" Dr. Westmore asks.
Any embarrassment I feel lessens at the genuine concern in his tone. "I'm okay, Doctor. If I don't like pills, maybe that's what made me panic. The thought of whatever you're prescribing."
"It's very possible. It also gives me a little more hope that you'll remember your past. It'll likely come down to a trigger. Once you've found that trigger, things will come back. You said you followed your instincts, which is how you got out of the woods and to the house you remembered seeing?"
I nod and swallow. "Yes."
"Your body is in tune in ways we often ignore. Listen to what your body tells you and trust it. That's my best advice. Even as children, we'd get those bad feelings around certain people, an innate intuition that someone was bad or out to hurt us. As we grow, we stop listening to those feelings and try to reason with our minds."
If that's the case, I know for sure I can trust Jax. Something about him makes me feel safe and calm. "Since I don't have much else to fall back on, I think it'll be a little easier for me than not."
"I wouldn't be so sure. You may brush something off as just not knowing someone you used to. Try and avoid that if you can. At least until the detectives figure out who did this to you," he says with a smile .
How can Detective Parsons believe Jax could be the one responsible for this? If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have stepped in. He wouldn’t have calmed me. Someone who cares about a person doesn’t kidnap them and keep them hostage, do they?
A split second later, an older couple bursts through the doors, and the woman breaks down into uncontrollable sobs as she sees me. Both detectives look between me and the woman. I have no recollection of either of them, but based on what I assume their ages are, plus the reaction, I'm going to wager a guess that these are my parents.
I look at Jax. "My mom?"
He nods. "You remember?"
"Not even a little bit."