10. Fia #2
“And it will get worse.” Chloe sighs, pinning me a look.
“The last thing I want is to scare you, but fear is what’s going to get you out of this situation, Fia.
” She slips her phone, showing me scanned documents.
“Take a look at these. I found them at my place around three years ago. I tried asking you about the documents, but you didn’t give me much.
I thought it was nothing until you started acting weird. ”
“Tell me you didn’t go to the police?”
“You begged me not to.”
Fear rips through my chest as I grab the phone, pinching the screen and zooming in. They’re scanned copies of spreadsheets I unfortunately don’t recognize, but these numbers could be the key to unlocking my memories.
Immediately, something is wrong with these documents.
Large amounts of money have been transferred across to shell companies overseas.
I trail my finger over interesting references.
Two million dollars was sent to a shell account in Monte Carlo, titled ‘logistics support.’ There should be external fees, employees to pay.
The money has been sitting in the account for eleven years, according to this spreadsheet, printed three years ago. Not one cent has been moved out since.
Other strange activity appears as I inspect some of the other documents.
Containers described as carrying “low-value goods” are being insured for extremely high amounts of money.
Cargo ships look like they’re being sent on scenic routes around the world, which will double their cost in fuel. It makes no fucking sense.
“Harbor Island,” I say aloud, reading the dockyard where these ships are being exported out of.
“Do you remember going there before?”
“No, but going for a stroll around the place might jog my memory.”
Fear lines Chloe’s face. “It’s suicide.”
“No, it’s how I find out the truth. Emil is hiding something from me. He goes mute whenever I bring up the question of how we met. He disappears randomly.” I rise from the table, the chair scraping underneath me. “He’s afraid to tell me something. And I need to be proactive.” I wink.
“Not like this,” says Chloe. “What about your ultrasound?”
“I’ll have to cancel. Emil should be here soon. He’ll grab me with both hands and drag me back home before I have the chance to investigate. Be a doll and send me a copy of those documents. Thank you so much.”
“But—”
“Let’s have dinner at yours tonight, say, 8 p.m.?”
“Fine,” Chloe sighs. “But let me come with you.”
“No,” I say, taking my leave. “It could be dangerous.”
I apologize for having to cancel at reception and fly out of the double doors, tapping away on my phone, figuring out how to get to Harbor Island from downtown.
I jump on the bus, tapping my foot anxiously on the floor as it sets off toward my destination.
I look through the window, watching the gloomy city stand tall amidst the constant gray. Winter keeps everyone indoors. Only those brave enough to stand the cold leave the comfort of their own home on a day like today.
Rain drizzles down the window like tears, a thick fog looming in the distance as we get closer to the bay.
I’m the only one who gets off the stop, the rest heading to the airport, which is probably my safest option right now.
Mechanical clunking fills the air as I step out of the bus. I tug my brown suede jacket close, wrapping it around my body, resenting myself for not choosing something more waterproof.
My boots clop against the cracked ground as I cross the road. This place is hell on earth, more complicated than a hedge maze. Fuck knows where the entrance is, or how I’m supposed to find evidence that will support the numbers showing on the spreadsheets.
Cold air blows in from the bay, whacking me in the face. The pungent smell of engine grease hits me harder. Definitely the foulest smell my nose has ever been exposed to. I’d remember this smell. It’s strong enough for me to taste it on my tongue.
I hold onto the smell, wracking my brain for some memories, but the fog is too thick. It drifts through my mind the same way the fog here drifts over the bay, preventing me from seeing more than a few meters ahead.
Rusty shipping cranes squeak on their hinges, disappearing into the fog.
I walk through the restricted access zone, passing generators and other mechanical things that could probably flatten me to death.
A rusted anchor has been left to rot up ahead, abandoned outside of a warehouse that seems to be meeting the same fate.
I gasp, staring at the thick anchor chains. This is the place to get away with murder. You could wrap a body around these anchor chains, launch the anchor into the water and let nature take care of the rest.
My pulse throbs, my body screaming at me to turn back now while I still can, but this is bigger than fear. Remembering the past will save my life.
I consult the numbers on my phone while ambling through the dockyard, passing a sign that says, “Strictly hi-vis from this point forward.”
Fuck that. I slip through the gate, the metal screeching against the cold concrete, harsher than chalk on a blackboard.
Cranes work in the near distance, the ground shaking each time a container is stacked. A shipping horn blares, the sound going straight to my bones. Being pregnant with twins doubles my risks. I have other lives to be concerned about, not just my own. But avoiding the risks will cost lives too.
I need my fucking memories back.
A pair of footsteps appear behind me, scuffing the concrete, causing me to come to a complete stop. With terrifying machinery in every direction, my chances of making it out of this place alive are slim to none, especially since the pair of heavy footsteps are getting closer.
I take a deep breath in, slowly looking over my shoulder. Perhaps Emil followed me here, since he seems to take pleasure in stalking me.
But the black figure barreling toward me resembles a complete stranger, not the man I know.
I gasp, air lodged in my throat. With nowhere to go, surrounded by containers and unusual machinery, I freeze on the spot and pray for a miracle.
That’s when the lights go out.