Chapter Nine.
Shotgun
“Found her,” Leila declared, and Shotgun sighed.
“No offence, Lelia, that took fuckin’ time.”
“With good reason. You said you fought with Allegra last Wednesday, eight days ago?” Leila asked.
“Yup,” Shotgun ground his teeth. The videos from that were still doing the rounds, and people felt quite free to comment.
“Three hours later, Allegra was admitted back to the hospital. She’d been involved in a terrible car accident.
The report says that she swerved to avoid a deer, but the car behind wasn’t paying attention and rear-ended her.
Allegra was forced through the barrier and crashed into a tree.
Firemen had to cut her out, and Allegra was rushed in with traumatic head injuries. ”
Shotgun froze. “Is she alive?”
“Yes. But from what I’ve discovered, Allegra had a bad brain injury and was medically put into a coma for three days before being woken. They reckon Allegra’s got retrograde amnesia. Poor woman doesn’t recognise anyone.”
“Why was it so hard locating her?” Shotgun demanded.
“Because I was looking for her, but Allegra’s clearly not used her cards or been out and about. I only did so because I noticed the grandfather had two hospital charges on his card.”
“Two?”
“His wife had a stroke, and obviously, he was paying her bills. The second one was Allegra’s,” Leila said.
“Shit. And Allegra’s still there?” Shotgun asked.
“Yes. I’ll send you everything over.”
“Thanks, Leila.” Shotgun hung up and stared at the wall. What did he do next? He’d contacted legal counsel to seek access to the kid, but the attorney had claimed that they had no proof there was one. No birth certificate in the USA had Allegra’s name on, or Rain’s, or his, had been registered.
Did Allegra even know they had kids? What if she’d left it with someone and failed to remember?
Or was Allegra playing dumb, using amnesia to get away from him because he’d mentioned a lawyer?
No, Shotgun couldn’t imagine her doing that.
That would hurt her family too much, and Allegra wasn’t sneaky.
She’d attack face-to-face. There was only one thing for it. Shotgun had to see her.
Allegra
Aghast, I stared at my reflection.
Holy fuck.
I looked rough. There was bruising on my face, and my left cheek sported a nasty shade of sickly green.
That was where the branch had slammed into me.
Seems the accident was a real ding-dong.
I’d crashed into several trees before being spun sideways.
A branch had torn through the passenger-side window and smashed into my head, simultaneously smacking me into the driver’s side window, which had shattered in the impact.
There were no words for the way I looked, but I winced and glanced at my hair and swallowed a shriek.
Damn! Had Frankenstein operated on me or what?
! A large patch had been shaved off, and, boy, was that noticeable.
In the bald spot was a jagged line of stitches.
The branch had torn my scalp open, hence the brain trauma.
I stared in horror. Holy crap, I looked like a freak.
My family, in concern, had covered all mirrors until today when they deemed I was strong enough to face myself.
The mirror offered only a partial view of the rest of my body, but peering down was sufficient.
Various colours of bruises smothered me, and I flinched.
No wonder I’d been so sore. Gingerly, I stepped into the shower, washed quickly, and felt one hundred times better for it.
But every time my hand touched the scars on my head, I winced.
It was awful, and where my hair was long, it was highly conspicuous.
Slowly, I dried off and dressed, holding a conversation with the nurse lingering outside, and walked out after dressing. Thatch had brought me a wraparound summer dress and a cardigan so that I could slip them on.
“Thatch, I can’t leave looking like this.”
He winced. “A brush-over won’t work.”
“Fetch some hair clippers. Shave it off.”
Thatch gaped. “Allegra, that’s your pride and joy.”
“Not anymore. Thatch, I’m a freak. It’ll be uneven anyway, let’s cut it off and start again.”
“No. This is one of those rash decisions you were warned against.” Thatch crossed his arms.
“Thatch. When it starts to grow back, it will be a different length. No matter what, I’ll have a massive chunk missing. No hairstyle will compensate for that. Go get some clippers and cut my hair. Because I’m not leaving the hospital, appearing like Frankenstein attacked me.”
“Why don’t I call a hairdresser…”
Frustrated, I growled and turned to the nurse. “Have you got any scissors?”
“Yes,” she replied, looking between Thatch and me. Her eyes slid to a tray, and I spotted them. Before Thatch could stop me, I snatched them up, grabbed a length of hair and hacked it off. Thatch stood wide-eyed and open-mouthed. “Clippers!” I ordered.
Thatch fled the room without a backward glance.
“Here, let me help,” the nurse said.
I looked at her and laughed. “Now it’s even more fucked up.”
“Yeah. Come on, I’ll crop it neatly at least.” It took five minutes, and when done, I ran a hand over my cropped scalp.
Thatch reappeared just as she finished, gaping.
Unconcerned, I reached for the clippers and handed them to the nurse. “Would you mind? I don’t think I can trust Thatch to do this.”
She smiled and completed the job. I finally sported a totally bald head. I returned to the bathroom and winced. The scarring was even more prominent, but at least I didn’t appear too weird. The nurse followed behind and brought a scarf.
“Here. I’ll show you how to wrap it for now,” she said and proceeded to do that. I thanked her. It had been a small act of kindness to her, but a huge one to me.
When I came out, she bustled off, and I removed the scarf. It had been slightly loose, so when it was time to leave, I’d wrap it tighter.
Thatch left to return the clippers, and I packed the remainder of my belongings. A knock made me turn around, and a tall, dark-haired man stood there.
“Sorry, you’ve got the wrong room,” I said with a smile.
Blue eyes searched my face, lingering on the bruising and the scars. The stranger physically winced, and I reached for the scarf and wrapped it back on loosely. Horror radiated from him, and I flinched.
“Allegra,” he growled out.
“Do I know you?” I asked cautiously. Nothing about him was familiar, yet he stared as if he knew me intimately.
“It’s Shotgun.”
“Strange name.” I searched my feelings, and they were dead. This man did nothing for me; there was no twinge of recognition, no rush of emotions, absolutely squat.
“You don’t remember me?”
“Sorry. No. I was in an accident, and I’ve lost my memories for now. Hell, I can name every president in order, but I can’t even identity family,” I quipped.
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Don’t make light of shit to hide how scared and worried you are. You’ve gotta be petrified.”
“Terrified?” I repeated. “Try absolutely mind-fucked. Literally, I don’t remember friends, family, dates, boyfriends, nothing.
Not even my own children,” I spewed. Shotgun came alert at the word children.
“I have babies; they could walk past right now, and I wouldn’t know them.
I’m surrounded by family who are fucking strangers.
Nobody means anything. While it’s obvious they love me, I don’t love them.
How can I? I’ve no clue who the fuck they are.
“I feel so damn guilty that they’re so relieved I made it, and I’m here.
But who am I? Allegra Spalding. Well, who the hell is that?
No idea. No idea what my likes and dislikes are.
What my hobbies are or my job, although I’m supposed to be some hotshot photographer.
Each morning, I wake up and wait for a sign, anything to hit me, and there’s nothing.
I try to be brave, be happy, and positive because, hey, I’m right here, still breathing.
“But I’m not here. The Allegra you knew is reduced to this empty shell. The look in your eyes, even you, Shotgun, expect something that I don’t have to give.
“You think I’m terrified? I’m so far beyond that, I’m down the rabbit hole, and it’s an endless fucking drop!
I’ve no control, no sense of self, I’ve got zilch, dude.
The body of Allegra Spalding walked away, but she died in that accident.
Make no mistake, the woman you’re all looking for isn’t here anymore. ”
Shotgun held my gaze, and there was guilt there. “You don’t remember Rain or me?”
“The weather? What’s the importance of that?”
Shotgun closed his eyes. When he opened them, there was pain mixed with grief. “I’m so sorry, baby, the accident was my fault.”
Surprised, I stiffened. “What are you saying?”
“We’d had a fight that day…”
“Who are you?” I demanded. There was a detail he wasn’t mentioning. Shotgun’s gaze met mine, then drifted elsewhere. His unwillingness to admit something was evident.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Thatch roared as he barrelled into the room.
“I needed to see…”
Thatch was beyond incensed. My brother was furious. He shoved Shotgun violently, and Shotgun moved back a step.
“This! This! It’s on your head. Allegra phoned, sobbing, telling us what you’d threatened in the parking lot. That you’d get lawyers and to take her to court. Allegra told us how you accused her of shit, and then she was in an accident. She was crying so hard and crashed.”
“Wait, everyone said a deer ran out in front of me!”
Thatch turned to me. “It did. But the car behind wouldn’t have hit you if you’d been more alert. You weren’t aware because you were devastated by what this motherfucker had threatened you with.” Thatch shoved Shotgun again, and he took it. There was guilt written in every line of Shotgun’s body.
“Thatch, I don’t understand,” I muttered, but an awful feeling was lodging in my gut.