Chapter Twenty-Three
Heaven on earth.
That was where I lived when Cleo looked at me with love.
I didn’t care her memories were gone. We could make new ones. Lots and lots of new ones.
I intended for us to never be apart again.
We would live in our heaven on earth, where no evil was permitted to touch us.
But where there was a heaven, there was a hell.
A hell lurking dark, deep, and disgusting.
A hell waiting to steal our happiness.
And it was coming for us.
—Kill
The letter seemed innocent. A simple yellow lined note handwritten by someone with fastidious penmanship.
If I had known it would end up destroying my carefully constructed world, I might not have opened it. It tore down the falseness I’d surrounded myself with and hurled me into the dark where I remained until he found me.
Dear Ms. Sarah Jones,
You don’t know me, but I know you. I’ve known you since you were a little girl. I held you when you were born and attended your birthday every year. You were like a daughter to me and when you disappeared, my heart broke as surely as any parent’s.
But my heart has now healed, because I’ve found you.
Finally.
After all these years.
I had to stop reading. I needed to sit down. Finally, a clue to the past I could never recall. Who had written to me? How had they found me?
Stumbling from the doorway of my apartment building, I collapsed against the steps. My hands trembled as I smoothed the letter and continued to read.
I don’t know what happened to you to leave your family and those who loved you so much. You left behind a world that never healed without you in it. I didn’t know if I should find you, contact you, and tell you these things, but questions need to be answered.
Did you hate us that much?
Did you decide we were no longer worthy of being your family?
I have so many more to ask you, as I’m sure you have to ask me.
I want to meet you.
If you want to meet me, and to find out the truth of who you are, come to Florida and check into the Dancing Dolphins in the Keys. Check in under your name, and I’ll come for you.
I hope you come, Sarah Jones.
It’s time to take your rightful place.
It’s time to come home.
The memory hadn’t stopped echoing in my mind ever since I woke.
A recollection and the piece of the puzzle of how I came to be here.
Who had written the note? It’d been unsigned and with no return address. No matter how hard I’d tried, I couldn’t recognize the voice of the author.
As Arthur rushed around, calling people to come and investigate the break-in and preparing for a new day, I sat nursing the vital clue.
Bit by bit more truth came to light.
God, it was boring.
And painful and frustrating and frightening—but most of all boring.
I stared blankly at the small TV in the hospital room, not paying attention to the bright colors or noises. My whole attention was turned inward, poking at memories that’d completely disappeared.
No trace of anything.
Not even my name.
“Hello.”
I blinked, bringing the newcomer into focus. His plainclothes authority sent my heart fizzing fearfully in my rib cage. “Hello.”
“I’m Detective Davidson. I’m with the FBI and I’ve been to visit you a few times since your accident a few weeks ago. Do you remember me?”
I narrowed my eyes, looking down my bandage-covered body. This was an accident? What stupidity had I done? Shaking my head free from cotton wool and torturing questions, I looked at Detective Davidson. “No, I don’t remember you.”
He smiled softly, the pity in his blue gaze rupturing my strength and causing tears to build. “That’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” Shuffling closer to my bed, he said, “I’ve been talking to your doctors, and they said you’ll be ready to leave soon. They also advised me that you still can’t remember your name, family, or where you came from.”
I ignored the agony in my chest. I was an orphan—homeless—a stray with no family. That was worse than the constant throb of burns and healing skin grafts. There was nothing to say, so I remained quiet.
“The state has given you the name Sarah Jones until such a time as you remember.” Sitting awkwardly by my bed, he patted my knee.
I hissed between my teeth. That was my right knee. My toasted knee.
“Shit, sorry!” He hunched in his chair, keeping his hands to himself.
His fear of a girl wrapped up like an Egyptian mummy made the terribleness of my situation become humorous. I laughed softly. “It’s okay.” Tilting my head to study him, I asked, “Why are you here? Why is an FBI agent telling me this?”
Detective Davidson swallowed nervously. “I’m no good at delivering news subtly, so I’m just going to come out and say it. We have reason to believe the accident was intentional. Some evidence has come to light that makes us suspect you were the victim of an attempted homicide and until such a time as you remember, to bring whoever did this to justice, we are placing you in protective custody. We aren’t going to advertise that you’re alive, or ask for people to come forward until we know who to trust.”
“You’re arresting me?”
A smile twitched his lips, his brown short hair military precise on his head. “No, we’re giving you a new life, away from here.” Leaning forward, he said, “This is an opportunity to create a life you’ve always wanted, live in a country you’ve never visited, all while being watched over by us. As you’re under eighteen, you’ll be placed with a foster family until you come of legal age, but you can decide where you want to go. We normally give you a plan, a name, and a job to uphold as your new identity, but in this case you can choose.”