With the suitcase dragging along next to her, she approached the woman standing by another conveyor belt. The suitcase collided with the unsuspecting woman, almost knocking her to the floor. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry," Samantha said. "These darned things are so hard to manage sometimes."
"I know what you mean," the woman said. They exchanged a few more pleasantries before Samantha walked off with the woman's wallet. LaShondra Williams from Detroit according to her license. Samantha looked back over her shoulder, but so far LaShondra hadn't noticed the missing wallet.
Samantha left the suitcase by the baggage claim before hurrying to the nearest rental counter. The clerk hardly scrutinized her stolen driver's license and credit card. As the clerk processed the transaction, chattering nonstop about the weather and the Red Sox, Samantha waited for a security guard to approach her. "You're all set, Miss Williams," the clerk said.
"Thank you," Samantha said. She took the keys for a Pontiac Grand Prix-a Corvette or Porsche would have been better for her purposes, but she supposed it would do-and headed for the door. Along the way she stopped a security guard and produced Miss Williams's wallet, complete with the cash inside so as not to arouse suspicion. "I found this on the bathroom floor," she said. "Can you make sure she gets it back?"
"Of course, ma'am. You're one of the good ones," the guard said. Samantha smiled at him, hoping her guilt didn't show. She hurried off to the car and was soon on her way.
As she drove, Samantha tried to solve the riddle of Veronica Pryde. A child of abuse and neglect to be sure, but what had driven her to murder? What could have caused that shy girl in kindergarten to become a brutal killer? And what had caused her to focus so much hatred on Samantha, her friend?
There had to be more to the story, a piece of the puzzle still missing. There was still so much she didn't remember, so much about herself hidden away somewhere. Thousands of days lost to her: birthdays, holidays, and milestones. Her first crush, first kiss, and first sexual encounter all remained lost. These pieces of her might remain lost forever.
A car horn warned her she was about to stray into the wrong lane. She took a deep breath and tried to focus on the road. She couldn't afford to get a traffic ticket now. The road ahead of her blurred for a moment, and then spun ninety degrees. She slapped herself on the cheek to wake up. It's only been two days, she thought. She must have gone longer than that without sleep before. Back when she was young, not a broken-down recovering alcoholic fresh out of rehab.