Chapter 1
"You must come from wealth," Abby said, catching the woman's eyes in the rearview mirror.
She pulled her shoulder from the door, her spine straightening. "Why do you say that?"
"The clothes, the jewellery." His eyes lingered on the pristine silk blouse, out of place in their cramped fading sedan. "Your husband must be printing his own money."
"How do you know I'm married?"
"The platinum ring there. Hard to miss."
She looked down at her own hand, flexing her fingers as the diamond caught the dashboard light. "Oh."
Abby frowned. "He must be losing his mind looking for you."
Chams, the driver, scoffed. "Yeah, if he isn't in worse shape than she is."
"Hey!" Abby glared.
Chams just ignored him, staring straight through the windscreen. "What? She can't even remember her damn name."
"That's why we're taking her to the hospital." Abby sighed. "Anything coming to you yet? Street name? A face?"
The woman's brows crinkled and she lowered her gaze, pressing her palm to her temple. "I can remember some things. They're foggy and... I don't know. I'm sorry."
Abby smiled. "Don't be. We'll call the police at the hospital. You could've been kidnapped. A rich woman like you doesn't just wander off."
"Quit mentioning her affluence. You sound like the kidnapper."
"I do not!"
A small, breathless giggle escaped the lady's lips. "Thank you."
It became silent, save for the low rattle of the engine. The headlights cut a narrow path down an unlit tarred road between thick woods.
Suddenly, Chams white-knuckled the wheel, her eyes narrowing.
There were men ahead. Three of them. One clicked his torch rhythmically, sending blinding spikes of light straight through the windshield.
Behind him, heavy branches barricaded the asphalt.
"The vigilante?" Abby muttered.
Chams shook her head as her gaze darted side to side. "No. Hold on, just shut up."
She slowed the car, the brakes squealed softly. The men dropped their lights to their sides, stepping toward the doors.
Chams slammed the accelerator.
The engine roared. The sedan ploughed into the barricade. Twigs shrieked against the undercarriage and shattered across the bonnet as Chams cut the wheel, muscles straining to keep the tyres from catching the heavier logs.
"What the fuck, Chams?" Abby was thrown against the passenger door. He twisted to look over his shoulder and gaped.
A black SUV erupted from the left side of the bushes. Its high beams blinding as it lunged after their bumper.
"What's going on?" The lady asked, looking behind.
"Lower your head. They might have guns!" Chams panted.
"Armed robbers?" Abby asked, ducking his head.
"They're not Road Safety, Abraham!" Chams leaned into the windshield, yanking the car into a blind turn.
~•~
They raced so hard into the hospital's parking lot, the bumper almost kissed the rails.
Inside, the trio waited in the lobby, Abby still vibrating with residual adrenaline, while Chams slumped in a plastic chair, looking entirely done with existence.
A middle-aged policeman stood before them, flipping open a tiny notebook. "So, tell us what happened?"
Abby spoke up, his voice cracking. "Yeah so, um, she turned up at our house, saying she needed help. She's suffering from memory loss."
"Okay, this was around what time?"
"Seven, eight-ish," Abby said, wiping sweat from his neck.
The officer stopped writing, staring blankly over his pen. "We need precision for things like this, son. 'Eight-ish' is a vibe, not a timeline."
"Seven forty-five," Chams muttered, closing her eyes.
"Good." The police officer noted it down.
"Oh, and on our way here, a giant black SUV chased us," Chams added, opening her eyes. Her voice flat, as if she were ordering fast food.
The officer lowered his notebook. "Robbers, or this lady's attackers?"
"Chai, officer, we couldn't stop to ask for their business cards o."
"Excuse me?"
"Sir, please, excuse my sister. She's had a rough day." Abby’s laugh came out broken as he stepped in front of Chams. "We couldn't see them behind us anymore once we reached O-Junction. So if you could add that to the report, that'd be great."
Once the officer finished collecting their fragmented statements, a nurse wheeled the lady down the corridor toward a ward.
Down the hall, the lady glanced down, a quirk of her brow as her hand slid deep into her dress pocket.
She pulled out a glossy photocard.
A man. One with hooded eyes, a sharp jawline, and dark curly hair.
