CHAPTER 6
Juleigh Howard-Hobson
She woke to the sound of clicking. Like ball bearings being dropped in a pan. Like old fashioned typewriter keys. Like bolt cutters snapping locks.
She tried to open her eyes, but something stopped her. She couldn’t lift her hands to check what was the matter—was it a blindfold or was it worse than a blindfold? Was she dead?
Her mind reeled in a void. There was nothing to give her thoughts a footing. She remembered nothing. Why couldn’t she remember anything?
“Ah, I see you are awake.” A man’s voice—cold, professional, American—slid into her panicked awareness.
“No, no,” the voice continued in the same tone, “Don’t try to move. You’ve been given a heavy paralytic. It will take a few hours to wear off.”
She heard more clicking, then a sharp sting. Dizzily she realized she was being sedated…
“…the next thing you hear will be your name. Do you understand me? Nod your head left to right if you do.”
She nodded left to right.
“Lizette Montez. Lizette, open your eyes.”
She opened her eyes. She was lying in a bright white room, on a hospital bed. Military by the looks of it. She tried to push some hair away from her eyes, but her hand was cuffed to the bed rail. She tried her other hand—cuffed too.
“Lizette? Do you know where you are?”
She shook her head: no.
“Operation Greycat.”
She shook her head: no, no, no. Not again.
The sting and burn of more sedatives.
“Greycat.”
She opened her eyes, raised her hand to push hair out of her face. She looked at her hand. Her fingernails were short and unpolished. She saw that her arms were in a black suit jacket and that the suit jacket covered a light blue blouse, with small round buttons on the front of it. She was sitting in a hard-backed metal chair, a black skirt fell to her mid calves, a pair of black flat soled shoes were on her beige stockinged feet.
She ran her tongue across her teeth, they felt dirty and there was a metallic taste in her mouth. Her lips were dry. She realized she was thirsty.
They always forgot to brush her teeth. She sighed.
“How long was I in this time?”
There was no answer.
She stood up, smoothing down the black skirt, stumbling as her legs readjusted to a standing position. Her head swam and a dull ache began beating behind her ears.
There was a door to her left. She knew it was unlocked. She knew it would lead to a parking lot. She knew the third car from the doorway would be a blue Subaru Forester with the keys in the ignition and that she would drive to the SunnySlope Motel and that once she got there the first thing she would do would be to brush her teeth.
After that she’d read the files that would be left on the laptop in the room. She knew the password would be ‘Greycat.’ She would find out her assigned name. She would find out everything she was supposed to do.
As she drove, a sudden stray image floated through her head. A note, badly scrawled with the words: I’m alive. Santino found me, but we had to run. It’s after us.
A searing burn flashed for a nanosecond through her brain. The throb in her head returned.
She checked her rearview mirror, no one was tailing her. At least, no one that she could tell, and she knew she could tell. She turned left, away from the SunnySlope Motel, toward 1-5 south.
She was still thirsty, but she had remembered something. And she never remembered anything, she only knew what to do and how to do it. This was different. More important than thirst.
She let the memory image play across her mind again, the paper, the words. She tried to tug her mind back to what happened next. The desert. A jeep. Fire. Blurry shimmers. Then a face.
She pulled over, stopped the car. A face. She opened the car door and retched. There was nothing to throw up, her body was empty. But her mind, her mind held something. She knew she was holding an authentic memory.
She sat back, rested her head against the seat. Faces floated across her consciousness. Then names. Santino. Carlos. Alejandro. Ignacia. She snapped her head straight. Ignacia.
Hot dusty streets. Tight blue jeans. Boots. She liked dangerous men. She was never this thirsty. And the last thing Ignacia saw before she stopped being Ignacia was a shiny object sticking out of the dirt.
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