Page 85 of Hate You Most

At first it had been overwhelming—too many headlines, too many opinions about her life from strangers who knew nothing about it. The world itself had changed in ways too; the war between Russia and Ukraine had made everything different. Even the word Russian now carried a different kind of weight.

Slowly she had learned to filter things out. She had eight years to catch up on, and a whole world that no longer looked the same. Skating news, international competitions, moves and music, and occasionally something about herself from articles that she couldn't remember reading.

The glow from the screen hissed in her eyes as one headline caught her attention immediately.

CAR CRASH LEAVES RUSSIAN ACTOR HOSPITALIZED WITH MEMORY LOSS

Viktoriya frowned slightly. She clicked the article and the page loaded slowly.

A photo appeared first. It was of a black car, crushed to pieces with metal pieces scattered across the highway barrier.

Her chest tightened as she started reading.

The article described the accident in detail. Late at night on rain-filled roads. A high-speed collision with another vehicle that had managed to flee the scene. The actor's name was Andrei Korovin. He had become a household name in America for his role beloved as Luke Pierce, on Lovebound, but also because of rumors surrounding an alleged romance with his co-star Sebastian Rowe. They had survived the crash, but according to the article had reportedly both suffered significant memory loss.

Viktoriya’s eyes drifted further down the page. The article was dated December 12th.

Another photo appeared. It made her stomach drop.

It was her car—or what had once been her car. The wreckage made it almost unrecognizable from what it once had been. Metal folded in on itself. The front end was completely destroyed. Entire chunks of the car were missing and the windshield had shattered in an explosion of glass.

She stared at the image for a long time.

She had never seen it before. The doctors had avoided showing her anything related to the crash while she recovered, and now she understood why.

Her fingers tightened around the laptop, and she had to look at the bare wall for a second before continuing.

The article continued below the image. The article had already begun drawing comparisons between the two accidents.

Both involved public Russian figures living in the United States.

Both crashes happened at night.

Both victims suffered similar head injuries and memory loss.

Both were the subject of rumors regarding the nature of their close relationship with someone of the same sex.

Viktoriya reread the last line twice. A strange, creeping unease settled in her chest. Coincidences happened, she knew that. Car accidents weren’t rare, but something about the similarities made her skin crawl.

Late night, rain and a hit-and-run vehicle.

She leaned back slowly against the headboard. An image of the wrecked cars burned fresh in her mind. It wasn’t just normal car crashes. It looked too violent, and they were too similar. Her brain tried to push the thought away. Accidents happened. Cars spun out and lost control all of the time. The more she stared down at the photos, the harder it became to believe that explanation, because there was another problem.

Two crashes like that—nearly identical—didn’t just happen. Not within a couple months of each other, not two people from the same country with the same rumors their nation didn't approve of.

Viktoriya closed the laptop halfway.

Her thoughts began racing. Memories flickered at the edges of her mind. She could almost contextualize it in her head.

The night of the accident she was in the driver's seat and she was going slightly too fast. She was hurrying somewhere. There were headlights behind her and the wet road ahead of her.

Something about the memory was incomplete, a puzzle missing a crucial piece. She pressed her fingers lightly against her temples. Why couldn’t she remember it all? If the crash had been random, her brain should have stored something. A mistake that she made or a moment where she lost control of the car. But every time she tried to picture it, the memory stopped right before the impact. Like something had been cut out.

Viktoriya’s heart sped up.

She looked back down at the article, at the wrecked car that barely resembled anything more than crumpled metal.

Investigators have not yet determined whether the incidents are connected.