Page 92 of Hate You Most

“The crash photos look the same,” she said. “The cars were destroyed in almost completely the same way. It's the kind of accident people aren't supposed to survive. But she did survive, and she woke up with amnesia. Exactly like me.”

Dakota shifted slightly, running one hand over the back of her neck before moving away from the door and into the living room. The movement was restless, like she was trying to think through the situation while also keeping distance from the conclusion Viktoriya had already moved toward.

“Volkova,” Dakota said. “That doesn’t automatically mean the two accidents are connected.”

Viktoriya stared at her. “You believe that?”

“I believe that car accidents happen every day,” Dakota replied calmly. “And people losing their memories after head trauma is not exactly unheard of.”

Viktoriya shook her head. Dakota didn't understand her at all. This was one giant waste of time and a mistake, she shouldn't have come here and she shouldn't have told her anything. She probably thought she was crazy.

“No, accidents like this do not just happen. It wasn't just her, there was another crash too, with two actors. Three Russians, all living in America and getting into crashes within months of each other. All with rumors surrounding a relationship and their reputation. They were all rumored to be queer, Dakota… including me.”

Dakota folded her arms again, her expression remaining composed even though there was now a faint crease between her brows. “You’re making a huge leap,” she said. “Accidents being similar doesn’t mean someone orchestrated them.”

“The police already said they are unrelated,” Viktoriya replied sharply. “They dismissed it immediately.”

“Because that’s probably what it is,” Dakota said. “It’s probably just a coincidence.”

Viktoriya let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “They did not even investigate properly. They looked at the reports and decided it was bad weather and late night driving.”

“Because that’s the most likely explanation.”

Viktoriya turned away from her briefly, pacing across the living room while she tried to organize the thoughts that had been circling her mind since she read the articles. Outside the windows the sky was fading into darkness, the setting sun sending the remaining yellow glow into the living room.

When she turned back toward Dakota, there was a sharp certainty in her voice. “If someone wanted us dead, we would've been dead already.”

Dakota winched. “Viktoriya⁠—”

“No, listen,” Viktoriya interrupted, stepping closer again. “You saw the pictures of my car. That crash should have killed me, yes.”

Dakota didn’t argue with that.

“And the same thing happened to her,” Viktoriya continued. “And the other two people. This is not just a coincidence, I promise you.”

“So you think that means someone planned it?” Dakota asked. “Do you hear yourself right now? Do you honestly hear how you sound?”

“Yes,” Viktoriya replied. “I do.”

Dakota shook her head slowly. “Okay. Let’s assume for a moment that you’re right. Let’s say someone caused all of the crashes on purpose, and that someone wanted to deliberately hurt you. It sounds crazy, Viktoriya. You do realize that, right? There’s no reason for you to believe something like that.”

“If the goal was not to kill us, then yes.”

“Jesus Christ," Dakota said, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You sound insane. You’re saying someone wanted to hurt you, but still left you alive after the crash?”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does,” Viktoriya said quietly. Her gaze moved briefly toward the laptop bag she'd dropped near the door earlier, the memory of the crash photos still burned into her mind. She knew she was right, and she was going to convince Dakota too.

“If someone wanted to silence us,” she said slowly, “It's the perfect way to do it.”

Dakota blinked. “What?”

“Think about it,” Viktoriya continued. “Three public figures from Russia that all survive terrible accidents and lose years of their memory. People feel sorry for them. Doctors explain the injury and the police call it a coincidence. And nobody dares ask what it was we forgot.”

Dakota didn’t answer immediately. For the first time since the conversation began, the certainty in her posture seemed slightly less solid.