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She found nothing.
She couldn’t figure out why she thought she had been shot, because there were no signs of any wounds at all. She was completely unscathed. A frisson of terror shot through her when she found herself as naked as the day she was born. She pulled herself into a sitting position and shoved the comforter down, examining her body.
Nothing. No pain. No holes. No bandage.
Other than a mild headache and a slight chill, she was completely fine.
Why was she naked?
And why did she think she had been in an accident?
No, not accident.
Something worse.
She felt as if she had recently been in a life-or-death situation and the horrible part was that she didn’t make it.
Strange.
She couldn’t remember anything at all.
She knew her name. Eva. And that was it. She couldn’t remember her last name. Her family, or what she did. Everything else felt like a big black hole, a leviathan eating memories that had swallowed her past.
Where am I?
Who am I?
She wasn’t in a hospital bed for sure. The room she was in looked like a private home. A luxurious one. The bed had four columns draped with sheer ivory fabric. Rich, dark furniture contrasted with the pleasant, muted tones of the walls. Everything looked so expensi
vely furnished and yet it looked so…alien. She didn’t recognize this as her bedroom. Too fancy for her tastes—she was sure of it.
There were no photos hanging on the walls, only two large oil paintings depicting wooded landscapes. Across from her bed was a large fireplace flanked by two cozy high-backed chairs upholstered in fancy velvety print.
Her gaze drifted to a vanity mirror between the nightstand and the fireplace. She saw clothing folded on the vanity bench.
Eva scooted down.
Cool flooring touched her feet as she ambled to the bench to grab them. The clothing turned out to be a bedroom robe. She donned it. The fabric felt soft against her skin. It was a pretty one. For no reason, she just knew the fabric was silk. It was strange that she knew this while everything else about herself seemed to be a big jumble of haziness.
Who am I?
What am I doing here?
She tied the robe and whirled backward to face the vanity mirror. A stranger stared back. She blinked. My name is Eva. What’s my last name? And why did I think I had been hurt?
She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing her own reflection. She had a lush figure and pale complexion. Her reddish hair was cut just below her shoulder; it had been neatly combed but now was tousled from sleeping. She had blue eyes with an oval face and thin petulant lips. A curious face. She thought she looked like a startled mouse.
There.
She knew what a mouse was yet she couldn’t remember who she was. This not-knowing-anything was starting to bug the hell out of her.
The door opened. A matronly woman came in bearing a tray with a pot of tea and cups. She was wearing a conservative dress with a spotless white apron. She looked to be in her early sixties but she moved with the agility of a person half her age. The porcelain cups jingled on the silver tray. White plumes of steam billowed from the teapot. A smile broke out on her face. She sighed with relief. “Thank goodness you’re awake, child.”
“Hello.” Eva gave a tiny wave. “Who are you?”
The woman put the tray on a nearby table. “I’m Rosa. How do you feel?”
“Okay, I guess. I can’t remember anything though.”
