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“They got a taxi back,” I said. “I figured I ought to head back into town to report it in case it gets stolen.”
“Now that is good thinking,” the driver said. “I hate inconsiderate drivers. They’re so goddamn… inconsiderate! Do you mind if we play some tunes?”
“Go ahead,” I said.
The driver cranked the music up so loud the cheap speakers rattled every time a base note reared its head. The others kept talking over each other. I felt relieved. I wasn’t in the mood for making conversation. I turned their voices off and looked out the window.
Should I tell them to stop? To turn around and head back? But then I’d have to answer their inevitable questions, difficult questions that would be hard to explain. I doubted they would think I was lying. With how high these guys were flying, they probably bumped into a UFO pretty often.
They wouldn’t take me seriously. Besides, who would want a stoned kid as a slave anyway?
I shut the door behind me and waved my thanks to the odd but kind group of friends who’d given me a lift. They took off toward the cheaper, seedier part of town.
It was late in the evening and I could hear the familiar thump-da-thump of multiple strands of music, the serious partiers having only just gotten started.
I climbed the steps toward the station and gripped the door’s metal handle. I saw my reflection in the glass and noticed the translator strip across my throat. I tore it off, folded it in half, and placed it in my pocket.
I met the officer on duty at the front desk. He was a short overweight man with a bad combover.
“Hi,” I said. “I’d like to report a missing person.”
“Sure, Ma’am,” the officer said, not looking up from the documents he was stapling. “Who’s missing?”
I took a deep breath. “Me.”
The interrogation room was bare with a single cheap table and bright overhead lights. I guessed they stopped using the spotlight some time ago. On the table sat the digital recorder Detective Wayans had taken from his jacket pocket. His partner, Detective Verbiage, chewed gum and had a bad lazy eye.
I’d just finished telling them my alternate story. There wasn’t much to it.
“We found the minivan a few days ago,” Detective Wayans said. “There was no sign of survivors. After that huge fall off the cliff, we didn’t think we’d see anybody turn up alive, never mind conscious and walking around.”
“Well, here I am,” I said. “I swerved to avoid that fox, broke through the barrier, down into the ravine. I managed to unclip my seatbelt and get my door open. Maybe I fell out at the last minute and avoided the worst of the fall. I don’t know.”
“Maybe,” Detective Wayans said, consulting his notes. “You were in the driver’s seat, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“So where have you been for the past few days?”
It was the most obvious question they could ask and yet, coming to a convincing answer hadn’t been easy. I thought it over and over during the walk and hitchhike to town.
It was hard enough for me to believe what had happened. These officers—who believed in facts and evidence—wouldn’t give it the time of day. Neither should they.
So, I opted for the next best thing.
“I think I must have had amnesia,” I said with a straight face. “I’m not an expert on the matter. All I know is, I can’t remember a single thing between what happened when we smashed through that barrier and when I woke up a few days later when I came across the minivan remains. It must have triggered a memory or something. I suddenly remembered who I was. Then I walked part of the way here and caught a hitchhike the rest of the way. That’s how I got here.”
The detectives shared an incredulous look. I wondered how they would look if they knew the truth.
“We combed the area very carefully, using all the latest technologies and dispatched multiple drones, but we couldn’t find a single clue as to where you might have gone,” Detective Wayans said. “How do you explain that?”
Detective Verbiage chewed his gum loudly but offered no input.
I shrugged. “It’s not my area of expertise. Maybe I slept in a cave where the drones couldn’t see. Maybe I didn’t leave any evidence behind to find. I just don’t know, Detective.”
“Trust me,” Detective Wayans said. “You have about the same level of understanding as we do at this point. Can I ask, do you remember anything about your friends during the accident? Could they have fallen out the minivan with you? Will they turn up one day with amnesia too?”
I wished they would. I felt so alone without them.
