Page 38 of Day Shift

A tech rounded the corner just then, pushing my ride. “Time for your grand exit,” he said with a smile, helping me into the wheelchair.

I sat motionless while we made our way through the hallways and down the elevator. My stomach churned with anxiety. The moment of truth was approaching fast, and there was no turning back now.

When we approached the hospital’s main doors, cameras started flashing, and the murmur of the crowd grew louder. The officer led us to the doors, somewhat blocking me from the sight of those waiting just beyond.

“Ready?” the tech asked, giving me a sympathetic glance.

I nodded, my throat tight. There wasn’t really a choice.

As soon as the doors swung open, I was inundated with the roar coming from the mass of people waiting outside—shouts from reporters, calls for my attention, camera shutters clicking wildly. I squinted against the bright sunlight. The humid air immediately blanketed me, a striking contrast to the recycled coolness of the hospital. I was momentarily disoriented.

“Miss, can you tell us who you are? Can you tell us what happened?” a reporter yelled, edging closer.

“Why were you at the Volkov estate? Are you involved in some sort of criminal activity?”

“Where is your family?”

“What’s your name?”

So many questions to which I had no answers.

Several additional police officers promptly appeared at my side, forming a barrier between me and the cameras. One officer, a tall woman, stepped in front of me before addressing the crowd, saying firmly, “Please, give her some space.”

Despite the chaos, her presence was reassuring. She and another officer helped me stand. The discreet click of handcuffs being secured around my wrists was almost drowned out by the clamor. My hands were gently but firmly secured in front of me, and a jacket was draped over my shoulders, hiding me from the eager cameramen.

“We’re going to walk straight to the car,” the female officer instructed, her tone low and calm amid the cacophony.

People swarmed like vultures, hurling questions at me, but I remained silent, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. I was guided toward a waiting patrol car, expertly shielded from the prying eyes of the crowd. I kept my gaze down, watching the concrete move beneath my feet.

Once we reached the car, the door was opened for me, and I was helped inside. “Watch your head,” the officer said. I ducked into the vehicle, the scent of old vinyl and coffee greeting me.

The door shut with a solid thud, cutting off most of the noise from the reporters. The occasional flash of a camera was visible through the tinted windows. I cast a fleeting glance at the curious faces. Their features blurred into a sea of hungry eyes and eager mouths, all vying for a piece of my story.

“Are you okay?” the officer in the passenger seat asked, turning slightly to check on me. “That was quite the zoo. I think everyone’s heard of the mysterious Jane Doe.”

“Yeah, I’m just…overwhelmed,” I admitted.

“We’ll be at the station soon, and we’ll take care of everything there,” she assured me in a kind voice.

As the car pulled away from the hospital, the noise of the crowd faded into the background, replaced by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of the radio. I leaned back against the seat, the fabric cool against my skin, letting the motion lull me into a semblance of calm. What awaited me was unknown, a path as unclear and unnerving as the fragmented memories that occasionally haunted me. But in this moment, all I could do was sit back and watch the world move by, a silent observer of my own life’s unfolding drama.

Soon after arriving at the police station, the door of the patrol car swung open, and the officers ushered me into the bustling environment of the booking area.

“Right this way, ma’am,” one of them said, guiding me to a desk cluttered with papers and a computer that looked like it had seen better days. He sat down and pulled out a form, clicking a pen. He was a middle-aged man with a scruffy beard and an impassive expression.

“We need to get some information down,” he stated, turning the monitor slightly to face him. “What’s your full name?”

I shrugged, my chest tightening at the question.

“They told me you had amnesia, but I still have to ask. Procedures and all. You’ll be listed as Jane Doe,” he said before continuing.

“Date of birth?” he asked, fingers poised over the keyboard.

“I…I don’t remember,” I admitted, and not for the first time, the blank spots in my memory plagued my mind.

“That’s okay. We’ll keep moving through the form, giving you the opportunity to tell me anything you do remember.”

He went through a list of questions, none of which I had answers for, and then hit the enter key hard, catching my attention. “Okay, now that’s done, we’re going to do a quick search, just routine.”

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