Page 37 of Day Shift

After Sam’s visit, I dove back into searching for any clues as to who I was, using the laptop she’d brought me to comb through the internet.

I’d already spent hours scrolling and typing queries into search bars in hopes of uncovering anything that might give me a hint. Over the last week I’d perused social media sites and news archives, looking for anything a normal person would have out there. But it was like I didn’t exist. I even took a picture with the laptop’s camera and uploaded it for a reverse-image search. Nothing. No matches. It was unnerving. How could someone my age not exist online?

As my frustration mounted, I redirected my energy into learning more about the Volkov family and the notorious dealings of the Volkovi Notchi. If I couldn’t find anything about myself, maybe I could at least determine why my first memory that had come back was full of fear, why that name kept raising red flags.

Finding information about the Volkovs wasn’t difficult, considering the violent showdown at the Port of Tacoma that Sam and the others had gone through just six months ago. The articles painted a vivid picture of a ruthless crime syndicate involved in human and drug trafficking, smuggling, violence, and corruption. I read about Samantha’s ordeal, the shootout, and Viktor Volkov’s role in it all. The stories were harrowing, reminding me of the potential danger I could be in once I was outside of these walls, especially if I was connected to them in some way as I suspected. I had hoped to find pictures of the family in hopes that they would stir a memory, but I couldn’t find any. Mafia types must really know how to stay under the radar.

Despite finding no direct link to myself and the Volkovs, the fear that I was somehow entangled with them ate at me. It all seemed too coincidental—my presence at the estate, fleeing in one of their cars, and the fact that no one had come for me. But then again, maybe no news was good news. Maybe my lack of a digital footprint was a shield, protecting me from a past intertwined with criminals.

With all the uncertainty, I threw myself harder into my workouts, each session fueled by anxiety and loneliness. Every rep, every set, helped me build strength—not just physically but mentally. If my past was going to come back to haunt me, I would be ready. I’d make sure of it. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow my life was tangled up with the dark legacy of the Volkovi Notchi. And not knowing how worried me more than anything else.

I was more than the sum of discovered—or undiscovered—facts. And if my past wouldn’t come to me, I’d build a future that didn’t need it. But the question of who I’d been before all this remained. This was a puzzle I was determined to solve, with or without Conan’s help. No matter what truths lay buried, I would face them head-on. After all, wasn’t that what survivors did?

6/23

As I zipped up one of the suitcases Samantha had brought me, the reality of leaving the hospital tomorrow hit me hard. It was the closing of one chapter and the uncertain start of another. Tomorrow morning, the hospital room I’d grown to know so well over the last two weeks would be only a memory, and I’d be walking into the harsh confines of a police station.

Earlier in the day, Samantha had come by with news that both lifted and sank my spirits. She’d been bubbling over with reassurance, telling me that Dr. Thorin had everything arranged for my discharge and subsequent arraignment. “You’ll be out on bail before you know it,” she’d said with a confident smile. The attorney they’d hired was optimistic and apparently armed with a slew of information that could help my case. This news was supposed to be comforting.

Yet, as I folded another shirt, the reality of handcuffs, mug shots, and fingerprints clawed at me. It felt degrading—the prospect of being paraded around like a criminal. Samantha had tried to lighten the mood, instructing me to pack up and prepare for a new start at her place. “Just think of it as moving from one room to a much nicer one. It’ll be like a long sleepover,” she had joked.

I appreciated her—more than she probably knew. But as I placed the last item in the second suitcase, my thoughts drifted to Conan. He had completely vanished. I still hadn’t heard a word from him, and it stung more than I cared to admit. I worried about how this could affect things with Samantha and even Dr. Thorin. The last thing I wanted was to bring drama into their lives. But the more I thought about it, the more determined I became to clear the air with him once I was out of here. It was ridiculous for Conan to avoid me like this.

Finally, almost everything was packed, my life neatly contained in two suitcases except for what I needed for tonight and in the morning. I sat on the edge of the bed, looking around the dimly lit room. It was strange to think I wouldn’t see it again.

I climbed into bed and tried to find a comfortable position, my mind racing with what the next day would bring. Despite the softness of the pillows and the quiet of the room, sleep didn’t come easily. But eventually, exhaustion overtook the anxiety, and I drifted off into a restless sleep peppered with dreams of courtrooms and unfamiliar faces.

Chapter twenty-two

By the time the alarm on the laptop sounded, I’d already showered and dressed and was preparing for what would undoubtedly be one of the most critical days of my life. Sam had brought me a very conservative pink button-down blouse, some charcoal-gray dress pants, and a pair of black flats. I looked more like an accountant than a reckless woman who had broken into a home and stolen a car. My hair, which I usually wore down, needed to look tidy. So I brushed it back into a sleek, low bun, securing the stray strands with a light hairspray. This style not only kept my hair off my face but also lent an air of professionalism and modesty to my appearance.

With that done, I sat and looked out the window, nervously waiting for the day to begin and wishing I could disappear. Within a few minutes, Samantha breezed into my room. Atticus followed, his expression serious but kind as he carried an empty duffle bag.

“Morning, Angel!” Samantha said, taking the bag from Atticus and setting it on the foot of my bed. “Today’s the big day, huh? We’ll take your stuff to our place and then meet you for your arraignment. Let’s put anything you haven’t already packed in this bag.”

“Thanks, Sam. I don’t know what I’d do without you guys,” I said, swallowing hard.

There wasn’t much left to pack—just some toiletries, the clothes I’d slept in, and the laptop. It was all I owned in the world, and it wasn’t much. But it was better than the nothing I’d come to the hospital with.

Atticus stepped forward. “Okay, let’s go through what’s going to happen today. In a few minutes, a nursing tech will roll you in a wheelchair to the patient pickup area downstairs. That’s where the police will take you into custody. Don’t worry; it’s all standard procedure.”

My heart thudded uncomfortably at the mention of police custody, but Atticus’s calm demeanor helped dampen the spike of panic. “They know about your condition and have been briefed to handle everything smoothly,” he said. “So you don’t need to worry about that part. Just follow their lead, okay?”

I nodded, trying to muster a smile. “I’m just nervous, you know?”

Sam reached out and squeezed my arm. “We’ll be right behind you. I’ll make sure to be at the courthouse before you even arrive.”

Atticus continued, “You’ll ride with them to the station. They’ll process you—fingerprints, mug shot, the usual—but remember, it’s just a formality at this point.”

The thought of the handcuffs and the police car made my heart race. Nervously, I scanned their faces, trying to find some courage. “What if things go south?”

“Hey,” Samantha said in a sharp tone, a flash of her sass showing. “You’ve got the best friends in Tacoma. We won’t let you down.”

“Yeah, we get you’re nervous,” Atticus said, giving me a crooked grin as he picked up the duffle and one of the suitcases. “Keep in mind, this is a process you have to go through, and it’ll soon be over. Plus, I’ve wrangled tougher situations over breakfast. This is just a walk in the park. The moment it’s over, we’re heading straight home. Sam’s got a big dinner lined up.”

“Home,” I said, trying out the word. Would anywhere ever truly feel like home if my memories never returned?

The police officer standing guard leaned in the door. “All right, folks, it’s time to go,” he said.

---