Page 33 of The Two Last Moments

Is that who Kathy Sullivan is? My family?

Angela rests her arms over her belly. “Ms. Sullivan lives in Eureka.”

“Up in NorCal?”

“Yep. She contacted Eureka Police and filed a missing person’s report about you. That’s what popped up in NamUS. We asked to speak with Ms. Sullivan, and she sent us this to corroborate.” Angela puts an ID card on the desk surface and pushes it over to me. It’s from a school called Northern California College. And it’s got my picture on it, along with the name Lark Richards.

That’s my name. Lark Richards.

My first thought is that Nina will be disappointed. It’s nowhere near as interesting as the ones we were coming up with this morning.

“We confirmed with the school’s records. You attended a semester there a couple years ago before withdrawing. They had your date of birth and address.” Angela hands me a sheet of paper with the info. The street name, the numbers… It still means nothing to me. “You’re twenty-four years old.”

I set down the paper and wrap my arms around my stomach, just trying to take this all in. Danny’s hand rests on my shoulder, solid and comforting. I think of how Danny and I were discussing my age just a couple hours ago in his garage. The way he touched my arms and then my face. My body reacted, an electric tingle running through me when his bare skin met mine.

I won’t stick around long enough for Danny or Nina to want me gone. Shouldn’t I be relieved? Happy?

I don’t know what to feel.

“Did you find Lark’s driver’s license or social security records?” Danny asks. “Anything to fill in the gaps of her identity?”

Angela tilts her head, speaking patiently. “We didn’t, which is unusual, but not unheard of if she grew up off the grid and never learned to drive. In fact, one of the first things we did was run Lark’s photo through facial recognition, which we can use to match with DMV records. Nothing came up.” She looks back to me. “Ms. Sullivan said your parents were modern-day hippies living in a commune.”

Which would explain why I feel uncomfortable around cops. My parents were anti-establishment types. That idea rings true for me.

“As far as fingerprints and DNA,” Angela goes on, “we didn’t find any matches. That means you don’t have a criminal record, and your relatives aren’t in the government databases either. Again, if they stayed off the grid, that makes sense.”

“What kinds of people have their DNA on file?” I ask.

“Convicted felons. Those who’ve served in the military, like Danny.”

So I’m not related to Danny, at least. Probably good to know.

“Police nationwide also upload DNA samples of unidentified crime victims,” Angela says.

I bite my lip.

“Finding a match that way was always less likely. I figured your family would report you missing, and I’m glad that was right. I spoke to your aunt on the phone, and she cried, she was so relieved you’re safe. Kathy is related to you through marriage, rather than blood. Her husband, your uncle, is working as a roughneck in Alaska right now on an oil rig. Apparently, he’s not easy to reach.”

I pick up the ID and close my hand around it. “I want to talk to her.”

“As you should. I’ll give you her number.” Angela smiles. “Who knows? Maybe in just a few days, you’ll be back home.”

Home. Which is apparently Eureka, California, way up north from here. Maybe my aunt Kathy can explain what I was doing in Southern California in the first place.

* * *

I havemy first conversation with Kathy Sullivan that night.

“Lark! My God, I’ve been so worried about you!” We’re on FaceTime. She has her hair in a ponytail, but otherwise, she looks just like her photo. “You were in an accident?”

I’m sitting in the living room of Danny’s home, using his cell phone. He’s in the chair across from me, shoulders broad in his T-shirt as he hunches over and twists his necklace in his fingers. He offered to give me some privacy to talk to my aunt, but I asked him to stay. And of course, he said yes. He always says yes, nice guy that he is, but that doesn’t mean he wants to.

“Tell me what happened,” Kathy says. “Tell me everything.”

I tell her what I know about the incident four nights ago. The car racing toward me, trying to run me over. Losing almost all of my memories of who I am.

Kathy touches the base of her throat. “Oh, that’s awful, Lark. I’m so sorry.”

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