5. Kaci

Iwake up in a strange bed, wincing at the bright fluorescent light. Stiff sheets are pulled too tight around me, and they smell like bleach. The chemical odor makes my stomach roll.

I'm in a hospital.

A wave of panic rises in my chest and I fling the sheets back on the bed, only realizing I'm hooked up to a drip when it pulls sharply at my forearm where the needle is taped to my skin.

"Angel?"

I turn toward the voice and find a man sitting in a chair next to the bed in firemen's overalls streaked with soot. He's familiar, and just looking at him watching me with steady blue eyes makes me calmer.

The panic subsides, and I lean back in the bed.

"Hunter."

I remember his name. Hunter…something. He's from the Wild Heart Mountain Fire Department. He brought me to the medical center, and I have amnesia.

Memories of the last few hours, or has it been days, flood my mind. But when I search further, there's nothing there.

"How long did I sleep?"

He stands up and stretches, rolling his shoulders until they crack.

"Most of the night."

"Have you been here all night?"

By the state of his dirty overalls, it doesn't look like he's gone home to change. Although he must have washed his face while I slept, because for the first time I notice the dark stubble on his chin and the sharp lines of his cheekbones.

He takes my hand, and the warmth of his touch soothes any last anxiety.

"Right here."

It's a relief to know Hunter is here, but it's also selfish. As much as it's comforting having him by my side, he's gone well beyond the call of duty.

"Don't you have somewhere you need to be?"

Please don't say you're married.Although I've got no claim on him, this stranger. But this stranger is the one solid thing I have right now. The only thing I can be sure of.

He perches on the side of the bed. "I'm right where I need to be."

My lips are parched, and Hunter passes me a cup of water. It's funny how I remember basic functions like how to drink from a cup and hold a conversation, but I can't remember anything about myself.

I've got an uneasy feeling that I'm missing something important. Like there's a part of me left behind.

"Did I have a bag or anything when you found me?"

He shakes his head. "Only the clothes you were found in. No phone, no wallet, no ID."

I sigh in frustration. It's all so strange this not remembering. Not knowing who I am or where I'm supposed to be.

"Is anyone looking for me?"

He pats my hand consolingly. "We've spoken to local law enforcement and checked in with the surrounding counties. No one's being reported missing with your description."

I take another sip of water, trying to hide my disappointment. No one is missing me. Where's my family? Who the hell am I?

The nurse comes in to take me off the drip and check my vitals. They were worried I might be dehydrated, so that's why they hooked me up with an IV.

An hour later, the doctor does his rounds and says he's happy with my progress. But how about the gapping big hole in my memory? I want to scream at him. What do we do about that?

He tells me I'll be able to go home soon. But where's home? Where do you go if you don't know who you are and no one's coming forward to claim you?

Hunter walks with me to the hospital cafeteria, and with every step we take I feel more uneasy. There's something about this place that gives me the creeps. Long corridors of shiny floors that squeak when you walk on them, a display case of ancient medical instruments, wonky artwork from the 90s on the walls, patients shuffling past in hospital gowns and medical staff rushing by, their scrubs swishing as they walk.

We pass a woman being pushed in a wheelchair, her frail body wrapped in a blanket and her smooth head gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

Our eyes lock as we walk past, and my stomach lurches.

I stop dead still, trying to grasp a memory in the corner of my mind. There's something about the woman that's like an itch I can't scratch.

"What is it?"

Hunter has stopped and he takes my hand, and we stand facing each other in the middle of the corridor as patients and hospital staff move around us.

I squeeze my eyes shut thinking about the woman, her mournful eyes and frail body, wondering if I know her from somewhere. I search for the memory but it's just out of reach, like a balloon floating out of my grasp.

The sounds of the hospital swell around me, the squeak of a wheelchair, the low murmur of uneasy conversation, the smells of disinfectant and human decay. A wave of nausea makes me waver, and Hunter puts a steady hand on my shoulder.

"Angel, are you okay?"

Hunter's voice brings me back, and when I open my eyes there are tears of frustration in them. I can't remember what's just out of reach, but I know one thing for certain. I've spent time in a hospital. I've spent time in a hospital, and it wasn't a good time.

"I need to get out of here."

Hunter's forehead knits together, but he nods. "Okay."