While They Watch

by Sosie Frost

  He glanced at the mess on the coffee table, the broccoli scattered and dripping tea. “She skipped crawling and started kickboxing.”

  “Yeah. Right.” I backed out of the article and exited the browser. “She’s a little tornado.”

  “Everything okay?”

  I lied through my teeth and bared them in a pretty grin. “Absolutely. Never better.”

  But for how long?

  Evie Hamilton. Single mother. Amnesiac.

  Felon?

  No wonder I had forgotten everything in my past. I had nothing good to remember.

  And the instant Shepard realized I was a criminal would be the moment I lost everything

  Again.

  19

  The alarm rang. Shepard rolled away to shut it off.

  The bed instantly chilled without him next to me.

  I supposed I should have gotten used to it. God only knew what would happen when Shepard found my mug shot.

  I hadn’t slept at all—not with all the scenarios blitzing through my mind.

  I couldn’t have him suspecting anything, so I left the iPad and all its answers in the living room.

  All night.

  At least I had eight hours of peace before I discovered the damning truth.

  Like if I were some sort of horrific cheerleading massacring, clown-impersonating, skin-stealing psychopath.

  If I didn’t remember what crime I’d committed…it had to be bad.

  Worse than puppy theft. Destruction of kindergarten projects. Fishing without a license.

  My few memories painted a terrible picture. No happy little clouds or mountains in this landscape. If the hood had been painted—acrylic, like our fingernails—then our artist switched from Bob to Rick Ross and those pretty trees and scrubs hid drugs and prostitution.

  None of it screamed have a family with me to the most upstanding and ethical police officer that had ever existed.

  “I might have to crash at home tonight,” he said. “We’re close to solving this case, and I’ll probably be really late tonight.”

  “You work too much.” Catching criminals like me.

  “Do you have a doctor’s appointment today?”

  “Neurologist.”

  “Call me when it’s done. Let me know what Rory says.”

  “Sure.”

  He gave me a quick kiss and left. I waited thirty seconds before I bounded from the bed, tangled in the sheets, and landed square on my knees.

  God, I hoped that wasn’t a sign of what I was about to find out.

  I scrambled through the hall, tip-toed past a mercifully sleeping baby’s room, and dove for the iPad.

  What was it going to say?

  Exotic animal poacher?

  Diamond thief?

  Election fraud?

  Computer Hacking?

  Murder?

  I held my breath and opened the newspaper article. The air escaped in a whimper.

  Local Teen Arrested In Cross-Dressing Santa Christmas Disaster

  I blinked.

  That…rang a really confusing and unfortunate bell.

  I read from it aloud, diving into the words. “After a week of intensive investigation, the Ironfield Police Department arrested eighteen-year-old Evie Hamilton for the vandalism of Piersport High School’s Christmas display, in which officials describe the traditional Santa Clause mannequin as ‘stripped, manhandled, and inappropriately adorned in less-than-reputable holiday decor.’”

  The police officer dropped a plastic baggie on the table.

  I didn’t talk, but the bright pink thong sure as hell didn’t belong to the rookie hard ass interrogating me. Cutting his teeth on a hood girl who played a practical joke?

  Yeah. That’d earn him some real cred.

  “You cross-dressed Santa Clause,” he said.

  His partner snickered. “Made him look like a hoe, hoe, hoe.”

  I said nothing. The rookie smirked, leaning close.

  I didn’t know they made cops that hot.

  Or that I liked blue eyes that much.

  “Look, Evie. I’ll cut you a break. Admit it was you, and I can get you off on community service.”

  Community service. Christ, Granna was going to kill me.

  “For giving Chris Kringle a little junk in the trunk?” I laughed. “You’re kidding.”

  “School already expelled you.” He frowned, glancing over his folder. “What the hell are you doing, Evie? There’s only a handful of kids in that school that can make something of themselves. You belong in college, not in some gang.”

  “Oh yeah. There’s a group of us assaulting holiday mascots.” I snorted. “This spring, we’re tie-dying the Easter Bunny.”

  “I’m trying to help,” he said. “You’ve got a bright future ahead of you. Don’t let a senior prank fuck you over.”

  “No. That’s your job, right?”

  He tossed the pink thong towards me. “Looks like you’re doing a good job on your own.”

  Community service.

  I remembered twenty hours in a community park because Santa got his groove back after I introduced him to a panty-line free alternative for his crushed velvet suit.

  Justice had been served.

  I sighed. At least it wasn’t arson.

  But this? Christ.

  I’d never live it down. All was fair in love and amnesia.

  Now that I had a name, everything could change. We’d find out who I was. Where I was from.

  And life would…

  Begin again?

  What was I even starting from?

  The headache only worsened. I showered in a hurry, fed the baby, and got her ready for my appointment that afternoon. It was a good thing I was seeing Doctor Owens today. Rory had been nothing but supportive through the entire ordeal, but even she had been disheartened by my lack of progress.

  A name and a handful of memories would make her day.

  And maybe, with that information, she could start to uncover whatever my head kept hidden.

  Rory welcomed me into her office with a smile, though she plucked Clue from her stroller and gave her a hug. She pointed a smug finger at me.

  “I heard from a little birdie that someone is remembering a bit more.”

  As far as I could tell, Clue hadn’t learned to talk. Shepard must have crossed her path in the elevator this morning.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m getting more flashes. All these thoughts and images are bombarding my mind, but…I can’t make sense of them.”

  “That’s fine,” she said. “Just tuck them away—keep them locked in that brain of yours so we can piece it all together once we find that triggering cipher. I think we’re on the verge of something big.”

  She had no idea how big. “I’m getting headaches.”

  “Really?” Rory grabbed the penlight in her pocket. She was the only person I knew who greeted people by checking pupils instead of shaking hands. “All the time? Sporadically?”

  “Right before a couple big flashes.”

  “Before the memories come?”

  “Does that make sense?”

  Rory scanned a chart and shook her head. “Nothing about your case makes sense. But, if I had to guess, the headaches are stress from concentration. You’re forcing it. Giving yourself a tension headache.”

  “But I have to. They’re fleeting. For as many as I’ve remembered…they flutter away without me really grasping them…like when you wake up from a dream.”

  “It’s a good sign they’re coming though. I know it’s frustrating, but write them down. Sit and meditate. Focus on what you’re feeling when you experience them instead of stressing yourself into remembering every little detail.”

  She sounded like Doctor Clark. “Easier said than done.”

  “We’re on the verge of a breakthrough,” Rory said. “As soon as you think those memories are coming back, I want you to call me. Day or night. I don’t care if I make a house call. It’s a benefit of being neighbors, right?�
�

  Oh, there was the guilt.

  My beautiful apartment, bought and paid for by a lovely charity trying to help a single mother.

  I looked away. “Yeah. Not sure how much longer we’ll be neighbors.”

  “Oh?” Rory pouted. “You want to move?”

  “I’ll have to once the memories are back.”

  “Why?”

  “Well…I’ll have an ID again,” I said. “I’ll find a job and start my life. I can’t live on charity forever.”

  “Charity? What’s the charity have to do with this?”

  “Family First is paying for that apartment.”

  “What?” She laughed. “No…that apartment is paid for. The charity only helps with your incidentals as far as I know. I can check with the accountants if you want.”

  I stared at her. It was the first time the present made less sense than the past.

  “It’s paid for?” My voice hushed. “By who?”

  “Well…your police officer friend.” She winked. “Though I think he might be a bit more now.”

  My heart crashed against my chest. “Shepard?”

  “He came to the foundation months ago. Said he wanted to keep it on the DL because it’d be a conflict of interest with your case, but he wanted to make sure you and the baby were comfortable. He’s paid the lease for the last six months.” Rory paused. “Evie? Are you okay?”

  No.

  I wasn’t.

  Shepard was paying for my apartment?

  He had been paying for it for months?

  What should have been a beautiful and thoughtful gift sent a shiver crawling over my spine.

  ….And not the good kind he usually gave me.

  The gift wasn’t just incredibly kind—it was way beyond any charity a stranger should have given me, especially one who didn’t tell me about his generosity.

  Shepard had offered his help for weeks before I finally surrendered and let him close.

  And so much had happened.

  I’d fallen for him. Wanted him. Slept with him.

  Given up my past—my everything—to be with him.

  Something wasn’t right—and it wasn’t just the secret, Christmas time thong vandalism charge that lingered in my past. Shepard should have told me from the beginning about the apartment.

  Unless he didn’t want me to find out.

  Unless he never expected that I’d find out.

  Unless he wasn’t a helpful stranger helping a mother in need.

  Did Shepard Novak know who I was?

  My heart crashed to a halt, and I regretted that Rory specialized in my head and not cardiology.

  “Evie?” Rory waited, patiently. “Are you—”

  “I’m sorry.” I bolted to my feet. “I shouldn’t waste your time with this. I’ll call you if something changes.”

  “Good,” she said. “But promise me you’ll take this slow.”

  Slow?

  Nothing about this was slow.

  Suddenly everything in my life was racing towards some invisible finish line, and I ran to avoid the speeding ice cream trucks.

  The criminal charge. My name. Darnell. The lease.

  I was onto something big.

  And now the only question remained…

  Why hadn’t Shepard figured any of this out before me?

  He was the detective. He had the intel. He could have researched the truck driver’s claim. Pressured him. Found out more. Instead my file had sat empty on his desk for months, like I was the only one trying to fill it.

  He said the answers were locked away in my head.

  I could say the same about him.

  My phone buzzed the instant I left the office. I tucked Clue into her stroller and read Shepard’s text.

  Good news from the doctor? Any memories back?

  What once sounded like hopeful support now turned my stomach.

  Was he asking to check up on me? Or did he want to know if I’d remembered anything else?

  I stared at the phone, wracked with trembles so severe even my stomach quivered. My headache pulsed harder, and I ducked into a nearby coffee shop just to avoid the crowds and noise.

  I couldn’t go home yet.

  If it was even my home now that I knew Shepard had paid for it.

  What did he expect in return?

  This didn’t make sense. Shepard wasn’t blackmailing me with kindness. He was the type of man who saved ducklings. Chased down purse thieves. Protected pregnant women struck by ice cream trucks.

  Coordinated with the driver to change the location of the accident?

  Offered his help within the first week of setting up the apartment.

  Returned time and time again to bring me any sort of comfort. The foods we ate, the movies we watched, the places we visited, all of it was selflessly given to me just so I’d have a sense of normalcy.

  And everything he did, everything he gave, was exactly what I had needed.

  What I liked.

  But he had known all of my preferences even before I discovered what were my favorites.

  Hell, I still tasted the pad thai from yesterday.

  “I forgot,” he said. “You don’t like peanut sauces.”

  “I’ve never had this before.”

  “Sure you have. That’s not the best quality, but I know we’ve tried it.”

  A coincidence. It had to be a coincidence. I couldn’t distrust a man just for being super compatible with me…

  But what if it wasn’t compatibility?

  What if he knew me?

  Really knew me?

  What if he had known the entire time who I was, where I was from, what my name was…

  Who my baby’s father was?

  How to make me fall in love with him?

  My phone buzzed again. I clutched it tight while ordering my coffee.

  I should get out of here by five—hell of a day. Remind me to tell you about the drunk with the turtle…really should have checked if he was a snapper before sticking anything near that mouth.

  Anything for my smile. Usually I loved fun police stories that didn’t end with high speed chases or gunfights.

  Like the time a high school senior got hauled into a police department for cross-dressing a Santa Clause on a Christmas display, and the rookie cop who took on her case happened to cut her a break.

  A handsome, blue-eyed rookie cop.

  I pushed my coffee away, refusing even a taste. Nothing about the mocha would settle my stomach. The single knot in my gut started to unravel, and I didn’t like where the tendrils led.

  Pizza tonight? Shepard’s text buzzed in my hand. Or skip the bread and hack open a pineapple?

  Pizza.

  What were the chances that Shepard would have ordered the exact pizza I loved the most? A Hawaiian with double pineapple and red onion? Not exactly a common order.

  And while the brick-oven restaurant had tasted divine, I knew I’d had better pizza before. From another place in the city. Hell, Shepard and I had ordered from three different places just to check. None of them were right—and now I knew why.

  We weren’t looking in the right place.

  I checked the browser on my phone, skimming the map for pizza places near where my accident had been—not Evie Street, but further away…

  Clarissa Street.

  One locally owned pizza place popped up on the map. Oil and Basil Pizzeria. It didn’t sound familiar, but what did? My head pounded, and the screen blurred. Wasn’t sure if it was tears or pain, but I pushed the call button.

  “Oil and Basil.” A gruff voice answered. “What do you want?”

  God, if I only knew. What I wanted didn’t come with a free order of breadsticks.

  “I’m hoping you can give me some information,” I said.

  “No delivery charge if the food costs more than twenty bucks. Special today is a ham and bacon calzone.”

  “No. I’m just wondering…have you worked there long?”

  “Yeah. I own the pl
ace. What do you want?”

  My voice trembled, but I leaned forward, gripping my coffee. “Do you remember common orders?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  Wasn’t that the question of the hour?

  “Every Friday night, someone would have place an order for a pizza—Hawaiian, double pineapple, and—”

  “Red onion.”

  “Yes!”

  “What about it?”

  “Where did you deliver the pizzas?”

  “Look, lady, what’s this about?”

  I might have confessed and told him about the amnesia, but Shepard was right. The last thing I needed was anyone else knowing I was without a memory.

  No telling who would have taken advantage of me.

  Especially those who pretended to help.

  “I’m looking for my sister. Evie.” It was easy to bluff. “She used to order pizza from you, and I don’t know where she’s gone.”

  Honest enough. The pizza guy quieted. Damn it. I should have gone down there in person and slipped him some money. No way he’d give up his client for anything less than a pepperoni pizza.

  “I think she’s in trouble,” I said. Again, not a lie. “Please. I’m just looking for her last apartment. I need a street.”

  “Yeah. She’s got two places.”

  “Two?” My stomach turned.

  “I haven’t heard from her for six months.”

  “I know. I’ll take any information you can give me.”

  He sighed. The phone muffled, and he shouted to someone else in the kitchen. “Hey, Ty. Where’d that double Hawaiian pizza always go Friday night? Yeah, the knocked-up girl with the nice rack.”

  Always eager for a compliment. I held my breath.

  He shouted again and cleared his throat. “Bethany Street. She had an apartment.”

  “That’s great.” That must have the apartment where I lived while pregnant. “What about the other location?”

  “We don’t deliver there anymore. Too risky for our drivers.”

  That sounded about right. “Where was it?”

  “South Chester Street. Off Center Avenue.” He huffed. “Be glad your sister got out of there. That place has been hell for about a year.”

  A year.

  Clue was six months old. I had been pregnant when Granna was arrested.

  I dropped the phone.

  Christ, my head hurt.