I Will Remember You
L. Jaye Morgan
Table of Contents
Title Page
I Will Remember You
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Other Books by L. Jaye Morgan
Copyright © 2019 L. Jaye Morgan
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Published in the United States of America
Morgan, L. Jaye
I Will Remember You / L. Jaye Morgan
p. cm.
1. Mystery, Thriller, and Suspense —Fiction. 2. Psychological Fiction. 3. Romance —Fiction. 4. Mental Health —Fiction. I. Title.
ASIN:
First Edition / January 2019
Cover Art: © Coverquill
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a figment of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For more information, visit ljayemorgan.com.
CHAPTER ONE
IT HAD BEEN TWO DAYS since she had woken up from her long slumber and, despite the seriousness of her injuries, Gianna’s first thought upon hearing about the seventeen stitches in her scalp was a peculiar one: I hope they didn’t cut my damn hair.
She had only gone natural three years ago and was proud of the fact that she had finally reached bra strap-length. When stretched, of course. And now, as she lay in her hospital bed in pain, an irritating IV port protruding from her arm, a doctor and a detective sitting beside, her hair was all she could think about. Dr. Ansley had warned Gianna not to touch her head. In fact, she expressly forbade it. She hadn’t even allowed Gianna to look in the mirror yet. The suspense was killing her.
“Mrs. Harris,” Detective Williams said, “I know this is difficult, but I need you to tell me what you remember about that night.”
It was difficult, alright.
This was the second time he had come to her room looking for answers and she wasn’t any more knowledgeable about it today than she had been yesterday. Still, she searched for something to give the eager detective, certain that if she thought hard enough, she could conjure something up. But just like yesterday, all she saw was brief flashes of blurry images.
She closed her eyes and heard the faint sound of raindrops hitting the pavement. She remembered being cold that night, and her clothes being wet, and wondering if there was an umbrella nearby because her hair was getting wet, too.
“The only thing I remember is the rain. And then opening my eyes and seeing a bunch of people I didn’t know.” She swallowed and pain stabbed through her swollen, previously intubated throat. “And there was blood on me.”
Dr. Ansley spoke next. She and the detective sat side-by-side next to Gianna’s bed like partners-in-crime. “Gianna, I understand this is hard. Let me see if I can orient you a bit, okay?” Gianna nodded and the doctor continued. “You suffered a head wound a few weeks ago and we put you in a medically induced coma in order to prevent swelling in the brain. We brought you out Monday. Today is Thursday.”
“You told me that already. Yesterday, I think.”
Dr. Ansley smiled, flashing her perfectly straight, sparkling white teeth. She looked more like a plastic surgeon than a neurologist. “Good. You remembered. Now, I want you to think back, past today and yesterday, and so on until you get to that night you woke up in the rain. And I want you to try to remember what led you to that place.”
“Any information will help,” Williams said.
Gianna nodded and closed her eyes again. Just like before, there was nothing but rain and darkness. “Nothing. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Dr. Ansley said.
Detective Williams started to speak but Gianna cut him off. She had never been much for male authority figures. “You never did say what happened. Was I in a car accident?”
The doctor and the detective looked at each other again and Gianna took a deep breath, having concluded that those two had already discussed it and that whatever it was, it was far worse than a car accident.
Dr. Ansley cleared her throat. “No. Something happened to you. A crime. And the reason Detective Williams is here is because he needs to make sure that crime is solved.”
Crime? What does that mean? Gianna thought. “Are you saying somebody did this to me? On purpose?”
Detective Williams leaned toward her. He looked younger than men in his profession were supposed to look. In Gianna’s mind, detectives were always middle-age or older, gruff, and grizzled. With his relative lack of wrinkles and facial hair, Williams had a youthful countenance. I bet nobody takes him seriously, she thought.
“That’s correct,” he said. “I’m doing everything I can to make sure we catch that person but I’m gonna need some help from you.”
She nodded, studying his face. He was fairly attractive, but it was his voice that was most remarkable. It was deep and strong, reverberating around the room like a sonic boom. His voice was sexy; he was not.
“What’s your first name?” Gianna asked him.
“Why do you ask?” he said, frowning.
“I don’t remember what it was.”
“Rondell Williams. I work in homicide.”
“Homicide? Wait...was someone killed?”
The doctor and detective exchanged looks again and Dr. Ansley sighed. Gianna could read it on their faces. There was a lot more they weren’t telling her.
“We’ll get to that in time, sweetheart,” Williams said. “For now I really, really need you to try and remember what happened.” He seemed to think asking more than once would help her remember. He was wrong.
“How about this,” Dr. Ansley said. “Tell us the very last thing you remember before today. It could be anything.”
“Anything at all,” Williams added.
Gianna searched and searched until she saw something. A face. A cute little brown face with thick black eyebrows and a Kool-Aid smile. “I have a daughter. I remember taking my daughter to school in my car.”
Dr. Ansley cla
pped her hands together. “Good! Very good,” she said. “What else?”
“I don’t even know if these are actual memories. It’s more like...flashes of things I can see in my mind. Is that okay?”
Dr. Ansley nodded. “It’s fine, dear. What do you see?”
“My daughter has braces.” She closed her eyes as tightly as she could. “She looks like me. And her dad. Justin!” Gianna’s eyes flew open and she smiled brightly. “I’m married. My husband’s name is Justin. My daughter’s name is Kaya. She’s thirteen.”
Dr. Ansley patted her hand. “Very good. Now Gianna, do you remember any kind of violence? Or being hurt?”
She searched again and came up empty. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Dr. Ansley turned her attention to Williams. “I think that’s enough for today, Detective. She needs to rest. It’s possible that more will come to her in time.”
Williams frowned. “Are you asking me to leave?”
The petite blonde woman stood to her feet and loomed over the detective, almost daring him to disagree. “Yes, I am. But I assure you if anything comes to her, I’ll document it in full and pass it along to your department.”
Williams seemed to realize he wasn’t going to win. He stood and buttoned his jacket. Something about his suit was off. It seemed like it didn’t quite fit his frame. “Fine. Mrs. Harris, we’ll speak again soon. Dr. Ansley, let’s talk in the hall.”
The doctor flashed Gianna a reassuring smile before leading the detective out of the room. Gianna strained to hear their conversation but all she could make out were muffled sounds. The deeper voice didn’t sound too happy.
She took in the measure of her room. It was typical as far as hospital rooms go, with its off-white walls and antiseptic smell. The television was small and grainy and it overlooked the room like it was surveilling everything in it. There were flowers and half-deflated balloons covering the ledge under the window. She assumed she must be well-liked.
She lifted the sheet to get a glimpse of her legs. Given the doctor and the detective’s penchant for keeping secrets, she wasn’t convinced the rest of her was intact. But there they were, the thick brown hamhocks that had always driven men wild. Her feet were down there, too. That was a relief. She couldn’t tell if she was wearing underwear or not, but she could see the thin, dingy, white hospital gown with blue dots draped casually over her body.
Her head throbbed and a wave of nausea hit her as the facts of the situation sank in. Somebody had done this to her. Who was it? And why had they chosen her, of all people? Did she know this person, or was it random? Where was she even going when it happened?
Dr. Ansley poked her head back in the door. “Gianna, are you up for visitors, Hon’?”
“Can I get a mirror in here?” she asked, hoping to catch the doctor off guard.
“Soon, dear. What about the visitors?”
“It depends on who it is.”
“Your family’s here.”
Gianna’s heart raced. She was equal parts excited and scared. Who would it be? Would she recognize them immediately or would she have to probe the recesses of her amnesic mind and filter their faces through a lens of confusion? The proposition frightened her so much, she took a deep breath and braced herself on the bars on either side of her bed. “Send them in,” she said.
The door swung open. She saw her mother first, and Gianna smiled. Beverly looked exactly how Gianna remembered her. Frumpy.
Gianna never understood why her mother insisted on hiding what was probably still a cute coke bottle shape underneath those two-sizes-too-big khakis and oversized, patterned rayon shirts. Ms. Beverly Stokes didn’t seem to understand the difference between modest and ugly. She hadn’t always been that way but between the cult she joined and then, later, getting saved at a real church, she had lost even the slightest bit of give-a-damn.
Limping in behind her was Emmy, Beverly’s mother and Gianna’s grandmother. She remembered that Emmy occasionally liked to pretend to be old and feeble even though there was nothing wrong with her. Physically, anyway. Emily Dash was around seventy, give or take, but no one knew for sure because she had lied about her age for so long. She was still an attractive lady, though, always well put-together. And then there was her thirteen-year-old baby, Kaya, who held her great-grandmother’s hand gingerly. Gianna knew their faces, and she cried because she didn’t have to search her mind to recall them.
They hugged and cried and fussed over Gianna, Kaya more than any of them. “Mommy, I’m so glad you’re awake,” she said. She was thirteen and still looked every bit the little girl, all gangly with braces, knobby knees, and a bit of baby fat in her jaws.
“I’m happy to see you too, sweetie,” Gianna said, giving her a big kiss on the forehead. Kaya settled into the bed as if was her own. Gianna didn’t care that it was cramped. She also didn’t care that Kaya seemed to have forgotten to put on deodorant that morning. She snuggled up next to her daughter and thanked God that she was still alive to see her grow up.
“How are you feeling?” her mother asked her.
“I feel okay. I’m sore. And I haven’t even seen myself yet. How do I look?”
Beverly rolled her eyes. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
Emmy spoke up from her chair in the corner. “Your face is swollen and your eyes are still blackened a little.”
Gianna cringed. “What about my hair?”
“Who cares?” Beverly asked.
“A mess,” Emmy said, and Gianna laughed for the first time since she’d been awake. There was only one person on earth who was brutally honest with her no matter the situation and no matter how much it hurt to hear. That was Emmy.
Beverly pursed her lips and crossed her arms, but she said nothing. All she could do was look on as Emmy walked over to the bed and smoothed down Gianna’s hair. “I’ll bring some gel and a brush tomorrow,” Emmy said.
Gianna sighed with relief. “Thank you, Emmy. Did they cut it?”
Emmy inspected her granddaughter’s scalp. “Yeah, a thin line of it. It’ll grow back fast, though, don’t worry. Just make sure you take your vitamins. The ones with the biotin.”
Beverly sucked her teeth. “It doesn’t matter how you look,” she said. “There’s plenty of time to worry about that later.”
Sound advice, but Gianna had stopped listening and Emmy continued to ignore her daughter. “I’ll bring your makeup bag, too,” she said to Gianna.
Beverly had enough. “Mama, she—“
“I’ll feel better when I look better,” Gianna said pointedly to Beverly, cutting her off, parroting Emmy who always cared how things looked. Beverly looked on in silence as Emmy leaned over and kissed Gianna’s head near the stitches.
Gianna looked around the room and realized someone was missing. “Where’s Justin?” she asked.
The room grew quiet and everyone froze. Emmy gestured to Kaya. “Bev, take the baby outside for a minute.”
Beverly pouted as if her feelings were hurt but she did as she was told. At first. She walked Kaya to the door, spoke softly to the teen, then opened the door for her to exit, but she didn’t leave with her. Instead, she turned around with a defiant look on her face.
“What is it?” Gianna asked.
“Beverly I told you to—“
“I’m staying!” Beverly snapped, and Emmy left it alone. She wouldn’t ordinarily give up so easily but she wasn’t the type to create a public scene. Beverly would hear about it later.
Emmy sighed and turned her attention back to Gianna. “What exactly did they tell you about that night?”
“The guy who was here—the detective—he didn’t tell me anything except that there was a crime. What are they not telling me?”
Beverly and Emmy exchanged looks, and Beverly looked up at the ceiling before speaking, probably saying a quick prayer as she tended to do. “There’s no easy way to say this so...I guess I’ll just...That night, the night you were hurt, you were with Ju
stin and he...”
Emmy shook her head. “I’m sorry, baby. Justin passed.”
CHAPTER TWO
NOW IT ALL MADE SENSE.
Gianna remembered lights. Lots of lights, mostly red and blue ones, swirling through her consciousness. She could take or leave the color blue but she had always hated red because it only ever signals terrible things. Seeing red, figuratively, means unbridled rage. When red flows from a limb, it signals that someone is wounded, and it’s a reminder of the fragility of the human body. Valentine’s red, “roses are” red, and the like—those are the good kinds of reds, the ones that symbolize the agape love preachers talk about at church. But Gianna well knew that the heart is fragile, too, and it’s the people you love who wound you the most.
That night was different. She remembered the relief washing over her because those red lights meant someone was coming to save her. But there had been someone lying next to her, and the heroes in their blue uniforms ran to save him first. At the time she’d felt passed over but clearly, that person had been in worse shape than she was. And now she knew that person must have been her husband.
“Gianna?” her mother said. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes. Justin is dead,” Gianna said matter-of-factly. She tried to will herself to cry just to get it over with. She knew it would all come spilling out of her eventually and she didn’t want to spend the next several hours or days waiting for her grief to make its appearance. She wanted desperately to release the shock and pain right then but she couldn’t manage it. All she could do was stare at the dingy white sheet that covered her.
“Do you want me to get your doctor?” asked Emmy.
“No. What happened to him? Why did he die?” She meant to ask how did he die, but they seemed to know what she meant.
Beverly spoke first. “Somebody shot him.”
“Oh my God.” The tears finally came, hot and salty, down her cheeks and onto her gown. “Who did it?”
“We don’t know, Sweetpea,” Emmy said. “We don’t know anything about what happened. Y’all were alone on the side of the road.”
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