Broken Sky

by Saurav Dutt

  "What are you doing inviting strangers into my home?" Andie snapped as she marched over to Ben and snatched the cigar from the grip of his snarled fingers "why didn't you call me?"

  "Well I didn't see my phone ringing" Ben quipped "what exactly were you up to?" he yawned as he closed his eyes, sucking in the remnants of the smoke curling off the top of the cigar.

  Andie ignored him, turning instead to study the stranger sitting behind her. His gaze was piercing; his body now slouched forward as he studied her carefully. His eyes quickly darted down to his clenched cigar and back up at her; daring, beckoning her to snatch it away from his fingers.

  "I didn't mean to barge into your home like this" the man rasped as a mischievous smile sprang to his face "but your husband let me in, he's been very accommodating...once the whisky was dry, the cigars came out and we were too busy havin' a real whale of a time to notice I was outstaying my welcome....eh Ben?" he chuckled. Ben nodded in agreement as he stifled a yawn.

  "He's not my husband" Andie replied, staring down at the stranger sullenly as she noticed the sharpness of his suit, the gleam of his wingtip shoes and inhaled the musky stench of his cologne "and I don't appreciate you smoking in my home, please extinguish your cigar immediately and leave right now. I don't know you and I've never seen you before" she snapped.

  “I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important” the man intoned as he rose to his feet, looking around agitatedly for a moment before asking “uh…an ashtray if you don’t mind?”

  Ben rose groggily to his feet as he forked over the ashtray he had resting on the small table beside him. The man smiled warmly and stuffed his own cigar into it, Andie noticed the ashtray was congested by a clump of smashed cigarette butts and cigar ends. “Andie, don’t be rude, this is…?” Ben enquired as his misty eyes trailed off. “My name is Madsen” the stranger responded as he extended his hand to her. She stared down at it, noticing the sparkle of a gold watch on his wrist and a tattoo emblazoned on the flesh surrounding it, snaking right up past the cuffs of his shirt. He smiled as he realised she would not shake his hand.

  "Your father sent me" Madsen boomed as he glared down at her, his muscular body dwarfing hers "I noticed that you ain’t got any pictures of him, or your mother around here" he smirked.

  "And what does that tell you, eh?" Andie scowled "why isn’t it surprising that you’d be working for my father, what did he send you here for exactly?"

  "He said you met him earlier today" Madsen shot back..

  "No, more like he summoned me and I agreed to see him” Andie replied “so what do you do for him exactly Mr Madsen… kill people?" she grimaced as she motioned for Ben to return to his seat.

  "No" Madsen stared back, his face devoid of emotion.

  "Well you don't look one of his scumbag lawyers to me" Andie said “you look like one of his goons. I remember people like you being around the house all the time when I was a kid...you still wear the same suits, the same cologne, the same shiny black shoes..I want you out of my house right now; I don't want you anywhere near me or my family again"

  “Your father is a very sick man” Madsen replied as he stuffed his hands into his pockets “we were wondering if your mother had been in touch, we’re very interested in finding her..as he explained to you”

  “If you’ve worked for him as long as I think you have” Andie snapped “you’ll know that I hate her even more than I do him. Now get out of here before I call the police”

  “You are going to be at his parole hearing, right?” came the reply, laced with the same kind of mild venom her father used to speak to her with as a child.

  “Don’t even think about threatening me” Andie replied “tell him he’s skating on thin ice as it is, I’m thinking about it and you can deliver that message and nothing else”

  “It’s important we locate your mother” Madsen nodded as he began slowly pacing the room, stroking his chin with his left index finger as his eyes stared off into the distance “she’s here somewhere in Manhattan that much we do know, now that you’ve moved here, we think that’s no coincidence”

  “You’re not listening to me” she hissed “leave here, I don’t want you rent-a-thug’s near my house again”

  "It's important your old man finds your mother, so if she comes looking for you..." Madsen drawled "..it's in your interests to contact us"

  "Get the fuck out" Andie pointed towards the door, her eyes meeting his as he arched an eyebrow and chuckled in response. "Nice meeting you Ben" he winked as he shook his head "she's a fiery one, you watch yourself cowboy"

  Madsen adjusted the collar of his suit and turned into the hallway, looking up the stairs for a moment into the darkness above. "Mighty fine house you got here for a single mother" he grunted as he opened the door "nice family too...it'd be a shame if anything were to happen to it."

  "I said get the fuck out of here" Andie breathed in as Madsen stepped out of the door with a broad smile, his shoes rattling across the cobblestones on the driveway as he sauntered away. As if on cue the shimmer of a black saloon Mercedes Benz swung around from the opposite side of the road, its engine purring as Madsen stepped inside pausing to flash a beaming smile at Andie, before he entered and slammed the door shut.

  She stepped out onto the porch, her heart pounding as the vehicle sat there, its engine humming. She could not make out the face through the tinted windows but she knew Madsen was staring back at her. At that moment the wheels screeched as the car took off, the accompanying squeal of tires rattling her ears. She marched back to the house and shut the door firmly and leaned her head against her wall, feeling her pulse and heartbeat racing. Andie closed her eyes and burst into tears, choking the sounds as she felt the tears roll down her cheeks and her chin.

  Chapter Eleven

  She looked across the room. Her left eye focused on the glimmer of the photo frame caused by the sunlight dripping through the blinds. She winced and returned her attention back to Dr Firth, pausing only to smile to herself.

  "Did you hear what I just said?" the doctor asked as he leant forward, his fingers gripped around a ballpoint pen, his elbows delicately balanced upon the clipboard he had laid out across his knees. Her face was haggard and her skin pale, the vision in both eyes dulled as if a cobweb had wrapped itself around her head.

  'Mmm?' she mumbled, distracted as she focused on him, the perpetually serious expression she had quickly become accustomed to, his dark but soft eyes. "I asked you" he breathed in "if you were aware whether your name is Gina Rossi or not"

  "I don't answer to that name" she replied flashing a look of mild contempt. He studied her eyes, trying desperately to detect the tell-tale signs that she was lying but she looked straight ahead at him with a concentration so fierce that he was forced to break her gaze. "We opened your suitcases" Dr Firth cleared his throat, combing back his dark hair with his fingers "we found no signs of identification, where you came from, or the last place you lived. But your fingerprints, the Polaroid’s you had within them, the money, they seem to suggest..at least to the police… that you are a woman named Gina Rossi..and if you are, you're in some trouble with the authorities..now does any of what I am telling you jog your memory?"

  "Oh Lord my head hurts so much.." she complained as she raised a palm to her forehead, feeling sweat forming across her temple, realising her pulse had quickened. "You've been beaten badly around the head" Dr Firth replied in a soothing voice as he placed his own hand upon hers "in fact you're lucky to be alive. You see this large indentation, this scar you have here just below your hairline…whoever tried to hurt you did it with something incredibly hard and probably a blunt instrument. The intention was definitely to kill you judging by the size and impact of this scar.."

  "I don't remember being hit by anybody" she replied, her eyes staring down into her lap "…what’s wrong with me?" she asked as she looked up at him with a mournful stare, turning her concentration back to the same sparkling glimmer on the wall in front of her, t
he same photo frame she was drawn to.

  “We’re going to do another brain scan on you” Dr Firth nodded “there is a clot placing pressure on the tissue surrounding the region of your upper neck, and maybe another near the actual brain tissue itself. The good news is that the clot we have identified hasn’t separated and travelled further towards your brain. But you’re very lucky to have not suffered a serious stroke. We have to monitor this, make sure you’re out of danger and treat you appropriately. We have to access your medical records, and that’s why we have to identify exactly who you are”

  Dr Firth revealed a handful of black and white Polaroid photos which he carefully laid across her lap as she sat upright. She stared down at them, focusing on one featuring a raven haired woman with a large mink coat, wearing a beaming smile, and large sunglasses balanced on her forehead. “Is this supposed to mean something to me?” she breathed heavily as her hands glossed over the surface of the pictures, the tips of her fingers curling around the shape of the woman’s face, realising the similarity was unmistakable.

  “Think carefully” Dr Firth added “my concern is in helping you get better, but there are a lot of police who want to speak to you when you’re feeling up to it…the more you can remember the easier this will all be. But if you need your rest and you’d rather not be questioned right now, you tell me and I’ll look after you”

  She paused momentarily, calmed by the reassurance in his voice and she leant back, nestling her head against the raised pillow. Her head throbbed, and she raised her fingertips to the top of her brow, feeling a deep crescent shaped indentation to the upper right of her forehead.

  “You had it covered by your hair..” Dr Firth observed “and the stitching was sub-par and I’m being kind…whoever did it didn’t know a surgical stitch from a sewing machine.”

  It was then that her eye came upon her black bowler hat, sitting on a chair tucked away in the corner of the room. As a speckle of light bathed it, she could discern the colour of the dried blood tucked under its rim. “A casino..” she muttered under breath as Dr Firth looked up at her. “What was that?” he asked as he leant in closer to hear her. “That hat, I got that at a casino..I remember that” she muttered, her eyes fixated on the patter of dry blood “It happened there…the place where the casino was, I…I can’t…I can’t remember” she gasped, her voice cracking as she turned away.

  “Which casino, Atlantic City? Vegas? Was it one in New York?” Dr Firth asked, scribbling down notes on the clipboard furiously as he glanced up. Her lips were open, as if she was about to speak, then she glared at the clipboard, then at Dr Firth. “Where is John?” she asked “he was here, where is he?”

  “What exactly can you remember?” Dr Firth interjected “you remember what happened within the last 48 hours? You remembered his name, could you retrace the route to his apartment if you left this hospital now?” he nodded.

  “I can’t trust you” she breathed “I can’t trust anybody but John and Pollard…why are you asking me all these questions?”

  “Who is Pollard?” Dr Firth cut in, pursing his lips as he tapped his fingers impatiently against the clipboard “did he hurt you? Whatever caused this scar on your forehead, whoever tried to inflict it..somebody tried to kill you, this is very serious, you’re lucky to be alive…”

  “I know” she snapped, her eyes narrowing “I don’t want to be here Doctor; I want my things, why have you been going through them without my permission? I want my things” she hissed. She immediately raised her palms to her forehead again, massaging the sides of her scalp forcefully as she bit down on her lip.

  The door opened and she stared up to see the solemn face of Agent Pearce peering in. Before Firth could get to his feet to protest at the intrusion, Pearce nonchalantly waved an FBI identification badge at him and motioned for him to return to his seat, instead focusing his attention fully upon the bed. Pearce closed the door behind him, his back perfectly straight as he studied the contents of the room, his glare fixing momentarily on the bowler hat on the chair.

  “The lady is very ill at the moment, she is recuperating, and she is not allowed any visitors” Dr Firth snapped, rising from the chair and standing eye to eye with Pearce who barely contained the urge to smirk back at him. “You mean Ms Rossi” Pearce quipped as he brushed past the doctor, taking his seat. “Well if you insist” Dr Firth replied “nonetheless she is not in a fit state for any more visitors, she’s made that very clear to me.”

  She looked closely at Pearce, her eyes fluttering as she studied the glimmer of his silver spectacles, the gleam of his bright blue tie and his cold hard eyes. “You don’t remember me… do you…?” Pearce muttered, answering his own question as he focused on the scythe shaped indentation on her forehead. Just before he could raise his fingers to touch it, Dr Firth calmly pushed his hand away. “It’s a very serious injury she’s sustained” Dr Firth cut in “touching it and feeling it like a toy isn’t going to help the patient very much”

  “Right Doc…” Agent Pearce sniffed “well what’s wrong with her then? Why did she faint?” he sighed as he leant back in the seat, placing his chin on the knuckles of his closed fist as he watched her.

  “We do need to do more tests” Dr Firth replied “but in my professional opinion, the patient….uh Ms Rossi….is suffering from transient global amnesia, or TGA…what that means is there is decreased blood flow in the brain….”

  “Ok fine” Pearce shrugged his shoulders “but what about the mood swings, I’ve been told she’s been hostile to all the nurses here..and all this nonsense about not answering to her name.”

  “There’s a strong possibility” Dr Firth began “that after the trauma to her head-I’m assuming that’s what it is-she has suffered a form of amnesia…if not TGA then another type of amnesia which is called psychogenic amnesia. This is amnesia caused by a psychological trauma. If she has this type of amnesia she may have forgotten events regarding a previous terrible incident…for example such as witnessing the violent death of a loved one or something like that….but I supposed you would know more about that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Mmm?” Pearce murmured, his focus and concentration broken momentarily “what is that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean…that the FBI is here for a reason, aren’t they?” Dr Firth replied “people are more interested in what this woman has to say and what she allegedly did than if she lives or dies..fact is she’s lucky she is conscious and can talk at all” he added with a sharp glare. Just then he noticed her hand twitch, her eyes flicker in his direction. Her lips parted and her breathing became more pronounced; Firth leant in closely to hear her as she tried to speak. “My daughter…” she mumbled, her voice croaking as she struggled to mouth the words.

  “What was that?” Pearce interjected, leaning in to see if she would add anything else, but she did not.

  “Memories can come and go..with what’s happened to her, she could remember something from twenty years ago like it was yesterday and yet at this exact time tomorrow it would be a distant memory, and she could only recall the last 48 hours..” Dr Firth explained “you do know it’s a very real possibility all of you have a case of mistaken identity here…I’ve seen those photos, this woman has a passing resemblance to that lady in the photos at best”

  “Doctor…” Agent Pearce hissed “kindly focus on your job, and I’ll focus on mine…now if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with Ms Rossi… alone”

  “I told you she’s not well enough for questions right now” Dr Firth snapped.

  “If it wasn’t important doctor..” Agent Pearce frowned “I wouldn’t be here…now please..” he added as he motioned towards the door.

  As Firth rose to his feet and looked at her, she smiled back at him, her warm eyes expressing her gratitude as she nodded. He smiled back; pausing for a moment as he stood by the door “John will see you later” he assured her “I’ll let him know you’re feeling better.”

  Pearce tapped his foot impatie
ntly as he watched Firth leave, leaping off his seat to stand beside the door to ensure he heard the footsteps trickle down the hall. He turned back towards her with an awkward smile. “You do remember me don’t you Gina” he nodded. She remained motionless, studying his demeanour, his suit, his untrustworthy face and yet every aspect of it all seemed strangely familiar to her.

  “You dropped off the grid after we relocated you” Pearce went on as he picked up the bowler hat from the chair opposite the bed, his fingers running across its brazen surface “everything was going along nicely while you were there…checking in when you needed to… and then you were gone, nobody in the house, your suitcases packed and you were gone….somebody got to you didn’t they? Maybe Dennis caught up with you through his boys on the outside, but something happened that made you just get up and leave..”

  “Where are my things?” she muttered as her face turned towards the window, watching the sun dip slowly behind the clouds as early evening approached. “They’re safe Gina” Agent Pearce replied “but there’s a lot of money in there, a lot of it marked…we checked up on the bank records we set up for you under the programme, they’re maxed out…we know there’s a mole in the agency who tipped Dennis off about your whereabouts…you got hold of that money and you just fled didn’t you? Who got to you?”

  “Why are you telling me all this…who are you, what do you want from me?” she groaned, running the tips of her fingers across the surface of the scar on her forehead. The harder she pressed on it, the more it hurt.

  “Whoever gave you that on your head..” Pearce answered “they’re not done with you. They’ve found out by now you’re still alive, and they’ve found out you’re in Manhattan..that’s why I’m here Gina. It took us this long to find you, if we could then your husband’s people can too..the last place we thought you’d be would be bumming around is on the streets, what the hell is that about?”