Shadow of the Storm

by Candle Sutton

  He approaches Zak and leans on the bar.

  His hand clears his pocket and something catches the light.

  A knife!

  I can’t see it clearly, but my gut tells me that’s what it is. Just like I know what’s going on. We’re being robbed.

  This morning, the news on the radio was talking about some guy robbing a store at knifepoint. What’re the chances it’s the same guy?

  Doesn’t matter.

  No matter who he is, this guy needs to be stopped. He needs to be arrested and thrown in prison.

  Too bad the cops aren’t here.

  But I am.

  I’ve already proven that I know how to take down men much larger than myself.

  Although this guy’s armed. And will likely fight back, unlike Drew.

  Still, if I have the ability to help, don’t I also have the obligation?

  The thief is keeping an eye on the guys in the bar, but he’s barely glanced my direction. Maybe he didn’t see me.

  Or maybe he simply didn’t see me as a threat.

  That would be his first mistake.

  I ease off the stool.

  If I angle this just right, I should be able to come up behind him and take him to the floor.

  The knife will be the trickiest part. He could stab me. Or Zak. Or he might fall on it when he goes down.

  I’ll have to disarm him.

  Piece of cake, right?

  By now, I’m close enough that I can hear the conversation.

  “Be cool, man.” Zak’s hands are slightly raised in a non-threatening gesture.

  “Just gimme the cash!” The man hisses, shaking the knife for emphasis.

  “Sure. No sweat.” Zak sidesteps toward the register.

  I wonder if he already hit the holdup button.

  Of course he did. It would’ve been the first thing he did. He’s the one who showed me it was there. It’s probably also the reason he’s moving so slowly. He’d want to give the police time to respond.

  Maybe I should sit down and let the police handle it. They’re trained for this kind of thing, after all.

  Not to mention that they all carry guns. Unlike me.

  Zak slides a stack of cash across the counter.

  The thief stares at it. “That’s it? There’s gotta be more.”

  “Nah, man. Most people use plastic these days.”

  “Stop messing with me!”

  The bar quiets. The few remaining patrons are now watching the exchange.

  “Just take the money and go.” Zak’s voice is soft and soothing.

  The man stuffs the cash in his pocket. “Lemme see the drawer.”

  Zak opens the register and steps back. The man looks at it and swears. Shuffling his feet, he looks down and rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, the knife still gripped tightly in the other.

  If I’m going to do something, the time is now. He’s growing more agitated by the second.

  I slide forward, my feet silent.

  He half turns, catching sight of me.

  I lash out. My toes collide with his hand.

  The knife skitters across the tile.

  I don’t follow it. Instead, I land a kick to his solar plexus, followed by another to his knee.

  He doubles over at the same time that his legs buckle.

  He topples, crashing into a chair as he tumbles to the floor.

  I don’t give him time to recover before pouncing. Pushing him onto his stomach, I press my knee into his back and twist his left arm – the one that held the knife – behind his back.

  In my peripheral, I see a customer going for the knife. “No! Don’t touch it. It’s evidence.”

  The would-be thief struggles and I dig my knee in deeper. A small cry escapes from him, followed by a string of words that’d make a sailor cringe.

  Zak approaches. “What can I do?”

  “Make sure the police are on the way.”

  “They are.” Charlie’s voice rings out from my left. “I just got off the phone with the alarm company. They’ve called it in.”

  Good.

  Zak stays beside me, probably in case the man breaks loose.

  It takes the police three minutes to burst through the door. I don’t know that anyone moved during that time.

  Two men in blue uniforms and two plainclothes officers swarm in and take the guy into custody.

  I’m only too happy to release him.

  One of the officers, a lanky redheaded man in slacks and a well-pressed button down shirt, breaks from the group and approaches Zak and me.

  “I see some things never change.” The redhead claps Zak on the shoulder. “Can’t stay out of the action, can you?”

  “Hey, Vic. Good to see you, man.”

  Turning to me, he lets out a low whistle. “Carina? I hear you took that guy down. Looks like you’ve learned a few tricks since the last time I saw you.”

  Carina? Is that my name? Could this man know me?

  How would it even be possible?

  “Uh.” Zak clears his throat. “Actually, this is Stormy. She’s one of our bartenders.”

  His voice sounds strained and he looks distinctly uncomfortable.

  “Sure she is.” Detective Evans looks at me and gestures toward Zak. “This guy. Always crackin’ jokes.”

  “Nah, man. No joke.”

  Evans studies Zak before turning to stare at me. “You – you aren’t Carina?”

  Could I be? I have no idea who Carina might be, but Zak’s pretty adamant that I’m not her. Aside from that, the name wasn’t on any of my IDs. “Not last time I checked.”

  “That’s crazy. You look just like her.”

  “Who’s Carina?”

  “My sister.” Zak swallows hard and directs his attention to Evans. “Guess you didn’t hear. There was an accident. She’s in a coma.”

  Evans stares for a long second before shaking his head. “Dude, I’m sorry.”

  Zak shrugs, but says nothing.

  Evans extends his hand. “Detective Vic Evans.”

  “Stormy Jones.”

  “Nice to meet you.” His look encompasses both of us. “I’ll need to get statements from each of you, but since your statements will take the longest, let me finish with the rest of these people first.”

  I nod. “Do what you need to do. We’ll be here.”

  Not because I want to be. The idea of being questioned by the cops makes my stomach writhe.

  I should’ve thought of that before taking the robber down.

  Zak and I sit on the closest bar stools. Leaning back against the bar, I look at Zak. “You okay?”

  He blinks and flashes a smile that seems forced. “I’m not the one who flattened a guy with a knife. How do you know this stuff anyway?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Well, I’m glad you know how to do that.”

  “That makes one of us.”

  He arches an eyebrow. “You’re not?”

  I glance around. No one is close by, but I drop my voice anyway. “What kind of a person knows how to do that stuff? I… maybe I’m not a very nice person at all.”

  “I don’t buy that.” Zak’s low tone matches mine. “So far, you’ve taken two people to the ground and you didn’t hurt either one.”

  “Maybe I’ve just been lucky.”

  “Or maybe you know how to subdue people without hurting them. Like a cop or something.”

  Maybe. But that still leaves me with the problem of my reluctance to involve the police.

  If I were a cop, involving the police should be second nature, not my last resort. And why would an FBI agent be after me if I’m working on the same side of the law?

  Besides, there was that memory of being arrested. Cops typically aren’t the ones in handcuffs.

  Not unless they’re dirty. Which is the same as being a criminal.

  “Hey, we should loop Vic in. He could check the databases. Maybe there’s a missing persons report on you.”r />
  “No. I don’t want to talk to anyone else about this.”

  “You sure? Vic’s a good guy. I trust him.”

  Yeah, well I don’t. Not that I can tell Zak that. “Not now, okay? For now, I’d rather let my memories return on their own.”

  “Okay. Well, let me know if you change your mind.”

  I won’t, but I simply nod.

  Movement catches my eye. Drew is heading our way, hands buried in his pockets. Separations in his sand colored hair indicate some serious finger-running has occurred, not that I blame him. Having his father’s business held up at knifepoint would stress anyone out.

  “How’re you doing?”

  The question is directed at me alone. “Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You just took down an armed man. You’re allowed to not be fine.” He runs his fingers through his hair, leaving a few chunks sticking out at odd angles. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  I sense a “but” coming.

  “But–”

  And here we go.

  “Next time, don’t put yourself at risk. We don’t want anyone playing the hero around here.”

  I just stopped someone from robbing his father’s restaurant and he has the nerve to lecture me? I cross my arms and look at him through narrowed eyes. “Well forgive me for putting your business ahead of myself.”

  “Hey, don’t take it like that. I’m grateful, really.” Sincerity oozes from his brown eyes, which also show a hint of concern. “But you could’ve been hurt or killed. For money. It’s not worth the risk.”

  He’s worried. About me.

  It’s nice to know someone actually cares about my well-being. “I saw an opening and knew I could handle it.” My words come out distinctly less defensive this time.

  “I appreciate that, but I… we… don’t want to see you get hurt, okay?”

  I unfold my arms, relaxing them at my sides. “Okay. The next time a crazy man with a knife comes in demanding money, I promise I won’t get involved.”

  A hint of a smile appears on his face. “Why don’t I believe that?”

  Detective Evans heads back our direction, stopping a few feet away.

  “Why don’t we talk over here.” Funny how he can phrase it as a question when it’s clearly not.

  Drew takes his cue and moves away.

  “Zak, hang tight here until we’re done, then I’ll get to you.” Evans leads me a short distance away. “Everyone’s saying you took this guy down all by yourself.”

  Great. The last thing I need is this kind of attention.

  If there wasn’t a whole room full of witnesses, I’d try to pin this on Zak. Instead, I find myself repeating what I told Drew just a minute ago. “I saw an opening and took it. It’s really not a big deal.”

  “Not many people would take on a guy with a knife.”

  “I’ve had a little self-defense training.”

  “More than a little, I’d say.”

  I shrug. I don’t know what more he wants me to say, but I’m not about to volunteer information.

  Maybe a little diversion would help. “Is that the guy who held up the convenience store this morning?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation.”

  I take that as a yes.

  He clicks on his recorder, sets it on the bar, and pulls out a small notepad. “So tell me what happened.”

  Recapping the incident takes only minutes, as does answering his follow-up questions, which, really, are redundant at best.

  “Okay, so to confirm,” Evans references his notes. “You saw the guy approach Zak, he looked suspicious so you came closer, saw the knife, and reacted.”

  “Sounds right.”

  “Most people have this thing called self-preservation that kicks in when a weapon is present.”

  “He might’ve hurt someone. I knew I could stop him.”

  “Really. And how did you know that?”

  I could rip out my own tongue. What was I thinking?

  One thing’s for certain. I can’t tell him about what I did to Drew. “I had the element of surprise. He didn’t know I was there.”

  “Surprise.”

  “Well, yeah. And my self-defense training.”

  “So. You’re saying that surprise and self-defense overrode self-preservation.” Skepticism drips off him. He looks like he’s about to say something else, but clamps his lips closed instead. “Okay. If I have any follow-up questions, what’s the best number to reach you at?”

  “It’s probably easiest to find me here.”

  “You don’t have a phone?”

  If he was skeptical before, he’s downright suspicious now. “I just got into town and haven’t gotten around to it.”

  “Cell phone?”

  “No.”

  “You must be about the only person I’ve met who doesn’t have a cell.”

  “I lost it in the move.” Almost true, but I don’t really care at this point. I just want him to go away and leave me alone. “Did I do something wrong? You’re treating me like a suspect.”

  He smiles, but it doesn’t feel genuine. “No, no. From all accounts, you’re a hero, not a suspect.”

  Somehow, I don’t think he really believes that.

  “I think that’s all I need for now. I’ll be in touch if anything else comes up.”

  He joins Zak and starts talking to him, but they’re speaking too softly for me to hear. Moving closer would be too obvious, so I return to my stool at the end of the bar to finish my very watered down lemonade.

  A detective is suspicious of me. Not good. I need to fly under the radar, not arouse suspicion.

  Maybe I should leave town. I have cash. I could do it.

  Where would I go? I can’t spend my life running. And I don’t want to start over somewhere else. All I want is to remember my life and get back to it.

  I think.

  Although since I don’t remember what my life was like, I guess it’s hard to say for certain that I actually want it back.

  For all I know, my new life is better than my old one.

  What if I never return? What’s keeping me from adopting the persona of Stormy Jones permanently?

  My gaze drifts down to Zak and Evans.

  What is Zak telling him? And will it line up with what I said?

  Evans shakes Zak’s hand and moves to rejoin the cops at the other end of the room. After a moment of conversation, he heads for the door, pausing at the entrance of the bar to turn and look at me.

  The look lasts for what feels like an eternity. I don’t break eye contact but hold the gaze, even though everything in me wants to look away.

  But looking away might make him think I have something to hide.

  Finally, he turns and exits the restaurant.

  A breath I didn’t know I’d been holding leaks from me.

  Evans may have left for today, but I can’t shake the nagging feeling that he’ll be back and that next time, he’ll be asking questions I can’t answer.

  Nine

  “So tell me more about this amnesia thing.”

  Zak’s words swirl inside my head like the flurries encircling us. I’d expected this request since I told him the truth – well part of it, anyway – the other night. “What do you want to know?”

  “Well, you know your name and address and obviously have a social security card or something official in order to get hired, so how can you not know who you are?”

  “A name doesn’t make you someone.”

  “No, but shouldn’t it jog some kind of memories?”

  I wish. How can I explain all this without seeming shadier than I already am? “You’d think so, right? I know it’s me on the license, but somehow it doesn’t feel like me. I can’t explain it any better than that.”

  He absorbs that as we approach his truck. “So what have you done to try to figure things out?”

  Not enough. “I googled all the names earlier– ”

  “Wait. All the
names?”

  Crud. I need to be more careful. A slip-up like that could cost me my life. Or my freedom, at the very least. “Uh, I meant that I googled my name on a lot of different websites. Nothing came up.”

  On any of the names. On any of the search engines.

  Like I don’t exist at all.

  We reach his truck. Zak unlocks the doors and we both climb in.

  After starting the truck and cranking the heat, Zak twists to look at me. “No, I think you said exactly what you meant. How can I help if you aren’t telling me everything?”

  “I didn’t ask for help.”

  “You told me for a reason.” He buckles his seat belt but still doesn’t put the vehicle in gear. “Look, whether you like it or not, you could use some help here. Let me help you.”

  What would he think of me if he knew the truth? That I have four very authentic looking driver’s licenses and social security cards back at the hotel?

  Why do I care what he thinks of me?

  “Come on, Stormy. Trust me.”

  “Stormy might not be my name.”

  “But it’s on your license, right?”

  “I have four licenses.” The story spills from me like some kind of massive word vomit. Tears leak from my eyes, my throat is on fire, and the oxygen around me feels so thick I can hardly get enough in, but the words keep coming. They tumble over each other in rambled sentences, ranging from waking up in the SUV to escaping, to being caught, to escaping again, to the taxi ride and the flight and landing in Reno. I manage to stop short of telling him about the money. “Things keep coming back to me in dreams and all the names from the licenses are there and I’m going by these other names and I don’t even know what’s real anymore.”

  Shut. Up.

  I bite my lips closed.

  Okay. Moment of truth here. Either Zak believes me or he drives me straight to the police station and turns me over to his buddy Detective Evans for processing. Or maybe he drives me to an asylum because I couldn’t sound any crazier if I tried.

  A knock comes from Zak’s window. I jump, my breath hiccupping in my throat.

  Zak lowers his window. “Hey, Drew.”

  Drew’s attention flicks from Zak to me and back. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, we’re good. Stormy needed to talk tonight out.”

  This time all of Drew’s attention lasers in on me. “Anything I can do to help?”