by Sofia Grey
His Reboot Girl
An Emerald City Novella
Sofia Grey
This book is a work of fiction.
While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Sofia Grey
All Rights Reserved
Editor: Sotia Lazu
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Manufactured in the United States of America
Acelette Press
Blurb
Scott wakes up with his head spinning, and not much else going on in his brain. He’d love to take the time to stop and figure out who he is and what he’s doing in a hospital bed, but apparently he’s the key suspect in a terrorist bombing.
The woman by his side insists she has the answers to his past, but the more he uncovers about her motives, the less he trusts her. Especially when one of her hostages triggers fond memories for Scott. If he can’t discover the truth on his own, his life won’t be the only one on the line.
Other Books in this Series
His Pretend Girl by Sofia Grey
His Rock and Roll Girl by Allyson Lindt
His Disclosure Girl by Allyson Lindt
Chapter One
Her voice was familiar. Her face wasn’t. Then again, my entire memory consisted of the last thirty minutes. She could have been my sister, if I had one, and I wouldn’t have known.
“We have to leave.” The pretty blonde glanced over her shoulder, as though listening for something. “The police will be here any minute.” She snapped her attention back to me. “Baby...” She hesitated. “If you want to stay free, we leave right now.”
Why was I in the hospital? Thoughts tumbled through my head in random patterns. If my brain were a computer, it would have suffered a catastrophic failure and be struggling to come back on line. How did I know her? Without waiting for my reply, she dug into a shoulder bag and pulled out a bundle of clothes. “Here, put these on.” She turned to the bank of monitors beside the bed, flicked switches, and yanked the sticky pads from my chest and wrists, to let them drop to the floor. It stung. She ripped a larger pad from my forehead, and the monitor began beeping. The tiny jolts of discomfort acted like a slap in the face. They woke me up.
“Scott!” She pulled back the covers. “Hurry, baby. Please.”
Somewhere beyond the door to my room, a siren squawked and then wailed.
“Come on,” she said. “That’s our diversion.”
I had no idea where I was, or even who I was, but her urgency was infectious. I dragged loose sweatpants over my legs, idly noting the fresh cuts and bruises, before stripping away the backless gown and wriggling into a baggy hoodie. My entire body ached and complained at the sudden movements. More cuts adorned my arms. They were all fine and shallow. Had I fallen through a plate glass window?
“Feet.” She held out a pair of loafers, and I pulled them on. The whole thing had taken less than a minute.
I sought my voice. “Wait.” The siren noise ramped up a notch, from tolerable to loud, and was joined by the clattering of feet in the corridor.
“What?” She grabbed my arm and hauled me upright. My head pounded like a bass drum. “We don’t have time for this.”
“Who are you?” Out of the hundreds of things I should know, this seemed the most important. I swayed on my feet. For some reason, I was weak as fuck.
“Baby”—she looped one arm around my neck in an awkward, rapid hug—“I’m Adele.” She pressed a delicate kiss against my chin, and then tugged the hood to cover my head. “I’m your girlfriend. And right now, I’m the only thing standing between you and a jail cell. Get your ass moving.”
****
I stumbled in unfamiliar shoes, every step sending shards of pain rocketing up my spine. Adele slipped her arm through mine and led me through the masses of people in the process of leaving the building. The hospital. An automated voice droned directions, telling us to leave by the nearest exit. We didn’t need to know where it was, we just blended in with the crowd, and I limped along as best I could.
A long, white-tiled corridor gave way to a stairwell, and Adele fiddled with my hood. “Keep your face away from the cameras.” What had I done?
I’d woken in a strange bed, with a blinding headache, and a great gaping hole where my memory should have been. A harassed looking nurse had asked me questions, none of which I could answer, and then she’d disappeared. The doctor that followed did little more than note my vitals. The conversation had been stilted. “I can’t remember anything,” I’d said. He’d muttered about retrograde amnesia and then told me to rest, and that was when Adele appeared.
We burst from the stairwell into an underground parking area, and Adele led me away from the crowd. “Our ride is here.” When she threw open the sliding door of a large Mag-Car with no windows in the back, I climbed in without question, desperate to sit before my legs gave way. Nausea roiled in my gut, and I sucked in a shallow breath and tried to quash it. Christ. Never mind falling through a window. Maybe I’d fallen from a great height? I buried my head in my arms, and waited for the hammering to dull.
A guy spoke to Adele. The vehicle shifted beneath me. I carried on regulating my breathing, and the fierce pain eased a fraction.
Who am I? What the fuck have I done? Where am I going? When will my memory come back?
The list of questions played on auto-repeat in my head.
“Hey.” Adele sat on the bench seat next to me, and placed a hand on my back. “Hang on in there.”
More questions—Who was driving, and did I know them? I craned my neck to see the driver, but he was obscured behind a partition. I looked instead at Adele. Really looked at her. My girlfriend? Why didn’t I know her? Her blonde hair was tied back in a loose ponytail. Long strands drifted onto her face, and I reached up to touch them. The softness of the cut reminded me of something—or someone. A different girl with blonde hair falling onto her forehead. Like a kaleidoscope, the image in my head shattered and faded to black.
“What’s going on?” Feeling helpless and out of control was alien to me; I knew that instinctively. I was used to being in charge.
She sighed, and then took my hand. “The police were coming to arrest you.” Her gaze skittered away and focused on her shoes.
“Why?”
“They think you’re a terrorist.”
“What?” I’d never heard anything so ludicrous. Or had I? My head thumped again, when the Mag-Car took a corner at speed, and I struggled to speak clearly. “Why would they think that?”
“You were seen setting a bomb on the Mag-Line.”
Chapter Two
The Mag-Line. A sensation hit me in the chest. A feeling of heat, intense pressure, and fear, all colliding with me at once. “A bomb?” The words tripped over my tongue. Was that where I’d been injured? All the cuts and bruises... “Is that why I’m”—I gestured to my body—“hurt?”
Adele squeezed my fingers. “You were caught in the blast.”
“I wouldn’t do that.” I swallowed once, and then again. My throat was dry and gritty.
“I know. I’m on your side, baby. We just need to figure it out.” Her easy use of ‘baby’ grated on me. I was sure I didn’t like being called that, but it felt awkward to mention it. She gave my hand another sq
ueeze. “We’ve got a plan to get your memory back.”
“We?”
She jerked her chin toward the driver. “Donny. You’ve forgotten my brother?”
I’ve forgotten you. “Things are a bit fuzzy.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re remembering things? How much?”
I shrugged, and instantly regretted it when my shoulders screeched in pain.
“We’ll be there soon,” she said.
The Mag-Car dipped sharply as it took another corner, and I wondered where ‘there’ was. There were no windows in the back. I couldn’t tell if we were still in Emerald City or out in the slums.
My mind latched onto that thought. Emerald City. Did I live there? I closed my eyes and rubbed at my aching temples. No matter how hard I tried, there was just blackness inside my head. What had the doctor said? Retrograde amnesia. I knew that term—or at least, I’d heard it before.
I watched as Adele squeezed through a narrow gap, to sit at the front of the vehicle. She leaned to speak in the man’s ear, and then turned to smile at me. Donny? Should I know that name? A shaft of pain pierced the front of my head, and I stopped trying to think. It would come back eventually. Maybe.
It was a few minutes later, when the Mag-Car lurched to a halt, and the engine switched off. I lifted my head. Adele scrambled into the back again to crouch beside me. “We’re here. How you doing?”
I licked dry lips. “Peachy.” Her eyebrows shot up into her wispy fringe. “Where exactly are we?” I asked.
“The CyGes offices.” She studied my face, as though looking for a reaction. “You have a lab here.”
The sliding door rattled open, and distracted me from Adele’s words. I stared at the swarthy man standing there. Like me, he wore a hooded top and dark pants. Adele was similarly dressed too, I noted. They were brother and sister? Her skin was pale, and her hair looked a natural blonde, while he looked Middle Eastern.
“Come on, Donny. We need to help Scott inside.”
“No, I’m good.” With one hand on the side of the van, I stood slowly, every joint and muscle complaining. “Do you think being here will jog my memory?” I spoke slowly, groping for the words.
Adele slid her arm around my waist. “I’m thinking of something more scientific, actually.”
Now I was upright, a wave of dizziness crashed over me. I sucked in a breath as I tried to stay straight. I remembered a snippet of conversation between the doctor and someone earlier. I didn’t see who he’d spoken to. Retrograde amnesia. Diffuse axonal injury, resulting from severe head trauma.
I knew what that meant. There’d been a period of rapid acceleration when my brain had been moving, and it had come to a sudden stop. The soft tissues in my head had been rattled around inside my skull. That would explain the splitting headache. How did I know this?
Donny clasped his hands around my arms, and together he and Adele helped me climb down to the ground. It was dark, nighttime, and I shivered. We’d parked outside a low building with an ornate curved glass front. With a sudden flash of memory, I recalled the elegant linked towers that were home to CyGes, the most advanced tech company of our time. “This isn’t CyGes.” Every time I remembered something, no matter how small, I’d hold onto it.
“No, baby.” Adele nudged me with her hip, and I took a step forward. “This is the LindenCore subsidiary.”
Nothing. It was just another anonymous corporate office.
“Hoods up, faces down.” Donny’s gruff voice was low in the darkness. He hoisted a bag over his shoulder, before setting the lock on the van. Adele pulled up her hood and then mine. Unease trickled down my spine. This felt wrong, though I was unable to articulate why.
“Wait a moment,” she whispered. “Donny’s going to take care of the lights.”
As I watched, he set a small box on the ground and flicked a switch. A low hum started, and the exterior lights all fizzled out. A pulse jammer. And how did I know that?
“Let’s go.” Adele dragged me by the arm. “Hurry.”
Hurrying wasn’t an option. My feet were leaden, and every step jolted my already banging head. I needed painkillers before I could even think of functioning. And a drink. My mouth felt as dry as if I’d lined it with sand. One lurching step followed another, and Adele guided me to a security panel set beside the door.
“It needs your authentication,” she whispered, her arm still tucked through mine. I was glad of her hold. Without it, I might have face-planted the floor.
Without thinking, I pressed my palm to the flat, black plate, and then turned my face up to the optical scanner.
A heartbeat later the lock released, and Adele pushed the door. “We’re in.”
Chapter Three
Motion-activated lights flickered on, as we headed down a long corridor. Donny led the way, striding with clear purpose in every step. I hobbled behind, with Adele glued to my side. Nothing was familiar, yet my authentication had let us in. Did I work here? Passing a clock, I noted the time. Almost three in the morning. That would explain why the place was deserted.
“Here.” Donny waited at a door, and gestured to the security panel. “Do your stuff.”
The door was black, like all the others we’d passed, and the only marking was a number etched across the top. 420-1. What was different about this one? Again I placed my palm to the panel, and listened as the lock released.
Donny shoved the door open, and we followed. The lights were bright, and I winced, dropping my gaze for a second. This was a laboratory. Computer screens and keyboards littered long desks, and the walls were covered with densely packed shelves. I scanned the room. One side held a number of medical-style beds, each surrounded by computers and pieces of equipment I didn’t recognize. Or did I? Something lurked in my memory, just out of reach.
Behind me, I realized Donny and Adele had gone quiet. I turned slowly, and saw them poring over a computer screen inset into a bench top. They tapped the touch screen, intent on the data and ignoring me.
I needed a minute to myself. The bathroom door was just a few yards away. I sucked in a deep breath and made my feet move.
The face that stared back from the mirror was a mess. My collar length hair was matted and dirty, and bruises raked my face, along with more fine cuts and scratches. Another memory seeped in. My nickname had always been ‘Scarecrow,’ and now I looked like one—straw for hair, and a head full of stuffing.
A long, raw scrape ran from my right temple down to the top of my jaw. I touched it, curious as to why it didn’t hurt. It stung under my probing fingertips, and I realized why. The hospital had to have pumped me full of painkillers or sedatives, or something to dampen my neural responses.
My knees shook, and I sank onto the floor, my back to the wall. Fears crowded in, as though I’d given them permission to emerge. This wasn’t my life. It couldn’t be. A bomb on the Mag-Line? The breath jammed in my chest at the thought. What the fuck did I know about bombs?
Black spots danced in my vision, and I forced myself to breathe. In, and out. Slow and steady.
I had to start with facts. What did I know, as opposed to what I thought I knew? My name. The nurse had called me Scott. I’d had an accident of some kind, and landed in hospital. There was a head injury involved. Another breath.
Adele said the police were going to arrest me. That I’d set a bomb and been caught in the blast. I dropped my head and rubbed the back of my neck, trying to ease the steady pounding in my head. I only had her word for both of these things, and my gut instinct screamed she was lying.
If she’d lied about those two things, it was entirely possible she wasn’t my girlfriend after all.
And if that was true, what was really happening?
A thump on the door broke my concentration. “Scott? You okay in there, baby?”
I licked dry lips and composed myself. “Yeah,” I rasped. “Out in a minute.” My throat hurt, but maybe a drink would help. I pulled myself up, cupped my hands under the tap, and gulped some
cold water. The chill brought another wake-up moment. What should I do now? Play along with their story, while I tried to figure out the truth?
It was the best plan I had.
****
On my way back into the lab, it struck me that if there had been a bombing, it would be all over the news. Adele glanced up and caught my eye, but stayed with Donny. Did she really think I’d buy the story about them being siblings? It was as unlikely as the Mag-Line being bombed.
I settled at a desk close to the bathroom, and tapped the embedded screen to wake it up. Funny how I could remember some things, but not others. Moments later, I connected to the twenty-four hour news channel. The pretty anchor girl spoke rapidly, as screen after screen loaded with images. The rolling caption froze me in my seat.
Seventeen confirmed dead.
Images of a Mag-Line carriage, the entire side ripped out, as though a giant had tried to tear it in half.
Dozens missing.
The debris of what used to be a Mag-Line station. The designation plate was just visible in a pile of blocks and dust.
Emerald City West network closed until further notice.
I trailed my fingers across the screen. It was real. Somebody had bombed the Mag-Line. Not me. I couldn’t do that.
Footage of the bomber clearly captured on security cameras.
I couldn’t breathe.
It was me.
Chapter Four
My world shrank to the screen in front of me. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the grainy image of my face. The same face that had stared back at me from the bathroom mirror just minutes ago.
The caption continued to scroll. Every word smashed into my head.
Scott Crowe. Bio-Scientist.
I had a surname. That seemed insignificant now.