Fractured Fairy Tales: A SaSS Anthology

by Amy Marie

  "Well, I think it's time for me to head on back to Raleigh." Mack pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed the corner of his lips.

  Sylvia looked up from slipping her boots on. "You just got here this morning."

  "It was just a mission of mercy, Fairfax. Susan insisted I bring you some clothes."

  "You drove over four hours to bring clothes?" Patrick asked.

  Mack held his hands in the air. "What can I say? I'm a good guy."

  "Of course, you are. The best partner too. The agency won't be the same without you." Sylvia motioned to her outfit. "Thank Susan for the clothes please."

  "Will do." Mack gave her a little salute then turned to Patrick. "Good luck with the head shrinker." With a wave, he opened the door and left.

  "How long have you worked with him?" Patrick asked Sylvia.

  She shrugged sitting on one of the beds and pulling out her phone from her pocket. "Since I joined the Marshals."

  "Do you trust him?"

  Sylvia looked up from the message she was reading on her phone. "With my life. Why?"

  Patrick walked over and sat beside her on the bed. "Something just keeps nagging at me and I can't figure out what it is."

  "About Mack?"

  "I don't know." He picked up her hand and laced his fingers through hers. "Every time he is around, I feel like there is a memory or a thought just out of reach. Something I should know or remember. Maybe it's because he was there when I first came to in the alley."

  Sylvia leaned her head onto his shoulder. "Hopefully today you will regain enough of your memory that we can start to piece together who you are." She held up her phone. "The text I just got? I asked someone back in the office to run the name Patrick through all the missing person's data bases. Nothing came back that could have even remotely been you."

  "So, no one is missing me? Is that what that means?"

  Sylvia looked up at him and frowned. "I don't know. Maybe your family just doesn't realize you are missing yet? You could have been here on vacation."

  "Or maybe I don't have a family?"

  She reached up and pressed a palm gently to his cheek. "I highly doubt that. We do need to get going. Agent Wright is expecting us at the Norfolk office in thirty minutes."

  "Okay." Patrick let go of her hand and stood up.

  Sylvia rose to her feet as well. "Bring your things with you. If this goes well, we won't have to come back here. You can use that bag Mack brought."

  Five minutes later, they walked out of the hotel room. He followed Sylvia to the car, the ocean air crisp and the wind gusts chilling him straight through to the bone.

  He rubbed his hands up and down his arms for warmth, grimacing at the ache in his injured shoulder. "I really think it should be warmer here. I mean, Virginia Beach. It's a beach town and a vacation destination, right?"

  Sylvia laughed as she opened the trunk and dropped her bag inside. Patrick followed suit. "The weather here has confused me every time I've been here." She motioned to the car. "Get in, before you freeze."

  As they pulled onto the interstate, Sylvia looked up into the review mirror and frowned.

  "What's wrong?" he asked, looking behind them.

  "There's a black sedan, about three back, that seems to be following us. Every time I change lanes, they do too."

  Patrick turned and looked back again. "Maybe it's a coincidence."

  "Maybe. But I don't think so. Hold on, I'm going to try and lose them." Sylvia hit the gas pedal hard. The sudden burst of speed pushed him hard against the seat. Searing pain shot through his chest but he ignored it.

  As Sylvia drove faster, the black car sped up too. He watched as she expertly maneuvered them in and out of traffic before slipping off the interstate at the next exit. Without slowing down, she sped off the exit ramp and straight into a nearby neighborhood. Two quick turns later and Patrick let go of the breath he'd been holding.

  "I think we're good," Sylvia finally said.

  As soon as the words left her mouth, the back window of the car shattered.

  "Did someone just try to shoot at us?" he asked.

  Chapter 7

  "Someone did shoot at us."

  Two more shots slammed into the car.

  "Get down!" Sylvia shouted as she floored the gas pedal. The sedan jerked forward as Patrick ducked down. "Stay out of sight. It's you they want to get."

  "Don't worry about me! Just get us out of here!"

  At the next corner, she whipped the wheel and turned the car to the right. One more block down, she turned left. The momentum lifted the passenger side tires off the road briefly but Sylvia kept going. She knew from a previous visit to Virginia Beach they weren't far from a police precinct.

  "Are they still following us?" Patrick asked from the floor boards. Before she could answer, another shot slammed in to the car, striking and shattering the back seat window on the driver's side.

  "Stay down there! I'll have us to a safe place in a minute."

  When she reached the next stop light, she made a quick right and pulled in to the parking lot of the police station. Pulling in between two patrol cars, she kept an eye on the black sedan as it rolled slowly past the precinct. The tint on the windows prevented her from seeing inside.

  When their pursuer reached the next intersection, they turned left and disappeared in the traffic.

  "You can get up now," she said.

  Patrick unfolded himself off the floor of the car and leaned back in the passenger seat. She could see his hands shaking from the adrenaline dump.

  "You okay?" she asked.

  "I'm fine. At least, I will be when my heart stops trying to jump out of my chest." He looked over at her. "How are you so calm?"

  Sylvia laughed. "Just another day at the office."

  "You get shot at a lot?"

  "Not really, no. But the adrenaline rush is nothing new to me. That's why you feel the way you do. It will clear up soon."

  Sylvia pulled her phone from her pocket. "I don't think we're going to make our appointment on time. Let me tell Agent Wright we will be late and then we will get back on the interstate and tried to figure out who wants you dead. Again."

  She typed out the message and sent it. Then, with one last look around, she backed out of the spot and headed to the road. Five minutes later they were back on the interstate, headed to Norfolk. With the two broken windows, the wind was brutal. Patrick turned the heat on high and aimed all the vents at himself.

  Patrick hugged himself, teeth chattering. "I can't believe this weather. It's only November. Right? It's November, isn't it? I hate not knowing things!"

  In that moment, Sylvia's heart broke a little for Patrick. Not forgetting the fact that he was technically in protective custody and it was her job to find out what he knows, she couldn't help but feel bad for him. Not knowing who you are or where you came from felt like one of Dante's levels of hell to her, a person who planned every single detail of her life. This unexpected little custody job of hers had thrown her through enough of a loop. She couldn't imagine how he must feel.

  "It is November. Thanksgiving is in about ten days."

  "Wonderful. Where are you spending Thanksgiving, Patrick? Gee, I don't know. Because I don't know where I live!"

  She reached over and patted his arm. "I promise we will figure it out."

  Patrick reached up and lightly squeezed her hand. "Maybe."

  Sylvia steered the now limping car onto the off ramp. A couple minutes later she pulled in to the parking lot of the FBI field office. As she turned the vehicle off, it shuddered a little. One of the bullets must have done more damage than she thought.

  "Let's get inside and talk to Agent Wright. I need to find us a different motel to stay at while you are with him."

  "Why?" Patrick stepped from the car and braced himself with both hands.

  Sylvia gave him a long look. "Are your knees and legs feeling weak?"

  "I'm fine. Just still a little dizzy when I first stand
up from the concussion."

  She nodded. That made sense. "Let's get you inside. I don't like being so exposed."

  Sylvia led Patrick to the main entrance. She held up her ID at the camera and the door buzzed open.

  Agent Wright greeted them in the small lobby. "Marshal Fairfax, it's good to see you again. How's our witness today?"

  "Still don't know who I am, if that's what you're asking?" Patrick replied.

  Agent Wright chuckled. "Yes, that's what I'm asking. You both look a bit frazzled. I hope you found our office easily?"

  "Finding it wasn't the issue. Getting here in one piece as someone fired on us was the issue."

  "Someone shot at you?" Agent Wright stopped walking and looked them both up and down. "Either of you hurt?"

  "No. No. We're both fine." Sylvia waved a hand of dismissal. "It just means we need another place to stay when we leave here. Our location has probably been compromised."

  "I'll have our office manager get you some numbers. Maybe staying here in Norfolk would be less conspicuous."

  Sylvia had already thought of that. Wright's comment confirmed the decision for her. "I think you're probably right about that."

  Agent Wright opened a door with a sign on it that read Interview 1. "Right this way. Pick the seat that would make you feel the most comfortable, Patrick."

  Patrick entered the room and chose the chair furthest from the door. Sylvia sat two chairs down and Agent Wright sat across from Sylvia. The room only had one dim lamp turned on in a corner. With the door closed, she couldn't hear anything from the hall or surrounding offices.

  "Are you ready to begin, Patrick?" Agent Wright opened a notebook and pulled a pen from his shirt pocket. Leaning back in his chair, he crossed one leg over the other.

  Patrick mimicked the position except he also cradled his injured arm across his chest. "As ready as I can be, not knowing anything."

  "Okay, then, close your eyes and clear your mind. Focus only on the sound of my voice. As soon as you are comfortable, allow yourself to return to the first thing you do remember. What is that thing, Patrick?"

  "A gun pointed at me."

  "Can you see who is holding it?"

  Patrick shook his head slowly. "Not really. I can smell him though."

  Agent Wright made a notation on his paper. "What do you mean, you can smell him?"

  "His cologne. It's familiar, although I can't quite place it."

  "Does it remind you of anything? Or maybe someone?"

  Patrick wrinkled his nose as though he were actually smelling the cologne. "It does. But, I have no idea what. I just know I've smelled it before."

  "Can you remember anything about the shooter?" Wright asked.

  Patrick squeezed his eyes tight. "He's wearing some kind of gloves. Black ones."

  Mack carried black leather gloves in his jacket. She carried the black plastic ones for use at crime scenes. The shooter could have had either one on.

  "Were they leather? Or maybe plastic? Like hospital gloves?" Sylvia asked.

  "I'm not sure what they were made of. All I can see is the color," Patrick said.

  "Do you hear any other sounds?" Agent Wright asked.

  "Traffic. I can hear traffic. Horns honking. And music. I think I hear music. Like a band or something."

  "That's great, Patrick." Sylvia watched as Agent Wright jotted a few more notes down. "Let's try to back up a little now. How did you end up in the alley in the first place?"

  Patrick squeezed his eyes tight again and clenched his fist. "All I remember is walking down the sidewalk. I don't know where I was headed or where I'd come from. Just that I had been walking for a few minutes."

  Agent Wright nodded and wrote down a couple more things. "Do you remember seeing anything interesting? Or maybe unusual enough that it caught your attention?

  Patrick sniffed. "I smell pizza. And there's one of those old-time photo places. It wasn't open but I think I might have stopped to look in the window?"

  "That's very helpful, Patrick."

  "How?" he asked, not sounding the least bit convinced.

  "It will help us figure out where you might have been coming from." Sylvia hadn't meant to say anything but the words just tumbled right out. She clapped a hand over her mouth.

  Agent Wright nodded. "It's okay. I was going to say the same thing. Patrick? Do you see anything else?"

  Patrick shook his head. "No. That's it. I'm sorry." He banged a fist on the arm of the chair. "I can't remember anything else!"

  "It's okay." Agent Wright patted the top of his arm. "You remembered a lot more than yesterday. Your memory is coming back a little at a time."

  Patrick jumped up out of the chair and paced the room. "Yeah, at this rate, it might be back by the time I'm fifty. Of course, I have no idea when that is since I don't even know who I am."

  "Look," Sylvia pointed to Agent Wright's notebook. "You remembered smells, colors, sounds, places. Those are huge details."

  "I'm tired. I want to go home. Hell, I want to know where home is." Patrick ran his hand through his hair.

  Sylvia stepped in front of him and took his hands in hers. "I know how frustrating this is for you. We're all doing everything we can to figure it out but there's nothing. No missing person reports or anything that can even point us in the right direction. The best clues we have just came from you."

  Patrick leaned against the wall and sighed. Sylvia looked at him expectantly, like he should just be happy he'd remembered some disgusting cologne and a pizza place. Her hands felt warm and comfortable like they were always meant to hold his.

  Agent Wright stepped forward. Sylvia stepped back, letting go. "I know it's hard to accept, but you have made progress today."

  "If you say so." He dropped into a chair, wincing when his injury hit the seat back.

  A knock on the door interrupted the tension.

  "Come in!" Agent Wright called.

  An older woman, with shoulder length hair and bright red lipstick, opened the door and stepped in to the room. "Excuse me for interrupting, but I have those phone numbers and addresses you asked for. The Waterside Inn has a double occupancy room open. I took the liberty of reserving it. I can cancel if you prefer one of the other places." She handed the paper to Sylvia.

  "Thank you. I appreciate you making those arrangements."

  She gave them a bright smile. "You're so welcome. Y'all stay safe now, ya hear?"

  The woman left, closing the door behind her.

  "You'll like that place," Agent Wright said. "It's not far from here. All the rooms face the water and the security is top notch too. A buddy of mine helped them wire the place when it was being built. Even a ghost can't get past the cameras."

  "After our little impromptu visitor this morning, we could use some super security."

  Patrick stood up once more. "Yeah, if you all don't mind, I'd like to live long enough to find out my last name."

  Agent Wright picked up his notepad and tucked it under his arm. "I can have a car take you over. Leave yours here so whoever is after you won't see it parked near the hotel."

  Sylvia nodded. "That would be great. We need to get our gear out of the trunk first."

  "You two just relax here then and I'll find a driver for you." Agent Wright walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  "I don't know how much more of this I can take and stay sane," Patrick said, breaking the heavy silence of the room.

  "When we get to the new place, I'm going to send this information and your photo to the local detectives working the case. They may be able to retrace your steps if you interacted with other people."

  He could see how passionate Sylvia was about her job. There was also a hint of something else. Regret, maybe. Regret that she wasn't still a police officer, chasing down the bad guys. He'd seen the sheer thrill in her eyes when she'd been out running the shooter. He got the feeling Sylvia thrived on adrenaline and lived to solve mysteries like his. The more dangerous the better.
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  "This is fun for you, isn't it?" He reached up and pushed a wave of hair behind her ears.

  She looked down at the floor. "I wouldn't say fun, necessarily." Sylvia looked up at him. "Okay, maybe it is a little fun."

  The door opened and Agent Wright returned. "This is Agent Trainee Johnson. She's going to take you to the hotel."

  Agent Johnson motioned out the door. "If you're ready to go?"

  Patrick and Sylvia followed her to the car, chit chatting about weather and other mundane things. They made a quick stop at Sylvia's vehicle to grab their little bit of belongings and thirty minutes later they were checked in and settled in to their new room.

  Sylvia flopped down on one of the beds. "Ah, it feels good to lay down."

  "This bed is better than the last one. At least I can't feel every spring poking into my back and the support level seems decent." Patrick grabbed the remote control and turned on the television. "Is there anything on besides talk shows and soap operas during the day?"

  Sylvia rolled on to her stomach and looked at him. "I have no idea. I don't own a television."

  Patrick's mouth fell open in horror. "You. Don't. Own. A. Television? I don't know a damn thing about my life at the moment but I am fairly certain I own multiple T.V.'s."

  She laughed. "Okay, so I have a television. I just rarely turn it on. I'm not home much and honestly I do most show watching on my laptop."

  He tossed her the little black box. "I'm gonna hit the bathroom. While I'm gone you pick out something to watch."

  "But I don't want to!" she called after him as he closed the bathroom door.

  He stuck his head back out in to the main room. "We're going to be here awhile, you might as well get used to talk shows."

  "Fiiiiinnnneeee," Sylvia whined as he closed the door.

  While washing his hands a few minutes later, Sylvia started yelling for him. "Patrick! Patrick! Get out here, now! You gotta see this!"

  He yanked open the door and stepped into the room. "What is the big—Holy crap! Is that me? That's me!"

  Plastered across the television screen was a picture of him, wearing a plastic crown. The subtitle read, "Visit Patrick, the Prince of Sleep and you'll get the sleep of your dreams."