“But she doesn’t know what,” I say.

  “Exactly. She seems to remember walking up onto the road, but she doesn’t remember how she got to the woods or anything that happened to her. She was obviously held and abused in some way though. That’s why I called you.”

  “Okay. Is she awake? Can I talk to her now?” I ask.

  “The doctor just went in to check on her, but it should only be a couple of minutes,” Noah says.

  “Perfect. Enough time to grab a cup of coffee. Want one?”

  “Sure.”

  We go back to the elevator and head downstairs to the coffee shop on the main floor. The woman had been brought into the emergency room several hours ago but was transferred to a secure room as soon as the doctor was confident she was stable. It’s clear she won’t be walking out of the hospital today, and with the circumstances surrounding her being found, it’s critical she is carefully protected.

  “How is everything?” Noah asks as the elevator glides down. “How did Xavier do at the hearing?”

  The first hearing for the murder of Xavier’s sister, Mirabel, was a couple of weeks ago. It’s been a very long time coming, and even though her killer is already behind bars and nothing will really change for him, the formality of it is important to Xavier. He has been Mirabel’s advocate since her death. The one who has fought to prove she was not just another victim of a rampant serial killer active at the same time as her death. Knowing that the man who took his sister from him has to stand in front of a judge and be held accountable, that Mirabel’s name will forever be attached to him, carries a lot of meaning for him.

  “He did really well. I was worried. I probably shouldn’t have been. This is something he has waited for and hoped for. I know he’s ready for it. When it comes right down to the most serious situations, Xavier always comes through. But this is something he’s never had to deal with before. He has been to hearings and trials of course. But not about her.

  “I was worried that he would feel prepared and then we’d walk into the courtroom and it would be too much for him. Not that it really matters what anybody else thinks. The only thing that worried me was that he might have a panic attack or get so overwhelmed that he would block everything out and miss the proceedings. But we were all there with him. Cupcake, Dean, Sam, Nicole. Eric, Bellamy, and Bebe even came into town for it, but only Eric went to the hearing. They didn’t think that was something Bebe needed to experience at her age.”

  “That’s probably a good choice,” Noah said. “But he did well?”

  “He did. He stayed calm. He listened to everything that was being said without reacting. When it was time for him to give his victim impact speech, he was able to get up and do it himself. We’d prepared for Dean to get up there and on his behalf if need be, but he did it. And as much as I know it’s important to him to get that guilty verdict, I think if something happened and the charges were dropped, just standing there and making that statement would be enough for him. He was able to say what he’s gone through and how losing her impacted his life. And he was able to speak for Andrew too.”

  “I’m glad. I know he still has a pretty long road ahead of him with us, but at least that first step is done.”

  We get our coffee and go back upstairs. By the time we get there, the doctor is gone and I can go into the room. Noah goes in first. He’s already talked to her, so he creates a buffer between the terrified young woman and another stranger. Even though the conversations she’s had with him so far hardly constitute them knowing each other, if her memories truly have been wiped away, everything is new and frightening. A face she can recognize is something she’ll want to cling to.

  “Hi,” he says cautiously.

  The woman is reclined on the hospital bed, her head back against the pillows and turned so she’s staring out the window. She turns toward the sound of his voice, and her eyes immediately flicker to me. The monitor beside her bed registers an uptick in her heart rate.

  “This is Agent Emma Griffin. She’s with the FBI. She’s also a friend of mine. I called her to help with your case.”

  “Is it okay if I come in and talk to you?” I ask.

  While it is necessary for me to get all the information available as quickly as possible, I also have to be cognizant of the trauma this woman has endured and is still going through. Being respectful of her physical space and mental ability to deal with a deeper investigation is an element of recognizing the true humanity of these cases—the fact that victims are individuals rather than just statistics or abstract ideas to work toward. It’s also the first step in creating a rapport with her. If she sees that I’m not trying to force myself into her space or demanding that she talk to me, it will help her to start to trust me.

  Every circumstance is different, and sometimes that cautious and ginger approach isn’t an option because of pressing urgency. But when it is, taking the extra time at the beginning can make the rest of the investigation smoother and more effective since the victim is more likely to be forthcoming and relaxed enough to share vital details.

  I’m expecting her to hesitate a little bit, but she nods. I move closer to the bed and pull up a chair.

  “Is it okay if I sit here?”

  “That’s fine.” Her voice is soft and cracks slightly, as if it hasn’t been used a lot recently.

  I sit down, and Noah comes over to stand close beside me.

  “Like Noah said, my name is Emma. I work for the FBI. I heard you don’t remember your name,” I say.

  “She doesn’t,” Noah says.

  I glance up at him, then look back at her. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen that. Is there anything you’d like us to call you?”

  “We’ve just been calling her Jane,” Noah says.

  I look up at him again. “Why don’t you step out and check in with the investigation?”

  I can’t have him hovering over her like this. He needs to let her communicate with me. Not just because I need the answers that she will give me, but because she needs the acknowledgment. And she needs to know that she has the autonomy and power to speak for herself. She keeps her eyes locked on me even when Noah looks at her, like he’s expecting her to protest or ask for him to stay. He finally nods and takes a couple of steps backward.

  “Sure, yeah, I’ll check in with the officers who are looking around the area where she was found. I’ll be right back,” he says.

  “I’ll meet you outside when I’m finished,” I tell him.

  I don’t mean to sound aggressive, but I’m firm enough to get the message across to him. Noah nods and leaves the room, closing the door slowly behind him. I look back at the woman with a smile.

  “Jane?” I ask. “Do you like that?”

  “Not really,” she says. “When they found me, they kept talking like I wasn’t even there. They were saying ‘Jane Doe, Jane Doe.’ I know…” She stops, her dry, split lips pressing together. “I don’t want to be called Jane.”

  “All right. That’s not a problem for me. What would you rather be called?”

  “I guess… Doe. It’s kind of the same thing, but… I don’t know, it just sounds like they are trying to rename me. I have to have a real name,” she says.

  “I understand. If that’s what you’d like, that’s what we’ll go with. And you can call me Emma. I know there have been people in and out of here bothering you for hours, and you probably just want to get some sleep, right?”

  The woman I’m now referring to as Doe nods.

  “Well, I really appreciate you being willing to have me sit here and talk to you. I’ll make it as quick as I can and then make sure you get a break. Noah—Detective White—called me because we’ve worked together a few times before. He feels like he could use some help looking into what happened to you; that’s why I’m here. I want to make sure you’re safe and that whoever is responsible for doing this to you is held accountable. We don’t want them to be able to hurt anybody else.

  “That being said, I know this isn’t easy for you. I know that you’re probably frustrated and scared. That is completely understandable. I don’t want to make this any harder for you. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable or push you in any way. If you feel like I am starting to get too aggressive or like I’ve asked you the same question too many times, go ahead and tell me. Just answer me the best you possibly can. Anything you can think of that you think might be relevant, tell me. There is no talking too much or oversharing here. Even if something sounds like it probably doesn’t matter, tell me anyway. Sometimes it’s the tiniest little details that actually end up being the most important in conversations like this,” I say.

  “I really don’t remember,” she says.

  “Okay. If that’s the case with every question I ask you, then tell me that.”

  “Do you believe me?”

  “I don’t have any reason not to.”

  “I feel like nobody around here really does. It’s like they think I am faking it or hiding something. And that if they can just come at me with the right question or take me off guard, they’ll trip me up. But I really don’t. I don’t know how I got out there. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know why,” she says. “And everybody’s looking at me like it’s not real.”

  “I can tell you that I’m not. You can trust me. I know that is a pretty trite statement and is a whole lot easier for me to say it than for you to actually feel it. But I am being completely straight up with you. It is a different situation, but I have a cousin named Dean who experiences intermittent blackouts. There’s never been a concrete explanation for it, but it’s been happening to him since he was a teenager. There are times when everything just goes blank. He will be going about his day just fine, then the next thing he knows, it’s a different time and he may be in a different place without knowing what happened. It could be a few minutes, it could be a couple of days. When it happens, he has no memory of what went on during that period. He doesn’t know what triggered the blackout, if anything, what he did, where he went… anything.

  “Like I said, it’s not exactly the same situation as what you’re going through, but it’s enough that I not only completely believe you but also understand you to some degree. You don’t have to worry about convincing me of anything or sugarcoating anything. I’m not going to judge you. I’m not going to criticize you. You can feel absolutely safe with me. Not just in what you tell me but also physically. I’ll make sure that there are measures in place to keep you protected for as long as you need it,” I say.

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you ready?”

  She draws in a breath and nods.

  “Tell me the first thing you remember. The furthest back memory you have,” I say.

  “I think I remember waking up in the woods. I’m not even sure about that. It’s more like… I just came to? Like I didn’t know what was going on, and then I did. I guess like what you described your cousin going through. I don’t remember anything before I was on the ground with trees around me. It was raining. Everything hurt. My whole body. I could taste blood.”

  “But you don’t have any idea how long you have been out there?” I ask.

  “No. I guess it was probably a while because my hair was wet.”

  “And you were on the ground?”

  “Yes. Then I got up and started walking.”

  “This will sound like a stupid question, and I apologize in advance for how it’s going to come out, but how did you feel?” I ask. “Like, what were you thinking?”

  “I was afraid. I don’t even know what of. I just know I was scared. As soon as I woke up or was aware, or whatever it was that happened, I was scared and knew I needed to get away. That’s the only way I can describe it. I needed to go. To get away,” Doe says.

  “That’s something,” I say. “I would expect you to be scared, finding yourself in that kind of situation. But the fact that you say you felt like you had to get away—that tells me that something specific was happening to give you that feeling. You weren’t just scared because you were lost or in the woods. You felt like something or someone was coming after you. And from the condition you’re in, I think that’s a significant possibility.”

  “What do you mean?” she asks.

  “The feeling of needing to get away could mean you didn’t feel safe or relieved. You didn’t have the sense that you were no longer in danger. It isn’t concrete of course. But the power of the human mind is phenomenal. It is far beyond anything that we can comprehend. And one thing that it does is remember. Even if you don’t consciously know. Even if you can’t actively access those memories, they’re there. Your brain has the imprint of what you went through, and it still triggers instincts.

  “It’s like getting the sense that someone is watching you. You can’t see them or hear them. You don’t know where they are or if you are in any actual danger, but your body reacts. You get the instinctual drive to look around you, to defend yourself. That’s what was happening with you. Even though you didn’t actually know what kind of danger you were in, your brain did, and it was telling your body how to react. You were not comfortable or relieved. You didn’t think that you needed to go to a certain place or even find help. You said you had the immediate urge to get away.”

  “Someone was chasing me,” she says. “Wherever I was, whatever was happening to me, I didn’t get let go. I escaped.”

  I nod and write that down. “It’s possible. Again, there’s no concrete information yet. We don’t know. But it’s very obvious you were held against your will and very seriously mistreated. Whether you were released or escaped, whoever did this to you needs to get off the streets and be held responsible. But if you did escape, the danger is not over. The risk to you is still very high. But again, for now you can feel safe. I am here to make sure that you are protected.

  “So let’s go back. You woke up or came to. You were on the ground. You got up and felt the urge to get away. What do you remember then?” I ask.

  “I had no idea where I was. So I just ran. I ended up going up a hill. It was really hard to get up because it was raining so hard. Everything was slippery. But I got up onto the road and was just so exhausted I couldn’t stay on my feet anymore. After that, I remember hearing cars and being scared but not being able to do anything. I couldn’t move at all. Everything hurt so much, and it was like my body wasn’t under my control anymore. The cars got so loud, and I thought they were going to crash. But then someone was there with me. He was talking to me. I couldn’t respond, but I heard him.”

  “All right. I just want you to think about anything. I know that’s a really obscure instruction, but just for a second, let your mind wander. Does anything pop into your thoughts? A song? A TV show? Even just a line from a movie or a catchphrase?” I ask.

  She looks back at me blankly. It isn’t just the empty look of someone who can’t remember something. She seems completely detached from the question.

  “I never watched TV,” she says.

  “Never?”

  “No. Never.”

  I swallow and lean a little closer to her.

  “Doe, you just remembered something.”

  Noah is pacing across the small waiting room at the end of the ward when I come down the hallway. He takes two long strides toward me when he sees me.

  “I’m sorry, I know I was talking over her in there.”

  “You weren’t even talking over her, you were just straight talking for her,” I counter, taking a sip of my coffee.

  It has gotten cold, and I make my way toward the elevator. I need to grab something quick to eat. His call came very early this morning, and I just grabbed a banana while getting ready, so now I’m starving. He falls into step beside me.

  “I know. And I know I shouldn’t have, but this is just getting to me so much. I just want to protect her, you know? I want to keep her safe and make sure she’s okay.”

  “That’s why she’s in the hospital, Noah, and that’s why I’m here. If I am going to be able to find out what happened to her and take the steps to keep her safe moving forward, I need to talk to her.”

  “I’m sorry, Jane just really triggered something in me,” he says.

  “Doe,” I say.

  “What?”

  “Doe. That’s what she prefers to be called. She doesn’t want to be called Jane. I asked her. She says that she knows she has her own name and doesn’t want to feel like anybody is trying to force a new one on her.”

  “Oh. Well, whoever she is, this is a lot. She looks so much better right now than she did when I first saw her. I got here right after the ambulance did. The first responding officers went to the scene, but they called me in pretty much immediately, and I came straight to the hospital. I saw her when they were taking her out of the back of the ambulance, and it was horrific. There was blood all over her face. Her clothes were ripped, and her whole body was shaking. She was barely wearing anything. Not even shoes. Just a skirt and top.

  “And to hear everybody yelling questions at her and she couldn’t answer any of them… It’s been a long time since I saw fear quite like that. I see bad things all the time. I’m still really processing everything that happened last spring. But this was different. This was a kind of fear I can’t even put words to. It immediately sparked this protectiveness in me.”

  “That’s because you’re a good detective,” I say.

  We walk out of the hospital, and I settle my sunglasses over my eyes as we cross the parking lot.

  “And I know that fear. I know exactly what you’re talking about. That’s the fear of realizing you not only don’t know where you are or remember what happened to you but also don’t even know who you are. You’ve lost the core element of being human—your identity. Think about it. If you were in that kind of situation right now, you woke up somewhere unfamiliar and didn’t know what was happening, what would be the first thing you’d think of to feel safe again?”

  “Figure out where I was and how to get back home,” Noah says. “Or at least get back somewhere I know.”