The Watchers 4

Liza was cold. She felt numb too, but that wasn’t new. Except, she was on a job. Usually missions were the only time she felt alive. For the first time that feeling alluded her. She wanted to believe it was because she couldn’t remember, but something told her it was more than that- much more. Something had gone terribly wrong and for once she didn’t know how to fix it.

The room they put her in was outside the nurse’s station. There was a constant flow of noise and shadows behind the heavy wooden door.  Trina had no weapon and no energy to run. Still she kept an eye and ear out for any sign that someone was about to enter. She figured at least she’d be able to respond before they got too close. 

The blinds were up on the windows so she could see the reflection of her room in the panes of glass. She was three stories up and it was pitch black outside. She kept the light above her bed on low. If anyone entered she would be able to see them sooner than they her. 

Liza knew eventually she’d have to talk to the police, but she couldn’t if she didn’t remember anything.  If it weren’t for the mission she’d leave, but she knew what Central did to agents that didn’t complete missions. Even with her years in it would be near impossible to explain what had happened without drawing their suspicion. Then they’d work her until they got the truth anyways. She knew the drill.

No, she didn’t want to be quarantined or taken from the field which Central would do if she couldn’t do her job, but if they knew she’d lost her memory it would be worse. They’d label her compromised. Six months is a long time to go missing. What had she’d done during that time? Who had she been in contact with? Central would want answers, and she had none. Central had killed operatives for less. 

Unlike the local cops Central wasn’t limited by laws. If Central wanted Liza to disappear they could make it happen and no one would ever come looking for her. She could only assume she was still here because she wasn’t done. She just had to remember why. 

Was the woman named Trina her target? If so, how long and why? She just didn’t know. Their physical similarities had to be the reason Central had chosen her.  

The noise of the purse’s zipper echoed off the walls. Liza had hoped to find an ID in the purse something that would tell her more about Trina Davenport like what the woman did, or where she lived. 

Rummaging through the wads of crumpled receipts and make up stained tissue Liza finally found a wallet in the purse. She opened the overstuffed wallet careful to not let the pieces of folded paper fall out of the pockets. The wallet, like the inside of the purse, was a mess.

The sleeves of the wallet were filled with multiple shiny credit cards. Some of the sleeves had two or three credit cards stuffed in them. Unzipping the pocket on the side she found even more cards. There were so many they didn’t look real, but they were.

“Trina Davenport,” she whispered pulling them out one by one as she read the name on the rigid pieces of plastic. They all had the woman’s name. 

Liza tensed when she heard voices outside her door. Quickly she shoved the purse under the covers turning on her side to face the wall of windows. She pulled the covers over herself seconds before the door opened.

“See, Blackfoot” an annoyed voice whispered, “just like I said out like a light.” Trina’s heart was racing but she kept her breathing slow as she watched her visitor’s reflection in the window.

 “I see that, Maggie,” Blackfoot said.

“Margaret,” the woman corrected.

“Sorry,” Blackfoot said, but she clearly saw the broad grin he wore in the window.  

“We’ll just have to stop by in the morning,” another male voice said clearing his throat. “What time are rounds?” The voices faded as the door closed but not before she heard the nurse’s response of “Nine o’clock.”

Liza had eight hours to come up with a plan. Eight hours until she had to leave because there was no way she was talking to the cops at least not until she had more information.

Hopefully, by morning she’d have something figured out. Either way she wasn’t waiting for the police to come for her.

She’d be dead or committed to the hellhole beneath Central by afternoon if she did. Regardless of her stellar track record with Central Liza had no belief they would give her special treatment. If they thought she might compromise the safety of the organization they would not hesitate to put her down.  Hiding her memory loss was her only chance for survival now.

Liza didn’t know where she was going, but she knew she was better on her own.

Someone tried to kill Trina Davenport, but they failed twice, which was their mistake. When she found out who they were she would make sure to return the favor but until she got her chance Trina had to find someplace to hide.

For now all of her energy was focused on finding out who Trina Davenport was and why she’d been sent to take her place.   

Liza waited another ten minutes under the covers breathing a sigh of relief when like clockwork a nurse came in for her hourly check. She stayed a couple of minutes filling out the paperwork at the end of the bed. As soon as she left, Trina shoved the covers back.  She had another half hour before the next nurse would come for neuro checks. The doctor’s diagnosis was a concussion. She was glad the nausea had passed, but it didn’t make her feel any better though.

Liza reached for the purse again. This time she was clear on what she was searching for. It wasn’t money or credit cards this time.  

It didn’t take long for her to find the little card lodged in the clear sleeve marked driver’s license. She turned it towards the light.

Confused, Liza stared at the picture that looked just like her, but it wasn’t. They both had the same reddish-brown hair, same nose, same sharp cheekbones even the same eye color. The weight was different; Trina had about ten pounds more than Liza. There was another difference: the smile. The woman in the picture had a sly cunning smile. Not mischievous, but like she knew something that everyone else didn’t, and planned to make them pay for it.

Just then Liza felt the purse vibrate. Music started playing growing louder. Grabbing the purse, she ripped it open. By the time she pulled the phone out, it had stopped ringing, but she was able to pull up the caller ID.

It showed a phone number, but that wasn’t all. Before the screen went black again, she saw the caller ID showed a name.

 Ophelia Davenport.

Published by Southern Fried Honeybee

Hi, I’m excited you’re here. I write for fun and hope you enjoy my work and are thoroughly entertained! Welcome!

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