Crash

          Troian saw the frantic flashing lights before she heard the wail of the siren, the screech of tires. Her tires. In this situation, Troian would pull over, and the officer would follow suit behind her, he would shine his LED light in her face, and ask her the questions. He'd give her a ticket for speeding, and if he became suspicious, he'd see the hundreds of dollars worth of items in a black duffel bag in the back seat of the car. Which still had the tags on them. And no receipt. But Troian wouldn't have a chance to tell him she wasn't a real shoplifter, that she would pay for them, one way or another. For policemen, there was no story. There was only the facts.
         And anyway, she was in the mood for a good chase. So instead of pulling over, she pressed her sandal farther into the gas, and the car lurched forward sickeningly. Troian had learned that it was easiest to withstand the troubling speed if she leaned forward with the car, as if she were a part of it. 
         "Please," called out the metallic speaker, "this is the police, pull over your vehicle."
She ignored it and continued her gradual slope into almost 90 MPH. The sirens wailed and while her convertible swerved flexibly around the other cars, the wail almost drowned in the sea of honking cars, protesting at her outrageous speeding. 
          Troian swallowed hard, and there was a metal screech of her car scraping into another. This wasn't good. There was just too much traffic, too much commotion. She just wanted to cover her ears with her palms and squeeze her eyes shut like this whole thing was a dream. 
          And that's when it happened. The edge of Troian's car clipped into another, and it sent her spinning. She didn't have time to yell, only to grip the steering wheel, and then the world blurred into several colors and then stopped altogether. The car had slammed into another, and the air bags detonated with a puff and force that knocked her head back into the headrest. She was dizzy, too dizzy... the trees were a blurry image on the edges of her vision, outlined in hazy fog. Her hand felt thick and heavy when she fumbled for the doorknob. Troian fell out, pooling onto the pavement. Her head was heavy with the itching desire to rest. A cool hand went to her forehead, a soothing voice. But all she could hear was the pounding of her head as it cracked against the pavement.

.o0O0o.

         Her eyes blinked open, ice blue, dulled by pain medication. Her mouth opened in surprise but nothing came out except for a very faint "huhhh..."

She squinted her eyes as she analyzed the situation. Where am I?

I don't know.

What happened?

I don't know.

What's my name?

I don't know.

Panic pooled in the pit of her stomach. 

What am I doing here?

What did I do?

Where do I live?

How old am I?

A lady in blue scrubs and a baggy white shirt entered, holding a brown clipboard. Her smile was warm but the room was cold. 

The sheets shifted as the frightened girl pulled them closer. 

"Hello," said the nurse, "my name is Nurse Coleman. I think--"

"What is my name?"

The woman looked troubled for a moment, and her smile didn't return. The room seemed to drop below zero without it. 

The nurse's voice was barely a whisper when she spoke, and then exited the room.

But the girl had heard her.

She had said, "Jane Doe."

What a strange name. Then she tried it aloud. 

"Jane Doe."

It was perfect.

Ri ŁΞΛТ