I Know My Name: An addictive thriller with a chilling twist. C.J. Cooke

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       17 March 2015

       Komméno Island, Greece

      Somehow I find myself in a rocking chair with a thick orange blanket around me, next to a crackling fire. My right sleeve is rolled up and someone’s tied a belt tight around my bicep. The tall skinny bloke with glasses, Joe, is standing next to me with a cold instrument pressed to my wrist. The room smells funny – like seaweed. Or maybe that’s me.

      ‘Only a couple more seconds,’ he says.

      ‘What are you doing?’ I say, though it comes out as a strangled whine. The inside of my mouth feels like sandpaper.

      ‘Checking your blood pressure.’

      There’s a heated discussion going on amongst the others in the room and I sense it’s about me. I still feel queasy and limp.

      Eventually he removes the belt from my arm. ‘Hmmm. Your blood pressure is a bit low for my liking. How about the tightness in your chest?’

      I tell him that it seems OK but that I’m weak as dishwater. He reaches forward and gently presses his thumbs on my cheeks to inspect my eyes.

      ‘You’re in shock. Little wonder, given that you rowed across the Aegean in a full-blown storm. Let’s get your feet raised up. And some more water.’

      The woman – Sariah – lifts my feet and supports them on a stack of cushions.

      ‘How’s your head?’ she asks.

      ‘Sore,’ I say weakly.

      ‘You don’t feel like you’re going to pass out again?’ Joe asks, and I give a small shake of my head. It’s enough to make the pain ratchet up to an agony that leaves me breathless.

      ‘It’s after midnight, so getting you to a hospital has proved a little tricky,’ Sariah says, folding her arms. I notice she has a different accent than the others. American, or maybe Canadian. ‘There’s no hospital or doctors anywhere here,’ she says. ‘George has contacted the police in Heraklion and Chania.’

      ‘Did anyone report me as missing?’

      ‘I’m afraid not.’

      She must see how this unnerves me because she lowers on her haunches and rubs my hand, as though I’m a child. ‘Hey, don’t worry,’ she says. ‘We’ll call again first thing in the morning.’

      Nothing about this place feels familiar. It feels like I’m seeing everything here for the first time.

      ‘Do I live here? Do I know any of you?’ I ask her.

      ‘We saved you,’ George says flatly. I can’t see him, but sense his presence behind me.

      ‘There was a storm,’ Joe adds, though something in his voice sounds uncertain, hesitant. ‘Big sandstorm coming across from Africa, no doubt. George and I went out to check that our boat hadn’t come loose from its moorings. And then we saw you.’

      ‘Where was I?’

      ‘On Bone Beach,’ Joe says.

      ‘Bone Beach?’

      ‘The small horseshoe beach with white rocks that look like bones. Down below the barn.’ He grins. ‘Crazy that you managed to survive all that. Someone up there must like you.’

      ‘You were in a boat,’ Sariah explains. ‘You don’t remember if you were with anybody?’

      I have a terrible feeling that I should know all of this, that I should know all about the boat and the beach and where I’m from. And I have no idea, absolutely no clue, why I don’t know these things.

      ‘Why did you come to Komméno, anyway?’ George asks, moving to the light as he reaches for a pack of cigarettes. ‘I mean, it’s not like there’s anything here.’

      ‘What’s “Komméno”?’ I say.

      ‘It’s the name of this place,’ Sariah says, a note of sadness in her voice, as if she’s addressing someone very stupid, or ill. ‘Komméno Island.’

      I hesitate, hopeful that an answer to George’s question will surface in me automatically and provide an explanation for all this.

      But it doesn’t.