Killer Amnesia. Sherri Shackelford

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      Emma startled awake and glanced at the clock in sleepy confusion. Just before 6:00 a.m. Which meant...she bolted upright. Today was Sunday already. After the accident on Friday evening, Saturday had passed in a blur. She’d slept nearly the entire day and night.

      Her impressions of the time were hazy. Nurses had told her to rest, but each time she’d dozed, she’d returned to the nightmare of the crash and the water rising around her. They’d finally convinced her to take something to sleep, and she’d spent the rest of the evening in blissful oblivion.

      They were planning on sending her home today—whatever that meant—and she was terrified.

      She’d been avoiding the shadowy recesses of her brain, fearful of the accompanying panic. Daybreak had brought a reckoning. She’d have to re-create her past brushstroke by brushstroke, no matter what lay hidden in the shadows.

      Lightning temporarily illuminated the room, a harbinger of the windowpane-rattling clap of thunder.

      She thought of Deputy McCourt, and despair jolted through her. She trusted him more than the other deputy, the one who’d left her in the watery nightmare, but Liam had been emphatic about his limited involvement in the case.

      She’d have to rely on herself, and that meant finding out who wanted her dead.

      Trembling with anticipation, she tossed off the blankets. She was wide awake and desperate for coffee. Maybe she’d take the opportunity to walk the corridors and stretch her legs. A stack of folded clothing rested on the chair beside her bed.

      Her shoulder was stiff and sore, but she didn’t need the sling. One of the hospital staff had washed her sleeveless blue shell top, thin navy cardigan and jeans. Her tennis shoes were stiff from the dried rain, but she managed to untangle the laces and slide them on.

      She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and started. Approaching the glass, she touched her cheek with quaking fingers. Her heartbeat picked up rhythm and her breathing grew shallow. She’d seen her face in the mirror before, but she was still growing accustomed to the sight. As though she was looking at someone else through the reflection.

      Wrenching her gaze away, she sucked in a deep, calming breath.

      She had to get out of this room—out of her head—if only for a moment.

      Tim, the security guard, was sprawled on a chair outside her room with his arms crossed and his chin tucked against his chest as he snored softly. Emma grimaced. Not exactly the protection she was offered, but given the state of her memory, she understood the skepticism about her claims.

      Deputy Bishop had spoken to her only briefly. He’d dropped off the personal possessions from her car and asked a few perfunctory questions about her recollection of events.

      She hadn’t been sorry to see him go.

      An empty cup of coffee rested near Tim’s foot, and her annoyance dissipated. He’d kept watch over her two nights in a row. No wonder he was tired. She’d make some noise on her return to wake him.

      A fresh-faced nurse in navy scrubs decorated with cartoon kittens directed her to an employee break room at the far end of the building—the only source of coffee that didn’t involve anxious grandparents waiting on an expectant mother in labor and delivery. The hospital was too small for a cafeteria.

      Following the nurse’s directions, she maneuvered through the overlapping plastic sheeting separating the renovations from the occupied areas of the hospital. There were four additional patient rooms, two on either side of the corridor. The first door was propped open, and she caught sight of the gutted space with bare Sheetrock walls and colorful wires dangling from the ceiling.

      The combined scents of paint and sawdust triggered a sense of familiarity, sparking a memory that was just out of reach.

      She pressed her fists against her temples, willing the image to take shape.

       Nothing.

      Her head pounded from the futile effort, and she dropped her hands to her sides. Her brain might as well be this deserted wing of this hospital—empty, under construction and full of obstacles.

      She took a step, and her toe caught on a stack of ceiling tiles. Yelping, she stumbled to the side, then stifled her amplified reaction with a hand to her mouth. Her ordeal on Friday had left her nervous about being alone in a deserted corridor, and for good reason.

      Except she was being ridiculous. There were plenty of other people in the building. The security guard, Tim, was within shouting distance.

      A thump sounded, and she froze. Cocking her head, she strained to hear over the raindrops pummeling the roof. Her imagination was getting the better of her.

      She forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, careful to avoid the stacks of tools and construction equipment piled near the floorboards. No wonder this area was supposed to be off-limits to patients. Still, she was thankful the nurse had made an exception. She wasn’t ready to face the possibility of running into someone she knew but didn’t recognize just yet.

      The break room was compact with a row of vending machines on one side, and a sink, refrigerator and single-cup coffee maker on the other. The glare from the freshly waxed floor was almost painful.