ROXANNE

Monday, July 19 - 7:13 AM

A heartbeat is thudding in the lower left side of my skull. Thump thump thump. The more consciousness I regain, the harder it beats. I can practically hear its nonexistent rhythm. I groan, stretching from my faced down position on the bed, feeling my sore muscles come alive as if they died overnight. There's sunlight streaming through the open curtains, blinding me momentarily as I try to recollect the events of the previous night.

I wish the sun had blinded me for real, maybe then I couldn't see the lifeless human next to me, crimson fluid seeping out of the gaping hole on her forehead. I scream.

I scream and scramble out of the queen size bed like it's on fire. I scream bloody murder, because that's exactly what happened here. My breathing turns erratic, becoming more shallow with each inhale and making me lightheaded. The heartbeat in my skull transforms into a full-fledged striking pain that has me clutching at my head, fingers tangling into sticky strands of my dark hair. Wait, sticky?

Slowly bringing my hand before my eyes, a raspy breath escapes my throat as I stare, horrified, at the sight of my bloody palm. Something bad happened here last night, real bad. The scene in front of me is evidence enough of a gnarly crime involving myself and the very much dead, older blonde lady on the bed, not to mention the rest of the hotel room is also trashed. Holy shit. Someone tried to kill us. They succeeded at killing her!

I feel like throwing up, but I'm paralyzed in my spot on the carpeted floor, not able to tear my gaze away from the mystery lady. Questions flood my already hurting brain. Who is she? I don't remember.

Even worse, I don't remember who I am.

~~~

7:20 AM

Shaky hands grab the wireless telephone from the nightstand, dialing the number for the front desk. I need— I need help. I need them to call security. The police— fuck, anyone! Plopping my ass back down on the floor, somehow finding comfort in the plush, fluffy rug, I try my best to put my thoughts into actual words. Turns out, that feat is kinda hard to conquer when you have absolutely no memories whatsoever.

"H-hello? Hi, front desk?... Yeah, I need some assistance, p-please, Cassie." I extend my legs straight, only stopping when I hit my foot on something under the bed. "Yeah, um, room number? I— fuck- I don't remember. I just need—"

I don't hear what the front desk lady says next, my attention now on the open duffel bag I was able to pull from underneath the bed with my toes. At first glance, I think my screwed-up head is playing tricks on me, because there is no way I just dragged out a hidden bag full of money. There's no way. But the seconds tick by and it's clear as day that a black duffel bag overflowing with stacks upon stacks of cold hard cash is what I'm staring wide-eyed at.

A faraway "ma'am…?" sounds from the phone I discarded on the floor, muffled.

"I need…" The bag of bills mock me with its mere presence. Multiple polaroid pictures are scattered around too, I notice. The first I pick up is of me and the dead woman, smiling at the camera. The next is of her only, a seductive look in her eye as she stares into the lense. Another of the both of us. And another. And another. Us sitting closely. Us with our arms around each other. Us kissing. Her and I. Me and her. Wearing the clothes we are still currently in. Except she's dead now.

"I need…" I say particularly to no one, the phone call already forgotten.

I pick up one polaroid after another, each photo just confusing me more than the last. I don't remember any of these happening. I don't even recognize the lady without the bullet wound, and myself, well, at all.

Then, tucked into one of the bag's side pockets, a glimmering object catch my eye. It's a small notebook, the beautiful but worn rose gold cover reflecting the sun's rays back at my face. The whole thing was no larger than my palm, and almost halfway filled with scribbled notes. I flip to the last few entries, eager to find any information about the owner of the duffel bag.

In very familiar penmanship, written was this:

July Checklist:
× Sell the penthouse ✓
× Settle the down payment for the land in the Switz ✓
× Track Mrs. Cheater down ✓
× Finish the job and take that bag home
× Shove it in the She-Devil's face
× Buy a new cat litter ✓

And in a much fresh-looking ink:

× Go to the cafe across the hotel

Mrs. Cheater? Finish the job? Take the goddamn bag home?! If that isn't code for 'kill your target and bring your hard-earned blood money home', then I don't know what is. Who would even want this kind of job?

Well, me apparently.

I don't remember a whole bunch about myself, but I know one thing for sure right now. This entire notebook is written in my handwriting.

"Hey Cassie?...Yeah I'm gonna have to call you back." The phone slips through my loose grip and lands softly beside me.

What if I killed that woman?

~~~

8:02 AM

Outside the hotel room, the deserted hallway leads to an elevator on one end and splits into two more walkways on the other. I adjust the bandeau wrapped around my head to stop the gash from bleeding again and ruining the rest of my hair. Also, I may have been scared to stitch myself up. At least it looks cute and goes with the rest of my new outfit. I found a sundress hanging inside the closet, and a pair of strappy sandals. One more second in the dress I wore last night and I would've lost it. Plus, it was ripped in a few places and had multiple blood stains so…

Honestly, I don't know what I'm doing. I'm just, like, winging it. Nobody knows what happened last night, I'm not even certain that anybody knows that something happened. For the time being, I would like for it to stay that way while I go play Sherlock and find out what in god's green earth occured that led me to my current predicament, so to speak.

There already is a Do Not Disturb! sign hanging on the doorknob so I just leave it there after locking the room. Don't want any hotel employees snooping inside and finding my previous night's companion unalive.

Based on the notebook, I was planning on visiting a cafe situated across the hotel. Maybe I'll find some clues there as to who I am and what I'm doing here. And that's hinging on the fact that the notebook even is mine— hey, I might be ninety-eight percent sure it's my handwriting, but that remaining two percent could count for something!

Just as I press the close button on the inside of the elevator, a whizz of red turns a corner on the other end of the hallway and stops by my door. A woman with fiery red hair and a sick leather jacket looks at me from where she stands, her jaw slackening in the slightest as her sharp gaze runs up and down my figure.

Hmm. I ignore the way my body heats up from her attention, just like I ignore the thought that I recognize her from somewhere. It's not important though, I need to focus on the task at hand. Rubbing my temples in a futile attempt to subdue a creeping headache, I make my way to the cafe.

The strong scent of caffeine and fresh baked goods assault my senses the moment I step into the quaint little coffee shop across the road. Coffee, that's exactly what I need.

"Hi there!"

I startle, my shoulders hitching up at the unexpected loud voice coming from my left. There stands a man, not much older than me I think, holding a mug in one hand and his phone in the other. "Hi… Uh, can I help you?" I ask, wondering why he was staring at me so expectantly.

"You must be Annie. I'm Todd. Come, I got us a table over there," Todd explains, pointing towards a corner table with his mug. Annie… That must be my name. He seems so sure that I'm this Annie of his, and that we had arranged to meet here. Are we gonna talk about the… situation up in my room? I guess this checks out, looks like I really had plans to be here.

"Wow, you look even better in person. Granted, I only saw a shadowy side-view picture and that blurry boomerang you sent of you twirling, but still." Todd ushers me into my seat while I struggle to keep up with the seemingly random string of words leaving his mouth at a rapid-fire speed. "For a sec there, I thought you stood me up!" His awkward chuckles unnerve me.

"Coffee," I croak out. I desperately need it.

Todd orders me a caffe macchiato and a plate of pancakes, and I dig in like a man starved. I don't remember the last time I ate, let alone my own damn name, so I feel no shame.

"You said last time we spoke on LuvFindr that you also liked collecting your cat's nail clippings for your art. We have so much in common, I can't even believe it!"

I like… what? According to the notebook, I do in fact have a cat, hence the cat litter purchase, but collecting their nai— my stomach is churning.

"But anyway, I got another idea what to do with my collection. Drumroll please… A lava lamp!"

I let out a weak giggle, the quivering smile I give him is as pathetic as the thumbs up I throw along with it. I gulp a mouthful of coffee, slipping in a "that's great, Todd!" in there as well.

Is this who we are? Who raised me? Can someone steal my cat away from me? These are the important questions I need answers to right away.

I don't want to do this anymore, that's enough self-discovery for a day. If I'm a cat lady on LuvFindr who collects nails and turns them into 'art', then I hope to everything good in this world that I never regain my memories again. I helplessly look around, begging the people around me with the sheer look of terror in my eyes to swoop in and save me. No such luck.

"I know we're both also into apiculture, so I thought, for our next date, maybe we could tag along with this cool dude I follow on YouTube that makes these Shorts where he goes to places reported to have hives and saves them. I already DM'd him but he hasn't replied yet so—"

"How do I know you again, Todd?" I interrupt his skin-crawl inducing spiel.

"F-from LuvFindr? My aunt and your mom are in the same book club, remember? Your mom sent my aunt your LuvFindr account so we could talk without meeting first. This is our first date, blind date. Do you not… remember, Annie?"

I don't. I don't remember anything! And the more he talks, the worse my headache gets. After my morning from hell, I don't think I can stand any more of this blind date from inferno as well.

Don't get me wrong, I'm sure nail collecting and apiculture is great for some people and brings them joy. It's just that I'm not one of those people. I hope. My brain just starts to come up with a good excuse to get away when another voice pipes up. It's a more feminine, but definitely angry voice.

"What the actual fuck? You've got to be kidding me right now. You ditch me for him, Roxanne? This man?" Suddenly, the alarmingly hot redhead from earlier is fuming beside our table, shrieking her head off too.

Roxanne? Is that who I am? I guess Annie could be a nickname…

"I don't, uh, I don't remem—" I stutter, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

"Hey, miss. I don't know what you're talking about. This is Annie, my date. You must be mistaken, so if you don't mind leaving us alone—"

"Wooooooow, Annie huh? Okay. I don't know who you are, sir, but Annie is my fiance. Who is apparently cheating on me!" She's really mad. And cute. Her jeans are hugging her hips just right, accentuating her luscious curves and drawing my eyes there. Fuck, am I gay and in a relationship with a woman, and completely forgot?

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—" To what? Apparently cheat on this literal goddess? What was going through my head pre-head injury trauma?

"Eyes up here, asshole. You don't get to have all of this—" She does this circular motion around her hips and chest area. "After all your bullshit. Now are you gonna follow me back to our room and pack your shit, or am I supposed to kick them out in the hall?"

"I- Yes, ma'am." I shoot up from my seat and promptly speedwalk to catch up with the woman already halfway out the cafe's glass doors. Sorry, Todd.

The moment we bust inside the hotel lobby, she curls and bursts out laughing. Gone is the furious, uptight fiance I thought I had and in her place is this bright sunshine of a woman currently clutching her midriff as giggles. To say that I'm completely confuzzled is an understatement.

"Holy shit! I didn't know you were such a good actor, Roxanne," she says, wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye. Her wide smile doesn't budge one bit. She really is enjoying herself, while I am not. It's like we're sharing an inside joke I'm supposed to be in on, except I'm not. Not fun.

"Okay, lady, I don't- I don't know what just happened. I think I hit my head pretty hard—" More like someone hit it pretty hard, but I can't say that. "And I don't remember you. You're not really my fiance, are you?"

Her smile fades slowly, her eyes switching from amused to calculating as she assesses me. Squinting, she proclaims "Berlin was mine." Okay, random.

I shake my head, that sentence means nothing to me. A gust of air escapes her mouth in a disbelieving exhale, a pack of classic orange TicTacs must be what I keep hearing rattling in her pocket.

"How do we know each other?" I ask as we walk to the elevators. "And what do you mean, Berlin was yours?"

"Oh, nothing. Berlin's just our inside joke from the last— last night. We met last night. At the hotel bar," she explains, pointing to the left of the fancy hotel restaurant in a far corner of the vast lobby. "The name's Agatha, in case you forgot."

"I did, thank you, Agatha."

She snickers at that, then quickly shakes her head when I look at her funny. "Sorry, this whole amnesiac Roxanne is just really different from the woman I got to know. From last night."

"Oh. Well, this is my floor." I step out of the lift, she does the same. "I still have some… stuff to do. Great meeting you I guess. Again."

"Wait," she rushes, jogging to catch up to be down the hall. "What're you doing today? Any places to go? Plans to roam the city?"

"Nah, I got some, uh, cleaning to do. I stormed up quite a mess last night so…" I clear my throat and scratch my bandeau. The wound is getting irritated, my guess is it started bleeding again.

"I'm sure the cleaners can do that for you. How 'bout we hit up the pool? It's the perfect summer day for it." That honestly sounds great, but damn that dead person that I probably killed. I can't have that in my room for much longer. I may not have a plan yet, but I'm sure I could come up with one in the silence of my room.

"No, it's okay, really." I chuckle nervously, slowly inching inside the door after I swiped my card. I'm careful to keep the crack as slim as possible to prevent Agatha from sneaking a peek. "You go check out the pool, maybe I'll visit later if I finish early." Doubt it.

"Well, can I help you then? It's totally fine. I'm like, really bored. I can help you with literally anything. I won't judge." Her smirk is as dangerous as it is eager, as she takes a step closer.

She says that now, but she's not gonna want to help clean up a crime scene. I'm practically inside my hotel room, only my head is left sticking out into the hall.

"Yeah, no, I'mgoodthanksbye!"

The door slams shut, one of my hands still pressing against the wood as if Agatha will attempt to break in. My chest heaves. Phew. That was close. But just as I push away and stroll to the middle of the room, the door swings open and the woman enters, mouth open when her eyes land on Mystery Milf— yeah that's what I'm calling her, mind your own business.

With lightning speed and agility that shocks even me, not a millisecond passes before I have Agatha pinned to the wall. My body weight keeps her flat against the lavender wallpaper, her wrists both bound in my left one above her head, rendering her struggles useless. The palm of my right hand is firmly covering those pouty lips of hers that were just about to scream bloody murder.

But there is nothing else I can do. She officially knows about my bloody murder.

I'm so fucked.