Identity Unknown. Debra Webb
half stumbled, half fell down the corridor, grabbed the knob of the first door she encountered and yanked it open.
Janitor’s closet.
She threw herself inside, closed the door soundlessly and struggled to catch her breath.
Just breathe. Deep breaths. Slow…steady.
You’re okay. You’re okay.
The stench of cleansers and damp mops assaulted her nostrils. She ignored it. She had to think!
What had happened to her?
Why would she be on a gurney in front of a door marked Morgue?
She wasn’t dead.
Was she?
She took a step back from the door and stared down at her foot. A white tag was attached to her big toe.
Panic closed her throat.
Don’t panic.
She crouched down and reached with trembling hands to remove the tag. Slowly straightening once more, she read the information written there. Sande Williams. Female. Twenty-eight years old. Sixty-four inches tall. One hundred ten pounds.
Why didn’t the name ring a bell?
There was no address or telephone number.
What did this mean?
She started to shake, and found she had to brace herself against the closed door in order to remain vertical.
What was wrong with her?
Could she be dead and not know it?
No, that wasn’t possible.
As if to deny her assertion, she touched her wrist and counted the beats.
She had a pulse.
She pressed her palm against the center of her chest to feel the frantic pounding there.
She had a heartbeat.
She was alive.
But why didn’t she remember how she got here? Was she sick? What had happened to cause her to be in this place? There had to be something wrong with her.
Why didn’t the name on the tag feel like her name?
Sande Williams.
Fear snaked around her chest and squeezed, sending panic searing through her veins.
She couldn’t find any answers in this janitor’s closet.
She had to get out of here.
Had to find help.
But what if they wouldn’t let her go?
Didn’t they institutionalize people who couldn’t remember their names? Who woke up wearing toe tags for no apparent reason?
Breathe again. Deep. Hold it. Release.
Calm down. Just calm down.
She needed help.
She had to move.
Slowly, her palms sweating with the fear mounting inside her, she opened the door a crack. She peeked into the corridor. Still deserted. Still quiet.
Someone had taken off her clothes and placed her on that gurney, had put a toe tag on her. Someone thought she was dead.
How was that possible?
Hadn’t she seen a movie like that once?
Think!
She had to get out of here.
There was something wrong with this place. People who had heartbeats weren’t sent to the morgue. There had to be a mistake.
She couldn’t stay here.
She ran. Holding the sheet tightly around her, the toe tag clutched in one hand, she ran as fast as she could to escape.
Don’t take the elevator.
She would be trapped there.
Take the stairs.
Up was the only option. She rushed up the steps two at a time. Reached the first floor and burst out of the stairwell.
The lobby.
A massive lobby with a bubbling fountain and towering green plants. People…lots of people.
They stopped and stared at her.
The sheet.
She was naked save for the sheet. Naked and barefoot. What must they think?
A woman wearing a white uniform approached her.
“Ma’am, are you all right?”
The cap, the badge…a nurse.
Nurses helped people…but this one worked here.
“I…I’m fine,” she insisted. She had to get out of here. The way the nurse looked at her…she was concerned and suspicious.
She would call those people who had done this to her.
Still clutching the toe tag, she ran. She couldn’t risk having the nurse touch her and tell her she needed to go back to that gurney and lie down because she was dead.
She couldn’t be dead.
She was running, escaping the hospital.
Voices shouted behind her, but she just ran faster.
She was alive. She didn’t care what anyone said.
As she burst out onto the sidewalk, the wind slapped her in the face. The icy sting made her quivering lips stretch into a wobbly smile. The cold of the concrete beneath her feet reinforced the conclusion.
Yes, she was alive.
Two men dressed in dark uniforms rushed from the same door she had exited and headed toward her. They shouted for her to stop.
She ran—darted between the moving cars as horns blared. She ignored them.
She had to hurry, had to run faster.
If they caught her…it would be bad. She didn’t know why, but she sensed that her life depended upon her getting away from this place.
So she didn’t stop. Not for the cars. Not for the shouts behind her.
Not for anything.
SHE COULDN’T RUN anymore.
She had to stop.
Cutting to the right, she stumbled to a standstill in an alley. Sande leaned against the brick wall.
Should she call herself Sande?
She thought of the toe tag clutched in her right hand. Maybe.
The alley was deserted, as far as she could tell. She peered toward the end, with its pockets of darkness. Nothing moved. There was no sound, other than the street noises that filtered past the cars parked along the curb and the trees lining the sidewalk.
A Dumpster accompanied by a pile of boxes sat a few yards away. She could hide there for a little while…until she figured out what to do next. Until she wasn’t so tired anymore.
Was there someone to call? Would Sande Williams be listed with directory assistance? If she had an address she could start there.
According to the newspapers she’d seen in the newsstands she’d run past, she was in Chicago. If Chicago was home, wouldn’t some emotion or memory stir? Shouldn’t she feel a connection?
Shouldn’t she feel something?
Other than tired. She needed to sit down. Her feet were freezing. Her hands were cold. She shuddered.