A circular garden surrounds the front of the house with trees cut into geometrical shapes. Beds of colorful tulips and roses decorate the space between trees.
A kidney-shaped pool sits in the distance. A low, thumping of music comes from that direction.
Alexander pushes my wheelchair, telling me about the house, how I brought it to life when I used to live here and how he left my room unchanged. He shows me the vast grassy area where I used to practice my moves for the cheerleading squad.
Apparently, I’ve been a cheerleader since high school. Even though I’m studying human sciences at Blackwood, I still cheer for the team.
Seriously, why the hell would I continue doing that stuff three years after high school?
The more I learn about myself, the clearer the picture becomes.
My entire life is like a jigsaw of plastic pieces.
I’m rich—well, Alexander is. My father could’ve been rich too since he was best friends with him.
“What did my father do?” I ask Alexander.
“Gareth was a real estate mogul.” His tone is sad, and it affects me, too.
“So he was rich?”
“Rich?” He laughs with no humor. “He was a tycoon, Rei. He owned half of Blackwood, and now you do, of course.”
I couldn’t care less whether I’m rich or not, but for some reason, I’m glad I have some sort of independence. I’d hate to think Alex took me in as a type of charity case.
“Your father was…” He trails off as if weighing his words. “He had some connection to a bad crowd, so if you remember anything, tell me first.”
My spine jerks upright as I slowly turn around in my chair. Alex stands there with a neutral expression.
“What type of bad crowd?”
“It’s better if you don’t know.”
“I knew before I lost my memories, right?”
“Not exactly.”
“Alex.” My tone turns pleading. “Have you seen my face? Someone wanted me dead. If there’s a threat to my life, I have the right to know.”
He halts in front of majestic double doors with a black and white marble pattern, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Gareth did business with the mafia. Italian, Russian. You name it.”
“T-the mafia?”
“Correct. I have my suspicions considering your assault.”
“You think they did this to me? Dad’s enemies?”
He stands in front of me, sparing me the pain of leaning back. My neck muscles sag in relief when I return at a normal angle.
“They weren’t your dad’s enemies, that’s why it’s weird they’re coming after you, let alone three years after his death.” He crouches in front of me. “I’m your lawyer, Reina. If there’s anything I need to know, tell me.”
“I-I don’t know.” My tongue feels heavy in my mouth. “Why are you so sure it’s the mafia? Can’t it be someone else?”
“This has their fingerprints all over it. The assault, the break-in, and the black van that was camped near the hospital as soon as you were admitted.”
That’s bad. Super bad. “Does this mean I’m still in danger?”
“They disappeared, but they can always return.”
“The police?”
He scoffs. “They’re useless and they think Gareth’s business is still tied to the mob. They’re after you, not with you, Reina. You need to understand that.”
“I do.”
“I need to know what we’re dealing with. If you remember anything, I have to be the first to know, okay?”
I nod slowly.
Alex nods back and rises to his feet, then wheels me inside. My heartbeat hammers at the load of information I just learned. The mafia. Why the hell would my father get involved with something so dangerous and where do I fit in the entire picture?
A plump woman with bright blonde hair quickens her footsteps toward us. She stops and wipes her hands on her apron, gaze kind but distant.
“Welcome back, Miss Reina. I hope you’re feeling better.” She speaks with a slight Southern accent.
I stare at Alex, silently asking who she is.
“This is Elizabeth,” he says. “She takes care of the house.”
“So it’s true.” The corners of her eyes pull downward. “You remember nothing.”
I nod slowly, feeling awful that I’ve completely wiped her—and everyone else—from my memory.
“It’s okay, darlin’.” She takes my wheelchair from Alex’s hands.
He places his phone to his ear as he takes the stairs to the left. “Elizabeth will take good care of you. Let me know if you need anything, Reina.”
He disappears before I can say anything.
“He’s a busy man, isn’t he?” I ask Elizabeth.
“I’m surprised he took the time to bring you home from the hospital—” She cuts herself off and quickly follows with, “Not that he wasn’t worried about you. He was, but…well—”
“His work comes first.” I finish for her.
“Well, yes.”
I kind of figured that out with the amount of time he spent on the phone the whole way here.
“He does care, though,” she murmurs, as if speaking to herself.
Once we reach the stairs, I place my hands on the armrests of the chair and attempt to stand up. Soreness erupts throughout my muscles.
“It’s okay.” Elizabeth tries to keep me down. “I’ll call Jason to come and help carry you up.”
“No need.” I stand, using the railing for balance. Something tells me I hate imposing on people or asking them for something I can do on my own.
The sound of the music continues thumping from outside.
“On second thought.” I sit back down and try to maneuver the chair without triggering the pain in my shoulders.
“You okay there, darlin’?” Elizabeth keeps me in place, stopping me from falling sideways.
“Yeah. I want to see what’s going on outside.”
“Well…umm…” Her gaze darts back and forth.
“What is it?”
“It’s better you don’t.”
“What do you mean? Who’s out there?”
“Your college friends.”
I smile. “One more reason to meet them.”
Maybe like Dr. Anderson said, seeing familiar faces will finally shake me out of this zombie trance and give me something to look forward to.
Like regaining my memories.
“Right.” She pauses, glancing sideways as if trying to find a way out—of what, I don’t know. “Maybe it’s because you don’t remember that you don’t care, but the old Reina would never let others see her this way.”
I glance down at myself and the simple denim dress the nurse helped me put on at the hospital. Before we left, Erika helped me wash and dry my hair. It’s neatly tucked into a ponytail, and I look presentable enough. There shouldn’t be a reason why Elizabeth would think otherwise.
“What way?” I ask.
She motions at my face. “All bruised and not in top shape.”
“Don’t tell me I used to get done up to meet my friends?”
“Done up?” She laughs in a heartfelt way. “You never stepped outside unless you looked like a goddess.”