Siren's Fall [Siren's Mark: Book 2]

Chapter 1

𝔸𝕧𝕒

I've spent a lot of time in hospitals dealing with weird symptoms, but amnesia is a new experience for me.

At least—I think it is.

Isn't it?

"What is your name?" the nurse asks me, eyeing her clipboard.

This seems like a trick question.

"Ava Reynolds," I reply, mentally high-fiving myself for not giving a sarcastic answer.

The man who brought me here is standing and scowling in the corner.

He seems fun.

"When were you born?" she continues.

"January 27th, 1996."

She flips a couple of pages, nods, and writes something more down.

Yes, lady, I know my own birthday.

I do know my own birthday... right?

"Where are you now?" she asks.

"The hospital," I say. The woman scrunches her face as if I got it wrong. "...in Port Charlotte?"

She pinches her lips shut and starts writing.

"PC Memorial Hospital?" I add.

She begrudgingly nods. I'm not sure why she had to be all cryptic about that, but okay.

"How did you get here?" she asks.

"Um, this guy drove me," I say, gesturing to the grumpy hot guy in the corner. "I'm sorry, I didn't actually get your name."

As I look toward him his eyes dart away, avoiding my own. The nurse looks to him and he nods in response.

"What is the first event you remember after your injury?"

"I was sitting on a couch and um, this guy was talking to me and my leg hurt like a bitch, and I said I didn't remember who he was..."

I trail off, not knowing how to finish that. Do I tell her that we were in this totally trashed apartment and there was blood everywhere? Should I add that I was surrounded by ultra-hot people who were covered in blood? Is the pile of ash in the middle of the room a relevant detail?

I mean, I may not be Einstein, but I feel like those are the kinds of things you don't share until you have the details. Like, are these people in the mafia? Am I in the mafia?

Are we just the worst house sitters of all time?

"Can you give some detail?" she asks.

I look to Mr. Grumpy who doesn't seem to give me anything to work with.

"Detail?" I ask. "Um, we were in a fancy apartment and there was this cute guy with long hair..."

I hear a strange, low, almost-growl-like sound emerge from Mr. Grumpy.

What the heck was that?

"...um, and this lady came out with a bag and she got all panicked."

"Okay, that's good enough," she says, scribbling on my chart. "Can you describe the last event you can recall before this incident?"

I strain to remember. My mind feels foggy, almost as if there's a literal haze creeping in at the edges, blurring the details and obscuring others completely.

"Um, my boyfriend and I were having dinner with his parents," I say. I hear another low rumble from Mr. Grumpy.

I've really got to learn Mr. Grumpy's name.