Forgetting Jane by C.J. Warrant

lack thereof, made Elias realize that he had nothing on this case. Not only did he lose his only witness to what he thought maybe was amnesia, but the only proof of a crime committed was the hole in the ground she came out of. Nothing else.
    With so little evidence, no proof of who did it, and no viable witness, he was literally screwed. He couldn’t see this case having a successful conclusion. With her amnesia, she might never remember.
    He might never find out who did this to Jane. But one thing was for sure: he had a victim who wanted answers, and so did he.

Chapter Seven
     
     
    J ane swiped the wetness with the back of her hand as tears trickled down her face. Her nose stuffed up and she couldn’t breathe.
    Damn you, Chief. Is it hard to show some compassion?
    Her calm mood flipped to anger the second he walked in. Jane didn’t like him from the moment he opened his mouth. Actually, she didn’t like anything about the man. His demeanor was deplorable, not to mention the way he looked. His face wasn’t shaved. His clothes were so disheveled, Jane assumed he rolled out of bed with them on. She wondered if he even showered at all? What kind of man was he who couldn’t take care of himself but was going to help her?
    As much as the chief’s appearance irritated her, his intense green eyes unnerved her so much more that she couldn’t keep eye contact for long. Too intense.
    She had to turn away before she really broke down and wailed like a baby. And lately, that was all she was doing.
    She wanted the truth, yet he didn’t have to be so blunt about it. He made her feel inconsequential, and she didn’t need his help with that either.
    Jane had questions. However, instead of asking them, she ended up tight-lipped because of his harsh attitude. His nose flared when she told him that she couldn’t remember anything. He even gnashed his teeth.
    Why hadn’t she just answered his question about the girl? Jane hadn’t remembered much, but she did recall the child’s yellow dress the morning she was found. A few blips of memory—flashes of images of things and people, but nothing that drew her memory out.
    Looking down at the last bit of tissue in her hand, she wiped her nose with it and looked at it again. That tissue reminded her of herself; she was falling apart, fast. No hint of her name shadowed her thoughts or a clue to where was she from. Who were her family or friends? She concentrated on those questions but the black veil of her memory stopped her, and left her with a pounding headache.
    Who had tried to kill her? What if the bastard came back? What if I never regain my memories?
    Jane shook off the ardent fear while she stared out the window and watched the fir tree that swayed in the wind.
    She felt so alone.
    The idea that she might never get her memory back made her stomach lurch. She closed her eyes to let the frustration and self-pity run their course.
    Get over it. Life’s too short to dwell. Actions speak louder. Somebody once told her that. But who? She took a deep breath and sat up very carefully. She placed her feet onto the cold floor and moved to the edge of the bed. She used her IV stand as support and toddled her way to the bathroom.
    The nurses insisted that she needed assistance, but she didn’t want anyone’s help. If she’d survived a vicious attack and lived, then she could walk on her own and go to the bathroom without any help.
    The white porcelain sink was an arm’s length away. Jane reached out with both hands, grabbed it and leaned against it. She looked into the rectangular mirror. The face was familiar but reflected back a frail beat-up woman. There wasn’t a spark of recognition as she studied her own features.
    This was the first time she’d had the courage to look at herself. The sight of her battered face struck her hard. Jane didn’t realize that she’d been beaten so badly. Her cheekbones were sore to her touch. She traced her fingers along the stapled ridgeline of