Lie to me*
The woman trembled and shook her head. She was lost, her clothes ripped and torn all over. Her hands were covered in earth and scratched. She looked down and her head pounded over and over again. She couldn't remember what happened. She couldn't remember anything. She had one repeating thought as she made her way down the busy street and people looked at her; some in confusion or revulsion. She had to see someone. A man asked her if she was okay as she walked by, she waved him off, biting her lip. She couldn't talk to anyone. She could only talk with one person, he was in Washington D.C. She was almost there, she thought. Mt. Vernon Place was upon her horizon. Eight Oh One pounded in her head. Eight Oh One Mount Vernon Place, Washington D.C.. The numbers scrolled through her mind like the brass wheels of a slot machine.
Holiday Road was blaring through the radio of the 1972 BMW while it veered through traffic. The windows were rolled down, the sun was shining and the man driving was tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the music. He adjusted his gold sunglasses, bringing them up the bridge of his nose. He shifted through second and into third easily. Traffic was moving steadily at 9:00am down New York Ave. The light turned yellow at North Capitol and Florida. The man shifted down quickly and laid the pedal to the floor and the little red brown car took off through the light. Once the car was clear of the intersection, he shifted up once again. His phone began ringing. He reached for the volume knob of the radio and turned it down to bearable levels for a phone call.
"'Allo darlin'" The man said with a thick cockney accent.
"Dad, you forgot your lunch." The girl replied. The man looked behind him to the rear seat, seeing only his laptop bag. He huffed.
"When don't I?" He questioned. "Thank Em, have a good day at school."
"Bye dad."
The music volume went back to nearly full and he tossed the phone in the rear seat carelessly. The man flipped the signal lever and changed lanes. His destination was coming up quickly. The BMW turned onto L Street from New York and the brick and glass silhouette of The Lightman Group building was coming into view. He turned once again and drove down 9th Street, eventually finding a parking spot along the road. After pulling his things from the rear seat, and locking the car, he hopped quickly towards the main doors of the building. He was swinging open the glass doors when he felt a great tug at his arm.
"Cal Lightman?" The womanly voice pleaded. The man turned around to see a young woman, perhaps in her late twenties. She had strikingly beautiful features and dark eyes. Her blonde hair was covered in dust and her clothes were torn all over.
"Yeah, what's it to ya?" He didn't forcibly remove her hand from his left arm but he looked at her in a manner that caused her to do so regardless.
"I don't know what it is to me. You're the only person I know." She said, her voice shivering.
"The Howard U hospital is taking people in. I'll give them a call." He reached for his phone.
"No" the girl shouted. "Don't call anyone. I can only talk to you."
"What's this nonsense then? I got a lot on my plate lass, I don't have time for this." Cal read her and all he could see is honest fear. Torment. Curiosity.
"I don't know, Mr. Lightman. I can't remember anything beyond this morning, all I can think of is Eight Oh One Mount Vernon Place, Washington D.C., and Dr. Cal Lightman."
A security guard walked up to the couple in front of the doors.
"Is this woman bothering you, Dr. Lightman?"
"It's fine, Figgis." He brushed the guard off. "I've seen worse." The girl looked at the guard as if he had murdered her family.
"What are you so afraid of, love?" Cal scanned her face once again.
"I don't know. I don't know anything!" She exclaimed in frustration. People looked over to the girl and Cal.
"Come inside," He muttered, holding the door open for her.
They strolled into The Lightman Group, Cal leading the charge. Gillian was standing beside the office receptionist; she looked at him puzzled.
"Good morning Cal." She paused and analyzed the girl standing behind him. "Who's this?"
"No clue. Some girl I met outside." His voice didn't waiver. "She says she's only allowed to talk to me."
Gillian shook her head in bewilderment. "Alright then, should I tell Loker and Torres you're here?"
"No. I'll go see them when I'm ready." Cal smiled and then motioned for the girl to follow him.
"Should I…"
"Sure." Cal said without turning to face Gillian. She followed them into Cal's office. "Take a seat." Cal motioned to one of the chairs opposite his desk. He leaned against the front of his desk and looked into her eyes. Gillian came and sat beside the girl.
"Why are you here?" Cal snorted.
"You're the only person I know. I can't remember anything before this morning. This address and your name are the only two things that I can think of. They keep pounding in my head."
"What's the very first memory you have?" Foster asked the girl. The girl didn't turn to look at Gillian but instead said with frustration,
"I cannot talk to anyone but Dr. Lightman."
"Why?" Gillian prodded.
"I don't know. I get this impending sense of doom if I start speaking to anyone else."
Lightman and Foster looked at each other with confusion.
"I know it doesn't make any sense." The girl said. "But it's like I've been given orders to fill out and I have to complete.
"Do you…" Gillian stopped herself. "Cal, ask her about her family."
"Got any family?" He said.
"I don't remember."
"How about your house, a car, a dog, anything you can remember." Cal continued.
"Nothing." The girl replied, her voice, helpless.
"How the hell are we supposed to help you if you can't tell us anything." Cal's voice snapped.
"There's a black bag in a garbage bin in President's Park. Something's in there. Something about me."
"Why didn't you tell us that to begin with?" Gillian asked. At once she realized her question was useless. Cal repeated the question.
"I don't know!" The girl cried in exasperation. "It just came to me. As if I was being told the information for the first time."
Gillian's face spelled nothing to Cal but confusion.
"You were told to come here then?" Cal broke the brief silence.
"I don't know… well I don't remember. I could have been told to come here. I don't know why."
"What's to say this isn't a trap?" Cal slid off his desk and began walking around the table and turned on his computer.
"I don't know," The girl looked to her hands. "Your curiosity will drive you mad if you don't go though."
"How do you know that." Lightman responded.
"I just know it. It's your job, isn't it? To find out if people are lying. Am I lying?"
Cal paused to analyze her face.
"She's not lying." Foster quipped. "He vocal tone is consistent. She's still afraid and confused. Less so now."
"I know." Lightman said. "I'm trying to figure out who set me up."
"I just need help." The girl said.
"Darlin', you need more than that." Cal walked over to his instant coffee maker and slipped a cartridge in. "This wasn't you."
"Of course it wasn't me. I was probably in an accident coming to see you."
"Possibly." Lightman lifted a mug and placed it under the spout. Black gold started pouring from the tip. "More likely you were sent."
"By whom?" she said.
"I dunno." He lifted the mug full of coffee to his lips. "You're being triggered by things. Things that are happening. You're remembering things that twenty minutes ago you couldn't remember in the foggiest. You say now that my job is to see if people are lying, etcetera." Cal motioned with his arms as he spoke.
The girl paused. "We should go to President's Park."
"Obviously." Cal took another swig of coffee. "Send Torres the message. She can come along."
Torres sat in the backseat of the BMW and the girl in the front as Cal drove through traffic southbound to President's Park. He veered through traffic, speeding.
"Do you always drive like this?" Torres said.
"Only when an amnesiac girl appears on my doorstep and gives cryptic clues to her identity." Cal shoved the rest of a ham croissant into his mouth and chewed loudly. He reached over to the glove compartment and steered the car with his legs. In the compartment, he pulled out a snub nosed black .38 pistol.
"Whoa, what do you need that for?" Torres' face lit up.
"Just in case. Never know where a bear will come out of the woods. Pass me the leather holster."
Cal, still driving with his legs, pulled his brown jacket from his chest and placed the underarm holster the girl gave him on. He clipped the gun into place and the replaced his brown jacket. Torres' phone rang.
"It's Loker."
"Tell him you're busy."
She silenced the phone and placed it back in her pocket.
"Loker doesn't need to know until he needs to know." Lightman veered hard right and was driving parallel to the park.
"We're not in a rush, are we?" Torres asked.
"Not yet." Lightman rolled down the window, throwing his plastic out the window.
The girl looked at him, disapprovingly.
"What? It's biodegradable."
"No its not." She said, sternly.
"Yea, it is. Just takes a few thousand years." Lightman sneered.
The Park came up quickly on their left. Lightman pulled over, and got out to pay the meter. The girl let Torres out of the backseat.
"Thank you" Torres said. The girl didn't respond.
"Al-right. Girl, you go search the northwest corner along the path. Torres, go south and meet her in the middle. I'll come from the east. You're sure its in President's Park?" He looked over his gold sunglasses at the girl.
"No. But it's the only thing I can remember about my identity right now."
"Let's go." Lightman took off in the opposing direction. Both the girl and Torres said nothing but parted ways. All three of them walked across the lawn of the park looking around for garbage bins. There were a few about, but not many along the paths. Most of the bins sat at path intersections, and so they each started there. The girl was being slow and methodical while Lightman and Torres pulled out the plastic liners and tossed the bins aside, looking for the bag. Half an hour without progress, and Lightman was beginning to feel frustrated and humiliated when he saw Torres coming over the lawn with a black two handled duffle bag; the girl in close proximity.
"Found it underneath the plastic bin beside the fence." Torres placed it on the bench beside Lightman. The three of them sat down and Lightman placed the duffle bag onto his lap.
"Ain't much in here." He assessed, reaching for the zipper.
"What if it's anthrax or something…" Torres blurted out.
"Then we're dead." Lightman responded without skipping a beat. He pulled back the zipper and looked into the bag.