Now as I clung to the memory, I replayed the man’s voice. Have you been here the entire time? Have you been here the entire time? What had been unfamiliar then was familiar now. It was David. They’d met at the hospital, but it never occurred to me he’d been in my room.

I rubbed the back of my neck, working out the tension, angry that he’d seen me like that. I’d been utterly helpless in the hospital. I’d hated the feeling. Felt trapped by the weight of my injuries. And David, a man I barely knew, had been there and seen me at my worst.

All that I’d struggled to remember and what had come to me was David. Maybe this was the beginning of recalling those lost days. Maybe there finally was a little light in the darkness.

I closed my eyes, replaying the moment, but I must’ve drifted off, because when I woke, the sun was rising over the river. I rose, walked to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on my face. Glancing up into my shadowed eyes, I thought for an instant Clare was staring back at me. Do something. Figure this out.

I grabbed my purse and headed out. In my car, I sat for a minute, looking up at the stars in the clear night sky.

I started the engine, pulled out of my parking lot, and crossed the Mayo Bridge toward the city. I wound up on Fourteenth Street and then turned right onto East Broad Street, weaving through the centuries-old buildings of Shockoe Bottom and back up toward Church Hill. It was after six when I stopped in front of Libby Hill Park.

I stared down the hill. According to the accident report, my Jeep had been spotted speeding down Broad Street. At the bottom of the hill, I’d taken a sharp right and almost immediately hit a utility pole with enough force that my Jeep’s engine block cracked, and the vehicle’s front end crumpled like paper.

The investigating officer had asked me several times about my phone. I’d assumed it was in my purse, but he’d assured me it hadn’t been found in or near the car. Brit had always wanted me to install Find My Friends, but I’d never been comfortable with my big sister tracking me.

I surveyed the area, wondering what would have brought me up to Church Hill. I loved it up here, loved the vistas of the river. I’d shot a wedding at St. John’s Church about two years ago but to my knowledge had not returned since. But I had.

The police estimated that I’d been going at least forty miles an hour based on my short skid marks. An aggressive speed on these narrow city streets had to mean something. What had spooked me?