Silent Run

there tonight. I’m sorry, dude. I can’t get her on the road. She thinks it’s too dangerous to make the drive until morning."
    Jake wasn’t happy to hear that. He’d been hoping that the woman Dylan was talking to might jog Sarah’s memory. “Have you found out anything else?"
    â€œA couple of things. Catherine gave me a lead on a kid they knew in foster care who worked the backside of the law manufacturing fake IDs when he was in high school. His name is Andy Hart, and I’m on the Internet now trying to find him. I also dug a little deeper and found an address for Sarah’s former social worker, Eleanor Murphy. According to Catherine, Eleanor was a kind woman who tried to keep in touch with the kids she followed. There’s a slim chance Sarah might have contacted her if she was in trouble."
    Jake felt a rush of excitement at the news. “Great. Where does she live?"
    â€œManhattan Beach, not too far from where you are now, I believe, which could be a coincidence or the reason why Sarah moved to Santa Monica."
    Jake grabbed a pen from the console between the seats and wrote down the address Dylan rattled off.
    â€œThere was also another friend of Sarah’s -- or Jessica’s -- who was with her in Chicago about a month before she disappeared -- Teresa Meyers. So far I haven’t found her, but I’m still looking. What’s up with you?"
    â€œThere was another attempt on Sarah’s life. A fire was set at her apartment building. A guy was waiting for us in the stairwell. We got into a fight. I got the gun away, but he escaped when the firemen came into the building. So he’s still out there."
    â€œShit!” Dylan swore. “Where are you now? Are you both all right?"
    â€œWe’re in the car, and yes, we’re fine."
    â€œI should get down there."
    The last thing Jake wanted to do was drag his brother any further into this mess. “No, you’re more helpful staying with Catherine, researching on the Net. That’s what I need from you right now."
    â€œI can do that down there."
    â€œThe morning is fine. We’ll meet then. Is there anything else?"
    â€œThe tiger tattoo. I found some gangs, including the Russian Mafia, who use tiger tattoos as their symbol of affiliation. There could be more than one person after Sarah. And they could be very dangerous."
    Dylan’s words only confirmed Jake’s suspicions that there were some powerful people who wanted Sarah dead. And he was the only one standing between her and them -- whoever they were. “Thanks. I’ll talk to you soon."
    Sarah felt a growing sense of unease as Jake finished his conversation with his brother. She could hear bits and pieces about someone named Jessica.
    Jessica. The name sounded familiar, and with the familiarity came a deep sense of loss.
    â€œSarah?"
    Jake’s voice intruded on her thoughts. She blinked and looked up at him. He was watching her again with those penetrating green eyes of his that made her feel like he could see right through her. Only he couldn’t. No one could. Not even she knew what was in her own head.
    â€œWhat did Dylan find out?” she asked.
    â€œHe gave me some names of possible people from your past: Andy Hart and Teresa Meyers, two kids you may have lived with in foster care. And Eleanor Murphy, who was apparently your social worker."
    She took in what he was telling her like a dry sponge absorbing every bit of water. It seemed that Dylan was piecing together a past for her, foster care, friends. Jake seemed to think his brother was on the right track -- so why didn’t the names mean anything to her?
    â€œNothing, huh?” he asked.
    â€œI’m not sure."
    â€œSarah, I know you’re scared to remember, but you have to try."
    â€œI think I must be a terrible coward,” she murmured.
    â€œThat word doesn’t describe you at all. Maybe you’ve just reached your limit on fear. The blow you took to the head sent your memories into hibernation, and that’s where they want to stay. But we have to drag them out, Sarah. Because of Caitlyn."
    â€œI know. I need to embrace the facts you just gave me and try to believe them. Try to make them work for me. I’m someone named Jessica who grew up in foster care after my parents died. And these people, Catherine, Teresa, and Andy, were my friends.” Maybe if she kept saying their names, she’d remember them.