Chasing The Thief

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
I don't remember how I got here.

Last thing in my memory was a flash of your grin, and the first thing is a picture of you on my phone

Maybe you forgot to delete it, maybe you didn't.

But I will find you, and I will find out why I have to run when I can't remember what I even did.

All I know is that you stole my life, no matter how amazing or how shitty it may have been. It was mine. Now it isn't. And the only clue I have as to why is you.

I will find you.

No matter how long it takes me, no matter how hard it is, no matter how much it costs me.

I will find you.

Submitted: June 29, 2015

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 29, 2015

A A A

A A A


Chapter One: Good Morning, Sunshine

 

Blood.

It was smeared on the sheets and coated my hands in scarlet streaks. Like a morbid painting, there were words written on my arm.

YOU BETTER RUN NOW, SUNSHINE

That was the first thing I saw when I woke up in the morning.

I stared at the words for a moment, half shocked and half confused. But when I finally realized that I wasn't dreaming, that this was real, I shuddered.

My whole body started shaking, and on unsteady legs I stumbled to the bathroom door.

I reached out and shoved the door open, leaving a red smear like a grotesque blind smile curving at eye level.

Trembling, I braced my hands against the sides of the sink, arms locked straight and my stringy, dirty brown hair hanging in a mess around my face. Slowly, very slowly, I looked up into the mirror, into my reflection.

There were shadows underneath my eyes like bruises, red veins in the whites of my eyes turning the iris a brighter shade of green than usual. The skin of my face was stretched a little tighter than I remembered across the delicate bones.

Strangely, I had the look of leftover happiness on me. There was glint in my eyes that grew duller with each passing second, pen ink twining in intricate designs around my wrist in the way that they only did when I was in a really good mood, and the corners of my lips were upturned slightly.

I frowned.

What the hell had happened?

My head ached, the pulse at my temples pounding in my ears loud as the crashing waves of the ocean on the shore during a storm. The last thing I remembered was...

A smile. Mischievous and infectious, it was one of the most honest ones I had ever seen. It was the kind of smile that you only have when you feel truly, completely, utterly happy. The kind of happy you get at the end of a perfect day at the end of a perfect week after you've laughed with your best friend until your sides ached.

It was that kind of smile.

I drew in a shaky breath, trying to fill my lungs with air to get myself to breathe again.

With a fevered frenzy of movement, I scrubbed my hands harshly before cleaning the sink as well. When I was done, my hands were a pink and the sink was a gleaming white.

In careful, measured movements, I walked out of the bathroom back into the bedroom.

That was when I noticed the phone. It was lying on my bedside table, right next to the lamp.

I picked it up and switched it on, hoping that it could give some sort of clues as to what happened. I checked my photo gallery first, hoping to find something, anything.

Flicking quickly through the photos, I found only a six new photos.

The oldest one was dated to show that it had been taken a year ago. The latest one was from last night. Around five hours ago.

Which was strange, because I usually took a lot more than that in a year.

Frowning in bewilderment, I looked through them.

The first one was of the view out of a car, looking from the shotgun seat. I didn't recognize the inside of the car, but could just make out the side of a hand on the steering wheel, along with the glint from a ring on the pinky. Outside you could see a crowded street. We were just behind the first car at the stoplight, and the street glowed red and green from the traffic lights and the rain. In the corner, I could just make out a street sign. The second picture was of a hotel room, and almost every surface of it was covered in hideous flower patterns. Apparently, someone else had taken the photo, because I was standing in the room making a disgusted face at the camera. Even so, you could tell that I was trying to hold back a smile at the camera. I didn't recognize some the clothes I was wearing.

There was a leather jacket with a cotton hood that looked too big for me, a pair of old worn blue jeans that had been my favorites last I remembered, a pair of my favorite sneakers and a white t-shirt that said 'Sunshine Days'.

On the flower-printed carpet just below the flower-print bedspread, there was a backpack that had the corner of a book peeking out.

The third photograph was of the ground, a small section of grass with a button in the top right corner.

The fourth was of a sheet of music in my handwriting that I didn't recognize. The title was "Mirror", and while the lyrics were blurred out, the music notes were fairly clear.

The fifth was of my hands covered up to the elbows with paint. Behind them, you could just see an floor with tiles done in an abstract design, and a small signature that I couldn't make out.

There was a single photo left.

In it was the boy with the smile from my last memory. We must have gotten someone to take the picture for us, because I was in the picture too.

He had his arm wrapped around my waist, the other hand holding his hat down on his head. Clearly, there'd been a strong wind, because my hair was blown back from my face.

I had a hand resting almost casually on his chest, grinning up at him goofily.

He had that same smile that I remembered.

It was funny; even though I'd never seen it before, I could easily notice it in the picture. Whoever he was, wherever he was, I had been in love with him. Seriously and undeniably in love with him.

I stared at the photo for a second before turning off my phone. There hadn't been any texts on the phone, nothing written in my notes app, and since I didn't have any social media sites, there was nothing else to find.

I even checked my internet history, but the only thing there a search for the address of a bakery.

Wiping a bit off blood off the phone and onto a paper towel I'd gotten from the bathroom, I looked around the room.

It was clearly a hotel room, but I couldn't really see any hint of my stuff anywhere. I walked around the room before checking under the bed. There was a book, the same one I'd seen in the picture there.

Picking it up, I noticed a small gap between the cover and the first page.

I opened it to the gap, and frowned. There was a small bundle of money, all in twenties, along with a note written in handwriting I'd never seen before.

Good Luck.

Looking down at the hardwood floors, I sighed, running my left hand through my tangled hair.

My mind was racing a mile a minute, splitting off in several directions at once and I stumbled slightly from the feeling of vertigo. I shut my eyes tight and shook my head once.

Focus.

You have to focus.

I drew in a deep breath before opening my eyes again.

I had to get out of here. There was blood splattered across the room and if the police came I would be considered a suspect. I had to run.

I glanced quickly around the room before racing to grab the book and my phone, pulling on the jacket that was lying on the floor, the same one that was in the picture.

The threat hadn't washed off completely; it was in thick lines of pen ink and I knew that it probably wouldn't be completely gone until the day after tomorrow.

I turned towards the window.

It took a few tries, but I managed to pull the window open and drop out onto the ground. Luckily, I was at the bottom floor.

I straightened, closing the window before walking as casually and confidently as I could away.

Hopefully, if any guards checked the cameras they would just think that I was doing the walk of shame. Even so, I pulled the hood of the jacket over my head, absentmindedly realizing that it was the same one I'd been wearing in the flower room.

Holding the book in my right hand, I walked across the street and kept on going along the sidewalk. I wanted to run away as quickly as I could, but I knew that if I ran like my life was on the line and without the workout clothes, that would attract a lot more attention.

The last thing I needed was more complications.

I had enough of those from waking up in a hotel room that, to the best of my memory, I had never stepped into, with blood on my hands. With a threat written on my arm. And no recollections of what had happened in the last few months.

My life was complicated enough already.

 

 


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