Maggie rose in the morning, thinking, as she often did, of what her main purpose in life was. For the past six months she had been recovering from a near fatal wound; now her body had healed as well as it could, and it was time for her to get back to work. And get back to Max.
That's if she could find him. He'd been missing since the explosion had thrown her across the room.
She had come to in the hospital, listed as Jane Doe. She feigned amnesia. The police came in a few times to question her and all they got was just static. Some shrinks followed, a social worker. She played the role that was expected of her.
It was determined that she had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and no charges where laid. The explosion in the abandoned factory was attributed to a gang turf war. If the police had really scratched the surface, they would have discovered a whole other reason.
She yawned and stretched, sitting on the edge of the bed. She reached for a wallet-sized photo of a man looking straight into the camera, more akin to a mug shot than a normal nightstand photo. The picture was crumpled and worn; it looked like it had been taken in the 1950's. It was the only relic they had found on her, and it wasn't a good clue whatsoever.
"How come I can't feel you?" she whispered.
She wondered where he was; now he was a ghost that haunted her dreams, or were they other realities? She hadn't felt a shift in a long, long time. Maybe the war was finally was over, maybe this was a new life. To continue on as a mundane.
"That's crazy thoughts," she muttered to herself. She got up and headed to the shower.
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