She pressed her fingers against her temple, trying to recall what had happened the night before, but her mind was like a huge void. She couldn't remember how she had gotten into the apartment or when she had arrived.

She looked down. She had slept on top of a thin bedspread and was still dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. The hems of her pantsleg were frayed and black with dirt, her socks worn. She glanced down at her rhinestone-studded tee. It seemed like something she'd wear to a party.

A pair of knee-high slick black boots lay scattered on the floor. She swung her legs over the side of the bed to put them on, and when she did, a large rusted pipe slipped from her lap and hit the yellow linoleum floor with a loud clank. She gasped as if it had been a snake, then slowly bent over and picked it up. Her hands began to tremble. Why had she slept with a pipe?

She closed her eyes, trying to bring back something from her past, and opened them again with a jolt of pure paniac as realization struck. She didn't know who she was. She couldn't remember her name, date of birth, where she lived, or who her parents were. As hard as she tried, nothing about her life before this moment came back to her. She glanced at the calendar hanging on the gray-green wall. It said November, but she didn’t know the date.

Now instince took over. The need to run was overwhelming.

She grabbed the boots, fell back on the edge of the bed and tugged them on, then stood. She had started walking toward the door when she felt something like a pebble under her right toe. She slumped onto one of the small wood chairs, yanked off the boot and shook out a soiled and crumpled note.

She unfolded it and read:

A chill rushed through her body and she began to shake violently. Was she Tianna Moore? How could she be? It was like reading a name in the newspaper. It didn't feel like it belonged to her. She unzipped the backpack propped against the door, pulled out a notebook and pen, sat back at the table and wrote Tianna Moore.

Her handwriting matched the writing on the note. Why would anyone want her dead. She hadn't just placed it in the toe of her boot. The paper looked old and stained. How long had it been there? A week? Two? Who was she running from? And if someone was trying to kill her, why weren't the police willing to help? She should be able to remember something as important as that.

Tianna pulled on the boots, stuffed the note in her pocket, grabbed up the backpack, and rushed out the door.