Chapter Three: Dura

Dura Sturluson felt the sky spinning. She felt like she was on the verge of being swallowed by the soft mattress. All of a sudden, a raucous noise filled Dura's mind. Explosions, cars roaring, and men and women screaming.

Dura opened her eyes.

She was still lying on her bed and everything was calm. Sunlight poured into the hotel room through the window, accompanied by sparse birdsong. Dura was wearing only her underwear and the quilt covered only the lower part of her body. The pillows were soaked with sweat long ago, and the sheets were messy from her rubbing them with her hands. Dura braced herself and looked over the messy bed, trying to remember what had come up in her nightmares.

"Dura..."

Someone suddenly spoke in her ear.

Dura hurriedly turned back, turned around again, and looked around. There was no one else in the room but her. She stood up nervously, stepping on something in her panic that made her almost unsteady. She sat back down on the bed in a smooth motion, only to see that she had just stepped on her own boot. She noticed a small pinwheel tattoo on her left ankle. Probably because she had just stepped on something and hadn't stood still, the tattoo now seemed to be glowing slightly.

Headache. This nasty feeling had been with her since she woke up. It made it hard for her to concentrate on her thoughts. She began trying to remember why she had woken up in this hotel room. But to her confusion, she had no clue. She started going to remember if she had gone drinking the night before. It really felt like a bad hangover now.

What was suddenly disturbing to her was that the last thing she remembered was that she was sitting on an airplane. As hard as she tried to remember, she had no recollection at all of the time between the plane ride and now. She couldn't even pinpoint how many days ago that memory of the airplane was.

Dura hurriedly looked to her nightstand and thankfully the cell phone was sitting there. She reached for the phone and turned on the screen. Underneath the clock displaying 10:03 a.m. was a beautiful wallpaper, a partial of an oil painting. The men and women in the painting were laughing and snuggling up to each other, as if they were getting ready for an outing.

She looked through the phone again, the storage space was empty. After carefully looking it over in her hand, she was sure it was a new phone. Not the one she had been using for as long as she could remember. Dura got up and out of bed and looked around the room, hoping to find more clues.

She found a light green sticky note right in the middle of the TV's screen. The sticky note stood out against the dark TV screen. Whoever put the sticky note on it must have wanted to be the first to see it. Dura walked forward, removed the note, and found that it read "Green Garden Hotel 202".

Another hotel room? Dura frowned in thought. But she had no memory of the hotel address. The handwriting on the note was her own. She realized that it was a hint of a message she had left behind, hoping that the amnesia would allow her to go to this place. Dura quickly put on the wool sweater and pants that were sitting on the bed, and picked up her boots and socks from the floor to change into. She then put on the leather jacket and baseball cap hanging on the coat rack and checked the room one more time to make sure she hadn't missed anything before leaving the room.

She learned from the door sign by the elevator that this was the Intercontinental Hotel in Rice City, not the Green Garden Hotel she was headed for. The map on her phone showed the Green Garden Hotel as being in the northwest corner of the city center, and the Intercontinental Hotel was on two opposite corners of the city center. Dura pondered how to get there while walking in the direction of the front desk. She had just found a room card in the pocket of her leather jacket that said 202, and a thick stack of light green sticky notes that hadn't been used yet. And the top one read two words: check out.

All went well with the check-out, but the desk clerk asked her to wait a little while, saying she'd deposited a backpack at last night's check-in.

So the check-in time was last night. The exact time according to the receipt was last night at 11:30 p.m. She had absolutely no recollection of any of this. Dura calmly walked alone in place, her brain racing with thoughts such as when did the flight arrive? What did she do after getting off the plane and other such questions. Although the answers she got were all blank, Dura still had a vague feeling that she was missing something.

The waiter brought Dura a backpack, a smart little dark red lady's leather bag. She hefted the bag, it was still quite heavy. Dura thanked the waiter with a nod of her head and then turned toward the restroom in the corner of the hall. She had a vague feeling that this backpack would be best left open in a crowded place.

Entering the restroom. Dura quickly found a toilet cubicle with no one on either side and went in, then locked the cubicle door and unzipped the backpack.

It was a revolver. Along with two ammo holders that were already loaded. she picked up the gun and fiddled with it in her hands for a few moments. She realized that she was incredibly familiar with the gun, she was skilled enough in the placement and use of every part. Dura quickly hid the pistol at her back waist. Then hid the two holders in her leather jacket and pants pockets respectively. She found another familiar light green note in her backpack. It read, “Protect yourself.”

It looked like this road trip wasn't necessarily going to be smooth sailing. Dura touched the revolver behind her through her leather jacket and gasped. After double-checking that there were no other items in her backpack, she tossed it into a nearby trash can. Opening the door, she made to leave the restroom.

"Green Garden, go!"

It was that voice again, ringing in Dura's ears. Dura turned back with another wary look. She was pretty sure she was the only one in the restroom from earlier until now. The constant ringing of this voice must be closely related to her memory loss. But she couldn't find any other clue. Since both the sticky note she left behind and the voice were urging her to go to that location, she had no choice now that her memory was crippled but to follow this only clue to find out the truth.

Walking down the street, Dura felt an inexplicable sense of closeness to the city. She decided that she should have known this city very well before she lost her memory. It was even possible that she had lived here. But the life she could recall was not in this city, or even in another country. What she remembered was teaching at a middle school in a small town. She could even recall the names of some of the students in her class, but had no recollection of the experiences of the past few days. This sudden loss of memory bores her, and an unknown force tries to stop her from returning to the city. But now that she was standing on the streets of Rice City, a firm sense of purpose told her that this journey must have its own special meaning. She's here for something that must be accomplished.

Dura walked quickly through the crowd, the streets were bustling in the morning and people were making their way through the streets as usual. Dura felt a sense of loneliness. The lost memories and the pistol at her waist made her stand out. She walked with full concentration, occasionally picking up her cell phone to check her route to make sure she wasn't going the wrong way. All the while watching out for dangers that suddenly appeared from the crowd.

A sharp crack of brakes and a crash interrupted Dura's hasty pace. She didn't perceive the danger as the sound was coming from somewhere on the other side of the street. Dura looked up to take a closer look, just in time to see a cab parked across the road in an unnatural state. And not far away a yellow private car crashed into a hard object on the side of the road at an even more unimaginable angle. People on the road stopped and scrutinized the crash. Some were screaming, others were reaching for their cell phones as if to call the police.

Dura did not look as surprised as the other passersby. Instead, she quickly became serious. Because she noticed the female who climbed out of the window of the private car. Dura was very familiar with this person. Amnesia was interfering with her again at this point. She could not recall the woman's name at all from this distance though she saw someone she seemed to have known for a long time. But that sense of alertness to the crisis that she had just experienced had by this time taken over her whole body. She realized almost immediately that the pistol at her waist was prepared for this very moment.

Dura ran, trying to approach the woman from the left rear. The woman was also unusually agile, and in just under two seconds after falling to the ground through the car window, she quickly got up and ran off to the side toward a path between the buildings. Dura hurried to catch up, her hand instinctively touching her back for her revolver.

"Pop!" A newspaper box beside Dura sputtered with a shower of sparks. She immediately realized that someone was shooting at her.

Dura immediately pressed herself down and half-bent behind a roadside garbage truck. Estimating from the angle at which the newspaper box had just been hit, the shooter would have been right behind her just then. Dura didn't hear the sound of a shot being fired, but only the piercing noise of a bullet hitting metal.

"It's a silencer." Dura realized that the shooter should still be in the crowd not far away on the other side of the garbage truck at this moment. Unfortunately, she couldn't find the shooter in the first place. The situation was now that the shooter was in the shadows and she was locked down. She was at a disadvantage.

After about a few seconds, no more bullets were coming. Dura had only two paths before her, either to poke her head out and confront the shooter from earlier head on, or to run towards the alley where the woman had just disappeared. After weighing the pros and cons slightly, she chose the latter. The lady who had just fled didn't appear to be armed, and seemed to be badly injured from the crash. Choosing to continue chasing her might be more favorable to Dura's search for the truth.

"No!" That voice came back to her ears.

Dura didn't pay attention to the voice as she ran wildly through the alley. She thought the woman shouldn't be running too fast, but she was wrong. After only a few turns, she lost sight of the woman.

She was also keeping an eye on her behind at all times, and luckily there didn't seem to be anyone coming after her. It was now some distance away from the street where the crash had just occurred. Dura could vaguely hear the sirens of a police car in the distance, presumably the police had already arrived at the scene to start dealing with the accident. Dura didn't trust anyone but herself right now.

She walked into a shopping mall and hid herself in the crowd as she continued to use her cell phone to check the location of the Green Garden Hotel. The chase earlier hadn't caused her to stray too far from her route. She found a large door in the mall that faced north, and once again, she was hidden from the crowd on the street.

The specifications of the Green Garden Hotel should belong to the top class in Rice City. Dura vaguely felt that this place was more familiar to her compared to the Intercontinental Hotel. She lowered the brim of her hat and walked through the revolving doors of the hotel.

"Ms. Sturluson?" Dura had just entered the lobby when she heard someone call her.

Suddenly alert, Dura turned her head to see that it was the hotel's doorman.

"Remember me? You asked me to hold that package last night.

"

"Ah, I remember." Dura lied, she had no recollection of the doorman in front of her, nor did she remember the package. She did not feel in danger as she had earlier at the scene of the crash, but she felt it was better to be careful.

"You can go to your room first, tell me the room number and I'll bring the package to you in a few minutes." The doorman said.

"No, I'll just wait here." Dura said calmly, wanting to keep the room number as secret as possible.

"Oh good, one moment please." He turned to the other doorman and signaled that he was going to be gone for a few moments, turned and headed deeper into the hall. Dura kept a wary eye on the door so that she could react in time if anything popped up.

Luckily the doorman just walked out of the listserv holding a basketball-sized package and not with a gunman with a silencer. Dura breathed a sigh of relief and took the package.

"Thank you very much for your generous tip yesterday, you have no idea how much I nee..."

Dura made a very perfunctory fake smile and waved her hand to indicate she was leaving. Then he turned around and walked towards the elevator room. The doorman, who could also see that Dura didn't seem to be particularly in the mood for small talk, also shrugged and walked out the door to go greet a couple that had just arrived at the hotel.

Dura scanned down at the package and was unsurprised to find that it was in her own handwriting as well. She clutched the package under her armpit, trying to find the guest room before scrutinizing it.

202 was not a guest room, but a conference room. Dura opened the door to the conference room and realized that the curtains in the room were down and she had to turn on the lights to get a good look inside. It was a pretty standard conference room. Fake overgrown plastic plants were placed in the corners of the room. Some chairs were stacked in the deepest part of the room next to a huge projection screen. Dura could probably understand why she had chosen here. Conference rooms in hotels tended to be booked through other departments, not through the rooms department. And if someone wanted to track down something or information in a hotel, they usually went through the rooms department. Her choice of a conference room was also a safe bet.

On the long table in the room sat a small suitcase that Dura recognized as belonging to her. She locked the door and pulled out a chair to sit at the conference table. Opening that suitcase, she was impressed with the contents, mostly clothing and items she had brought from her own home. There were also some documents and cash necessary for traveling.

Dura tried to start organizing her thoughts. From what she had experienced between this morning and now, the pre-amnesia woman was very particular about the disposal of some important items. She intentionally placed these things separately. So that an accident wouldn't cause all the preparations to go to waste. "Don't put all your eggs in one basket." thought Dura silently in her mind, it did seem like her style of doing things. The information about the destination was placed in the waking guest room, simple, straightforward. Guns and ammo were used to protect herself from the amnesia, and were arranged to be available before she left the Hotel. Other personal items, of second importance, were placed in another hotel. They could facilitate the next move. And this package, to which Dura shifted her gaze, should be the top priority. Yesterday's me had entrusted it to the hotel doorman. That way if someone were to track me to the conference room, all they would find would be my luggage. If I hadn't come to the hotel myself, the package wouldn't have appeared. No one would have thought that the most important object was being held by a doorman. This conference room was actually kind of misleading.

Thinking about this, Dura began to look at the package carefully.

It was an unmailed package. The mailing information had been written by Dura long ago. The handwriting had to be her own, and she could bet her teaching career on confirming it. The sender of the package was written as Beta Inquisitor. and the recipient, unnamed, was a company called Rice First Logistics, right in downtown Rice City. The package was very light and there was no audible sound of anything rattling around inside. Dura lifted the package in her hands and examined the bottom of it. Another sticky note appeared in front of Dura's eyes. It was still the familiar color and handwriting.

"Send it." was a message from a past Dura.

"Dura." The voice appeared again, and this time it was crystal clear. It was the voice of a young woman.

Dura rushed to respond to her, but the voice called her again. It was as if the owner of the voice wasn't able to hear Dura.

"You are to go to the Smith building after dark and go to the basement." Dura felt as if the voice was coming from that package. But when she got closer to the package, she couldn't feel any change in volume.

"Someone will arrest you there, don't resist. Until then, don't die." The voice was serious, but it was also filled with concern for Dura. Dura couldn't help but feel a pang of unease at hearing that she would be arrested and that she might die before then. What kind of person wants to be arrested?

But Dura chose to believe the voice. A very firm feeling in her head told her that the voice was trustworthy.

Dura knew there was no time to lose. She found another set of clothes from her suitcase to change into, including a lightweight and warm dark gray bomber jacket, a white t-shirt, a pair of light gray women's jeans, and a pair of white sneakers. The material of this set of clothes is loose, convenient for movement. And the colors were low key, making it easy to blend in with the crowd. She hid the pistol, and the magazines remained the same, one in the top and one in the pants. Then she stowed the cash in the pockets of her jacket along with her personal identification. Once everything was in place, she tossed a bunch of other unneeded items into her suitcase and threw them in the dumpster behind the hotel. She glanced at the clock on her cell phone; it was now 12:40 p.m. Dura put on one of her sunglasses and headed toward the nearest post office. Once again she disappeared into the crowds of the city.

Dura gasped and removed the magazine from his jacket, pushing out the six shells from his revolver with his left hand. Then quickly took the magazine and reloaded. Her left leg was grazed by the bullet. If the trajectory of the incoming shot had been a little more to the right, her leg might have been ruined. And it might have even gone into shock due to blood loss. But the graze wasn't to be ignored, and she could feel a stream of liquid already running down her leg, soaking her left sock. It was her blood. At this point she was hiding behind a mound of dirt at a construction site. Cautiously watching every little sound beside her.

After she sent out the package at the post office, she found a hiding place to wait for darkness to fall. The long hours of undivided attention had drained her energy quickly. She had to go and get some simple food, and after she was full she even took a nap. The alarm clock woke her up at six in the afternoon. She felt it was about time. So she departed and moved to the place called Smith's building. Dura didn't want to use any transportation. Because in case of an attack, the cramped conditions of the transportation could kill her. Especially when there was an assassin with a silenced firearm who could attack her from anywhere at any time. It wasn't long before she realized that she had made a very wise choice.

Just a few minutes ago, this attack happened, after she had been walking for about an hour or so.

"Look out!" This time it was the voice that warned Dura directly from her mind.

At that moment Dura instantly jumped up as a whole and ducked behind a low wall beside her. Just half a second ago, two bullets had already broken through the air at the place where she was standing. The third bullet cut through her left thigh just then.

Thanks to the quietness of the empty, deserted street, Dura heard the three silenced pistol excitations. Dura reached out and fired three shots behind the dirt pile. Then she immediately got up to find a cover that would give her more distance.

"No! No!" That voice was full of worry. But the voice, at this point, wasn't as clear as it had been back there in the Green Garden. It was muddy, miserably loud with murmurs.

Dura had no time to worry about the voice anymore. She ducked behind a pile of building materials, glanced at her thighs, and then cursed. She saw through the gap between the building materials that a figure had reached the pile of dirt where she had just hidden. Dura immediately raised her gun and fired all three rounds left in the magazine again. But she failed to hit the enemy.

Although Dura's memory was damaged, certain training she had received had made this kind of fighting instinctive. But this killer across the street seemed to be well trained as well. The killer always hid her body well while moving, which made it hard for Dura to aim.

"Dang!!!" A bell sounded from the direction of the city center.

Dura's legs suddenly went weak and she almost sat on the ground. Her left ankle was vaguely hot.

At such a critical moment, a sudden physical condition was the deadliest. Dura forced herself to look near the pile of dirt. But to her surprise, the killer was actually gone. Dura thought at first that the person was hiding, but when she deliberately made some noises to try to attract the killer, there was no reaction from the opposite side either. Just the moment the bell rang, the man was gone.

Dura was secretly glad that the killer might have retreated because he was afraid of Dura's firepower. But in reality Dura had already shot all his bullets in this tug-of-war. And that trance Dura had just been in was the perfect time to settle the fight. But it seemed that just as that bout of trance appeared, the killer chose to give up as well. Luck was on Dura's side.

Dura hadn't forgotten where she was going. She simply used her own t-shirt to stop the bleeding and rushed to the Smith building.

Dura's mind became overwhelmed at the moment. She had arrived at the Smith Building almost from her own memory. What puzzled her was that the memory thing was the least reliable for most of the day.

The Smith Building had once been a bustling shopping mall. And now it seemed to have been abandoned for a long time. The door to the building had been pried open, and anyone could enter it simply by going over that metal mesh fence on the outside. Dura entered the basement effortlessly. But what she saw in front of her was something she hadn't expected.

Inside the clutter-filled basement was a body, and a woman.

Although the clothes were different, the woman was the same one who escaped from the car accident during the day. Her short hair made Dura recognize her instantly. Dura was unarmed at this point, but she noticed a knife stuck in the chest of the body on the ground. The woman was so engrossed in examining the body that she didn't notice Dura's presence.

Dura felt this was a good opportunity. The desire to kill the woman that she had felt during the day was slowly growing in her heart again. She used the shadows and the pile of debris to hide herself, and slowly circled around to the woman's back. She was going to strike.

"Stop ！！！！"

That voice in her head came back again, this time loud and clear. So much so that Dura, who was concentrating on aiming for the other woman's neck, was startled. Her movement had already been made, but the shock caused her figure to change. And this time, it also made the woman notice the danger. Although she didn't get a direct chokehold, the moment the woman dodged it she was also pushed hard by Dura.

The woman stumbled forward a few steps and fell to the ground. Looking back at Dura with a horrified look on her face.

"No, I didn't do it!" The woman wasn't begging for mercy, but was speaking in an explanatory tone.

Dura glanced at the body in front of her, it was an old male. Dura could have sworn she absolutely knew this person, but the face gave Dura a very sickening feeling. Even at this point, with him lying here in the form of a corpse, Dura instead felt a sense of pleasure from an unknown source.

Dura didn't let this reflection last more than a second. She reached down and drew the knife that was on the corpse's chest and rushed at the woman. She wasn't sure if the woman had a weapon, but at least her haden't right now. The attack was now, and there could be no hesitation.

"No!" That voice rang out again, even with a somewhat hysterical tone.

The woman was quite athletic. Dura's strike was fierce and swift, but she dodged it again with a nimble sidestep.

The light from the road outside spilled onto the floor through the side window of the basement. The woman's stood under the light at that moment, and Dura got her first good look at her face. It was a face full of gentleness and kindness. Dura knew she knew her. But Dura also knew she had to die.

With her sharp blade in hand, she too walked slowly into the light. She stared at the woman with her full attention, hoping to find a suitable opportunity to attack.

The woman also got a good look at her face at this point, and her expression changed from horror to confusion.

Dura didn't know why at this time, but she suddenly felt a trace of pity for the woman in front of her. This woman's looks were too familiar to her. Different voices suddenly appeared in Dura's heart, putting her in a conflict. To kill, or not to kill? Dura couldn't make a decision.

"Nobody move!!!" "Throw down your weapons!!!"

Many individual voices came from over the basement entrance. A group of people dressed in black rushed to their side. These people were heavily armed. A bunch of pitch-black gun muzzles were aimed at the duo standing in the center of the basement.

"Federal police! Drop your weapons and don't do anything stupid!"

Dura dropped her knife and raised her hands in the air. The woman raised her hands almost simultaneously as well.

The crowd of police swarmed over the duo and took control.

Even as they were held down and handcuffed, the two women never took their eyes off each other's faces.

Choose a story you don't already know

(both stories can be read in any order)

Suspect: Miranda

Suspect: Douglas

If you've read all three suspects' stories

please continue reading:

Chapter Five