The Devil was working overtime. At least that's what Detective Mark Jessup thought as he took in the small corpses strewn about St. Anthony's Church. What had meant to be a replica of the manger where Jesus had been born was now a mass graveyard of paper mâché animals. He quickly made the sign of the cross before turning his hazel eyes towards his partner, Detective Bree Wade.

"I talked to the fire marshal and he agrees with us. It looks like the truck came in through there." Still holding her small notepad, Bree pointed to where the double doors of the church had once stood. "And came barreling through here before hitting the pews and crashing into the altar. The engine must have caught on fire and exploded. We're lucky it wasn't a bigger explosion."

"Lucky? Tell that to the families of the people who died here tonight." Detective Jessup shook his head in disgust as he tried his best not to stare too long at any of the bodies. "All they were trying to do was practice for the Christmas mass tomorrow." He waved at an officer entering the church. "Did you get rid of the crowd outside?"

"No, sir. Channel six is still out there interviewing people. We have men ready to keep them out of the church but I think the town is planning on having a vigil here tonight," the officer answered before continuing his work.

"Damn small-town folk. Why can't they just mourn at home?" Mark swallowed the bile threatening to come up as he spotted an arm no longer attached to its owner. He could deal with murder and he'd seen plenty of dead bodies throughout his career. Still, there was something about seeing a lifeless hand with innocent little fingers attached that made his stomach turn.

"You alright?" Bree asked, concern heavy in her voice. "I know you hate cases involving kids."

Mark felt a wave of self-disgust wash over him. He had been a detective for years. He reminded himself that death was not a reason to be acting like a cop who was wet behind the ears-- not even a child's death. He pushed his shoulders back and walked past his partner, ignoring her question.

Bree frowned. "Well, if you're going to be an ass about it, forget I cared." 

Mark glanced at the charred crucifix hanging at the front of the church before clearing his throat. "This looks like a damned massacre. Did forensics already come in and take a look at the driver? Or what's left of him? What kind of sick bastard does something like this? Hell of a way to celebrate the birth of Christ." He was rambling which wasn't like him.

"I thought you were Catholic, Jessup," Bree said, taking shallow breaths. The pungent odor of burnt flesh was beginning to overwhelm the air around them.

"So?"

"So isn't taking the Lord's name in vain a sin or something? Aren't you afraid you'll go to Hell?" Bree started to laugh but inhaled a bit too deeply and coughed. "Jesus Christ...the smell," she muttered under her breath.

"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?" Mark asked, referring to her earlier rebuke.

"Is that supposed to be a black person joke?" Bree asked, an eyebrow rising against her smooth ebony complexion.

Mark held up two hands in front of his chest. "Not at all. More like a bad joke."

"Stop trying to be a comedian and stick to your day job, Jessup. The dead don't want to hear your jokes...especially bad ones."

"You got it." Mark made his way to the back of the church.

Bree looked at her notes before calling out to an officer taking photographs. "How many bodies did you count?"

"Seven kids and four adults not including the driver," the officer answered.

"If the driver wasn't already dead, I'd kill him myself," Mark threatened.

"Did you just threaten to commit murder? Now I know that would be breaking a commandment," Bree said.

"It'd be worth it." Mark made his way towards the crucifix.

"Well you never know," Bree said,  staring into the remains of the truck. "Maybe he had a partner you can go after instead. There's got to be a reason why he did this."

"He was probably drunk or high. There's never a good reason to drive through a church," Mark muttered.

To the left of the crucifix were two large statues fallen on their sides. He could see human hair peeking out from beneath one of the statues. Blonde and brunette. He looked back at the officer Bree had talked to earlier and shouted, "It looks like we have a human sandwich over here! Did you count these two bodies as well?"

The officer's eyes widened. "No. I'm sorry, Detective Jessup. We didn't see them. I was told to just check the area by the altar."

Mark mumbled something about newbies needing to do their jobs right when he heard a soft groan coming from beneath the statues. He quickly pushed one of the statues aside to see two severely burned arms cradled against a child's back. Mark leaned forward and checked for the child's pulse.

Nothing.

He gently lifted the young boy, the burnt arms falling against their owner, to reveal a petite brunette with singed hair and a face damaged beyond recognition. A clear outline of where the child had lain was marked by the absence of burns.

Settled against her clavicle was a delicate necklace that bore a woman's name.

Calista.

Something foreboding tickled at the back of his mind. The name was familiar. Where had he heard it before? He shook his head and placed the boy next to the woman.

"We've got two more bodies over here!" Mark called out. He squatted down and stretched his hand towards the woman's neck. He was about to feel for a pulse when her eyes suddenly opened and two bright blue orbs stared back at him.

He lost his balance and fell back, his rear end hitting the floor. Her words were scratchy and almost inaudible but he still managed to hear them.

"Help me."

It was a heck of a way to spend the day after Christmas. Officer Jones knew when a spouse was truly grieving and Adam Hargrove was clearly telling the truth. At least Officer Jones was eighty percent sure he was. The other twenty percent was made up of the red-haired woman sitting next to Mr. Hargrove.

"You said you two had a fight?" Officer Jones asked, a pen and small notepad in hand. He leaned back against the worn-out sofa in Hargrove's living room. It was a little on the shabby side but was clearly kept clean. Family photos in cheap frames hung in an uneven pattern against the wall. One of the photographs was now in his possession. He stared at Hargrove's wife who had a pair of the most striking blue eyes he had ever seen. Were they contacts?

Adam ran a hand over his unshaven face. "For the tenth time, yes...we argued but it wasn't about anything major. We always argued but she's never left. Never. Something's wrong."

"And her family hasn't heard from her either?"

"No," Adam growled. "She has no family. I've told you this. Why aren't you looking for her?"

"Adam, calm down." The redhead patted his knee. She was dressed in a black designer dress Officer Jones recognized since his own wife had shown it to him the night before in a magazine. It was too expensive for a cop's salary and he had to disappoint her and tell her she would never be able to buy it. He bet the dress wasn't even a dent in the redhead's bank account. 

"Yvonne," Adam whispered, frowning down at her. She rolled her eyes. 

Officer Jones felt the eighty percent of belief he had in Adam Hargrove lower down to seventy-five.

"I'm sure she'll turn up...eventually," Yvonne said. "You just need to stay calm, Adam. You already have a lot going on at work. You don't need the extra stress."

Adam sighed and covered his face with both hands. "It's been two days, Yvonne. How can I calm down? My wife is more important than work."

Officer Jones noticed Yvonne's green eyes flicker in anger she hid so quickly, he barely noticed it. He cleared his throat and glanced back at Hargrove. "And she doesn't have any brothers or sisters?" 

Adam shook his head. "No, I told you, she's an only child."

"There isn't anyone who would want to commit foul play against her?" It took a lot of effort from Officer Jones not to stare at Yvonne.  

Adam Hargrove shook his head. "No, she's a substitute teacher and her only close friends live in Florida where her parents used to live before they passed."

"She was an introvert," Yvonne added. "She didn't seem to really have friends here. I tried to befriend her but she mostly wanted to keep to herself."

"Don't you mean is? She is an introvert?" Officer Jones' eyes narrowed as he took in the pair, "What did you two say your relationship was again?"

"Co-workers," Adam answered, moving slightly away from Yvonne.

"And friends." Yvonne smiled, slinking closer to Adam. "Close friends."

Her hand was still on Adam's thigh and Officer Jones sighed. He hated cases like this. Seventy-five percent became fifty.

"Do you think you'll find her? Calista and I haven't missed a Christmas together in ten years. We were high school sweethearts."

Officer Jones noted Yvonne's frown and nodded. "I hope so but sometimes it's difficult when the other person doesn't want to be found."

"Doesn't want to be found? Are you saying my wife left me?" Adam stood, causing Yvonne's hand to fall from his thigh. 

"Isn't that what you think happened?" Officer Jones asked softly, staring at the woman named Yvonne.

The redhead frowned. "Why are you looking at me like that? How am I supposed to know what happened to her? It's not like she ever talked to me."

Adam ignored her. He was pacing in front of the sofa. "She's my wife. I'm telling you, she wouldn't have left me."

Officer Jones stood up. "Well, we'll try our best to find her. I'll try and track her cellphone. Hopefully, that'll give us a lead."

"That's it?" Adam asked. "There's nothing else I can do?"

Officer Jones looked back at him, thinking how his wife probably got tired of her cheating husband. The redhead had her hands wrapped around Adam Hargrove's left arm and he didn't seem too bothered by it. He was clearly familiar with the other woman's touch. No, his belief in Adam Hargrove was now at zero percent.

Officer Jones bit back his disdain. "Try to have a happy new year, Mr. Hargrove."

In a mansion outside of town, Roger Lambert was running across the marble floors that led to his employer's study.

"They found her! They found her!" He slid into the room, almost falling over himself. "Mr. Dover, they found her!"

Sebastian Dover looked up from the pile of paperwork on his desk.  "Calista?" 

"Yes! They found her." Roger was now panting. 

Sebastian swallowed hard before asking, "Where? Where did they find her?"

"At St. Anthony's Church."

Sebastian's eyes widened. "The church with the car explosion? How...why?"

"I don't know but we need to get to the hospital as quickly as we can."

"The hospital?"

Roger nodded. "I don't know what she was doing there but she was at the church when the car explosion happened."

"They think it's her?"

Again, Roger's head bobbed up and down. "I've had our people keeping a watch at all the local hospitals in case she turned up. They called me right away. An ambulance brought her in. She was wearing her necklace. The one you gave her with her name on it."

Sebastian took a deep breath before lowering his shaking head. "I-I can't do it. You go, Roger. You identify her."

"Identify her?"

Sebastian nodded. "I won't. I can't. I'm not stepping into the morgue."

"The morgue? Mr. Dover, Calista isn't in the morgue. She's in intensive care."

"Intensive care? Then Calista...she's--"

"Alive," Roger finished. "Your sister is alive!"

Sebastian Dover was known as Antarctica. His cold and unflappable demeanor had earned him the nickname among his business colleagues. Of course, no one ever called him Antarctica to his face but somehow the moniker was widely accepted as being accurate. His personality was icy, massive, and unbreakable. Most days, he totally embodied the frigid continent. Today was no different.

Sebastian glanced at his Rolex before leaning into the leather interior of his Lincoln Town Car while deftly tapping his fingers against his knee. Through the car's tinted glass, he watched several bulky men in black suits herding reporters to one side while his assistant, Roger, opened the car door.

"Mr. Dover, I think we can get through now." Roger Lambert waited for Sebastian to step out of the car before quietly signaling the driver to leave.

A bevy of onlookers braved the humid heat to gather around the reporters and protesters. Months had passed but the horrific events from St. Anthony's hospital were still fresh in everyone's memory. Angry parents waved hand-made signs that read, "Justice for St. Anthony's Children!"

"Please hurry, Mr. Dover," Roger urged. "I can't guarantee they won't throw stuff at us. What if they throw peanuts? You know I'm allergic."

"I doubt they'll try to throw peanuts at us, Roger," Sebastian smirked, slightly turning his head to the crowd. 

The swarm of curiosity-seekers and angered parents remained focused on the statuesque blonde in the fancy pin-striped suit. The Adonis-like face of Sebastian Dover had become synonymous with success. His golden hair and soft caramel-colored eyes photographed on glossy magazine covers had mesmerized women while his reputation for being ruthless in business matters had convinced men he was someone to be reckoned with.

"Did you find out who leaked the pictures?" Sebastian asked, ignoring the questions being thrown at him by the reporters attempting to get past the hired guards.

"Why are you keeping this a secret?" one reporter yelled. "What are you hiding? What is Calista's condition? Is it true she had something to do with the St. Anthony's massacre?"

"Let me through!" a male voice vibrated towards Sebastian. With the help of his friends, the man was able to dodge the guards. "Your sister was in that truck! Why are you trying to cover it up? Don't you feel bad for our poor children? Don't you care about anything?" The man continued to shout as he was being dragged away. "Calista Dover is a child murderer! She deserves to die!"

Sebastian paused mid-stride and the reporters became quiet, waiting for him to turn and address them. Instead, he straightened his shoulders and pushed his aviator sunglasses up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger before continuing down the cement walkway that led to the entryway of Hollow Oaks Hospital.

Once the reporters were no longer in sight, Roger answered Sebastian's question on who leaked his sister's pictures. "Apparently it was a nurse. She said she was desperate. Her parents passed away in a car accident last month and she'd been supporting her brothers and sisters ever since."

"Was she fired?" Sebastian asked, his leather dress shoes tapping against the marbled floor of the private hospital.

"Yes," Roger answered as he pressed the button to open the elevator doors.

Hands behind his back, Sebastian nodded. "Good."

As was their normal ritual for the past few months since Calista was admitted, Roger turned to head back downstairs once they had reached Calista's room.

"Roger?"

Roger looked back at Sebastian. "Yes, sir?"

"The reporter and that man...the ones who spoke Calista's name..."

Roger's body tensed but he nodded. "I'll find out who they are for you, sir."

"And?"

"And I'll take care of them," Roger answered.

"I'll call you when we're ready," Sebastian said before turning his back and dismissing his assistant.

Calista was asleep. Sebastian sat across from her and took in her bandaged face. It had been a miracle that she was still alive. Short spikes of dark hair sprung free from some of her bandages and Sebastian smiled.

Calista was alive.

His adopted baby-sister was still around to be his family. He leaned forward and grasped her hand. When the police had informed him she was one of the victims at St. Anthony's church, he was stunned. What had she been doing there? Calista wasn't exactly religious. At least not that he knew of. He wanted it confirmed before he agreed to believe it was her since they were going off of a necklace and an almost unrecognizable face. One look at her blue eyes, and he knew the woman found in that church was his sister. She had the same eyes, the same blood type, and most importantly the gold necklace with her name that he had given to her years ago.

"I'm going to treat you better this time, Calista. I promise. I won't ignore you anymore," Sebastian whispered.

The nurse who had leaked Calista's whereabouts and medical status to the media had been fired. Now Sebastian was dealing with the morbid curiosity of strangers. He hated that there were people accusing her of being involved in the murder of all those children. Her vocal cords were finally healing after two separate surgeries. All she needed to do was explain to him what she had been doing in the church. Sebastian knew Calista would have a plausible explanation. She was innocent. She had to be.

He kissed her hand. "I believe in you, Calista."

Calista's eyes slowly opened, revealing her familiar cerulean eyes.

Sebastian smiled. "Good morning, Calista. After all the surgeries, I bet you're ready to go home. No more reconstructive surgeries and no more operations. We'll remove the bandages today. The doctor said your throat should be feeling better too if you want to try talking. It's been so long since I heard your voice. Is there anything you want to say?"

Her brows furrowed together as she nodded.

"Go ahead," Sebastian urged her.

The words were rough, almost gravely as she spoke, "Who-"

"Who?" Sebastian repeated.

"Who...are...you?"

"You don't know who I am?" His voice came out like a hiss of steam, loud and abrupt.

Calista gave a slight shake of her head and watched the panic set in his eyes.

"Doctor! Dr. Mason! Get in here now!"

His demanding tone made Calista wonder how much importance he really held. For weeks, she had watched him sit at her bedside, offering gentle words of encouragement. He reminded her of the sun with his bright appearance and warm demeanor.

She knew he was responsible for her medical care as the doctors had always deferred to him when making decisions. She couldn't speak. Even now her throat felt raw. Still, she was grateful for his help. But he was a stranger to her.

"What is it, Mr. Dover?" a doctor with purple glasses came stumbling through the door followed by two nurses. "Is something wrong?"

"Is something wrong?" Sebastian mimicked the doctor's question. "She doesn't know who I am! What the hell are you people doing around here?"

"Amnesia?" a nurse offered.

"Aren't I paying you to make her well?" Sebastian spat. "How could something like this happen?"

"Well, to be fair," the doctor said, fumbling with his glasses, "she hasn't been able to speak so she couldn't really tell us that she didn't remember who you were."

Sebastian cursed under his breath before turning to Calista. "Do you remember your name?"

Calista nodded, hoping they wouldn't ask her to answer a ton of questions. Speaking still hurt her throat.

The doctor stepped forward. "I'm Dr. Mason. I've been one of the physicians treating you. Ms. Dover, can you tell me your name?"

"C-Calista."

"That's a relief." Dr. Mason smiled. "At least she remembers her name."

"I've been calling her Calista for the past few months," Sebastian reminded him through clenched teeth. "Of course she knows that's her name."

Calista had never seen him so upset. A shiver of fear run through her and before she knew it, she was crying.

Sebastian turned to Calista and frowned. "What's wrong, Calista? Are you alright?"

"You're scaring her," Dr. Mason answered puffing his chest out and moving closer to the distressed woman. "Ms. Dover? Calista? I know not remembering who you are is very frightening. Don't worry. Amnesia is hardly ever permanent. We'll just need to help you trigger your memories."

"Hardly ever permanent?" Sebastian repeated. "She's been like this for months!"

"I'll look over her charts," Dr. Mason said to himself. He turned to his nurses, "She's upset. Give her a sedative before leaving and order an MRI. Pull up her blood work again. We'll double-check everything just to be on the safe side."

The nurses followed the doctor's orders before shuffling out of the hospital room, the doctor right behind them, leaving Sebastian and Calista alone.

"Do you really not remember who I am?" Sebastian asked. "It's me, Sebastian. I'm your brother."

Brother?

Calista wondered if she had woken into some kind of alternate universe. If her throat was in better condition, she'd explain that there must be some kind of huge mistake. She didn't have a brother.

"I know you're scared, but I don't want you to worry. Even if you don't remember who I am...I'm here for you."

Calista's eyes widened as a knock on the door grabbed her attention.

"Come in," Sebastian called out.

A thin man with dark hair and a relaxed smile entered. "Mr. Dover, I forgot to give you this."

Calista watched as he handed a tablet to Sebastian.

"Did you take care of what I asked you to, Roger?"

"Yes, sir. It's been handled."

"Are the reporters still outside?"

"Yes," Roger answered, his eyes on Calista.

"My sister doesn't like to watch television but she loves to read the society pages and gossip rags so thank you for bringing it up," Sebastian said, pulling up an application on the tablet. He turned to Calista. "You can read anything you want here. US, People, or whatever it is that you normally read."

Calista frowned.

I don't read gossip magazines.

"Sir, you have a meeting in an hour. You asked that I remind you," Roger said softly.

Sebastian cursed again while looking at his Rolex. "It can't be helped. Calista, I have a meeting but I'll be back tomorrow. I know it doesn't seem like it, but the doctors here are supposed to be the best."

Sebastian leaned over her and kissed her bandaged forehead. "Don't worry. I'll take care of everything."

Roger continued watching her with knitted brows until Sebastian passed him. Then he slowly turned and followed his boss out the door.

I'm not Calista Dover and I don't have amnesia. I'm Calista Hargrove. I'm married to Adam Hargrove and I work as a substitute teacher.

A momentary pang of regret filled her as she thought of Adam and how worried he must be. She must've been in the hospital for months. Calista tried piecing everything together. They had called her Calista Dover. He was Sebastian Dover. The name was slightly familiar. She picked up the tablet and typed in his name. Numerous articles detailing his business accomplishments came up. She typed in Calista Dover and images of a beautiful woman with big blue eyes stared back at her. Calista Dover was everything Calista Hargrove was not.

Calista Dover wore short sparkly dresses and hung out with celebrities at clubs and fancy dinners. Calista Hargrove wore modest clothing and only hung out with the young children she substituted. An article caught her attention.

Calista Dover Embroiled in St. Anthony's Massacre

She clicked the link and gasped.

Calista Dover, the adopted sister of business tycoon Sebastian Dover, was the sole survivor of the explosion that took place at St. Anthony's Church last Christmas Eve. The explosion was caused by a truck crashing through the church, killing two young children in its path. The explosion, now known as St. Anthony's Massacre, took thirteen lives total. Ms. Dover is believed to have been a passenger in the truck.

According to the family lawyer, David Kim, Ms. Dover had been missing for several days and it is believed she was abducted by the driver of the truck. As Ms. Dover has been in and out of critical condition and unable to speak, authorities have yet to obtain an official statement from her.

"Once Ms. Dover is able to speak, we'll be sure to get a statement. I promise you that," Detective Mark Jessup with the Clayton Police Department has stated.

Calista let the tablet fall to her chest as images of that night flashed through her head. She saw a rope, a man with dark hair and eyes, a crooked smile, the truck, and her husband.

Adam?

Calista couldn't remember why she had been in that truck. She remembered Adam being on the phone and then urging her to go back home. Then everything became fuzzy. Her fingers made small circular motions against her temples as she tried to remember.

What happened?

She needed to talk to Adam. She looked over at the telephone near her hospital bed and grimaced. Talking would be difficult but she had to try. Her fingers slowly pressed the keys to Adam's personal cell phone number.

She only had to wait for it to ring twice before someone picked up.

"Hello?" It was a woman's voice.

Calista felt her blood run cold. Why was a woman picking up her husband's cell phone? She opened her mouth to speak when the woman continued talking.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" As if she were holding the phone away from her, her voice became muffled. "Adam, darling. You have a phone call but they're not answering!"

Calista quickly slammed the receiver down and took a few shallow breaths.

Adam, darling?

She pulled up the tablet and tried logging into her Facebook account but it had been deactivated. Instead of trying to reactivate it, she logged into her fake account that she used to lurk on other people's profiles when she was bored. She looked up Adam's account and her breath hitched in her throat. A recent photograph of him and a beautiful redhead had been posted.

One of the comments was from her best friend, Janelle.

"I'll find out the truth you cheating bastard! Just because the cops stopped looking doesn't mean I will too. I won't forget Calista!"

What was happening? Had Adam been having an affair? Her hands trembled as she scrolled down and clicked on the link to the woman's profile. Her name was Yvonne Barrette. Her profile was private but her profile picture was of her kissing Adam's cheek. He was smiling.

Something bitter crawled up her throat as she thought of the years she had spent supporting Adam through law school. Adam had always been very vocal about his beliefs and standing up for the voiceless. As a complete introvert, Calista admired him. They were total opposites but they matched each other in every way. At least that's what Calista had believed.

She wondered what she should do now. All she knew was that her husband had been having an affair and she had somehow gotten into a situation that had almost gotten her killed.

Could the two be related?

Calista pulled up the camera app on the phone and set the camera so she could see her face. With shaking hands, she slowly removed the bandages and gasped. Staring back at her was Calista Dover, the woman in the news articles. All this time that she couldn't speak...couldn't tell them she wasn't who they thought she was. Now the face she had been born with was gone. The much-needed reconstructive surgery she received had turned her into a stranger. Not that it mattered. Her husband seemed to be doing just fine without her.

The thought left her feeling numb. Sleep tugged at her eyelids. She wondered if Adam had really tried to kill her. Perhaps he had gotten tired of her quiet personality. Maybe if she had been more like Calista Dover, she wouldn't be in the situation she was in right now. If someone really had tried to murder her, wouldn't coming forward put her back in danger? And how would she tell the man named Sebastian that she wasn't his sister? No, she couldn't admit the truth of her identity to anyone just yet. Not until she knew the truth about what happened the night she ended up at St. Anthony's Church.

One final thought came to mind before she dozed off.

Where was the real Calista Dover?

"Do you love me?" Calista Hargrove asked her husband Adam, her arms curled up against his chest.

He leaned over and kissed her knuckles. "Of course I love you."

"Do you miss all the hot girls who used to follow you around?"

Adam chuckled. "Hot girls? As in plural? Like more than one? I thought there was only one. Just you--singular."

Calista blushed as she placed her palm against her husband's bare chest. They were in bed and she could feel his heart beating beneath her palm. "You always know what to say, don't you?"

"That's not true." Adam's eyes were focused on his wife. "I was tongue-tied the first time I met you."

"You were seven," Calista reminded him.

"Still...it was love at first sight. I think it took you longer to come around. I had to seduce you with some Milk Duds and a Pepsi."

Calista laughed. "Stop judging me! My mom never let me have sweets."

"I know. Once we shared that Pepsi, I knew you'd be coming back for more. You were mine." Adam tickled her side.

"Eww...you sound like a creep. I'll have you know that I've always liked you even before you shared your junk food with me."

"Really?"

"Really." Calista giggled. "The first time I met you, you were holding a puppy. How could I not have liked you?"

"So do you regret it?" Adam asked. He was tracing circles against her bare torso which was making it difficult for Calista to concentrate.

"Regret what?"

"Only being with me. We've been dating since we were teens," Adam whispered. He leaned over and gently kissed her lips. "Now we're married."

"Do you regret it?" Calista asked.

"Marrying you?"

"That...and not being with any other women besides me."

Adam grinned. "Well, it's unfortunate for all the women out there but not for me."

"Why not for you?"

"Because I have you. You're the only one I want."

Calista's lips curled upward. "That's right. You better not want any other women besides me."

"It's you and me for life, baby." Adam's lips met Calista's in a lazy kiss.

"Adam, I love you. You know that, right?"

"I knew that since I was seven and let you eat all my Milk Duds."

"If something ever happened to me, would you get remarried?" Calista asked.

Adam groaned. "That's such a mood-killer kind of question."

"I'm serious. Would you remarry?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I can't imagine feeling this way again about someone else."

"I'd want you to though."

"You'd want me to what?"

"Move on. I wouldn't want you to be sad and alone," Calista whispered.

"Even if something did happen to you...and knock on wood that it doesn't...but if something did, I'd never be alone."

"What do you mean? Do you have some side-chick I don't know about?" Calista's eyes narrowed and her husband laughed again.

"No. I just mean that I'd never feel alone because you'd always be right here." he placed his hands over her palm which was still covering his chest.

"Awww Adam, see? You do always  know what to say."

"Yes, my love, if you say so." Adam leaned over to kiss his wife.

Calista could barely open her eyes but she knew she was awake from the sound of the softly beeping medical equipment in the room. Why was Adam appearing in her dreams?

"You must have some sort of angel looking out for you to still be alive," a male voice whispered. "Don't worry, Calista, I'll keep your secret safe...for now. You just be good so we don't have any problems. Understand?"

Calista could hear the door to her hospital room shutting. For a moment, she let his words sink in. Did someone just threaten her? Was she still dreaming? Her eyelids felt like they were carrying ten-pound weights and before she understood what was happening, she was asleep once more.

Detective Mark Jessup had his arms crossed against his chest as he stared down at a sleeping Calista Dover.

"Even after what happened to her, she's a beauty," his partner, Bree, said in awe.

"Yeah, plastic surgery and a crapload of cash can do wonders," Mark said dryly. "What's that saying again? There's no such thing as ugly people-- just poor people. Anyone could be gorgeous with some plastic surgery. You think she's gonna wake anytime soon?"

"The doctor said they sedated her because she was upset on account of her amnesia."

Mark made a scoffing noise. "Now she has amnesia? How convenient. What is this? Some kind of Spanish soap opera? Ms. Dover? Ms. Dover, are you awake?"

"Mark," Bree hissed.

Calista's eyes slowly opened.

"Glad to see you're awake, ma'am. I'm Detective Jessup and this is my partner, Detective Wade. We have some questions to ask you about what happened on the night of December twenty-fourth at St. Anthony's church."

Calista's eyes widened in fear.

"You do remember what happened that night, don't you?" Mark asked, his pen and a small pad in hand. "You were the only surviving victim at St. Anthony's church. Can you tell us how you got there?"

The heart monitor attached to Calista was beginning to beep faster and it was becoming harder for her to breathe.

Distorted memories of her walking home and then being forced into a stranger's truck. She remembered being threatened at gunpoint.

"Are you starting to remember?" Mark asked, taking a step closer. His voice rose. "A lot of kids died that night. Their parents want answers. They deserve them."

"Are you okay?" Bree asked Calista who was gasping for air.

"What's going on here? Who let you in?" Dr. Mason asked as he and two nurses burst through the hospital room's door.

"Detectives Jessup and Wade," Mark explained, flashing his badge. "We're here to ask Ms. Dover a few questions."

"Not without our lawyer present," Sebastian's voice cut through the hospital room. "Roger, find out how intruders were allowed in Calista's room and see about getting her checked out. Clearly, this hospital isn't worth the money we're paying."

"Mr. Dover!" The doctor wrung his hands together in fear after giving Calista another sedative through her IV.

"No need to get upset," Mark said, grinning. "We're just here to ask some friendly questions."

"That's not what it sounded like." Sebastian pulled out his cell phone. "I'll give you five minutes to leave the hospital before I call whoever is above you and have you fired."

"Is that a threat?" Mark stepped forward.

"Wait and find out." Sebastian's eyes locked with Mark's.

Bree tugged at her partner's sleeve. "Let's go, Jessup. We can question her after she's released."

"It's already been months!" Mark brushed her hand away before glaring back at Sebastian. "You think because you're rich you can hide the truth? It'll be a real shame if it turns out that your sister had something to do with the deaths of all those people that night, huh?"

"I think it would be wise for you to listen to your partner," Sebastian said smoothly.

"That's right. Act like you're not bothered by us but just remember." Mark pointed towards Calista. "No matter how long it takes...we'll be waiting to hear the truth."

Sebastian smiled as Bree dragged Mark out of the room.

"This isn't over, Dover!" Mark shouted before feeling like an idiot. He whispered to Bree, "That rhymed. Over. Dover." 

Bree grimaced. "It didn't quite have the effect you wanted it to."

He turned back to Sebastian. "I'll find out the truth!"

Outside of the hospital, Bree shoved Mark. "If you want to get fired, that's on you, Jessup. Don't drag me down with you."

"C'mon Bree. You know he was trembling in his designer shoes."

She rolled her eyes. "That's not what it looked like to me."

"Why else would he threaten to bring in his lawyers or call the captain? He's got something to hide and I'd bet good money it has something to do with that pretty sister of his."

"Good money? You? Don't make me laugh."

"I'm serious. I know women and I've got Calista Dover all figured out."

"She didn't say a word to you so how could you possibly know anything?" Bree asked.

Mark winked at her. "My gut tells me everything I need to know and it's telling me that Rich Boy's sister is hiding something."

"And what is it that you think she's hiding?" Bree sighed.

"That she's a murderer," Mark answered.

"Well even that's true, you won't hear it out of her. You heard the brother. They're going to lawyer up and the case has been cold for months. Without any kind of clear confession from her, our case is dead in the water."

"Well, I guess I'm going to have to get a confession out of her then."

"And how do you plan on doing that?" Bree asked.

Mark grinned before answering, "Easy. I'll make her fall in love with me."

Bree looked at her partner and snorted. "Jessup, do you ever think about what's in your head before you actually say it?"

Mark shrugged, reaching into his pocket for a lollipop and his keys. "No. Why would I do that for?"

Bree shook her head, her shoulders jumping up and down in laughter.  "There's never a dull moment with you around. If your best idea is to get Sebastian Dover's sister to confess is to get her to fall in love with you, you might as well forget about solving this case."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mark popped the candy in his mouth and opened the door to his car, waiting for his partner to explain.

"It means you aren't exactly rich girl boyfriend material."

"Rich, rich, rich. Is that all you can say? And why the hell not by the way? Damn. That rhymed again, didn't it?"

Bree nodded, getting into Mark's car. 

"I'm a good-looking guy. I'm funny. I have a respectable job," Mark counted off the reasons against his fingers. "I don't hog the sheets."

"Two of those are subjective. Besides, you're not charming enough to win someone like her over."

"Whoa...whoa... whoa...now I'm really starting to get my feelings hurt here. I ooze charm. Do you smell that?" Mark asked, sniffing the air. "That's the smell of my charm oozing out of me--it's so strong! I can't control it."

Bree laughed. "You're  so immature. Are you sure it's not your cheap cologne? We need to think of another angle when it comes to this case. What are we missing?"

Mark popped his lollipop in his mouth and started the engine of his car. "Well, we've investigated the driver, Trey Dawson. He was just a punk for hire but nothing big. Just small stuff. The million-dollar question is why would Calista Dover get in a car with him, to begin with?"

"If she's crying amnesia there's no way we'll find out by asking her."

"The brother won't talk to us. He just keeps talking about his lawyers. Is that all rich people can say when they're being accused of murder?" Mark shook his head before turning the car towards the police station.

"Of course but crying 'lawyer' makes him that much more suspicious," Bree said while digging through her purse for some gum. Chewing the stuff always made her concentrate better.

"Calista Dover is supposed to be single," Mark said. "What if she isn't?"

"Or wasn't," Bree murmured. Her head popped up and she stared at Mark with wide eyes. "Dawson! Do you think she was dating Trey Dawson and kept it hidden?"

"It's possible. It may seem unusual but she could've been dating him. You know these rich girls like to live dangerously by slumming it with us regular guys."

"That's a stereotype," Bree said.

"Girls like her don't stay single. Maybe she wanted to know what it was like to have a poor lover. Eating out at McDonald's, drives down country roads, watching Netflix...you know, dates on a budget."

"Is that what you do with your women?" Bree shook her head. Mark chuckled. "No. Calista Dover's known for being a party girl. She would never have willingly gone out with someone like him. Some of the interviews even indicated that she had a thing about germs. Why would she purposely associate with someone as scruffy as Trey Dawson?"

"Don't speak ill of the dead," Mark reminded her absent-mindedly now crunching on the hard candy of the lollipop he had been sucking on earlier. "What if Dawson really did kidnap her? Or what if she was at that church for a totally different reason? All this time we've been assuming that she was somehow responsible but what if she was also a victim?"

"What would be the reason for him to kidnap her? Money's the obvious answer but her brother denied ever receiving a ransom request. As for her being in the church, none of the other church members recognized her as someone that attended St. Anthony's so her being there would be pretty far-fetched."

"Far-fetched but not impossible." Mark tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. "The truck was so destroyed it was hard to prove someone was in there with Dawson. What if she really was in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

"More like the wrong place at the worst time. If that was the case, then why did Dawson ram into that church? Let's say he did abduct her and she tried to get away. They struggled over the steering wheel and bam...they head into the church." Bree clapped her hands together for emphasis. It was a scenario they had gone over before but Mark nodded as though it was the first time he'd heard it.

"But Dawson wasn't smart enough to come up with such an elaborate plan. He was just a gofer and never the mastermind. Maybe someone hired Dawson. Maybe whoever hired Dawson was the secret boyfriend."  

"Then we're back to Calista Dover and it's all speculation unless we have some proof. How do we get her to talk? We can't get near her when her brother is around," Bree reminded Mark. "If she really is innocent, don't you think she'd feel bad about the people who died that night? Wouldn't she want to help us figure out what happened?"

"You're assuming that she isn't a cold-hearted shark like her brother. You think she might talk if we remind her about all the victims?" Mark asked. He quickly shook his head, answering his own questions. "These rich people are all the same so I wouldn't bet money on her."

"Another stereotype. Anyway, I don't know but it's something to think about," Bree said softly before finding her gum and popping it into her mouth. "It's our job to find out one way or the other. Someone has to be held responsible for St. Anthony's and the public isn't satisfied with just Trey Dawson."

"No." Mark sighed tossing the stick of his eaten lollipop into the change tray of his car "The people want blood. And it's more exciting for them when it's blue blood like Calista Dover's."

Money equals power. Power means safety. Safety means staying alive.

Calista recited the phrase in her head as she was wheeled out of the hospital by Roger Lambert, Sebastian Dover's assistant.

"Don't worry, Ms. Dover. The reporters won't see you. This is a secret exit especially designed for the hospital's wealthier clients. They've assured me that not one picture of you leaving the hospital will be taken," Roger said in a friendly voice. 

Calista nodded. It was weird to have someone call her Ms. Dover. That wasn't her name. She could've walked out of the secret entrance but Roger insisted that he push her out in a wheelchair. Calista had received physical therapy weeks ago. She was as good as new with the exception of her throat and her mind. She still couldn't recall the night she ended up in that church.

A shiver ran through her as she tried to remember what happened.

"Are you cold?" Roger asked.

Calista shook her head, her fingers wrapping around the armrests of the wheelchair.

"Mr. Dover insisted you be discharged after those detectives came by this morning. He asked that I remind you not to talk to anyone without your lawyer present. If you need a private nurse, that can be arranged."

Calista was confused by the man named Sebastian. Why did his actions insinuate guilt on her behalf? Calista had seen the online articles about the victims of St. Anthony's church. The public was blaming her as a passenger of Trey Dawson's truck. It was as if they assumed they both purposely drove into the church.

Why was I there?

The question was one Calista was beginning to believe she'd never solve.

Roger ensured her safety on the ride to what he referred to as the mansion.

Mansion?

Calista couldn't imagine living in a mansion and her breath caught in her throat when they pulled up to Sebastian Dover's residence. It was a mansion alright. Lush gardens surrounded the walkways which led up to the massive home.

"I...I live here?" Calista pointed to Sebastian's home.

Roger frowned. "You don't remember? Oh, that's right...Mr. Dover mentioned you had amnesia. No, you don't live here...well you didn't. You do now. You used to have your own condo downtown."

"Used to?"

Roger cleared his throat. "Mr. Dover had me get rid of the condo. He advised me that it would be in your best interest to live here."

"I see," Calista whispered, not really seeing anything. She bit the inside of her mouth, a habit she had when she was having a tough time staying quiet.

"I'm sorry."  Roger grimaced. "I can tell you're upset but I did warn him you wouldn't like being told what to do. He said your health came first and you could yell at him all day I was still to get rid of the condo."

She was tasting blood now. So her brother knew his sister wouldn't like him selling her home but he did it anyway? She felt slighted on behalf of Calista Dover.

"He wanted me to tell you that he wouldn't be home for dinner today. He had an unexpected meeting come up two towns over. I'm to stay with you at the mansion until he returns tonight. Are you okay with that?" Roger asked tentatively.

Calista wondered what he would have done if she shook her head that it wasn't okay. Would he have stayed anyway?

After he stepped inside, Roger led her to her room and reminded her that dinner would be served soon. She shook her head and pointed to her stomach before mouthing, "Not hungry."

Roger nodded. "Well it's getting late. You should get some sleep."

He closed the door behind him and Calista quickly scanned the room. Until she could figure out what was going on with Adam and her supposed death, she had decided to pose as the rich Calista Dover. She looked like her so it wouldn't hurt for the time being. She'd need to know as much about Calista Dover as she could. The room itself didn't give away any clues. It was as if someone had decorated it to match a variety of feminine tastes. Cream-colored walls with satin curtains and wooden floors. The vanity was decorated with pictures of her and Sebastian.

She didn't live here so Sebastian probably had someone decorate it.

Calista sighed. The room would be no help to her. After getting ready for bed, she crawled beneath the covers and switched off the bedside lamp. Two hours later, the door to her bedroom creaked open and the light from the hall woke her.

A dark figure stood in the light but she couldn't make out his face.

Calista kept her eyes slightly closed, feigning sleep. Her hands tightened around the blanket wrapped around her when the figure started to walk closer to her. She could hear his footsteps against the wooden floor.

Step. Step. Tap.

Step. Step. Tap.

She bit the inside of her mouth and waited.

"Calista?" the male whispered.

Calista didn't know what was going on but she was starting to believe that whatever she thought she had dreamt at the hospital earlier wasn't a dream and perhaps both she and Calista Dover had been in some serious trouble.

She squeezed her eyes tight when she felt an icy-cold hand on her cheek and despite the pain in her throat, Calista gave a blood-curdling scream.