Mystery Woman

Copyright © 2020

First, I'd like to thank blackrandI1958 for inviting my participation in, "Hanging by a Thread." As anyone knows by reading my stories, I am not a professional witer, but I do love to write, and these invitationals are always a challenge and fun to work on.

I hope you enjoy the story, and as always, I enjoy reading your feedback.

*****

As he left the apartment for work that day, Morgan Johnson had no idea of the events that would show him how much of life he took for granted, and how greatly things could change.

He had always considered himself appreciative and thankful for life's blessings; after all, both his and his wife's parents were alive and healthy, for the last three years he'd been happily married to his high school sweetheart, and he loved being a press photographer for, The Tribute, one of two major Chicago newspapers.

*****

Nodding and saying good morning to the various reporters, Morg, as everyone called him, navigated his way through the newsroom to get his assignments for the day. Andy, the photo editor, wasn't at his desk, but Morg's assignment cards were all there so he grabbed them and started his retreat.

"Morg, hold on, I've got one more for you, here."

He turned to see Andy walking his way with another assignment card in hand. He glanced at it as he took it from his boss. "Is this the girl who's in the coma?"

"Yeah, well, I guess she came out of it a few days ago, but now she's got amnesia; poor girl can't remember a thing. The cops want us to get a full face and a profile shot of her and run it on the front page to see if anyone recognizes her. We said we would."

Morg looked at the card a little closer. "There's no time on it."

"She's not going anywhere. Any time you can work it into your schedule is fine," Andy replied.

Morg shuffled through the rest of his assignments. "Okay, I've got some time around one. I'll scoot over there after I grab some lunch."

"That'd be great. I'll call the hospital and let them know you're coming."

It was about ten minutes after the hour when Morg checked in at the front desk. They gave him a pass and let him know the room number. He was surprised to see one of Chicago's finest standing guard outside the woman's door. Getting to know most of the cops on a first name basis was one of the perks of the job.

"Charlie, what are you doing here?"

"Hi, Morg, you here to take pictures of our mystery girl?"

"Yeah, I guess. I wasn't expecting to see you here, though. Is she wanted for something?"

"No, no. She's not a perp; she's a victim. I really don't agree with this picture idea, but we can't talk her out of it, so..."

Morg was perplexed. "So? So what, I don't get it. I thought the paper was doing you guys a favor by showing her picture on the front page."

"No, you're doing this at her request, not ours. Even my lieutenant tried to talk her out of it."

"Why?"

"Because we don't know what kind of danger she might be in. She was shot in the head." He saw Morg's jaw drop. "It looks like she was attacked, gang raped, then shot in the head. We think the attackers left her for dead. We're afraid they'll try to finish the job if they know she's still alive."

"Who's handling the case?"

"Detective Nobles, but Lieutenant Ashwood is taking a special interest in it, too; I think because of the violent nature of the crime."

"Did you ever find out who dropped her off in front of the emergency room?" Morgan asked.

"No," Charlie replied. "We think some Good Samaritan found her and dropped her off, but he obviously didn't want to get involved. When we checked the CCTV footage, we saw he smeared mud over his license plate and wore a Cub's baseball cap. How many of those are there in Chicago?" He chuckled.

"Well, if no one thinks this is a good idea, who came up with it in the first place?"

"Some idiot nurse, and once it was mentioned, the girl has been adamant about it."

It didn't make sense to Morg. "That's nuts. She's putting her own life in jeopardy."

"I know," Charlie said with a shrug of his shoulders. "Why don't you give it a shot? Maybe she'll listen to you."

"Consider it done," Morg stated with conviction as he walked passed Charlie and into the mystery woman's room.

She didn't look nearly as bad as Morg had anticipated. He expected her entire head to be wrapped in bandages, but the bullet had caught her from behind and grazed the side of her head, cracking her skull and taking off a small part of her right ear. He could see where they had shaved her hair in a couple different places but some of it had grown back in already. She had a pretty large bandage on the back of her head, but from the front, had a very pretty face, even without make-up.

She literally lit up when she saw him walk in. "You're the photographer from the paper?"

"Yeah, how are you doing?"

"Oh, just fantastic." She laughed.

"Listen, I was talking to Charlie out in the hall. He thinks this is a bad idea and I completely agree with him."

Her small smile turned into a frown. "What's your name?"

"Morgan," he answered. "Morgan Johnson, but people call me Morg."

"Nice, isn't it?"

He was a little confused. He'd never thought of his name in those terms before. "Nice?"

"Yeah... to know your name, I'll bet you also know where you live, and how old you are, too. You obviously know what you do for a living. Do you know if you're married, your wife's name, who your friends are, who your parents are? Got any kids? Can you remember their names, how about where you went to school? You have any memories of growing up?"

He just stood, staring at her. He couldn't even contemplate not knowing all that stuff.

She could tell what he was thinking. "Yeah," she said, "now you have a small idea of what my world is like. I don't care about the danger. If there's a chance of someone out there being able to tell me who I am or help me remember something, I'm going to take it."

Morgan was still trying to come to terms with what she was saying. "I... you're right, I can't even imagine how hard that would be, but..."

"But nothing," she interjected. "This should be my decision, not yours. Your paper already said they'd do it."

"Yeah, I know, but I've got a personal stake in this, too, you know. What if something happens to you because of the pictures I take? How do you think that would make me feel? At least give it some time. Maybe your memory will come back on its own."

She let out a big sigh of frustration. "Fine, if you're not going to take the pictures then get out. I'll call the other paper. I'll find somebody who'll do it."

That angered him. "There's one thing you haven't forgotten: how to be pig-headed," he growled.

She couldn't help but chuckle under her breath. "Well, are you going to take the pictures or do I get the nurse to call the other newspaper?"

Obstinate in his own right, Morgan just stood there staring at her.

"Fine!" she said, not waiting for him to answer. "Go on, get out. Nurse!"

"All right, damn it, okay, I'll take the fricken pictures, but I still think you're nuts."

Suddenly, her face glowed with a hugh smile. "Look, the cops said they can set up a hotline. All the calls go straight to the police department so they can check out the callers."

"Why didn't you tell me that in the first place?"

"Why didn't you ask?" she responded with a smile.

"At least that will offer you some protection. I assume you'll be working with a therapist when you get out of here?"

"I'm not sure," she revealed. "The hospital has been trying to get some Medicare Emergency Fund to pay for the hospital expenses, but without even a social security number, they've been having a hard time. One of the nurses told me they might have to write it all off. If they're not going to pay the hospital, I doubt they'll pay for therapy."

"Well, somebody's got to do something. They can't just let you wander the streets with no food or shelter. Hell, you can't even apply for a job."

"You're not telling me anything I don't know, Morg. I'm praying I have family or friends in the area who will take me in. That's the reason for the photos. The hospital will have to release me in three or four days. I've got that long to find someone."

"What about a shelter? Surely, there has to be somewhere you could stay."

"Not as many as you think," she replied. "Most of them are for battered women and they're filled."

Until that point, she'd put up a tough front, but now Morg saw the tears. In all his experiences on the paper, he'd never seen anyone quite so helpless or vulnerable. He completely understood the reasoning behind posting her pictures, she literally had no choice. He walked over to the little table next to her bed and pulled a tissue from the box. "Here," he said as he handed it to her.

"Thank you." She felt a little embarrassed as she took it.

Morg adjusted his camera settings for the lighting in the room. "All right, look right into the camera. Perfect," he announced after snapping off a few exposures. "I'll photoshop all the tubes and medical equipment so you can't see them in the picture. That way no one will be able to tell you're in a hospital." He snapped off a few more for a profile. "Okay, that should do it," he told her. "They'll be in tomorrow's paper. I hope it helps."

She thanked him profusely before they said their goodbyes.

Charlie stopped him as he exited the room. "Well, did you talk her out of it?"

"No. She has no choice, Charlie. I just hope it works and she finds someone."

"Yeah, I know. Lieutenant Ashwood has someone at the station calling the shelters and human services, but so far it's a no-go. Everybody's filled to the max."

That night, Morgan told his wife about the young lady with no memory. He just kept shaking his head and talked about how horrible it had to be for her. "There are so many things that we take for granted and don't even think about. Can you imagine not even knowing your own name?"

"Not really," Brea replied.

She didn't seem to be as sympathetic as he was and couldn't grasp the scope of the girl's problems, but then, neither did he before meeting the mysery woman. "God, I hope she has family that recognizes her."

"If not, I'm sure they'll be able to get her in some shelter someplace," Brea responded.

"Yeah, but she really needs family or friends, somebody that can help her remember."

The next morning, Morgan got to work early. His first stop was usually the newsroom to collect his assignments, but he bypassed the elevator to the fourth floor and continued to the press room where the day's papers were still coming off the line. He smiled and waved at one of the press operators as he grabbed a paper.

The fourth floor was about half empty, but Andy was at his desk going through the day's photo assignments. He glanced at his watch when he saw his favorite photographer step off the elevator.

"Jeez, Morg, you're almost an hour early. Got a hot date or something?"

"Kind of," he chuckled. "I want to run by the hospital real quick and give the mystery girl a paper. I feel so sorry for her. She can't remember anything, Andy, not her name, where she's from, nothing."

"Yeah, I hope the mug shots work for her. Give me a few minutes, Morg; I'm still going through these," he admitted while shuffling the assignments cards around on his desk.

"I was going to give this to Ross, but since you're going to be at the hospital, I'll give it to you. It's at the Mayor's office. He's scheduled a ten o'clock press conference this morning. That should give you a little time to spend with your mystery girl. Busse will be there, too."

"Yeah, that works out great. Thanks, Andy." He left as soon as his boss handed him the rest of his assignments.

*****

"You still here, Charlie?"

"Hi, Morg, yup, still here, all day, not very exciting. McMaster's relieves me at three-thirty. It looks like they're going to release her day after tomorrow, then I'm back in a patrol car. Is that the paper?"

"Yeah," he answered, opening it up to the front page so Charlie could see it.

"Nice. Let's hope it does the trick."

"Yeah, do you know if they've found someplace for her to go, just in case?"

"I don't think so," Charlie replied.

She had her eyes closed when Morg walked in. Not wanting to disturb her, he gently laid the paper on top of the sheet. Feeling his presence, she opened her eyes and smiled at him.

"I thought you'd want to see it," Morg explained, gesturing to the paper.

Her eyes lit up and she excitedly opened it to the front page. "You take good pictures, Morg. Thank you. Is it out yet or is this hot off the press?"

"It'll be hitting the street in another half hour."

"Okay—good. Keep your fingers crossed for me, Morg."

"I am. I really hope this works out for you, everybody's pulling for you; just in case though, do you have a backup plan?"

"Not really, I know the cops are still trying to get me into a shelter, but so far I don't think they've been very successful. Charlie out there told me several have had to close for lack of funding and the ones still open are filled to capacity. They're taking up a collection for me at the precinct so I'll at least have a little money to start."

"That's a great idea. I could do the same thing at the paper."

"I'm not sure if I would normally take charity," she said with a small smile, "but I'm in no position to turn anything down. Anything you could do would be greatly appreciated."

Morg was ashamed that he didn't think of it himself. Time was of the essence and there was no way he'd make it back to the paper before mid-afternoon, so when he saw reporter Rick Busse at the mayor's press conference, Morg asked if he would get the ball rolling when he returned to the office. By the time Morg made it back to the paper, Rick had already been throughout the entire building and collected more than four hundred dollars. Morg had stopped at his bank during the day and added a hundred of his own to the kitty.

After dinner that night, he poured a glass of wine for Brea and himself and suggested they sit and listen to music instead of watching the boob-tube. He waited until they cuddled together with his arm around her before starting the conversation he'd been rehearsing.

"They took up a collection at work today for that woman with amnesia."

"Oh, and how much did we donate?"

"A hundred."

"A hundred dollars," she snapped.

"We can afford it."

"I know, but don't you think that's a little extravagant for somebody we don't even know?"

Okay, here goes nothing, he thought. "Ah, about that..."

"Now what? No, you can't adopt her," Brea snarked.

He chuckled. "I wasn't thinking of adopting her, but how about letting her stay here for a little while."

With that, Brea pushed herself away from him, sat up, and looked him straight in the eye. "Are you crazy?"

Morg knew it wasn't going to be an easy sell, but he was determined to give it his best shot. "Only until she can find someone who can help her," he explained.

"Honey, we got this three-bedroom apartment so we could have a home office and so your parents would have a room when they came up to visit. In three years, they've been here four times and every time they come they get a hotel room. That bed in there has never even been slept in.

"Maybe somebody will recognize her from the paper, but if not, she has nowhere to go, honey. She can't even rent a room because she has no ID. We can't just let her wander off and die in a gutter somewhere." He knew he was laying it on a little thick.

"Morg, you don't know anything about her. She could be a serial killer, for all we know. Didn't you tell me her life might be in danger? What about us? If she's living here, we could be collateral damage."

"I talked to the cops. They think she's pretty much out of danger by now. It's been a while since she was dropped off at the hospital, and with all the publicity about her losing her memory, they think it's highly unlikely that anyone would take a chance at trying to get to her after this length of time. Besides," he continued, "nobody's even going to know she's here."

Brea still wasn't convinced. "I don't like it, Morg. What if she begins to remember things and starts going crazy on us? I've heard that can happen."

"Honey, even with amnesia, she's one of the most level-headed people you'd ever want to meet. Believe me, if she starts getting her memory back, she's not about to go off her rocker."

"Morg, I just don't see why she's our problem all of a sudden. There are all kinds of charity services and shelters out there for people like her. What about all your cop friends? Can't one of them take her in?"

"They're still trying to find someplace for her to stay, but nobody's stepped forward and offered her a place to live."

"No one except my lonely hearts club husband," she snarked.

"Please, honey?" he asked.

Brea laughed at his miserable attempt at looking like a lost puppy. She sighed, miserable as it was, the lost puppy face was working. "Morg, you have to promise me that if it doesn't work out you'll find her someplace else to go."

He straightened his back. "Cross my heart and hope to die," he said, completing the hand gesture across his chest, "but I wouldn't be a bit surprised if you two didn't wind up as best of friends."

"Yeah, right," she smirked. "You're going to owe me big-time for this. You better be prepared to eat lots of pussy, buster."

"You know, I could do with some desert," he said with a glint in his eye.

"How about a nice big piece of pussy pie?"

It only took seconds for them to reach the bedroom and undress each other. He knew how much Brea loved to be eaten, but he still had to work his way down. She'd go crazy when his lips touched her neck and behind her ear. In just moments he could feel the passion building in her body, underscored by moans of ecstasy.

"Oh, God," she cried out as he reached her hardened nipples. God, he loved the softness of her breasts as he licked, sucked, and nibbled his way from one to the other. Instinctively, she caressed the back of his head with the gentlest encouragement as she took a deep breath. Morg smiled when he felt her body shudder with a small orgasm, already. He knew her body so well.

"Oh, yeah, oh God, oh honey," she cried out, breathlessly as he reached his southern most destination. His tongue slithered up and down the lips of her wet pussy, sending his lovely lady to the hights of her second orgasm.

His tongue seeked out the entrence to what he knew she craved. Upon its discovery, Morg delved in as far as possible. Cries of impending euphoria echoed from the walls as Brea's body wrethed with a craving lust.

"I want you inside me," she screamed.

That was music to his ears. The skin was stretched so tightly across his cock, he was literally in pain. He moved into position, hovering himself over her closed eyes, and gently stroked the inner walls of heaven. Intuitively, Brea threw her arms around her man and pulled him to her breasts. Morg felt the satisfaction of her nails digging into his back.

"Come with me, honey. I can't take any more, come with me," she begged.

"Oh, oh, oh," she yelped as he increased his speed. He had passed the point of no return as Brea's body froze in rapture.

"Ahhhhhh," he yelled as every nerve fired with intense euphoria. His hips moved with every powerful surge of cum. The world stopped as the physical manifestation of their love peaked in a world of their own.

It took several minutes before either were able to talk again. "I guess this means we're going to have a tenant, huh?"