I surface from the nightmare, sweat-soaked and shaking, a roaring in my ears. I wish I could say this is unusual, but I honestly have no idea what normal is for me. This is my third dawn, waking up with no memory of myself.

I wait for my body to realize it’s only lying on a soft mattress, not in the clutches of some amorphous shadowy threat. The window in what I think of as Pastor Susan’s room-for-wayward-strays is large. Even with the curtains drawn, I can tell the sky has lost the dense blackness of night in the mountains. As my heart subsides, the tidy silence of the house slides back in to fill the gaps.

Too restless to wait politely for my host to wake up, I creep silently to the guest bathroom. In the shower, I try to wash away the dregs of unease and dread from the nightmare. If only I could get rid of them as easily as I do the sticky patches of sweat, vanquished with organic locally-made soap and grim determination. Once dry, I swap the damp pyjamas for the clothes Susan’s laundered for me. Laundered because borrowing pyjamas is my limit and I have no money to buy anything to “tide me over.”

I hear Susan in the kitchen. Moving through the living room, I resist the urge to peek past the curtains at the RCMP car parked at the curb. I try to feel grateful about it, but mostly, I just feel foolish. Who could I possibly be, to need police protection? Pushing useless speculation aside, I slap on a cheerful face to join Susan for breakfast. Over bagels and cream cheese, chased with strong bitter coffee, I make stilted, polite conversation.

I insist on helping out again, another full day at her church. I help move chairs in the sanctuary space into a circle for the mid-morning AA/NA group. I reset those same chairs for a noon luncheon, adding tables where directed. I haul dirty dishware and I fold up tables, then re-align the chairs for an evening service. Susan makes sure there are people around me all day long, people she trusts.

Over the interminable hours, I wait for a phone call from the RCMP, telling me they’ve found someone who knows me. But that’s not the call that comes. Instead, they tell me they need to move on. They have other cases and they’ve done as much as they can for now. They assure me they haven’t abandoned my case.

Now, I sit on the bed in the guest room, staring at the polished wood floorboards. I can feel the presence of the mountain range, on the other side of the window, shrouded in darkness once more as night falls. Tomorrow awaits on the other end of another troubled sleep, if I can get to it. Which I want to. Because I’ll get to see the one person I feel I can trust right now. I let myself smile, just a little. It doesn’t last.

Finally, I look up, out the window, toward the east. Toward where I woke up on a chilly morning, two days ago. I want desperately to understand what brought me there, a lonely patch of grass beside a curving stretch of the TransCanada Highway. I don’t know anything remotely useful about myself right now, but I know I need to get back there.

I just don’t know how.

In the Dark We Forget
Genre: Psychological Suspense
Release: June 2022
Purchase Link

A jolting psychological suspense novel from an up-and-coming Chinese-Canadian crime writer about missing parents, a winning lottery ticket and the lies we tell ourselves in order to survive.

Some things are better left forgotten . . .

When a woman wakes up with amnesia beside a mountain highway, confused and alone, she fights to regain her identity, only to learn that her parents have disappeared—not long after her mother bought a winning $47 million lottery ticket.

As her memories painfully resurface and the police uncover details of her parents’ mysterious disappearance, Cleo Li finds herself under increasing suspicion. Even with the unwavering support of her brother, she can’t quite reconcile her fears with reality or keep the harrowing nightmares at bay.

As Cleo delves deeper for the truth, she cannot escape the nagging sense that maybe the person she should be afraid of. . .is herself.

With jolting revelations and taut ambiguity, In the Dark We Forget vividly examines the complexities of family—and the lies we tell ourselves in order to survive.

Meet the author
Sandra SG Wong (she/her) writes fiction across genres, including the cross-genre Lola Starke novels and Crescent City short stories. A Crime Writers of Canada Awards of Excellence finalist and Whistler Independent Book Awards nominee, as well as a speaker, mentor, and hybrid (indie/trad) author, Sandra is Immediate Past President of Sisters in Crime and a proud member of Crime Writers of Color. A standalone suspense, In The Dark We Forget is her most recent release. Connect with her on Twitter @S_G_Wong, Instagram @sgwong8, and via sgwong.com.

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