I awake with a start, blanketed in darkness, my heart racing, my breath labored, with the last vestiges of a horrifying scene imprinted on my mind. Nighttime. A heavily wooded area. The headlights of a large dark-colored truck illuminate a hooded figure, cloaked in black, as it lurks over a still form. A blonde woman, scantily clad. I move to help her but can’t. My arms and legs are too weighed down to move. But it’s too late anyway. Her eyes—bloodshot, wide, fixed with the horror of a violent death—glare at me and tell the tale. A wave of remorse courses through my soul. I am to blame.

I feel the eyes of the demon upon me. Compelled by some unseen power, I return his scrutiny only to be met with a grotesque, devilish grin. He moves to the back of the truck and pulls a shovel from the bed. With a few swift and powerful strokes, he digs a shallow grave alongside the lifeless woman then, with a forceful push of his boot, rolls her corpse into the hole. Each shovelful of dirt he dumps atop her remains seems to weigh on my own chest, until finally, when the last of the earth has covered her, I can’t draw a single breath. With a puff of smoke, the phantom vanishes into thin air, releasing me from his spell.

Confused, I thrash around in the darkness. My hands somehow punch a light switch, casting a dim yellow glow over the room that reminds me where I am. A rehab center, recovering from a car accident that left me without any memory of who I am. My psychiatrist, though, thinks otherwise, says my memory loss is all in my head, that I’m hiding from myself. “Dissociative fugue,” he called it. PTSD is to blame. Like a shell-shocked soldier psychologically traumatized by battle, I fled my life dazed and confused until I mentally separated from myself, my memories, my life, and those in it. The terrifying flashbacks and nightmares haunting me since I woke up from my car accident yesterday suggest my doctor is right.

But was it an accident? I can feel it in my soul it wasn’t. That the ghoul hidden behind the cloak was involved somehow. Who is he anyway? Is he real, perhaps someone from my forgotten past? If so, what does he want from me? I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to recall his face, any hint of recognition that might be lingering at the threshold of my memory, but only see her. I shudder at the vision. The woman is real. I know it. Was I a witness to her death? A shudder courses through my body. Or was I the cause of her death?

The answers are locked in my mind. I must find the key to unlock that door—today—before my past catches up with me and leaves me no future.

Lest She Forget
Genre: Psychological Thriller
Release: December 2023
Format: Print, Digital, Audio
Purchase Link

Haunted by a forgotten past. Hunted by a ruthless killer. No one to save her but herself.

After surviving a car crash, Kay Smith wakes from a coma with amnesia, a battered face, and no one to vouch for her identity. Her psychiatrist is convinced that her memory loss is connected to the horrific flashbacks and nightmares haunting her. As she digs for clues to her past, Kay uncovers a shady character following her every inquiry. Who is he? And what does he want from her?

As Kay’s probes deepen, she realizes that everyone around her has deadly secrets to hide―even her. Emerging memories, guilty suspicions, and headline-screaming murders push Kay to come out of the shadows and choose: will she perpetuate a horrendous lie or risk her life to uncover the truth?

Meet the author
Lisa Malice is a psychologist-turned-crime fiction author. Her debut psych thriller, “Lest She Forget,” was released December 12, 2023, by CamCat Books. She is an active member of ITW, Sisters in Crime, and MWA. Learn more at LisaMalice.com. Follow Lisa at Facebook.com/LisaMaliceAuthor.