Amnesia

5

"Take a seat," Izzy said. "I need to ask you some questions."
As Ryan entered the kitchen, he felt more steady on his feet. He was wearing the neighbour's red shirt, jeans and loafers. Making a mental note to wear Italian clothes more often, he stared at Izzy. A natural beauty, she had transformed into a yellow sweatshirt and blue jeans. Her hair was now let down and suited her petite face. Ryan noticed that her eyes were red like she'd been crying.
"Izzy, I'm sorry. I heard the phone call."
"That doesn't matter," she replied. "For now we need to focus on you." Her tone was firmer now.
"I need you to think," Izzy said. "Can you remember how we got here?"
"We arrived in a taxi, after being shot at."
Izzy continuously fired question at Ryan and each one he answered flawlessly.
"Final question. Shut your eyes," Izzy said. "Can you remember what I'm wearing?"
Ryan realised that she was testing his memory. He pictured her smiling.
"You're wearing a yellow sweatshirt and blue jeans. Your hair is dark, let down just below your shoulders and your eyes are brown."
"Good. That confirms it's only retrograde amnesia. Your memory should return during a day or two and there will be no permanent damage.                                                                                                          "I want to ring the English Consulate." Ryan said. "We need to get this over and done with."
Izzy picked up the phone, blocked her caller ID and dialled several numbers. It rang three times and then a sleepy sounding man answered.
"Consolato Inghilterra." He said with a yawn.
"Lei parla Inglese?" Ryan asked.
"Yep. How can I help?" The man seemed annoyed to be awoken at two in the morning.
"I'm an Englishman visiting Florence and I've been attacked. My name is Ryan Hanson."
"Passport number?" The man yawned.
"I think it's been stolen. I've been shot in the head and..."
The man woke up. "You were shot?! What's your name again please?"
"Ryan Hanson."
The line clicked several times and Ryan could hear typing. The computer pinged and there was a pause.
"Mr Hanson, we've been waiting for you to contact us. Thank God! Tell me where you are and we'll send someone to pick you up."
Ryan and Izzy exchanged suspicious glances. Ryan looked out of the window at the nearby hotel.
"Hotel Brunelleschi. Floor 2, Number 64." Ryan replied, quickly thinking up false information.
"Okay. Stay exactly where you are. I'm sending someone over to you right away. Then we can sort this out."
He hang up.
Realising they were parting ways soon, Ryan instantaneously felt guilty.
"Izzy, about Dr. Taylor... I'm so sorry."
She felt sad for a moment but then dispelled the melancholy thoughts. She knitted her eyebrows, thinking of the Consulate.
"I don't trust him," She said. "I'm glad you gave him the wrong adress."
"I guess we'll have to play the waiting game."

After several minutes, the sound of an engine neared. When Izzy looked out of the window, a shiver crept down her spine. Ryan came over. It was a black, BMW motorcycle with a rider hidden in a black leather jacket. Their suspicions were confirmed as the rider removed her helmet to reveal her unmistakable long, blonde hair.