Zoe felt odd. She felt like she was nobody. She needed to feel right. She needed an identity.
So, she left the club in search of one, leaving her ID and money behind. She wandered through the street for what seemed like forever. She wasn't keeping track of time, not in the state of mind to do anything but wander.
Eventually, her clothes rumpled, her makeup smudged, a hand took her arm. "Are you all right? Let's get you inside and cleaned up, and we'll call the police. What's your name?"
"Umm..." Zoe said, blankly. "I...don't know."
She was escorted inside, and instructed to sit. Meanwhile, her host went to the phone. "I'm calling to report a girl. She's sick. She can't remember who she is and she looks battered. I think maybe she's been attacked. Yes...I'll wait for the squad car. I'm getting her something clean to wear, but I'll keep her clothes so you can look at them for clues. She doesn't have any ID. I checked."
