Fugue in D Minor, part 3: a Madwoman and a Misplaced Garment

Part One   
Part Two
[Part Three]
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight

     I don't have any memories of opening a car's trunk, but I definitely didn't expect to be greeted by a crazed snarling shoeless psycho woman who jumped out swinging.

     “RAAAAH!”

     One of her flailing fists landed solidly on my nose. It hurt. I clamped my hands down on my nose as blood began to stream from it, which really did  nothing but make my cursing sound ridiculous.

     “AHHH DA FAAAAHH!?”

     A young woman with more malice in her eyes than I had ever seen in my five or six hours of life towered over me in her wrinkled pants and grimy shirt. She kicked me in the shin once almost lightly, and then wound up for another one, which felt like a light tap with a socket wrench followed by a sledgehammer-and-chisel combination.

     WHAM.

5:29.

     She had her hands up in some kind of improvised fighting stance, ignoring the new red splatters on her bare feet. I couldn't tell if the blood was mine or hers. I dropped my left hand from my nose, folding it into a fist, and sent it into her jaw with a flat solid smack like a belly-flop.

     She reeled from the blow, but as I readied another punch, she swung her elbow around behind her and located my temple-

6:13.

     Once I woke up and my nose had stopped bleeding, I tried to explain myself as I lay in the ground in submission, and although she, sitting nearby, nodded coldly, I could tell she believed very little.

     “So....how in HELL did you end up with my car?”

     I held my head in my hands. I kept answering the same halfway-disguised questions with the same information; that is to say, none at all. I was getting a little exasperated.

      “I don't know. The first thing I remember is driving it on the highway...this highway.”

     She stood and reached for a license plate that sat on the gravel. Nothing good could come of that.

     “That's bullshit and you know it. Where are your friends now, asshole?”

     “....What? Friends?”

     She walked toward me with the ragged metal plate that grew more and more ominous.

     “So they left all the dirty work to you. I guess there's no heroes among thieves after all. I hope I'm out of this gig before I'm the ass-end of some operation.”

      I said nothing and gave her a look of incredible confusion.

    Unnamed thugs....hmmmm.   Something dawned on me.

     "Wait, what did they look like?  Was one of them wearing these pants?"

     She gave me a look of such exasperation that I just shut up and decided to wait for her to talk, hoping that she wouldn't open my throat with the saw-like license plate.  Then she frowned.

     "Yeah....that's my blood on the right knee, but the guy who was wearing them was a hell of a lot bigger than you.  Hit me straight in the mouth."

     She gestured to her busted lips.   "So, how did you get his pants?  And my car?"

     "I told you, I don't know.  I remember how to do stuff, like drive a car, but I don't remember anything about my life."

      She sat back down and eyed me with reinforced suspicion.

“How did you end up in the trunk of your own car?”

     She glared at me. “Shut up,” she said flatly. She sounded like a raccoon that hadn't slept for a year.