What did I do with that?
The doctor—he called himself Lawrence—said the memories I’d lost might return with time. I asked the probability of that happening.
His response was that he honestly didn’t know.
“After a certain amount of time, the chances of a patient reawakening after a brain injury such as yours become slimmer and slimmer. We honestly didn’t know whether you would ever wake up, August. This is rare. We’re all treading on uncharted ground at this point.”
August.
That was my name—August Kincaid.
But a name couldn’t tell me what kind of man I was—what kind of life I’d led. I would have said I’d never felt so lost or alone in my life…but had I?
My eyesight now well-adjusted to the fluorescent lights above, I stared ahead, trying to figure out a way to make sense of my new reality. My focus drifted toward the window, where the city spread out before me.
The nurses had explained to me I was in San Francisco. As I looked out onto the city below, it felt foreign and cold. Nothing stood out. Had I really lived here?
The door creaked open as Nurse Amy crept in once more.
“I brought you some food. Unfortunately it’s only applesauce and broth—but it’s a start,” she said with a subtle smile, setting the tray beside me. “I also managed to unearth your box of belongings if you’d like to look through them?”
“Belongings?” I asked, my attention now completely wrapped around the small cardboard box in her hands.
“Yes. When you arrived, you had some things with you. We saved them in case…well, I’ll just leave them right here.”
The doctor had mentioned I’d been in some sort of attack—a mugging, but hadn’t given me the details. He’d said it was best if we just started with the basics for now.
Placing the box on the bed next to my leg, she turned.
“Amy,” I said quietly, needing to know something…anything.
“Yes?” she asked, rotating back around. Her amber eyes brimmed with sympathy.
“Did anyone ever come to see me? Family, friends—anyone?”
Her lips pursed together as her face fell. “No, sir. Not since I’ve been here.”
“And how long has that been?”
“I’ve been working this wing for a little over a year and a half, sir.”
I swallowed the giant lump in my throat as I quickly thanked her. Listening to the door quietly click closed behind her, I glanced once more out the window to the thousands of streets and houses below.
Dr. Lawrence had told me I had been “asleep” for a little over two years—twenty-six months, to be exact. It was like falling asleep on a plane ride and waking up three hours later as the pilot announces your final descent—only you’re still stuck at the beginning, wondering where your complimentary beverage and peanuts are. Everything seemed to have happened in a blink of an eye because you were asleep during all the action.
I’d missed over two years of my life—a life I didn’t remember. A life no one wanted to be a part of.
I was already learning about the type of man I had been.
No family or friends—I was either a loner or an asshole. I didn’t know which was worse.
* * *
My hand shook as I pulled the box into my lap, preparing myself for what may lay hidden within. I felt nervous and sick with anticipation. I suddenly wanted to flee, but where would I go? And how would I get there? Moving my leg took more concentration than I was willing to admit and I was still attached to what looked to be a hundred monitoring devices.
The box stared back at me, waiting…wondering when I would crack its lip and finally divulge the secrets it had been keeping for so long.
What if I didn’t like what I found? What if I did?
Taking a deep breath, I placed my hand on the lip and pulled, knowing there was only one way to find out.
All neatly arranged inside, I found clothes, a wallet, and a scattering of other personal belongings. I immediately went for the wallet, knowing it would hold the most information. With everything else forgotten, my fingers traced the smooth edges of the soft leather as I bent it open.
There staring back at me was a picture of my own face. Because of the mirror across the room near the sink, I’d managed to catch a glimpse of my reflection a time or two since awaking here hours earlier.
The man looking up at me from the California driver’s license photo was a stark contrast to the person I was today.
Cold, empty green eyes looked through me, as if the world and everything in it were beneath him. The me in the photo wore a crisp white shirt and flawless green tie and jacket, but there was no smile permeating the lens—not even a hint of emotion showed. My now long, unkempt hair had been trimmed short and neat, matching the impeccable persona that could be seen even through the tiny picture.