To wake up without the slightest clue as to what one’s name was never a good thing.
However, that was exactly how he woke up at the end of one long, blistering day at sunset under the close surveillance of a seagull pecking at the filthy, warm pavement he shared. At first, his vision was blurred and it was nearly impossible for him to move his head without paining his stiffened neck, but after a moment or two, he was able to deduce that he had woken up in an alleyway in some coastal, tropical city with nothing but the torn, dirty dress shirt and stained black slacks he wore. He didn’t have a wallet, any money, keys or even shoes. He had no knowledge of where exactly he was, why he was laying face-down on the pavement or how he got there. He didn’t seem to have knowledge of much else, either.
Slowly and carefully, he pushed himself away from the ground, his spent arms trembling underneath his own weight and his back, neck, hips screaming in protest. He felt as if he’d fallen from a twenty story building and somehow survived. It didn’t seem like such a bad idea to check for broken windows above him once he had somehow struggled to appear standing.
There weren’t any broken windows in the tall buildings that rose on either side of him and he hadn’t woken up in a mound of broken glass, so he could assume that a failed suicide attempt was out of the picture.
Possibly.
Pressing a hand to his hip, he glared around the alleyway, sure he had never felt so lost in his life--
Life. What about it? What could he actually remember about it?
What had happened before . . . this?
The questions haunted him, sending his stomach down to his knees as he staggered out of the alleyway, gritting his teeth to compensate for the hot pains shooting from his hip to his ankle.
Away from the shade of the alley, the setting sun glared bright in his eyes, but the rest of the scene seemed lovely. The lights were beginning to come up in the skyscrapers all around, sparkling in the reflection off the widest river he’d ever seen. People everywhere were laughing, shouting things in Spanish, greeting friends and some were even dancing to live music played on the city streets by grungy young guys in ratty clothes. The hot air smelled of grilled beef, pizza, garlic, vinegar, onions, sweat and fish while noises like city bus brakes, rushing cars, honking horns, yelping seagulls and the overall buzz of a crowd dominated his sense of hearing. Nobody gave him a second glance, not even when they brushed his shoulder, but maybe it was because they were all headed one way while he seemed to be trudging on against the flow.
He turned to see the majority of them catching cabs rolling up and down the street he had just crossed and an excited buzz had come about the air as the sun sunk lower and lower into the brilliantly painted sky, throwing rays of goldenrod and magenta out across the buildings’ windows, the surface of the river and on the sleek exterior of nearby cars.
Driven by an insatiable curiosity, he stumbled back, tripping over his own feet a little before making a full turn and starting towards the street, calling for a taxi in a voice he had never heard before.
Startled by the sound of his own voice, he hesitated for just a moment as the cab came to a halt. There was that gut-sinking feeling again. What? What was going on? First, he had woken up without the slightest clue as to where he was, and now he didn’t recognize the same of his own voice? Who was he, some new Jason Bourne--
Exactly. Who was he? What was his name?
He didn’t know.
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