He doesn’t know where He is. The Man is just a shell of what He once was. Images flash through His mind, but they are just that: images. Each image has a person He recognizes, but can’t place. His memory is fractured. Thousands of questions run laps around His brain; but all He can remember are two names:
Reles Firebane.
Farlough Rapshok.
He cannot tell which one is His. The cold floor seems to drain His brain cells like plants sap up rainwater. Something is in His hand.
A knife.
He doesn’t know how He obtained it, yet He knows that it is crafted of fine diamond and coated in steel. How does He know this? He just does. There is no explanation.
Something touches His shoulder. The Man whirls around, snarling and brandishing His knife. Another man is there. He speaks:
“Calm down, buddy,” He says. “I’m here to help you.”
Another picture shows itself in His head. A person He knows is Reles. Again, He just knows.
But this man in front of Him is not Reles.
The Man scowls and He feels something coming out of his throat. Words.
What do the words say? They say, “You did this to me.”
The other person frowns. “I don’t think so. I just walked up and you were just lying here in the middle of the street. A car just about ran over you.”
The Man tightens His grip on the knife.
“I do not know about this ‘car’ you speak of, but you had better leave before you find this sticking out of your chest.”
Where did that come from?
The pedestrian’s frown melts, replaced by a mask of fear.
The Man grins sinisterly, then gives his mind over to the evil battling for control of his body. He switches the knife to His left hand and delivers a powerful punch to the passerby’s jaw, sending him reeling to the ground. Sheathing His knife, He starts running. For no reason at all. His mind is not his own anymore, and He is not sure He can retrieve it from the depths of the blackness in His heart. Why does He harbor this contempt for everybody? The thought is immediately pushed away by an invisible force.
He stops in front of a house. Bounding up the front porch, He rams a fist into the door and falls to the ground, unable to keep Himself awake any longer. Black mist swirls around the edges of His consciousness, and He topples backwards.
Asleep.
* * * * * * * * * *
Tony Amador jumped at the sudden pounding at his door. He glanced at the clock as he moved towards the door. Why would someone come here at this hour?
He shook his head and opened the door.
An unconscious man was sprawled on his doorstep.
Tony gasped and looked up to see if there was anyone else nearby.
There was nothing but the dark street. He knelt down beside the figure and checked his pulse. It seemed fine.
The man bolted upright and drew a knife. "Get away from me!" he yelled.
"Easy, buddy, easy," Tony said. "I'm only trying to help."
"Yeah, that's what the last one said," the man replied hoarsely. "Where am I?"
"<state name>," Tony replied. "What's your name?"
"No, what planet am I on?"
Tony eyed him curiously. "What... Planet?"
The man groaned and let his head hit the floor again.
After several moments of awkward silence, Tony repeated his question.
“Your name. What is it?
The man squeezed his eyes shut, thinking hard.
“Farlough . . . or Reles. I forget.”
Tony nodded. “What happened to you?”
“I . . . I don’t know.” the man said dazedly.
"Amnesia, most likely," Tony mumbled.
“I have no clue what amnesia is.”
Tony furrowed his brow.
“Is there anything you can remember?"
The man closed his eyes again, trying to recall what had happened. His skin bunched around his eyelids as he clenched them tighter.
After a few seconds,
“There's nothing."
“It’s alright,” Tony said. “Try to get some sleep, maybe you will remember more in the morning. I'll help you to the couch.
"The what?"
Tony shook his head and pulled the other man up. They slowly made their way to Tony's sofa.
The man lay back down, and slowly dozed off.
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