I know this story isn't listed on my profile page as a possible fan fic, but I couldn't help myself. I suddenly had this idea—this strange, spontaneous idea—and I just had to go with it.

I should give you all fair warning: this story is going to be a little hard to follow at times, but believe me, by the end everything will make sense. You'll just have to be patient.

And another thing: in this story, Cody is still living in Boston, but he's living near the coast. Enjoy! And feel free to review!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Suite Life series.

Cody Martin woke up one morning with a splitting headache and a peculiar feeling that he had forgotten something important. At first, he thought maybe he was suffering from amnesia. How else could he explain such a bad case of memory loss? But then he figured he couldn't be because amnesiacs couldn't remember who they were, and he knew full well that he was Cody Martin.

When he sat up in bed, he had to clench his teeth to withhold a powerful scream that threatened to escape him; his head hurt so badly. Maybe I'm hung over, he thought. He didn't drink much, but he was capable of going overboard now and then. It had happened once at a college party, and then once again when he'd been having a bad day and decided to make it better by downing some Vodka (two memories he constantly tried to keep in the back of his mind). But he didn't know if he was hung over or not because, strangely, he couldn't remember anything he'd done the day before.

He couldn't even remember what day it was.

He looked out the window of his room. The day was overcast. The clouds were a range of gray and black and they appeared to jump out at him from a dark blue abyss that was the sky. At first, Cody thought maybe it was evening instead of morning, but when he glanced at the digital clock beside his bed, the time shown to be 8:36 a.m. Slowly, he stood up and went over to the window. He glanced down and saw that the road below his apartment building (at least he knew where he was) was noticeably wet. It had rained last night apparently.

Cody opened the window to get a breath of fresh air, thinking maybe that would help clear his head. The smell of ozone permeated the air, mixed with the stench of worn tires and gasoline. He spotted two girls turning a corner and walking past his apartment building. One was wearing a black and white windbreaker and had on white gloves, and the other was wearing a green blouse beneath a tan jacket and was holding up an umbrella over the both of them. It was kind of strange considering it wasn't raining at the moment, but some people were just cautious. The girls were talking with each other. Cody could faintly hear their voices over the noise of moving cars in the distance. A little further down the street, he saw a boy in a hoody and sweatpants sitting on a bench right outside a diner, using the diner's overhanging roof as protection from any possible rain, clutching what looked like a coffee cup in one hand and a cell phone in the other. It appeared that he was texting.

Cody knew this place almost like the back of his hand now. He'd moved into this apartment nearly a year ago. It wasn't very nice, but that didn't matter because it was only supposed to be temporary—just until he got financially situated and could get himself a better one. He remembered the first day he came there. The landlord, who Cody had developed somewhat of a friendship with, had insisted on helping him unpack his belongings on move-in day. Cody never forgot the look on his face when he saw only two bags full of clothes, movies, and video games (things boys typically found necessary to bring when moving to a new place), but five bags full of books, portfolios, bottles of hand sanitizer, moisturizer, and vitamins (as well as a box with an advanced telescope inside). He knew from then on that Cody was different. In all honesty, that was part of the reason why he liked him so well; he didn't really understand him, but he respected him because he wasn't like the average punk who'd trash the place and blare heavy metal until all hours of the night.

Well, thought Cody, it's not as bad as it could have been. I still have my long-term memory.

Once he realized that fresh air wasn't going to do much good, he closed the window. There was a bathroom attached to his room. He went in and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like shit. His face was unhealthily pale and there were reddish circles under his eyes that gave him a corpse appearance. Also, his hair was matted. That wasn't like him. None of this was like him. Cody was always clean and well kept. This didn't make any sense.

The mirror was also the door to his bathroom cabinet. He rummaged through it until he found some Tylenol to take care of his headache. He figured two tablets should do the trick, so he popped them into his mouth and forced them down with some water from the sink. He desperately needed a shower. His whole body felt grimy and weak—totally wasted—and hot water had never failed at making him feel better. So Cody stripped out of his clothes (which he didn't even notice before were gray pajamas he knew he did not own) and got into the tub. As the water pattered down on his skin, his thoughts began to wander. What the hell is going on? Why do I look like I've just risen from the dead? What happened last night? And why…oh God, why…do I feel like I've just forgotten something crucial?

He stayed in the shower far longer than he probably should have. But he couldn't help it. The water felt so good. So relaxing. Despite the fact that he just woke up, he felt like he hadn't slept in a week. He felt drained. His body was frail. His head was heavy. For all he knew, he could topple over at any given moment.

Jesus, what is wrong with me?

When he finally stepped out of the tub, he was wrinkled like a prune but he felt more awake. His headache was beginning to subside and he was more alert. Before going back to his bedroom to put some clothes on, he took another glance at himself in the mirror. He grimaced at his reflection. He still looked like shit. The red circles below his eyes were more pronounced and his skin was so pale. If he were someone else looking at him, he would have sworn that he was diseased.

Wait, is that it? Am I sick?

Maybe he was. It certainly was possible. Germs had always loved Cody. That was why, all throughout his childhood and adolescence, he had treated sanitation as though it were a religion. Gently, Cody touched his fingers to the space under his eyes, pressing on the red-shaded skin. It didn't hurt. There wasn't any pain at all. Hmm…maybe they'll go away in an hour or so. Maybe a few hours. I guess I should just wait it out.

After rummaging through his dresser for a good five minutes, he pulled out a white, long-sleeved, button-up shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans. There was a black jacket hanging from a hook in his bedroom door and he grabbed that as well. Lastly, he put on a pair of socks and his old, dirty tennis shoes, which were sitting right next to the dresser, on a mat.

He was going to go outside. His plan was to take a walk.

As he was headed out the door, however, he saw his cell phone lying on the top of his dresser…which was not where he usually kept it. He never kept his cell phone out in the open, where anyone could find it. He was always more cautious about stuff like that. Several people even thought he was paranoid.

"Well, that's interesting," Cody said to himself as he reached over and picked it up. By instinct, he turned it on. A picture of his ex-girlfriend, Bailey Pickett, smiling cutely shown on the screen. He'd kept it there because he still thought it was the most adorable thing he'd ever seen. He only had one bar left, but he didn't want to charge the battery just yet. He suddenly wanted to make a call.

His mother was second on his list of contacts, which also—strangely enough—included his doctor, his landlord, a couple of his closest friends, his father, and his boss at work. When he gazed down at all the names, he couldn't help but feel as though a name was missing—a name that had been there before. He didn't know why that was, but he couldn't deny the feeling. It was an eerie sensation.

Cody shook his head. My brain's gone wonky. I must've gotten drunk last night. There's no other explanation.

He clicked "Mom" on the list and put the phone to the side of his face. It started ringing.

It rang once.

It rang twice.

It rang three times.

Four times.

"Come on, Mom," Cody muttered irritably. "Pick up."

The answering machine came on. His mother's voice told him she wasn't in at the moment and to leave a message, promising to get back to him soon. Cody hit the "END" button; he wasn't going to leave a message. He needed to talk to her. Well, he needed to talk to anyone. And more importantly, he needed them to talk to him.

Should he call someone else? Bailey? I think so, Cody decided. She'll probably think I've gone crazy, but at least I can hear her speak.

He hit Bailey's name on the contact list and put the phone back to the side of his face. He waited while hers rang.

After the third ring, she picked up. "Hey Cody." Of course, she knew it was him. Caller ID was a big help. It was so great to hear her voice. Her actual voice, rather than a recording.

"Hey Bailey," he said. "Look…um…I'm sorry if you're busy or something, but…but I…I was wondering…would you maybe meet me somewhere today? I kind of need to talk to you." He could have slapped himself. That sounded so lame. He'd fumbled with every word. Why is it always so hard to talk to your ex? She told you she still wanted be your friend. He wanted to take it back—to make it sound happier. More casual. But it was too late to do that now.

He could hear Bailey sigh on the other end. "Why don't we just talk like this? I don't really feel like going anywhere right now."

Cody took a deep breath. Okay, think before you talk. "I understand, but…I want to see you." That was true enough. He'd settle for seeing anyone he knew at this point. "I want to talk to you in person, you know? It's been a while."

Bailey sighed again, deeper. Cody sensed that she thought he wanted something in particular. Why else would he be calling her in the early morning? Most days, he didn't call until the afternoon. If at all. It was crucial to keep it straight that they were just friends now.

"We don't have to do anything," Cody assured her. "Just talk. That's all I want to do. Talk."

Bailey waited a moment before answering. "Okay. I guess so."

Now Cody couldn't help but feel guilty. "You don't have to if you don't want to. It's just…"

"No, no…it's okay. It's fine."

"I'm sorry I bothered you with this."

"It's fine, Cody."

Cody swallowed. For some reason, his stomach was cramping. "Okay, well…where do you want to meet?" His voice shook.

"Er...I guess, at the pier."

"Alright. I'll see you there in—say—ten minutes?"

"Better make it fifteen."

It would take her far less than fifteen minutes to get to the pier. But Cody didn't ask questions. He didn't want to argue. "Okay, see you there."

About two seconds after those words came out of his mouth, Cody's phone went dead. He placed it back on his dresser, and then headed out the door.

…

It was above freezing outside, but just barely. Cody felt the chill rattle his teeth as he made his way down to where his car was parked. It was early October (he couldn't remember which day exactly) and already the cold winds were coming in.

Cody had always hated the cold. When he was a kid, he used to put on anywhere from three to six layers of clothing the second the temperature dropped below 40. He'd been horribly teased for doing that since all those layers made it nearly impossible to walk, but as far as he'd been concerned, staying warm was worth the humiliation.

It wasn't until he reached his car when he suddenly realized he'd forgotten his car keys. He cursed himself under his breath. That was not like him. He was never this forgetful. He was known for constantly being on top of things. Practically anyone who knew him referred to him either as the most—or at least one of the most—intellectual people they'd ever met.

Sure, even intellectuals were capable of forgetting. But forgetting car keys…when they were about to use a car?

Damn! What is with me today? This is just bizarre!

Right as he was turning to go back for the keys, a man walked up to him.

The man was tall and dark-haired, with a pale complexion, a goatee, and crystal blue eyes that stared Cody down ominously. He wore a gray trench coat, which was somewhat intimidating, and had a domineering way about him that made Cody get the urge to dart away as fast as he could.

Cody tried to keep his cool. There was no use in acting nervous, despite the fact that he was. Perhaps the man just needed assistance with something. "Can I help you?" Cody asked, as casually as he could manage.

For a moment, the man did not reply. He simply continued to scowl. Then, in a deep, low voice, he said, "You're Cody Martin, aren't you?"

How does he know my name? Cody's stomach lurched uncomfortably. "Yeah, that's me."

The man's breath was blowing in Cody's face. It stank, and nearly made Cody have to avert his face. "May I ask how you're feeling?"

That was such an odd question to receive from a complete stranger. Cody felt a chill ripple down his spine, and he knew that it wasn't from the cold. Who is this guy? What does he want with me? "May I ask who wants to know?" he responded.

"My name is Jonathan Conroy. Reverend Jonathan Conroy." The man reached into one of the two front pockets in his coat and pulled out a small, rectangular card that contained fine print on it. He handed it to Cody.

Cody looked at it. At the top was a sketchy-looking icon of an angel and right below it, in bold, black letters were the words "BOSTON METHODIST CHURCH." Reverend Conroy's name was on it as well, along with a Bible text and a phone number. When Cody saw the word "church" he automatically thought this man was a Jehovah's Witness, but then he noticed the word "Methodist" and became confused. Why would a Methodist minister be talking to him? Especially like this—by coming up to him out of the blue. And how on Earth could he have known his name?

This makes no sense whatsoever. But, then again, what has made sense today?

"So, Reverend Conroy, why are you talking to me?" Cody questioned. "And how did you know who I was?"

Reverend Conroy shook his head. "That's not important," he replied.

Cody wanted to tell him how suspicious that sounded, but he didn't.

"What is important is what I can do for you. I want to help you, you see. But I can only do that if you let me—if you let us."

"Us?" Cody was baffled. "What do you mean 'us'?"

Reverend Conroy pointed to the card. "Our congregation," he said. "We all want to help you find the way."

"The way?" Okay, this is getting weirder and weirder.

"The way of God, Cody. Our goal is to lead you from provenient grace to sanctifying grace by offering you repentance. We want to save your soul."

Right then, Cody had had enough. He had nothing against anyone's religious beliefs, but he despised it when people went around bothering communities by pushing those beliefs onto others.

"Not to be rude or anything," he snapped in annoyance, "but my soul is none of your business. I'm not even a member of the Methodist church, so I have absolutely no idea what you're doing here talking to me…or how you even know my name. It's creepy. And by the way, I've got somewhere to go. So if you'd excuse me…I really cannot be late."

With that, Cody turned and walked hastily away. When he came back later, with his keys, the man was no longer there.

…

Luckily, Cody was only two minutes late when he met Bailey at the pier. He found her sitting cross-legged at the very edge, looking out at the still water, dressed in a tan sweater and light blue jeans. Her hair was falling elegantly along the sides of her face. She was beautiful.

"Thanks for coming, Bailey," Cody said as he approached her.

Bailey turned to acknowledge him and her face contorted. "You look like shit," she told him.

"Yeah, I know." Cody sat down next to her.

Bailey didn't ask why. She just shifted her attention back to the Atlantic and said, "You're late."

"Just by two minutes," Cody defended himself.

"True, but it's cold out here. Waiting in the cold sucks."

Cody felt a twinge of indignation towards her. He did not understand how she could be complaining about something so minor. It was only two freaking minutes. No big deal. Why is she being such a cry baby about it? Just because she didn't want to come here doesn't mean she can bitch at me. He wanted to call her out on it, but didn't. She was obviously in a bad mood.

Cody bit his lip, deciding to just cut to the chase.

"Bailey, listen…" He paused, wondering how he should go about telling her what he'd planned on telling her. "This morning, something weird happened. I woke up and had this strange feeling that I'd forgotten something. Something important."

Bailey looked down, focusing on her shoes. For a long moment, she appeared to be taking this in. Then her eyes shifted toward him and she gave him a look of irritation. "That's what you dragged me here to tell me?" she asked edgily. "That you forgot something?"

"Look, I know it sounds ridiculous. But…it's not like forgetting everyday things. I felt like I'd forgotten something crucial. Something that I should never have forgotten. And I had a splitting headache; I have no idea where it came from. "

Bailey was not convinced that this was anything to worry about. "Are you sure you didn't just go on third drinking spree last night?"

Of course she had to bring that up. Well, she did swear that she'd never let me live it down. "Well…I suppose I could have." Cody couldn't deny the possibility. Last night was a mystery to him. "But I don't think so. It wasn't like being hung over. It was like...like something was erased. Just totally wiped from my mind, and I don't know how it happened. It freaked me out. It's still freaking me out. It's probably the weirdest feeling I've ever had."

Bailey's eyebrow raised, which was a sign that she had become interested.

"And to top it off, I looked like this." Cody pointed to himself. "I looked like a fuckin' corpse that just rose from the dead. I have no idea what these circles under my eyes are, or how they got there. At first, I thought maybe I was sick. But I don't feel sick. Other than the whole memory loss thing, I feel fine."

Cody gave her a desperate look. He was scared. He didn't want to admit it because he didn't want Bailey thinking him weak, but he was.

And he knew she could tell that he was.

She took a second to think about this, breathing heavily, staring off into the wide open body of water before her, which looked foreboding in the overcast weather.

Finally, she spoke…slowly. "Cody, I want…I need…to ask you a question."

Cody was unsure about this, but he figured he'd go with it. He knew he could trust Bailey. Whether they were a couple or not, he could always trust her. "Um, okay," he said.

"Do you remember the day we broke up?"

Oh Christ, here we go again. "How could I forget?" His tone was a bit cross when he answered. "You told me you didn't want anything else to do with me, and then later called me up and begged that we stay friends. And I was masochistic enough to say yes."

Bailey shook her head and growled in frustration. "Well, whatever! Look, that's not what I'm getting at. I'm not trying to bring up the gritty details—"

"Then what are you getting at?" Cody interjected.

"If you don't interrupt me, I'll tell you!"

Cody breathed deep, willing himself to calm down. He'd asked Bailey to come here in the first place so he could confide in her. There wasn't any sense in riling her up. "I'm sorry," he apologized.

"Fine," Bailey said. "What I was getting at was—what do you remember about that day, other than the obvious? What do you remember about why we broke up?"

"Bailey, before I say anything," Cody told her straight-forwardly, "I would like to know how that's related to my problem."

"Just answer," Bailey ordered.

Cody gave in. He was totally confused and losing patience, but he figured he'd give her what she wanted. If only to humor her. "Alright, fine. I remember you and me fighting over what our plans were—our plans for the future. You had plan A and I had plan B; you hated plan B and I hated plan A, and it just all fell apart from there. That's what I remember, happy?"

Bailey swallowed, her expression suddenly far away and dismayed as she kept her gaze firmly on the water. "Do you remember the fire?"

Oh God. Cody suddenly thought he was going to hurl. That was something he wished with every fiber of his being that he could forget. That was something that disturbed his sleep every night… something that made him tremble and break out into sweats. "Yeah," he murmured. "Yeah, I remember the fire."

How could he not? The blinding flames, the black smoke, the screaming, the crying, the flailing arms and staggering legs, the blurred vision—it was going to haunt his mind for the rest of his life. He knew it would. It was engrained into him.

"Do you…do you remember any of the specifics?"

Cody gritted his teeth. Stop, Bailey! Please…please, just stop. "I remember everything. I remember how, afterward, you and I fought like crazy."

Bailey looked down, examining her shoes again. "Several people died in that fire, Cody. I saw this one kid"—she swallowed again, this time trying to force down a lump in her throat—"holding his dead brother in his arms. It was the most tragic thing I could have ever imagined. The most horrible thing. I'll never be able to forget it, no matter how many times I try to."

"You can't," Cody said matter-of-factly, although he felt like a hypocrite in saying it. "You can't let a memory rule you."

Cody thought for sure that Bailey was going to start sobbing. Even though he didn't have a perfect view of her eyes, he could tell that they were welling. And her voice broke when she said, "But it was just so…horrifying. How could something like that…?"

She couldn't finish her sentence.

Cody rubbed her back. Even after having a spat with her, he couldn't stand to see her cry. "I don't know," he said. "No one knows stuff like that."

Bailey sniffled. Her eyes found his and gazed into them inquisitively. "I could only imagine the pain that poor boy went through, losing his brother."

Cody shrugged. "I wouldn't know," he said softly. "I've never had a brother."

All of a sudden, Bailey slumped over and burst into tears; Cody pulled her into a warm embrace. He held her for a good ten minutes or so before the cold got to him and he felt obligated to say that they should probably leave soon.

The conversation had not gone as he had hoped, but what was he to expect? Bailey hadn't been acting normal for a while. And he could very well say the same for himself.

Bailey wiped her eyes, nodded, and agreed that they should go.

So they went.

As Cody made his way back to his car, the feeling of forgetting something important returned to him.