The blond-headed seventeen-year-old boy limped down the highway. His clothing torn and his skin scraped and bruised. He paused when he saw headlights approaching. He felt something crawling down the side of his face and reached up to swipe it away but his hand encountered something sticky.
He looked at his hand in the beam of the headlights. Blood. He wasn't surprised. Every inch of him hurt; especially his head.
The car came to a stop a few feet behind him. He turned and saw the car held three occupants: a man; a woman; and a teenage girl. He stood still and blinked a few times as if that would clear the cobwebs from his mind.
The driver's door opened and a large man with small black curls emerged. He was a full six foot five inches and weighed at least three hundred and twenty-five pounds. The driver looked at the boy closely.
"Do you need some help?" the man asked the boy in concern, taking in his disheveled appearance and abrasions. "Were you in an accident?"
The blond youth tried to answer but his throat didn't seem to be working. Instead, he just blinked at the man a couple of times. He tried once again to speak. His mouth opened but no words came out. Instead, he started blinking uncontrollably as he began to sway. Less than a minute later he would have fallen face down on the hard pavement had not the driver rushed forward and caught him. The boy felt strong arms surround him as everything faded to black.
When he awoke, he was lying in a twin bed with the woman from the car sitting in a chair beside him. She was asleep so he sat up quietly and looked around the room. It was a pale blue room with a darker blue for trim. There were navy blue curtains hanging on the only window, which was located on the wall directly in front of him.
Beside the bed was a computer desk and chair with a computer and several disks on top of it. A dresser and mirror stood against another wall with a large jam box sitting on top of it. There were a few posters of rock stars hanging on the walls, none of which he could put a name to at the moment.
His attention turned back to the woman in the chair by the bed when he heard her move her head. She was about forty years old with short black hair that was streaked with gray. She looked to be rather petite, weighing in at about ninety pounds and he would guess four foot ten when she stood.
As if sensing she was being stared out, her eyes fluttered open and her gaze briefly locked with his. She hurriedly sat up and leaned over to gently push him back onto the pillow.
"Easy," she said with a relieved smile. "You've had us all worried."
"I have?" Joe asked, confused. "Why?"
"You've been in a coma for almost twenty-four hours," she informed him. "We would have taken you to the hospital but it's a long drive and Roger didn't think you should travel that far."
"Roger?" he asked, not familiar with the name.
"My husband," she explained. "He's a doctor and I am a registered nurse," she continued. "So you are in good hands," she assured him.
"How's the patient?" boomed a voice from the doorway. In walked the man from the previous night. "Hello, young man," he continued. "I'm Dr. Fairbanks and this is my wife, Rachel. How are you feeling this afternoon?"
"Hungry," was the response the doctor received. "Where am I?"
"You are at our home in Cranton," the doctor informed him. "How many fingers am I holding up?" he asked holding up three fingers.
"Three."
"Very good," Dr. Fairbanks said and proceeded to give him a check up.
"Now, perhaps, you would be so kind as to tell us who you are and what happened to you?" Dr. Fairbanks said when he had finished. "I filed a report at police headquarters but no one has reported you missing and the police couldn't find any wrecked cars or motorcycles in the vicinity where we found you," he added.
"I..." the boy began but broke off and sat up quickly. "I don't remember," he said, his eyes filled with uncertainty even as his voice declared his anxiety.
"Calm down," Dr. Fairbanks ordered as his wife pushed the boy down once again.
"You've had a concussion and were in a coma for sometime. It isn't unusual for one's memory to regress after an ordeal such as the one you seem to have had."
"How long before it comes back?" the boy asked, calmer but still worried.
"It could be a day or two or longer," the doctor replied honestly. "The best thing to do is to relax and not try to force your memory to return."
"In the meantime, we have to give you a name," Rachel said, standing up. "What name do you like?" she asked, smiling.
"I don't know," he answered with a small shrug. Resignedly, he said the first name that popped into his head. "Joe?"
"Joe it is," she said, standing up. "I'll go fix you something to eat," she added before she left the room.
A few minutes later a young girl came into the room carrying a tray. "Spirit, this is Joe," Dr. Fairbanks introduced the two. "Joe will be staying with us for a little while," he added.
"No problem, Dad," Spirit said, her blue eyes kind as she looked at Joe. "Mom told me about his amnesia. Here," she said to Joe, setting the tray across his lap. "Mom fixed soup with jell-o for dessert. She said if you could handle this then you could have some real food for dinner," she added.
Joe smiled at her and said, "Thanks. I can't stay here," he added, looking back at Dr. Fairbanks. "It's too much of an inconvenience to you and your family."
"Don't be silly," Spirit answered for her father. "Where would you go? You don't even know who you are. Besides, with you here, I can honestly tell everyone a boy stayed all night in my room," she added mischievously.
"Spirit," Dr. Fairbanks reprimanded with a stern look on his face. To Joe he said, "She is right. Your memory will probably return in a few days or your family will be found. Either way, for now, the only other place for you would be the hospital and I prefer to only admit sick people," he added with a smile.
"Thank you," Joe said. "But I hate to have taken over Spirit's room."
"It's okay," Spirit assured him. "I'm bunking out in the loft. It's a great place but mom and dad don't want me to have it as my bedroom."
"Because you always try and peek when we wrap presents," stated Mrs. Fairbanks coming into the room. "Spirit, will you stay with Joe? The hospital just called and your father and I have to go."
"Sure," she readily agreed. After Dr. and Mrs. Fairbanks left, Spirit sat down in the chair her mother had occupied earlier.
Joe looked at Spirit's jet-black hair, fair skin and slender frame. He had a weird feeling of deja vu but couldn't think of why.
"Spirit is an unusual name," Joe commented. "How did your parents choose it?"
"They named me after the bar they met at," she told him, laughing. "It's unusual for a girl but I guess it would have been horrible if I had been a boy." She went on to tell Joe about her school and the town but he couldn't remember anything about himself. Soon, his eyes started drooping.
"I'm sorry," he said as a yawn escaped him.
"It's cool," she told him. "Get some sleep. Maybe when you wake up mom and dad will be back." Joe nodded and drifted off to sleep.
"That was fun," Frank Hardy said, walking over to where his parents were getting out of their car. He had just dropped his date, Callie Shaw, off at home after leaving the senior prom at Bayport High.
Fenton and Laura Hardy had been chaperones at the event and had left the school's gymnasium after all the students had departed.
"I just wish Joe could have gone," Frank added.
"He will get his turn next year," Fenton assured his son. Fenton stood an inch taller than his son's six foot one frame but his eyes and hair color were the same rich brown. Frank could easily see what he was going to look like when he got older.
"Too bad Iola is spending this weekend with her cousin in New York," said Laura, using her right hand to move a stray lock of blond hair form her blue eyes.
Iola Morton was Joe's sixteen-year-old girlfriend. Since she had left town, Joe had decided to just hang around the house while the rest of his family went to the prom.
Fenton put his key in the lock and opened the door. Stepping inside he flipped the switch.
"Joe must have gone to bed," commented Laura, following her husband inside.
"Wait!" hissed Fenton, catching his wife's arm and stopping her from going in any further. "Go to the car and use the cell to alert the police," he ordered her.
As she left, Fenton signaled to Frank to search downstairs while he went upstairs. Frank went through every room on the main floor and, finding nothing amiss, headed upstairs where he found his father in his office.
The place had been torn apart. The chair behind his desk was lying on it's back and the two chairs which normally set in front of the desk were both broken. Papers were scattered everywhere and the computer lay in a broken heap near the opened file cabinets.
"Joe's gone," Fenton told Frank in a strained voice. He held up a golden chain that Iola had given Joe for his last birthday that he never took off.