"Mr. Goren? Can you hear me?"

The light was strange in the room; that was the first thing that struck me even through my closed eyelids.

"Sir?"

I blinked, slowly. Fluorescent lights, beeping monitors, starched blanket. Hospital.

A white-coated doctor beamed down at me. "Gave us a bit of a scare there, Sir. How are you feeling?"

"What am I doing here?"

"You were in a car accident, Mr. Goren. Drunk driver hit you head-on."

"Ugh. Captain's gonna be pissed." I flexed my limbs slowly. They were sore, but nothing seemed broken. "How's my partner?"

"Your partner? Sorry, sir, I don't know anything about that... let me examine you first, and then I'll find out for you." He leaned forward, shining a light into my eyes. "Any pain in your head?"

"I want to see Alex," I told him, my heart starting to pound. "Where's Alex?"

"Waiting outside in the hall," he said.

"Really?"

"Really. Now, you took a pretty big blow to the head, so I do need to assess your injury before I let you have any visitors."

I calmed down a little. Eames was just outside the door, probably waiting to mock me about my little hospital gown. I'd have to remember to rearrange it before she came in. Give her a nice view.

"My head does hurt a little, yeah."

"Any memory problems?"

"Not that I can recall," I smirked.

The doctor chuckled. "Got a wise guy here, eh? Tell me, who's the president?"

"Obama."

He nodded. "Good. What day is it?"

"Uh… well, my birthday's in a week, so it's August 13th."

He pursed his lips. "Hmm."

"Hmm?"

"Bit closer to your birthday, Mr. Goren. It's the 16th."

I blinked. "Really?"

"I wouldn't worry too much about it. Believe it or not, it's not uncommon for a patient with a head trauma to lose a couple of days. How bad is the pain?"

"Not too bad."

The doctor went through a series of tests, checking my reflexes and reactions. "Mild concussion," he said. "Nothing too serious. I'm Dr. Berry, by the way."

"Nice to meet you. Can I see Alex now?"

He smiled sympathetically, stepping toward the door. "Sure. I'll send him in."

I frowned. "What?"

A tall, broad-shouldered guy hurried into the room as soon as he saw the doctor come out. "Dad?"

"Uh–"

"Thank God you're okay." He reached my side and took my hand shakily. "You're really okay, right?"

"Uh–"

"Donna's on her way, she's stuck in traffic on the Major Deegan."

"Donna?"

"I told her not to drive, she's so upset–"

"I'm sorry," I interrupted. "But who are you?"

He gaped at me. "It's me, Dad. Alex."

I stared at him, and he stared at me, and then he was out the door, hollering for a doctor. Within seconds, he was back, Dr. Berry trailing close behind. "Mr. Goren, Alex here says you don't recognize him."

"There's some sort of mistake," I said, panic starting to mount. "I mean, Jesus, I don't have a kid."

"You have two," Alex said stubbornly. "Me and Donna."

"I'm not your father, man. What are you, twenty? Twenty-five?"

"Twenty-two," he said.

"Well that settles it," I said firmly. "Twenty-two years ago I was serving in the Army overseas, and definitely not having any sex. This guy's got a screw loose, doc."

Alex looked at me blankly. "You served in the Army in the late eighties, Dad."

"Right, that's what I'm saying."

He paused. "What year do you think it is?"

I rolled my eyes. "It's 2009, buddy, I'm not an idiot."

He spun around to face the doctor, furious. "You said he lost a few days!"

"He told me it was August 13th," Dr. Berry protested. "He knew Obama was president."

"Thank God for that," I groaned. "Bush was a train wreck."

Alex swore softly, looking up at the fluorescent lights overhead. "Barack Obama isn't president, Dad. Malia Obama is president."

I stared at him, dumbfounded. "Malia? That kid is what, eleven?"

"She's thirty-six. Youngest president in history, and only the third female president."

"Wait." I swallowed, hard. "Wait."

"It's 2035."

I laughed involuntarily. "It is not." I turned to look at the doctor, who was as solemn-faced as Alex. "Doc?" I looked down at my hands, saw the age spots. Touched my face, felt the wrinkles. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Look, let's stay calm," said Dr. Berry, who looked anything but calm himself. "Retrograde amnesia after a head trauma is not uncommon. Usually the memories come back within a few days."

Alex sank into a chair. "Donna's going to flip out."

"Who's Donna?" I managed to ask.

"My sister," he said. "Your daughter."

"Oh." Twenty-six years? I'd really lost twenty-six years? "Are, um... are there any more?"

"No."

"Okay." I rubbed my face with shaky palms. "Okay. Um..."

"What's the last thing you remember?" Alex asked suddenly. "Maybe if we take your mind back there, you'll start remembering what happened afterwards."

Dr. Berry shook his head. "Your father needs to rest right now. His brain has had enough trauma today–"

"I remember it was hot," I interrupted. "I remember the Yankees had just swept the Red Sox."

"Anything else?"

I searched through my memory. "We were working the murders of three schoolteachers. The case was bothering Eames. She didn't want to talk about why."

"Eames?"

"Yeah." It dawned on me as I looked at him. "You don't know who Alex Eames is?"

He shook his head. "You worked with her?"

I took a shaky breath. On some level, I had assumed that if I'd had kids, it had been with Eames. "Yeah. We were partners for years."

"You've never mentioned her."

That was odd. "Who did I... I mean, who's your mother?"

He looked down, rubbed at his knees with his palms. "Sandy Goren. Sandy Ford was her maiden name."

"I don't–"

"You hadn't met her yet in 2009."

"Oh. Where..."

"She, um... she died." He still wasn't looking at me, and I noticed his eyes had filled with tears.

"When?"

"Three months ago."

"I'm sorry," I said kindly. "I lost my mom not too long ago. It's tough."

"Yeah."

"Listen," Dr. Berry spoke up. "You should really get some rest, Mr. Goren."

"Call me Bobby," I told him.

Alex furrowed his brow. "You hate being called Bobby."

"What?"

"You never let anyone call you that. You've always gone by Rob."

"I've never–"

"I'll stick with 'Mr. Goren' for now," Dr. Berry interjected. "Nurses will be in to check on you periodically, but for now, try to get some sleep." He gave Alex a pointed look, until he stood up, too. I noticed for the first time that Alex had my eyes, my chin.

My son. My son?

"I'll be right outside, Dad," he said. "Donna will be here soon. Don't worry about a thing, we'll straighten this all out."

"Sure," I said, giving him my most convincing smile.

They left the room together, and my smile faded. I looked at my hands again, saw the white hairs on my arms. With minimal wincing, I got out of bed, hobbling over to the bathroom. There was a mirror over the sink, and there I saw it. The face of a seventy-four-year-old man. I frowned, and he frowned back. I inspected my receding hairline, all gray now, with skin bruised from the crash. There were too many wrinkles to count.

Seventy-four. And here I used to think fifty was old.

I padded back to the bed, noticing the ache in my back and knees. Was the pain from the accident, or was this just another byproduct of old age? Gingerly, I climbed back into bed.

One thing was certain.

I had to find Eames.