DISCLAIMER: "Diagnosis Murder" and the characters in it are owned by CBS and Viacom and are merely being borrowed here for recreational, non-profit purposes.

RATING: G

SUMMARY: When an accident leaves Mark with amnesia, an ex-con with a grudge sees an opportunity for revenge.

TO LOSE A LIFE

Chapter 1

Mark Sloan was walking through one of the nastier areas of Los Angeles, searching for someplace open that might have a public phone. It was late, dark, and foggy, and he was distinctly frustrated with himself and his situation. He had been driving out to visit a friend and had gotten lost trying to follow the directions he had been given. As if it were not enough that he had found himself lost in this semi-deserted section of the city, he had apparently run over something sharp and gotten a flat tire. And to top it all off, he discovered, when he tried to call for assistance, that the battery in his cell phone was dead. So here he was, tramping through a dark, seamy side of town, looking for a phone.

Seeing a series of lights across the way, he started to cross over toward them. As he stepped into the street, crossing through a particularly dense patch of fog, a car came careening around the corner, recklessly speeding toward him. Its approach hidden by the fog, the vehicle was on top of him before he even saw it. Mark tried to leap back, managing to avoid being directly hit, but the car clipped him as it zoomed by, throwing him forcefully backward to land hard on the sidewalk, his head hitting the concrete with a sickening thud.

******* ********

It was just after daybreak when a young orderly from the Exeter Institute was heading home, having just come off the night shift at that psychiatric facility. As he walked through the still-empty streets, he heard a groan from the side street to his right. He tensed, coming alert; this was not a particularly safe neighborhood, although it was all he could afford on his current salary, and he tended to be wary of potential traps for the careless. However, he did work in a medical facility, and the groan sounded genuine, so he cautiously approached the corner and peered around. He saw a white-haired, elderly man, apparently trying to raise himself from a prone position on the sidewalk. His first thought was that this was just another wino waking up from a drunk, but then he saw the blood on the man's face. He came closer and noticed the grazes on the man's face and hands and his dazed expression.

"Hey, buddy, you okay?" he asked, coming over to help the man up. The man looked back at him blankly, his eyes unfocussed, obviously confused and in pain. Realizing that this man was in need of prompt medical attention, the orderly thought quickly. The Institute was just a couple of blocks away; there was a doctor on duty there – that would be the fastest way to get him help. "Come on, pal," he said, throwing one of the man's arms over his shoulder, "we'll get you some place where they can check you out." And propping him up, he headed back the way he had come.

Arriving back at the Exeter Institute, the orderly brought the injured man into the infirmary, letting him down into one of the chairs as he called out to the doctor, "Hey, Doc Collins – I need some help here!"

"I thought you left for your vacation already, Williams," said the doctor as he came out to see what was going on. He then noticed the figure slumped, semi-conscious, in the chair. "What've you got?"

"I found this guy lying on the sidewalk a couple of blocks away," replied the orderly. "I figured the quickest thing would be to just bring him here."

Doctor Collins came to stand in front of the injured man, lifting his head to take a better look at him. Getting a good look at the man's face, he went very still for a moment, staring at him.


"Doc?" The orderly noticed the sudden stillness. "What is it? Do you know him?"

"Maybe," the doctor replied slowly. He looked up, suddenly becoming all business. "Let's get him up on the examining table."

The next few minutes passed in assessing the extent of the injuries. During this process, the man regained consciousness, looking around in confusion.

"You've had an accident," Dr. Collins told him. "You're in a hospital."

The man looked up at the white-coated figure above him. "What happened?" he asked.

"Maybe you can tell us," prompted the doctor. "Do you remember being hit? Or falling?"

The man's brow creased in concentration. "I don't remember," he said.

The doctor looked at him intently. "What do you remember?" he asked.

There was a longer pause, and the expression of concentration turned to one of concern. "I don't know… I can't seem to remember anything…"

"Do you know your name?" pursued the doctor.

Again, the look of concentration, as the patient searched for even this basic scrap of information. His voice was distinctly shaky as he admitted, "No… no, I don't." He looked up at the doctor in alarm and dismay.

Dr. Collins gazed down at him thoughtfully. "Well, just relax," he said. "You have a nasty concussion – that would account for the loss of memory. You just rest for a minute, and I'll be right back." He motioned for the orderly to follow him, as he stepped outside the examining area.

"So, how bad is he, Doc?" asked the orderly.

"Actually, apart from the concussion, the injuries aren't that severe. He should be alright in a few days." He looked at the orderly thoughtfully. "You were on your way off to a couple of weeks of vacation, weren't you, Williams?"

The orderly nodded. "Yeah, I've got 2 weeks of fun and sun coming to me," he said with a grin. "But if you need me to help with this guy before I go…"

"No, that's okay," the doctor interrupted. "I'll take care of everything here. You go on and get yourself packed for a well-earned vacation!"

"Okay, thanks, Doc. See you in a couple of weeks!"

The doctor watched as Williams left, his mind reviewing possibilities as he considered the circumstances that had just presented themselves. He had recognized the injured man as soon as he had gotten a good look at him. He wasn't likely to forget Dr. Mark Sloan in a hurry, he thought. Not after the good doctor had ruined his career and sent him to jail. Now, instead of being a respected physician in a prestigious hospital, he was reduced to working in this third-rate mental institution that catered to the indigent; and he had only succeeded in landing this job by changing his name and faking his references. He'd gotten away with that because the management was lax and the staff were overworked and stretched too thin to check out his background. And it was all Mark Sloan's fault. Now it seemed that chance had presented him with an opportunity to pay Sloan back for ruining his life. Williams would be gone for several weeks, and no one else knew about how Sloan had arrived. He could cook up some reason for keeping Sloan here – claim to have recognized him and pretend to contact the family, who would, of course, want him admitted. Nobody here would bother to take the time to check that out; and since Sloan apparently had total amnesia, he would be in no position to contradict anything he was told. The more Collins thought about it, the more excited he got, as his mind mulled over all the possibilities for revenge. Welcome to hell, Dr. Sloan, he thought, as he turned to re-enter the examining room.