James Fling

Dementia

March 28th, 2026, late evening

I woke up in chains, in a cold, dark room, with a horrible headache. I tried to remember what happened, but it was all fuzzy. I remember the door crashing in, and gunshots, but nothing else. I checked to make sure everything was working. My arms were. So were my legs. I could open my mouth. But my left eye. I couldn't see out my left eye. Then I heard footsteps, coming in my direction.

"This is the one you were looking for, sir."

"It better be the right one this time."

A chill went down my spine. I felt like I should know who that was. In the dim light, I could make out the silhouettes of the two men. One of them pressed their hand to the wall, and the lights came on. They were blindingly bright. It wore off after a minute. There were steel bars in front of me; the men were behind them, and concrete walls on either side. I was in a prison cell.

"Well, I'll be," one of them says. "But I'll need a bit more proof than that."

I yanked at the chains, but they were welded to the walls.

"Who are you and what do you want from me?" I demanded.

"You don't remember me?" one said sarcastically. "Does NME ring a bell?"

Actually, it did, but I didn't say anything. I really didn't like that guy. There was some part of me wanting to yell, "as soon as I get out of here…", but I held back on it. I still didn't know who this guy was. I yanked at the chains some more.

"What in hell did you do to me?" I screamed. "I don't remember anything. Let me out of here!"

He gave a low chuckle, and then turned to the other guy.

"Yeah, that's him alright. Good job."

He turned to leave.

"I don't understand," I blurted out.

He turned back to me. "You will soon. Shoot him. Once."

"Alright," I yelled, "As soon I get out of here, your both dead!"

He laughed again, and told me, "Given your situation right now, I'd suggest you cooperate. Before I change my mind and actually do kill you."

The other man, who looked like some sort of soldier, with a completely grey outfit, that looked bulletproof, and had many pockets with pistols' handles sticking out, and a machine gun strapped to his back. He took one out, checked to make sure it was loaded, and took aim right at my forehead. I could feel the target light on my brow, and felt a tingling on my face. Then, he pulled the trigger. I felt a burning, that I was sure was the bullet, but it wasn't. I heard the bullet drop to the floor with an echoing ping sound. He sheathed the pistol, turned out the light, and left. And I sat there in the dark, mystified.

I had no idea where I was, but I knew I had been better places. I had been here for what had to have been hours, but I couldn't tell. My eyes were finally adjusted to the low light that was bouncing around the hallway, outside my cell. There wasn't much to see, though; steel bars, both in front of me and in the window behind me, the concrete bricks, and the chains that held me in this very uncomfortable kneeling position. The whole place looked dead. I couldn't see outside of my cell, but I figured it looked all the same.

So I tried to remember that big empty spot in my life, from when I was about nineteen to now. I tried to answer those questions buzzing around in my mind. I was bulletproof. Could I do anything else? I'll bet I have some rich alter ego. I probably have a big house. I hope I have a cool car, too. Is anyone worrying about me? I'll bet I have a girlfriend, at least. I probably have a bunch of rich friends that hang out at casinos and stuff. It went on like that, for I don't know how long.

After a while, I heard someone walking in my direction. No, they were running. And it wasn't just one person. There were lots of people. One came thundering through, and I mean thundering. He was going at least twenty-five miles per hour. He was carrying a sack with him, and everything was spilling out a hole in the bottom. And then a bunch of guys who looked just like the man who shot me a few hours ago came by in a golf cart, but weren't going half as fast. They were shouting something I didn't understand, and a few of them had guns aimed at the one they were chasing, but nobody was shooting.

Anyway, some of the stuff in the sack somehow got into my cell. There were two apples, an orange, and a plum. I was sure they were all bruised, but I was starving. The chains made it difficult but I grabbed the nearest one, an apple. I ate it, down to the core, but it only made me hungrier. I hadn't eaten in at least a day. So I picked up the plum and ate that, too.

I was about to start eating the second apple, but I heard something moaning from what I thought was the cell across from me. There was light coming in from the window, so I could see a little better, but it wasn't shining on anyone directly even though it was shining into the other cell.

I listened for a minute, and now it sounded more like a weeping. The sun had moved a little more, and I could see someone curled up in the corner of the cell across the hall. She was not in chains like me. I looked at the apple, then back at her. I could tell whoever it was, they were hungry. I thought, if I never get my memory back, wouldn't it be great to start fresh, with a good reputation? So I rolled the apple across the hall and somehow it found its way between the bars. I rolled the orange to, but it just hit the bar.

Whoever it was crept up to the apple, and I could see their face. It looked like a woman, about my age it looked like. Her clothes were all torn up, and looked like they were rotting. She quickly grabbed the apple, and scurried back into her corner. She ate the apple, core and all. She crawled up to the bars, looked both ways, and grabbed the orange. She looked like she was about to eat it, but put it in the corner and sat next to it. I was expecting a thank you, and praise, but I got, "You shouldn't have done that."

I didn't get it. "Why?" I asked. "I was trying to help."

"They'll only feed you as long as they need you," she said. "You're here because they want you with them." She checked to make sure nobody was looking again. "If they ask you to join them, say no, no matter how much they offer. Whatever they give you, it won't make up for what they'll have you doing. But they'll stop feeding you, and torture you until you say yes. If they don't need you anymore, they'll kill you."

"So how did you get in here?" I asked.

"Well, I'm a therapist," she said. "And when I needed to be, I was good with a gun too. And they have people watching you. Everywhere. They bug houses, they take security cameras' memory, and they use that to find everyone they want. And it's not just regular people. They take special people. Like us. They call us the Gifted. You, you're the one they've been looking for, at least three years now. You're bulletproof. I wish I was bulletproof." She pointed to a wound in her arm, and on the back of her leg. "I'm a telepath," she said. She didn't move her mouth, but I heard it as clear as can be, even with her English accent. "My name is Emily Ruston. I can read thoughts, and communicate my thoughts too. I can dig out the things you've forgotten, but I can't tell what it is unless you are thinking about it."

"James Fling," I told her. "Nice to meet you." So eventually, we came to an agreement. If she would help me get my memory back, I would give her half, or anything I could get to her if it was less than half of the food they gave me. And that was how I became friends with Emily Ruston.