The boy stares down at the family photo, and tries to dredge up any spark of memory that connects him with these people. Nothing happens.
"You're sure this is me?" He meant it to sound casual, but it comes out weak, and more hopeful than he'd like.
It definitely looks like him. Or, more like an alive version of him. Brown eyes, instead of his broken white ones. A hint of a tan. He's smiling, stuck between a mom and dad who look happy and proud and he wishes he could remember having this photo taken.
"You don't have a twin, if that's what you mean." His case worker looks at him expectantly. "We found you! I thought you'd be more excited."
"I just don't remember any of it, is all." He mutters. He's not trying to be ungrateful. It just seems a little too alien. Too good to be true? "What… What's my name?"
She slides him a folder. He's afraid to touch it. He's not sure if he wants to read what is apparently his past life out of an official looking folder. "William Kaplan. Died at eighteen, son of Rebecca and Jeff Kaplan. You have two younger brothers, Charles and Daniel. They're fifteen, now."
His parents would be overjoyed, then, to hear that their eldest had been found. But what would they think of him? He can't remember anything, even after months on the drugs, watching the people around him start to recall both their time as rabid undead and their lives before. Nothing, even staring at his family.
"…and they'll be here to pick you up on Sunday!"
"What?" He had tuned out.
The woman raises an eyebrow at him. "On Sunday? You going home?"
"But…" He struggles to slow down his thoughts enough to get them out. It takes him a moment. "But we just found them. I can't even remember my name, I am obviously not ready to go home!" Home feels weird in his mouth. In his panic, he upturns his folder, sending his past life scattering around him. "None of this looks familiar! These people want their son back, not some… Some half dead blank slate!"
She has every right to call the guards but she doesn't. He appreciates that.
"You've been here a while, William. You are in a balanced, medicated state. You reacted well to the drugs from the beginning. But you haven't gained any memory since then. If you are ever going to get those memories back -which is still possible!- it's not going to be here. It's going to be somewhere that's familiar. It's going to come from finding those things that feel familiar."
"And what if that doesn't happen?" He's scowling to hide the fact that he's terrified. "What if nothing comes back?"
"Then you make a new life. You've got that as an option, after all." She puts a hand on his shoulder, comforting and grounding, and he hates being touched but he tolerates this, his eyes caught again by the family photo. His family photo.
"Okay," is all he can get out. She gives him a pat and then their session is over. She helps him gather up his life and put it in the folder, then gives it to him.
"We don't need this anymore, anyway. Read it when you're ready."
Even as he waits, all nerves, for his family to come for him on Monday morning, the folder remains unread. The photo, however, is in his pocket. His new contacts sting, and he feels weighed down, pinned by the unfamiliar makeup.
"William Kaplan? Your parents are here."
Standing up, the boy who has been told he is William Kaplan goes to meet his parents for the first time.