AN: Ok, so I wasn't sure if I should continue writing this story or not. I decided to let some people read it and see what they think, so please review!
Disclaimer: I own the Expendables. They're mine (well, at least in my imaginary world that I've constructed).
My eyes opened as I awoke from sleep. I attempted to roll onto my side- when something tugged on my wrist and prevented any movement. I snapped awake, trying to examine what limited my movement.
"Don't make any sudden moves, Christmas."
I jerked my gaze to the voice. There was a police officer standing there, his hand on his pistol. I glanced down at the handcuffs that strapped one of my wrists to the bed. Confusion overtook all my senses, and I turned back to the cop.
"What am I doin' here?" I asked, looking around the hospital room.
He chuckled as if that were some sort of joke. "As if you didn't know."
I looked straight at him. "I don't. Why am I here?"
The cop cocked his head at me. "You murdered James Harrison in cold blood two nights ago. You were shot in the shoulder when you tried to escape."
My mind froze. Two nights ago? The thirteenth? No way. I was on a date with Lacy, not killing a guy I didn't even know.
"I didn't do it," I said. "I never killed anybody in cold blood. And I don't even know a James Harrison."
"Yeah," said the cop, chuckling. "They all say that." He walked across the room and picked a newspaper off one of the chairs, then gave it to me.
With my free hand I took it and read the front page. It was about me, how I killed a James Harrison. I was caught yesterday, the seventeenth.
Wait a minute...
That's not possible. Yesterday was the fifteenth.
I looked at the date on the newspaper. The eighteenth.
"Is this today's paper?" I asked the cop, handing the paper back to him.
He nodded his head. "Yes. Speaking of today, today is my day off, and I'm only here because I was supposed to tell the doctors when you woke up." He turned to leave. "And don't try anything. There are guards outside your door and outside, not to mention that you're five stories up."
He left the room, leaving me to my thoughts. If today was the eighteenth, then that meant I had lost my memory of the last two days. In those two days that I supposedly killed a man, got shot, and got arrested by the cops.
I couldn't remember. I couldn't remember those two days. I didn't remember.
I looked up as a doctor, flanked by two cops, entered the room, a pen and clipboard in hand. He walked over to me.
"Good morning, Mr. Christmas," said the doctor writing something on the clipboard.
"Same to you," I said, cautious and wary of any new stranger.
"Now, lets see here," he said as he pulled a chair up. "I'm just going to take a look here at your gunshot wound." He began to unwrap the bandages.
"How bad is it?" I asked, looking at the ugly, red wound.
"You were shot with a pistol meant more for accuracy than damage," he said, gently fingering the wound. "It went through your flesh, but didn't damage anything else. We took out the bullet, and it had sterilized itself in the barrel, so the wound is very clean." He reached for a needle and vial. "This is just to make sure it stays that way."
He injected the syringe into my good shoulder, then left the room with the cops.
I lay on the bed, thinking. What if I really did kill James Harrison? I wouldn't be able to remember if I did. My memory of the last two days is gone.
Well, I thought, there's only one way to find out.
So, how was it? And yes, if I do continue, the whole Team will appear eventually. Or, at least Barney Ross, he's the next character to come into play.
