Alex awoke to the cold caress of water as a single droplet ricocheted off his temple. His hand shot up to touch the spot, and his entire body screamed in pain with the movement. Wincing, he rolled onto his back and stared up at the underside of the freeway overpass he could not recall having fallen asleep under.
"You're awake, eh," a soft baritone brogue whispered from somewhere past his feet.
He hurt too much to move his head, but replied hoarsely, "Yeah. I think so."
"Can you move?" a gentle woman's voice cooed, also accented with a hint of Scotland, seemingly coming from the same spot.
Something about the woman's voice seemed familiar, but Alex couldn't put his finger on it. He couldn't really remember anything, his mind unable to focus on much of anything other than the pain. Even that was fading, far too fast for his liking, but at least it just wasn't hurting as much.
Slowly, he sat up, rubbing the mud off the side of his face from lying on the ground. He still ached, but at least he could breathe without feeling like someone had parked a tractor on his chest. After realizing he wasn't going to get any more mud off his face without a mirror, he looked up, trying to identify the voices.
He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the glare of a pair of headlights. For a moment, he could have sworn that the couple standing beside a bright purple 1957 Chevy Bel-Air were wearing costumes, as their skin glittered softly when they moved, and the woman seemed to have a pair of translucent butterfly wings the color of spider silk. He shook his head, and they appeared to be nothing more than a middle-aged couple; the man tall and a bit pudgy, with a shock of burgundy hair slicked back by too much hair gel. The woman was short, slender, and beautiful in a sort of awkward way, covering her looks beneath a mat of stringy brown hair and a pea coat three sizes too large.
"Who are you?" Alex spat the question, more out of pain than anything. His tone, however, clearly agitated the man standing beside the passenger door of the car.
"We," he began, harshly, "Are the people who saved your life. I saw you from the road, getting beat to hell by some gangbangers, I assume. I wonder why that was?"
Alex shook his head, the pain still subsiding, but his mind was blank. "I… really don't remember."
The woman stepped forward, between Alex and her companion turning slightly before speaking to the man beside the car. "Manners, Liam. Introductions come before accusations, love." She turned back to Alex, continuing, "My name is Diana, and this is my husband. Like he said, we saw you from the road and worried that you might be in trouble. What's your name?"
Alex shook his head once more, his memory still not returning. He felt something in his pocket, and fished it out. It was a thick leather wallet, and as he opened it, he spotted a driver's license. He also counted $5000 stuffed into the billfold. Apparently he wasn't hurting for money.
"This thing," he began, sliding the license out and holding it up where Diana and Liam could see it. "Says my name is Alexander Petersen. That feels right, so I guess you could call me Alex."
Diana shot a worried look at Liam before crossing the distance to Alex and squatting beside him. She placed two fingers on his temple, in the same spot the water droplet had hit to jar him back to consciousness.
"Liam," she began, softly. "Would you be a dear and look around, I'll be willing to bet that you'll find a chunk of rebar around here somewhere with this young man's blood on it. Wrap it in the beach blanket in the trunk."
Liam grunted and began searching for the object, as requested. Diana smiled at Alex, her skin once again seeming to glitter slightly for an instant as the corners of her mouth turned up.
"So you don't remember anything at all. Not even who you are. Or what you are."
Alex cocked an eyebrow and stiffened at that last statement. After a moment's thought, though, he realized that she was actually right. He couldn't remember anything at all before waking up under the overpass.
And this couple; how could they possibly have seen him from the road? The only thing under the freeway was dirt and runoff from the rain. It didn't make any sense. And those odd flashes of glitter that came and went when they moved or he squinted just the right way. Something was both deeply wrong, and yet strangely comforting about this couple.
"What exactly do you mean by that," Alex asked. "I don't know what I am? I'm not sure what you're implying."
Diana laughed softly, "I'm implying that you're different. You've noticed that Liam and I are different, I've seen the recognition in your eyes. But you can't see us for what we are. Not yet anyway. But I can see you for what you are."
Alex wasn't sure if he should be insulted or not, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. "And what is that?"
To his surprise, it was Liam who answered, "You live under a bridge, boy. Your license there, it has a picture of a young man, maybe 18 years old, dark hair, blue eyes, short but stout, like a Viking. I bet you hear that a lot, not that you'd remember it after what you've been through tonight."
Alex shrugged, "So I look like a Viking? What exactly does that have to do with anything? Petersen is a Norse name….. why do I know that?"
Liam chuckled. "You know how to talk too, it's your memory that's broken boy, not your education. Let me ask you a few questions to be sure my eyes see you the way you're meant to be seen."
Sighing with resignation, Alex nodded. "Go for it."
Liam opened his mouth to begin, but Diana interrupted. "Alex, I want you to say the first thing that comes to mind when I ask this. Why can't you trust a Pooka?"
Alex responded without hesitation, "Because they always lie."
Diana's smile broadened slightly, "And what is the opposite of a Pooka?"
Alex again did not hesitate, "A Troll."
Liam chuckled, asking a third and final question, "What happens when one of the fae folk is attacked with cold iron?"
Alex replied, "They forget."
Diana smiled, although it was tinged with a gentle sadness. "And we're here to help you remember."
