"Grazed Knees"

"Chapter Two: The Slippery Slope"

He had some insane thought that in his old life he was a professional poker player who was greatly missed. He wanted it to be that at least, it seemed to fit. Carmen brought a pretty redheaded nurse named Riley and an intern named Derek into his room during their lunchtime to keep him entertained with several friendly games of poker. He was kicking all ass. Already, his pile of winnings included a pudding cup, twenty cotton balls, two dollars in change, five tongue depressors, and a couple packets of salt. He'd yet to lose. The winning streak would have continued, he was positive, if the doctor assigned to his case hadn't walked in shooing away his entertainment.

The next day, Carmen didn't come to visit him until after her shift. She was dressed casually in jeans and a green t-shirt. With her was a bag of fast food goodness and two cups of smoking coffee. If he didn't love her in his once upon a time life, then he sure as hell did now. The woman knew the way to his heart: coffee and greasy food.

"You need a name," she told him as they ate their cheeseburger dinner.

"I guess so," he replied with a shrug. "What about MacGyver."

"You don't know how long you'll have this name so maybe you should put a little thought into it."

"You know, it's so weird. I know that I like old shows like MacGyver and Matlock, but I can't for the life of me remember what they're about. I guess it's that source amnesia I was told about."

"So definitely not MacGyver or Matlock. Come on, what name strikes you?"

He thought about his name a lot, trying to break down the barriers around his memory to figure it out. When he watched the television, he played close attention to all of the names as though one would spark his mind. Although none of the names stood out, he knew that he didn't want to pick the wrong name for himself for the sake of his family whom was trying to find him.

"Who do I look like?" he questioned as a smirk found its way onto his face.

"Hmm…"

She made a huge deal of thinking as she squished a fry between her fingers. He couldn't help but smile, a broad smile that felt genuine. Her gazed started at his hair, went down to study his face, before sliding down over his torso and arms, even looking to see how he held his food, and then proceeded to look down at what was hidden underneath the covers. Finally, her eyes situated itself on his face again.

"Are you done violating me with your eyes?" he asked lightly.

"For now," she replied with a wide smile gracing her features.

Reaching over the side of the bed, Carmen hauled up her bag from the floor. She ruffled through it until she pulled out a paperback book and tossed it over to him. He looked down at the book in his lap and frowned slightly. "What to Name Your Baby Boy" shone up at him in cheery light blue lettering. Underneath the title was a picture of a tiny baby. Setting aside the fries he was munching on, he started flipping through the pages with little interest.

"I thought you could look through the names… see if one jogs your memory. Maybe you'll find yourself in there."

"Yeah, thanks," he said shortly before tossing the book next to the salt packets.

He felt slightly guilty at the look on Carmen's face when he threw the book aside. Knowing she meant well, he just couldn't bring himself to flip randomly through a baby names book and pick out a name that isn't his. What if he picked the wrong one and his family couldn't find him then?

"Look, can't I just be Amnesia Guy for the rest of my life? It seems fitting. It has a nice ring to it - I like it."

"You know, I don't understand why you won't let the authorities put your picture in newspapers and on TV. It would be easier for your family to find you that way."

After their little poker game the day before, the police paid him a little visit. For some reason, he was antsy and anxious to have them leave. Why would they even want to talk to him? He had amnesia and wasn't going to magically remember what happened just because they asked him. They suggested running his face in newspapers and on television to try to find his family or friends. He declined a little too graciously which only made it sound sarcastic and ungrateful. Apparently, that's how he got his new nickname: 'The Crazy Amnesia Guy'.

He may not know his name or anything of importance about himself, but he knew that he shouldn't go plastering his picture about for everyone to see. Oddly enough, he started coming up with the wildest ideas such as he was a professional criminal, a Clyde without a Bonnie, a conman. Although, he tried not to think of those promising career paths as his own. He rather liked the idea that he used to be a spy, a secret government agent, or something equally as awesome. Back in his mind, he knew that there was no way he was involved in law enforcement but rather on the running end. He really had a screwed up life if that was true.

"Carmen, I just don't feel like there's family here in Kansas," he said slowly.

"I'm not going to argue with you, MacGyver," she told him with a smile creeping up on her face.

"Oh, you're going to call me MacGyver until I pick a name from your book now. How stubborn of you."

"Well, you seem oddly interested in him. Perhaps you are a secret agent who uses MacGyverisms."

"That sounds vaguely dirty," he replied with a wink and a smirk. "Too bad I can't remember any of these MacGyverisms. I'm sure he was the master."

Reaching over, dinner forgotten in front of him, he started flipped through the pages of the book. None of the names popped out at him. Oddly enough, he felt like he went by many names which really didn't help his paranoid mind thinking he was some sort of criminal who used salt as some sort of weapon. Maybe his fascination with salt to repeal demons and monsters was one big metaphor in his mind. Perhaps the salt meant gun and the demons meant the police. His mind raged that he was starting to sound like Geek Boy.

Geek Boy. Furrowing his brows, he tried to remember who Geek Boy was since he was positive it wasn't him. There was a definitely tightening of his heart at the thought of the kid but didn't know where it came from. It was an affectionate name, he knew that much. It was used in a teasing manner but a good-natured kind of teasing. He could imagine a scowl on a distorted face and hear as clear as day, 'Jeeerk'. Immediately, he wanted to call the haze of a face 'bitch'. It didn't even seem over-the-top or mean but rather something he that had said his whole life. Calling this Geek Boy 'bitch' was his way of saying 'I love you, Geek Boy'. He really wished he could remember Geek Boy by his proper name or affiliation to him at the very least. Something about the way he felt about the kid, he knew he must be a brother or cousin or nephew.

"You okay?" Carmen snapped him out of his reverie.

"Yeah, just… remembering abstract things that don't make any sense whatsoever."

Flipping through the name book, he stopped every few pages and did a once glance over the names. He didn't care about getting a name. He was perfectly happy being called Amnesia Guy. Names were just names. He didn't need one to feel like a person. Thinking he should just randomly pick one seemed like the best idea. It would get Carmen off his back anyways. Somehow, he didn't think anyone would find him. Maybe Geek Boy was off looking for him but something told him the last place Geek would look was Kansas. It was odd, the realizations he came up with and immediately went with them. Anything his mind threw at him randomly, he took as the truth and went with the flow of it. He hated that.

"You could go with a common family name," she suggested. "It seems like in every family there's someone named John or some form of William."

John. The name tasted bitter in his mouth, his stomach churning in longing. It wasn't his name but the name of someone he loved deeply. His throat closed, swelling in emotions that he didn't understand. If John was here, he could fix it. John could fix anything. He felt tears burn his eyes. Quickly, he wiped a hand over his eyes in an attempt to suffocate the tears from falling freely down his face.

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Don't look back! Now, Dean, go!"

The words repeated into his mind, pounding its way through the black hole. He could recall the flames that surrounded a silhouette of a man, a baby being dropped into his arms. He could hear the silhouette, John, commanding him to save his brother before the flames could consume them. If he concentrated hard enough, he could feel the baby's weight in his arms. He could hear the crying wail, feel the blaze licking his face. Raising a hand to cover his mouth, he tried to push farther into the memory. He was so close he could taste it. If only the blotches around the man in front of him would disperse… but it was gone. The light at the end of the tunnel slammed shut.

"I think my name is Dean," he said in a cracking voice.

"Did you remember something?"

Carmen was excited but hesitant at the same time. He knew she was watching him break down at the now far away memory. Despite the grief it caused, he wanted nothing more than to draw it closer. He wanted to taste the fire again, to farther knock down the barriers that seemed to be crumbling. His mind was opening, only to be slammed shut by some unknown force. It was as though something was trying to keep his memory away to distract him. Maybe if he just talked about it, heard the story again, the light could get through the fog.

"I think my dad was John," he whispered. "I think there was a fire at our house when I was younger."

"This is good," she encouraged him to continue.

"I think I have a baby brother who I carried out of the burning house."

"What else?"

"Nothing else. My dad… he gave me the baby and told me to get out of the house as fast as I could and not look back."

"Now, Dean, go!"

His charts were changed form John Doe Number Two to simply Dean. He tried to persuade the nurse to put down Dean MacGyver but his doctor discouraged it. That night Dean - how weird it felt to be a Dean and not a he - went to bed hoping of dreaming of fire, John, and a baby. The only thing he did dream of was yellow eyes and blazes of fire. There was no John, no Geek Boy, no baby brother.

The next day consisted of doctors telling him about his impending release from the hellhole. It was a good sign that he remembered his name and it was only a slippery slope from there on out - or so the doctor said. Apparently, they ran extensive tests on his blood work in search for some disease that brought on his amnesia. There was nothing. All the scans showed nothing. There was no explanation as to why Dean had amnesia expect some sort of emotional trauma.

"A social worker is going to set you up in a development and help you get a job," the doctor told him. "We're going to ask you to see a therapist once a week to help you regain your memories. The fact that you remembered your name and the name of your father suggests that you are on the road to recovery."

That night, after her shift, Carmen came bearing gifts. She had a platter of cookies and more coffee. She looked slightly nervous that night, her lip wedged in-between her teeth as she sat at the edge of his hospital bed. Dean knew she wanted to say something to him but was debating whether or not it was appropriate. Nudging her leg with his foot, he gave her the best killer smile he could muster up.

"What's on your mind?" he inquired.

"Those developments… they're really bad."

"Something tells me I'm probably used to bad. I'm definitely not the Ritz kind of guy," he meant it as a joke but felt a lingering truth in the words.

"I'd feel a lot better if you…" the words trailed off before she could supply stay at my place.

"I'm a big boy, Carmen. Don't worry. It's only until I make my first million."

"Dean," she paused with a weird look crossing her face, "it's so weird to call you Dean."

"It's weird being called it," he answered.

Actually, it was only weird when she called him Dean. The way his name rolled off her tongue jerked some strings in his heart - an all too familiar chord. He could imagine her calling him Dean for what seemed like forever. For some odd reason, he could picture himself waking up next to her with some cheesy 1950's science fiction moving playing in the background. He could picture them eating dinner together, teasing each other on the couch, talking openly with her about anything. It was like she was a figment of his imagination - some sort of dream girl that he never thought could possibly exist.

"I have a small little two bedroom house. You should stay with me. You can have the guest bedroom all to yourself."

"I don't want to impose on you."

He was going to say, 'I don't need your charity' but decided against it. For some reason, he didn't want to lose her. Over the past few days he's known her, he felt an immediate connection to her that he couldn't explain no matter how hard he tried. He was positive she was the missing link in his broken up chain link fence of a brain. If he just spent more time with her, he could remember his old life.

"Dean," the name lingered on her lips, "am I imagining this?"

"No," he whispered.

"I like you. I like you a lot, and I just met you. I'm not the sort of impulsive girl who latches onto any cute guy that passes either. So this is scary for me, having these feelings for you. Just come live with me. Please, it would make me feel so much better."

Two days later, on Saturday morning, Dean was released from the hospital wearing the clothes they found him in, the packets of salt in his pocket, and a new lease on life. He hauled himself into Carmen's red '76 Buick Electra. Leaning back in the leather seats, he wanted nothing more than to get behind the wheel and drive down endless country roads. Except, a Buick was crap. She needed something sturdier, with more personality. Something like an Impala.

She wasn't lying when she said she owned a small house. Pulling the car into the driveway, he noted that the grass was too long and the bushes needed trimming. He kept those comments to himself. The inside was nicer, homely. There was a tiny entranceway with a coat rack and a table with small knick-knacks where she set her keys. The living room had an array of mix-matched furniture against the cream walls. There was a large suede couch across from the plasma television. An orange fuzzy chair and a green sofa were present as well. In the corner, there was a tall bookcase crammed with all different sizes of books. On the far wall, there was a fireplace which held an array of photographs. The coffee table was littered in magazines and mail.

"It's a mess, I know," Carmen voiced his thoughts as she hung her coat up. "I just didn't have the heart to decorate it since I'm all by my lonesome."

"I'll decorate with you," he regretted the words that came out of his mouth. "I'll even mow your lawn. I think I know how to mow a lawn at least."

She laughed, an airy laugh at the implication that he'd have trouble mowing a lawn. It was an action that everyone did, a once a week at least action. Except, to Dean, the prospect of mowing a lawn seemed far too foreign. She drew him out of his musings when she grabbed his arm to take him upstairs to the guest room. Though he didn't know why she was showing him the room. He rather thought that after the first night or two, he would find a way to stay a permanent resident in her bedroom.

The guest room was more subdued than the living room. There was a bed with light green linens, two night tables with a lamp on one and an alarm clock on the other. There was also a dresser, a full-length mirror, a desk, and an empty closet. The walls were a calm beige. Dean hated it but kept his tongue. It was too ordinary for his tastes. He was certain he was used to eccentric rooms with too much personality.

The rest of the house held charm in a mix-matched sort of way. The kitchen table was a plain white but the four chairs around it were each a different, vibrant color. She owned more cookie jars, mixing bowls, pots and pans, and jars than he thought was possible. The kitchen was colorful and cheery. He quite liked it.

"So, you think about a job you might want?" she asked him when the tour concluded in the kitchen.

"I don't know what I'm good at."

"Well, what did the social worker say?"

"She asked me what I was good at. I said I didn't know. She said that I should take the weekend, figure it out, and see her Monday."

"Then I guess you and me have all weekend to find out what you're good at," she said in an encouraging tone.

"I guess so."

That afternoon, he pulled out the lawn mower from Carmen's garage turned cluttered mess of discarded crap. She sat on the porch, a beer in hand, and watched Dean struggle to start the hunk of junk. Once it started, the engine spluttered and puttered as he pushed it forward. He could see why she never bothered cutting the grass. The mower was shot to hell. Almost immediately, he could tell that the engine was faulty by the loud clanks the piece of crap was making. Not even a minute into mowing did he shut the thing off and went in search for a toolbox that was buried somewhere under the junk in the nonfunctional garage.

Taking apart the engine, he fiddled with it as he took note of parts that he would need to restore the pathetic mower. Carmen sat down in the grass next to him, holding out a beer for him. He gulped down a fourth of it before turning his attention back to the task at hand. It would be easier and cheaper just to get a new one rather than repair the one at hand.

"Can you fix it?" she asked before he could suggest going out to buy a new one.

"Yeah, it needs parts though."

"This is good. On Monday, you can tell the social worker that you can fix lawn mowers," her words came out sarcastic and playful.

"I could be a mechanic," he said suddenly, "or a fireman."

"Those are two utterly different career paths."

"At least I'm keeping my options open," he joked.

The two went shopping, and he was convinced that it was the first time he ever enjoyed shopping. Though, he didn't know for sure, but there was just something about Carmen that made everything seem more bearable. They ended up buying a brand new lawn mower, because she saw a bright yellow one that she couldn't pass up. Even after his many protests, she dragged him into a clothing store and demanded he pick out several outfits saying that he can pay her back later.

That night, the two sat at the kitchen table contemplating dinner arrangements. Carmen admitted that she was baker, not a cook. Dean volunteered to cook a meal, semi-confident that he could cook. She let out an impressed noise before she leaned back in her chair to watch him and to answer his questions on where certain things were around the kitchen. He made sure he knew where she kept her salt as well because the five packets in his jean pocket wouldn't be enough to save him in a time of need. The morbid thoughts made his mood deflate slightly. His nickname at the hospital really should have been 'The Guy Who Sees Doom and Gloom Everywhere'.

A good fifteen minutes later, Dean stirred the smoking pot of noodles as Carmen set the table for the two of them. Pouring the noodles onto her plate, a childish voice filled his head. 'I'm sick of Scabetti O's.' A distorted little boy's face flooded in front of him. He could only barely make out the dimples in the boy's cheeks. 'I want Lucky Charms.' The child continued to say. He stopped pouring the noodles onto the plate. He went completely rigid, forcing his mind to grasp the voice and hold onto it for dear life. He knew he couldn't let it get away like the memory of his father.

"Dean, you okay?"

Carmen came up behind him, quickly setting down the forks on the table. She stepped behind him and started to massage his shoulders. He could feel his muscles slowly start to unravel under her fingers as she seemed to know just the right spots. He swallowed hard, his mind wandering to the little boy's voice. His brother. Geek Boy. His heart ached, wanting nothing more than to find the kid, but he had no idea where to even start looking.

"Just a memory," he tried to keep his voice even as he spoke. "Let's eat, shall we?"

Stepping away from underneath her hands, he took a seat in the bright blue chair. She looked at him oddly before taking her own spot in the vivid yellow chair across the table. He couldn't taste the food as he ate it. The noodles slithered down his throat as he concentrated on the little boy. He just needed a name. Give him a last name, and he'd be happy. Hell, even a first name for Geek Boy would be enough. He could work with that. Do some sort of search for brothers named Dean and Geek. He was so close; he could taste the victory. It wouldn't come, the memory slipped away once again. The little boy's identity was locked away within the depths of his mind like all the rest.

I was pleasantly surprised to see how many people added the story to their alerts and/or favorites. I hope I responded to each of the logged in reviews. I wish I could have done the same for the anonymous. So thank you to everyone who reviewed and added the story to a list. I hope you enjoyed the newest chapter. Reviews are very welcomed and are very much needed to keep me motivated.