A Memory Lost
By TwinEnigma
Blanket disclaimer: Anything you recognize, except for my OCs and the plot, I don't own. I do this for fun and absolutely no profit.
III: Personal Effects
The boy picked at his ID bracelet absently and resisted the urge to scratch at the tape covering the IV needle. 'John Doe,' the plastic-covered bracelet dubbed him, though both he and the hospital knew it was not his name. Nurse Jackie had explained that it was a temporary name given to those without any sort of identification and that the staff needed something to refer to him by, so if he didn't like it he'd have to come up with something else on his own. And until he did, he was stuck with 'John Doe.'
He didn't think the name suited him in the least and, without hesitation, he had requested his things in the hopes that he could at least remember something. There had to be a clue, some hint as to who he was in those remaining objects. It was hard to explain the feeling, but he just knew that he had to know who he was. It was important, more than anything else, for him to know that.
Idly, he wondered if his parents – whoever they were – knew he was here. He tried to imagine what they looked like, but it was very difficult without anything to guide him. Still, he tried and when that failed, he was left adrift in a mind filled with questions.
The door opened, drawing his attention once more. Nurse Jackie, looking more than a little annoyed, entered the room with an unfamiliar man following her. "This way, Mister Evans," she bit out, gesturing to the beds nearest the door. "Try to restrain yourself this time. There is another patient here who needs his rest."
The man did not reply, save for a sharp nod in her direction, and pulled up a chair. He ignored them completely. So this was the Mister Evans that Dr. Turner had described as 'wound tighter than a spring.'
Mister Evans was a tall hawk-faced man, with a hook-shaped nose and closely cropped black hair that did little to make him look less bird-like. Everything about the man was neat and orderly, from his hair to his shoes, and he held himself with confidence. His image was soured only by the fact that his mouth was fixed in a seemingly permanent scowl and his dark eyes flashed with lightning as he watched the nurse go about her work.
"How are you holding up, kid?" Jackie asked, drawing the boy's attention back to her as she approached the bed and began the routine of checking him over.
'Kid' was one of the unofficial nicknames that had attached themselves to the boy and, though it irritated him a little to be called 'kid,' he found it infinitely better than that stupid temporary name the hospital had given him. "My chest hurts a bit, but it's not as bad as it was before," he said finally. "By any chance, did you manage to get my things for me?"
"I'll bring them in just as soon as I finish up in here," she replied, adjusting the tape securing the IV tube to his arm. "And for the last time, stop scratching at the tape!"
The boy made a face. "I wasn't going to."
"I'm sure," the nurse said dryly and stepped back. "All right, kid, you're all set. I'll be back in a minute with your things."
"Thanks, Jackie," the boy said, smiling a little.
The nurse gave him her shark-smile in return and, after giving Mister Evans a warning glare, she disappeared back into the hallway.
Mister Evans sneered slightly and reached into the leather satchel he'd brought with him, withdrawing a heavy-looking leather-bound book and a spiral bound writing tablet. Resting the book and paper on his knee, the man briefly searched his pockets before producing an elegant pen and opened the book with practiced ease. He was soon absorbed in reading, the scratching of the pen nib against paper the only proof of his continued existence. He hardly even spared Nurse Jackie a glance when she returned several minutes later with the boy's things.
"Here we are, kid," she said, smiling as she plopped a small plastic bag down on the side table next to his bed. "One blank diary, five pounds, an assortment of old coins, and two patches."
The boy drew the bag close with his left hand and reached into it, quickly finding the patches. "Which one was from my school uniform, Jackie?"
"Um, let me see..." The nurse blinked, examining both patches intently before finally pointed to the green one. "This one, I think. It's a shame we couldn't get all the blood out of them."
The boy looked closely at the green patch, nodding absently. It was a deep green shield displaying an uncoiling silver snake that seemed poised to strike. The shield itself was trimmed in elegant silver embroidery and topped with a helm, while a scroll unfurled beneath it. A dark blotchy stain obscured parts of the lettering on the scroll, rendering it impossible to make out. It made him slightly queasy to think that the stain was actually his own blood. Still, there was something about this patch, something he felt he should know...
"So, are you getting anything, dearie?" Nurse Jackie asked, jarring him from his thoughts.
The boy shook his head. "Not really. I mean, it seems familiar, but I don't recognize it." He paused and sighed, shaking his head, "I don't know what I mean."
"These things take time," the nurse said, smiling gently as she began examining the monitors of the boy in the bed next to him. "I'm sure it'll come to you sooner or later."
He nodded, feeling a little reassured by that, and put the patches down side-by-side on his lap. The boy then emptied the rest of the bag out and began to arrange the items as best he could with an IV in his left hand and a broken right arm. There was also the matter that he couldn't lean forward too far without his ribs hurting again, so he had to be extra careful when reaching for his things.
Taking mental stock of the items in front of him, he pushed the five pounds off to the side and turned his attention to the remaining items. The old coins, as they had been termed, were shiny and smooth; the faces of all the coins seemed so worn down that they were indistinct and blurry. They were quite pretty and he supposed that they had to be of some value, although he couldn't fathom what sort of significance they held. "Nuts," he sighed, absently turning over one of the bronze coins in his hand.
Mister Evans looked up at him, hawk-like eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly.
The boy, slightly unsettled, dropped the coin and decided to move on to something else for the time being. His eyes rested on the shabby black cover of the diary and a spark of something flitted across his mind. He was sure he'd seen it somewhere before and he knew it was somehow important. But how could a diary that the nurse said was blank be of any help to him?
Hesitantly, the boy drew the diary into his lap for a closer look and flipped it over so that he was looking at the front cover, which was stamped with the year 1942. He ran his fingers over the numbers slowly and it dawned on him that he wasn't quite sure what year it was. "Jackie, what's today's date?" he asked, holding up the diary for the nurse to see.
"The fifteenth of November, 1989," she began, checking off something on the chart she was looking at. She turned then and upon seeing the diary, she gave a heavy sigh. "I don't know how much help that old thing is going to be to you, dearie, seeing as it was printed maybe thirty years before you were even born."
The boy stared at her in confusion.
"I know, I know," the nurse said, giving him a reassuring squeeze on the hand. "It threw all of us for a loop, too. The inspectors told us that you must have picked it up second hand somewhere."
"How do they figure that?" the boy asked, giving the book another curious look.
The nurse reached over and opened the diary to the very first page, upon which the name T. M. Riddle was written. "The inspectors told us that they checked the name out, just to be sure. It seems that the diary originally belonged to a young man that went missing some forty-odd years ago – his name was Tom something or other..."
The boy winced as a sharp pain began to build in his head while the nurse was talking. Flashes and bursts of images shot through him like white-hot lightning, so quickly that he barely could make them out. He clutched his head, screwing his eyes shut, but the pain only got worse.
"Kid, are you okay?" nurse Jackie's voice called faintly, as though from a great distance.
He wanted to curl into a ball from the pain, but something was stopping him from moving, holding him back. A frantic beeping alarm pulsed through his muted hearing, beating in time with the flashes that lanced through his mind, and the pain became nearly unbearable. Tires screeched and high-pitched wailing whistles melted into each other, as the alarm became a haunting siren that screamed over the endless drone of engines.
"Bloody FUCK!" shouted the nurse.
It was all too much for him and the world went black.
AN: Hi, everyone! WHEE... I'm back! Just a note... there will be some things from Book 6 mentioned here. Nothing real spoiler-ific, though... but if you haven't read Book 6 yet, you don't know what a good book you're missing! Anyway, this chapter should clear up any real remaining doubts about our mystery patient.
