A/n: This will probably be my last story for a while. I have been writing these fanfics since I've been forced to stay home from work due to a minor injury. But the doctor says I can go back to work this week, so I won't have as much free time anymore. I'm sure my employer wouldn't want be to use work time writing "stories." Thanks for your reading my feeble attempts at entertainment and for your reviews.
CHAPTER 1There had been a light turnout at the Cabaret Club that Friday night. As Jack finished his evening performance, he bowed affectedly and was rewarded with a light smattering of obligatory applause. His friends, Karen, Grace and Will, had stopped coming to the club for quite some time. He realistically knew he couldn't expect them to continue. He had tried desperately to put some spark of originality into his one-man act, but, like the old saying goes – the more things change, the more they stay the same. The club owner had given him one week to bring in more customers, or else. Jack was getting discouraged to the max. So lost in his thoughts, he wasn't paying much attention as he left the club – only to the cool early April air that had settled on the city that night. He huddled in his jacket and started to walk back to his apartment. As he passed a dark alley he suddenly felt a pair of strong hands grab his jacket. He was pulled into the passageway.
"Good evening, queer," a husky voice said.
"Wha…what do you want," a startled Jack stammered.
The assailant laughed heavily, the Jack felt himself pushed roughly up against the wall of an adjacent building. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he was aware that there were three men standing there. Jack though he had caught a glimpse of them at the nightclub impassively scowling in the audience.
"What do you think, faggot?" the nearest one growled.
"I…I…don't know what you mean," Jack responded, becoming alarmed. It was obvious that these men were not fans wanting an autograph.
The man that was closest lunged at Jack. He tried to pull away from the attacker, but somehow tripped and landed face down on the hard pavement. He saw two pairs of shoes walk around to his head. One foot drew back and Jack felt himself get kicked in the left shoulder so hard he rolled over twice on the ground. He struggled to stand, but a sharp pain shot down the arm. Jack groaned. The men laughed cruelly. They're enjoying this, Jack thought. He had to get away from them somehow. One of the miscreants reached down and yanked Jack back to his feet. They took turns shoving him to one another, each man punching or kicking him someplace. Jack was rapidly loosing consciousness from the many blows, but the biggest blow was when one of them said,
"You think you're such a hot-shot with your singing and dancing, but nobody's interested you, little fag. It time to bring down the curtain, so here's a final round of applause."
The last thing Jack remembered was seeing a hand being balled into a fist and drawn back.
A dim sliver of light was just brightening the eastern sky when Jack again regained consciousness. He awoke with a shiver. His Forzieri jacket was gone. Not much had improved; in fact the cold damp of the ground added an extra stiffness to his injuries. Not sure how long he had been there, he tried to stand, but every muscle in his bruised body screamed with the effort, but he knew he couldn't stay on that hard, cold ground indefinitely. He had to get out of there. Breathing heavily, he gradually inched his way up using the wall as support. A knee ached painfully, one eye was swollen shut, and his left arm hung limply at his side. His head was throbbing worse than the worst hangover he ever had. He wiped his face with the back of his good hand and noticed blood on it – not surprisingly. He thought that he probably looked as good as he felt. Then he noticed an empty wallet a few feet away but what could an empty wallet do for him? He was going to have to make it under his own power. He gradually limped away seeking refuge. He suddenly realized – where was he going? In fact, who was he? He just couldn't remember anything about himself. Looking desperately around for something that might give him a clue, his eye fell on a brightly lighted façade of a building down a way on the other side of the street. Few vehicles were about and Jack met no pedestrians. Anyone that saw him might just assume he was a drunk returning from an all-nighter. He was exhausted with effort and pain, but managed to stagger towards the hospitable light. He stopped briefly to read the marquee: "86th Street City Mission – All Welcome." At least he hadn't forgotten how to read. He groaned - things were starting to swirl around – he had to get inside before he passed out again. Panting, he lurched through the door. As the door swung open, Jack fell inward with it. He was out cold, but he was inside.
The next thing Jack knew, he was laying on a cot and a warm compress was on his forehead. A woman in a khaki blouse and skirt was bustling around. He went to shift his position and noticed his arm was in a sling. He was laying there in just his underwear. Jack moaned and tried to sit up. This immediately got the woman's attention.
"Please, don't try to get up, sir," she said, gently easing him back onto the bed.
"Who are you?" Jack asked weakly.
"Norma Robinson. I work here part-time. And who are you, if I may ask?"
"I wish I knew," Jack sighed. "I woke up in an alley off the street this morning and I have no idea how I got there or who I am. Isn't that funny?" Jack sighed.
"Not really. We had our staff doctor examine you. You have a dislocated left shoulder, a bruised right knee and a possible concussion. He thinks you were probably mugged. You had no identification on you. Do you remember anything?"
Jack shook his head, but the movement made him dizzy. He moaned again.
"You poor man! Can I get you anything? Hot coffee or soup?" Norma offered.
"No, thanks…uh…Miss. I just want to sleep right now, if it's okay with you," Jack responded tiredly.
"Certainly. Take all the time you need. That's what we're here for," Norma replied, squeezing Jack's hand.
"Thank you…thank you…" Jack said as he let the weariness overtake him.