June 2003
He felt hands pull him out of the water; he was cold but the symptoms of hypothermia did not seem to be setting in quite yet. He heard many people talking, but didn't have the energy to respond. His back hurt and his head felt like it wanted to split open. But as he fluctuated into consciousness, he knew he would pull through. There was somewhere he had to be, and something he had to do.
He woke in a hospital room, laying front-down on a bed, his back feeling better than before. He could hear the sounds of equipment, medical personnel and the occasional family member. He can also hear the scribbling of a pen and a man muttering slightly under his breath.
"So…you're awake," the man said as he stopped dealing with his notes and scooted his chair in front of the man who'd been muttering in at least four languages vaguely familiar to the detective. And some that weren't.
"I, I guess so. What happened?"
"That's my question, actually. You seem to have been shot in the back…twice. Care to let me know how that happened?"
"I, I don't know."
"How about what you were doing when the fishermen pulled you out of the water?"
"I think I…I was cold…and hurting and…afraid of something. I ran…right over a cliff."
"Okay, what about before that?"
Quiet, and the detective watched as the man tried very hard to concentrate.
"I don't know."
"What do you mean?"
"I, I can't remember anything before waking up there."
"Okay, how about something simple…your name?"
"I, I don't know that either. I woke up and that was the first memory I have."
"Amnesia?" the police officer asked in disbelief, leaning back. "I find that hard to believe."
"Hey, you find out who I am, feel free to let me in on the secret, detective," the younger man grimaced, clearly frustrated.
"Detective? How do you know that?"
"I'm in a hospital, being questioned as to my identity and whereabouts regarding my past. You're not wearing the normal attire or instrumentation of a doctor. Your questions are not of a medical nature. Your clothing indicates cold weather most of the year, the darker colors favored by those in authority and northern climates. Your watch says it's ten in the morning, and the angle of the sun through the window—"
"Stop. I thought you couldn't remember anything?"
"No, I guess I just can't remember anything before I woke up on the island. The areas of the mind and the handling of mem—"
"Stop…what are you, an encyclopedia salesman?"
"I don't know."
June 12th, 2003 – 2:30 PM
The detective, Frank Hayes, had run his fingerprints and identification through many national databases, but no hits from any of them. From the number of languages the guy had been able to speak, he was sure the military or FBI at least would know him… but nothing. His accent seemed to indicate he was from California, maybe the southern part, but that was it. The bullet wounds had healed, and the man who seemed to know everything except himself, was due to leave that morning. And as they had no reason to believe he was a foreign agent, or one who had committed a crime, he was being discharged in some spare clothes Frank had found at a Goodwill. He sighed as the man picked up a sports page and a two-dollar-bill someone had dropped in the parking garage. Frank was still curious, so he'd swung by to offer the guy a ride at least to a shelter.
"So…where to?"
"Is this today's date?" the 'John Doe' asked, showing him the paper.
"Yeah."
"Can you take me to the track? I need to see if this stuff in my head will get me enough money to stay off the streets." Frank shook his head, and drove the man to the Seacouver-Cascade Race Track just ten miles up the road, and a little out of his jurisdiction.
The man after a few minutes, turned from the paper and looked over, "Since you haven't said anything I'm guessing there aren't any leads on who I am or why someone would want to kill me?"
"Sorry, none at all."
Frank had to dodge out of the way of a tour bus chased by a crazy man in a taxi, and was going to turn around when he noticed several police vehicles zooming in on the event. Out of his jurisdiction, and having twice in the last year been cautioned by Avery about going outside the city boundaries without first letting someone know…he let the Cascade PD handle this one.
The race track was an odd experience, the guy building up a steady fortune. He was about to roll it all out on yet another trifecta when Frank pulled him aside.
"Hey man, you're going to sit this one out, you're getting a glazed look gamblers sometimes get. And you're not even holding back some of that lucre in case Lady Fate has it in to teach you a lesson."
The men argued about odds being just that, and not a guarantee, long enough that the race started. 'John Doe' sighed and looked out, watched as his horse lined up… and then one slipped and bumped another, two of them going down in the mud but unharmed. He looked at Frank.
"How did you know?"
"I didn't, but thing is, my man, you weren't using that weird-ass freaky brain of yours to cover yourself. Now, you still wanna keep going?" Frank watched 'Doe' think about it, then nod. "Okay, first thing, you got several grand. Here's the plan. First, hand me fifty dollars. Good, now hand put two grand plus two dollars in that left pocket of yours. Better. That'll cover you a bit. Get you started. Now, if you still want to bet, go get 'em."
Doe came back a minute later, "Hey, what was the fifty for?"
"I'm hungry, it covers my gas, and I paid for those second-hand clothes. This way you start life again on your own two feet. And when you see someone who you think will use the two dollar bill? Give it to them and let them have a chance."
"That's an interesting way of looking at things, Frank."
"Wisdom, my man. You have intelligence and facts, and I have experience and a feel for things. And I'm still curious about how you came to my little town."
"That makes two of us, Frank. That makes two of us."