'Tired. So tired. Why am I tired? What happened?'

Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw a sterile white ceiling. He tried moving his head but couldn't. Something metallic held it in place.

"What happened? Where am I?" he whispered. His throat felt incredibly dry and his voice sounded cracked. He barely recognized it as his own.

"Hey, you're awake!" a voice exclaimed. "I'll call the nurse."

"You don't have . . ." he began. He really didn't want to hear any shouting.

"Don't worry. Someone should be in here soon," the voice assured. "As for your second question, you're in the hospital. Your call button is next to your right hand."

"Hospital? How . . .?"

"Don't know, kid. You were here when I got here."

"How long have you been here?" His voice grew a little stronger but his mouth still felt unbelievably dry. He wondered how long he'd been asleep and how come he was in the hospital. Had he been ill? He didn't know nor could he recall.

"Oh, about two weeks. My name's Robert Johnson. What's your name?"

He opened his mouth to say something but drew a blank. What was his name?

"You okay?"

"Yeah," he whispered weakly, trying to think of what his name could be. "What hospital am I in?"

"St. Mary's," Robert replied.

"I've never heard of it . . ."

"You're not from Philadelphia, are you?"

"I don't know."

The nurse entered the room at that moment. He only knew this because she came to his bed and he saw the white uniform.

She had short blonde hair and blue eyes that were accented by blue and purple eye shadow. A warm smile graced her face. Her name tag read "Val."

"You're awake. This is a good sign. For a moment, we weren't sure you were going to wake up. I'll get the doctor."

She pressed a button on the wall then turned to go.

"Miss . . . what happened? Why am I here?" Panic tinged his voice. He didn't want her to leave. Not just yet. Not when he had questions he needed answers to.

She walked over to him and rested a hand on his forehead. It had a rather soothing effect on him.

"You don't remember what happened?" she inquired softly.

He tried shaking his head 'no,' but it still wouldn't move.

"Oh dear . . . You were involved in a gang beating a year ago. You'd been in a coma since."

He frowned. A gang beating? Why didn't he remember that?

"How come I don't remember that?"

"Trauma," she stated. "Some people develop amnesia when under stressful circumstances. Do you remember where you're from or anything else?"

"No . . ."

"I better get the doctor then. He needs to know."

She exited before he could say anything more. Other than a monitor beeping softly and the TV on, the room was silent and he tried in vain to remember who he was.

888888888

Sparky wiped the sweat off of his forehead before focusing on the engine of the Shooting Star. The day after Speed had disappeared, he had called Carl Prescott, the man who had made the offer for his brother Taylor, and reneged on the contract. It had upset him but Sparky didn't care. All that had mattered was that he remained true to his best friend and he had waited at the Racer home, hoping Speed would show up so he could tell him.

Speed, however, had never shown up. A day turned into a week and a week into a month. When it became apparent Speed had disappeared and had made no contact with his parents to let them know he was safe or even where he was at, Inspector Detector made finding him his top priority. It became a statewide search after that and they even searched the lakes. The Mach 5, after all, was a hard car to misplace but after a year, no one had seen or heard anything about Speed. He was gone and his disappearance made the national news.

"Sparky? Are you all right?"

Sparky looked at the Masked Racer.

"Fine. Why do you ask?"

"Because you look like you're ready to rip my engine apart," he joked lightly. "I hope it hasn't bitten you or anything."

"Oh," Sparky blushed slightly. "I was just . . . thinking about Speed."

"I see. . ."

"Why hasn't he tried contacting us? He's got to know by now how worried we are about him!"

"I'm sure there's a reason as to why he hasn't," Racer X stated quietly.

"Yeah. I guess you're right," Sparky sighed. "The car is almost in tip-top shape. Thanks for letting me take a look at her."

"No problem, Sparky. No problem."

The two men fell silent for a few moments. As he sat there, Sparky thought about his trip to Philadelphia and his seeing a possible Speed look-alike. He had told only Trixie and Speed about that but never gave out many details. It had been a passing incident and one that he felt no longer relevant. He had believed his best friend when he said he had not been in Philadelphia.

'I wonder if he took off for Philadelphia or New York. I don't think he'd take kindly to anyone impersonating him or anything. I just hope he hasn't gotten himself into any trouble . . .'

"Racer X, there's something I need to tell you . . ."

888888888

"Hey, Sarge. That kid finally woke up. Dr. Richmond just called."

Sarge – an old Irish, plump, Philadelphian-born police officer – looked up from his paperwork. The young officer was not smiling. Not a good sign, in the veteran's opinion.

"He's awake? Good. They get his name?"

"Afraid not, Sarge. He doesn't even remember getting beaten."

Sarge sighed. He had been afraid something like that would happen. The Black Tigers would be getting away with a crime once again.

888888888

"Trixie, I've been thinking and there's something I want to ask you."

"What's that, Taylor?"

"Will you marry me?"