Mrs. Racer awoke to the sound of someone crying softly. For a moment, she'd forgotten where she was and what had happened to her son, and she raised her head to see who was sobbing. Realization flooded her when she saw where she was at and she immediately went to her son's side.

In his hand, he held a small, blue velvet box. Pain reflected in his eyes as tears pooled in them, threatening to spill over. The box itself had been flipped open and Mrs. Racer looked to see what it held, paying no attention to the fact that two other people were there.

Nestled in the box was a band of gold – she guessed it to be 14 karat – and in the center of the band rested a single diamond. Her son had been set to ask his high school sweetheart to marry him and she had turned him away for an alleged affair.

In a flash, he closed the box and set it back down, his eyes closed. He took several deep breaths to calm himself down but she knew it would be a matter of time before he would break down, the pain of the loss eating away at him.

"Oh, my child," she whispered, kissing his forehead.

As if aware of her presence for the first time, he opened his eyes and looked at her. She saw recognition in them. He knew. He remembered and, for a moment only, she wished he didn't, if only to spare him the pain of remembering what he had lost.

'How could you not believe in him, Trixie? The only girl he ever loved was you. How could you?'

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Sarge looked at the young man he'd been watching over for the past year. He definitely remembered something. Sarge was sure of it but he didn't want to press the issue. Whatever he remembered had been painful, far more painful than anything the Black Tigers had done to him. A strong urge to leave and let him be overtook Sarge and he bowed his head respectfully. The kid needed some time to himself. He could see that.

"I'll leave you be, kid. If you remember and you're ready to talk, tell Dr. Richmond and I'll be here as quickly as I can."

He turned to go but stopped when he heard a soft voice whisper, "I remember . . . I'll talk now."

"You don't have to, kid," he stated. "Give yourself some time . . ."

"No . . . I want to talk now," came the insistence. "Maybe . . . maybe it'll help . . ."

Sarge turned to face him and he saw a sincerity there that he had not seen in anyone his age for a very long time. Speed definitely reminded him of Ryan O'Connell the night Ryan had died and Ryan had been dead when he saw him. He hesitated for a moment, wondering just how much this was going to be on this young man, and then he nodded.

"All right. Let me get my things and we'll begin."

Sarge quickly exited the room and headed for his patrol car. He always carried a notepad, never knowing when he would end up needing it. By the time he got back to the room, his father and his friends had awakened, and Torie still sat next to him. Their hands had somehow become entangled. Sarge smiled at the sight.

'Another kind soul . . . I'm glad they've met. Maybe they can help each other out with their problems.'

Pulling up a chair, Sarge flipped open his notebook and pulled out his pen, ready for the task at hand.

"Okay . . . start from the beginning, son. And if it becomes too much, we can always do this at a later day. You understand?"

"I do," he nodded. Taking a deep breath, he began his story.

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Rex watched and listened in envy and horror at his brother's tale. Horror at the detail in which he described the assault that had rained upon him and envy at the fact his brother held Torie Cronkhite's hand. He had to hold himself in check to keep from ripping their hands apart.

'She's being a friend to him,' he told himself. 'That's all. He's too young for her anyway.'

Eventually, Speed's tale ended and Sergeant Mahoney left, armed with enough to get an arrest warrant. Rex's heart ached after hearing everything his brother had gone through. No one should have gone through anything like that.

"So what are you doing here, Torie?"

Sparky's question brought Rex back to the here and now. He, too, had wondered why she had come back, especially after the somewhat hostile way Pops had treated her the day before.

"Clothing donation," she replied. "Figured he'd need some clothes while he's here so I went through some of Ryan's old clothes and picked out the ones I thought he'd be able to wear."

"You didn't have to do that," his mother stated.

"But I wanted to," Torie smiled.

"Won't your boyfriend get upset?" Speed asked. Rex grimaced behind his mask.

'Wrong thing to bring up, Speed.'

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind, sweetie," she stated, still smiling. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

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Speed frowned when he heard Torie say that. Her boyfriend wouldn't mind her giving away his clothes? Somehow, he doubted it but something in her eyes told him that there was more to the story than that. Something had happened. He could tell. Then he thought of something, something Robert had mentioned briefly yesterday.

"You and Ryan were in that car accident with Robert, weren't you?" he whispered. Torie's eyes met his. She didn't even have to answer the question. Her eyes held the answer. He knew.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again. Torie offered him a faint smile.

"Don't be," she said. "It wasn't your fault. There wasn't anything anyone could do anyway."

"I'm sorry that it's hurt you . . ."

"Losing someone you love is a part of life, Speed. It's something we must learn to deal with, y'know? Life does go on. Besides, I still have a little piece of him," she smiled a little brighter, squeezing his hand gently. "And I think he'd be more than happy to help you out as well."

"Thank you . . ."

His eyes glanced back at the velvet box that held the engagement ring he had picked out for Trixie. He missed her, more than anything, yet his heart no longer felt like it would explode. Speed wondered if the coma had anything to do with that.

'I guess a year of sleeping could do that to someone . . .'

"Thank you, Ms Cronkhite," Pops said, his gruff voice tearing into his thoughts. "I'm sure the clothes will come in handy when we take him home. Hopefully the doctor will be releasing him soon. If you'll excuse us, we need to talk to the doctor . . ."

"Sure," she said, not sounding entirely certain that she should leave. "I need to get home to my brats anyway, make sure they haven't demolished the place . . ."

Torie stood up and left. Speed wanted to call her back. Next to his mother and Robert, Torie had been one of the friendliest faces he'd seen since waking up. Sure, everyone had been happy to see him alive and well but she'd been the first one, next to Robert, who had actually talked to him and looked at him as if he were a person and not the famous Speed Racer. He rather liked that.

"That was rather rude, Pops," he commented quietly, his eyes staring at the ceiling. "She was only trying to help."

"We don't need help from people like her," Pops retorted. "You're not a charity case and you sure as hell are not going to act like one. We'll find someone else to donate those clothes to."

"What makes you think she's treating me like a charity case?" Speed couldn't believe how dull his voice sounded in his ears.

"Because you look like her dead fiancé," Pops snapped. "That's why."

"What?" Speed wished he could push himself up so he could look at his father. Had his father just said what he thought he said?

"You heard me. You look like her dead fiancé. That's why she's being nice. She's probably hoping that you can take his place."

"You don't know that, Pops," he whispered. By now, tears were pooling in his eyes once more. Why, he wasn't sure. They were just there. "She could really want to help."

"We're not going to be accepting her help," Pops stated. "We're going to find the Mach 5 and get you home. The sooner we do that, the better."

"Maybe I don't want to leave . . ."

"You're coming home with us, Speed. It's where you belong," Pops told him. "You have a life there. Here, you have nothing. Just pain and grief. I wonder who we can talk to about donating these clothes . . ."

"We're . . . not donating them," Speed said through clenched teeth. Since coming to, he'd had a terrible ache in his back from not being able to move around much. Today, it seemed to be amplified by something and he'd been trying his best to ignore it.

"Speed," his father began, his tone warning.

"We're not donating them, Pops. I don't care if you think she's treating me like a charity case or not. I'm not about to insult someone who's suffered a greater tragedy than I have. We're not donating the clothes."

"Dear, I think we need to go take a walk," his mother said suddenly. Speed figured Pops was about to say something more but she was intervening.

"Of course . . ."

His mother kissed him lightly on the forehead and murmured, "Calm down, baby. Just calm down and relax. I'll be right back."

He heard them leave but he couldn't calm down. The pain in his back was becoming unbearable and he tried adjusting himself, if only to ease the pain a little. However, he had very little strength in his arms and none in his legs. The back brace held him firmly in place from his neck to his waist. Movement was limited at best.

"Speed, are you all right?" Sparky asked, his voice filled with concern.

"I can't . . ."

"Everything all right?" a female voice asked. Speed recognized her voice. It was the nurse from the day before. Val, he believed.

"Yeah," he lied. "I'm all right."

"Mmm-hmmm . . . I'll be right back."

She exited and a few moments later, two young girls entered. They ushered his friends out and pulled the privacy curtain. Val walked in a few moments later, after they had informed him of what they were about to do. Speed frowned nervously.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes," Val nodded. "I'm sure, Mr. Racer. Dr. Richmond says it'll be a good idea for you to get out of that bad, especially if you're having a hard time getting comfortable. Besides, he wants to start your physical therapy as soon as possible."

He wasn't sure of how long it took – he couldn't see any clocks – but in what felt like an hour, Speed had been cleaned, dressed, and transferred into a wheelchair.

"You ready?" Val asked, stepping behind the wheelchair.

"I guess . . ."

"Then here we go."

She pushed him out into the hallway but, before they had gone too far, he managed to catch a glimpse of himself in a mirror.

He looked nothing like he had a year ago. His hair nearly reached his shoulders and he had dark circles under his eyes. Any traces of happiness he had felt then were gone. Sadness edged his blue eyes and he wondered if he'd ever be able to recapture what he once felt. The dark clothing Torie had donated seemed appropriate to him somehow.

'Who am I kidding?' he thought morosely. 'Those days are over. I'll never be able to go back.'

He rode in silence as they made their way down the hall.