The man grunted and closed his eyes again. His head was pounding and the police officer who was asking him questions was only making his headache worse.
"I'm sorry." he grunted, surprised by how dry his mouth actually was. "Don't remember."
The officer didn't press him further but grabbed something that was behind and brought it into view. It was a bottle of water.
John Doe eyed it, watching as the man held it out of reach. Licking his cracked lips, he listened as the officer asked him more questions.
"Now I'll give you this, but first, you need to offer me something. What do you remember about being in that building?"
Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to not concentrate on his splitting headache which the police officer who was asking him questions was only made worse by trying to force him to speak.
Sighing, he tried to bring back the events that led him here.
"I remember falling, hitting my head."
"What about before that? Were you with anyone? Did you notice anything?"
"No. I was alone. Why?"
"No reason." the officer sighed and handed over the water bottle after loosening the lid.
John drank as much of the bottle as he could in one breath before bringing it down again.
He stole a quick glance at the man seated next to his bed. When had first woken up, his first thoughts were that he was that the grim reaper, death, was here to finally take him to hell. When his brain started to register that there was an officer, and a detective no doubt, sitting beside him, then it was like a switch turning on.
The detective was tall with blonde hair and hazel eyes that looked soulless. The man's face was stone cold and if it weren't for the fact that he offered him something to drink after noticing that he was struggling, then he would've thought the man uncaring and cruel.
He didn't know what the man was talking about, of course he knew what his name was. It was…
John Doe frowned, why was it hard to recall. It was his name for crying out loud.
The initials were E.P.S. That could stand for anything. It might not even be his for all he knew. He didn't remember much about whatever building the officer was referring to, but he figured it to be where they found him.
The feeling of falling was fresh in his head, and he could guess that he had hit his head on the descent.
"Do you have anyone you want to call?" came the officer's voice, bringing him out of his thoughts.
John felt the need to call someone, but that he shouldn't.
"No." he mumbled.
Frowning, he looked back up at the officer.
"How long have I been asleep?"
"You've been in a coma for almost two weeks. I'm Detective Chris Larabee of the D.C.P.D."
John nodded, "So when will I be released?"
"Time will tell. Once the doctor discharges you, you will be put in a safe house under supervision until you remember or until we can determine who set off the bomb which knocked you out."
"You don't possibly think that I did this." John huffed.
"Maybe you aren't, but you're the only one who survived it by some degree and may have seen who did this."
"What, you're saying I repressed my memory?" John scoffed.
"I don't know if you're repressing it or lying. Either way, you are under surveillance because you were trespassing."
John took note of the handcuff around his left wrist.
Detective Larabee stood up, "If you remember anything you can tell the officer on guard. Otherwise, I'll be in tomorrow after work."