JOHN DOE

Home. He had to get home.

His feet stumbled over nothing as he shuffled forward, the soft breeze cooling his sweat-soaked skin. The sun was at his back as he walked, and his head throbbed in time with his pounding heart.

"What's happening!"

"Oh, my God!"

"Please..."

He blinked blearily and wiped the sweat from his eyes. The field stretched out in front of him for miles, but he couldn't stop. He had to keep going, had to get home.

"This can't be happening..."

"Our Father, who art in heaven..."

"...this is the Captain..."

He shook his head quickly, wincing at the sharp lance of pain behind his eyes. The flashes were getting more frequent, but his mind couldn't grasp any one of them for longer than a few seconds. He wasn't sure what they meant, but every time they came he felt a little more off balance. The breeze turned colder, and the field in front of him morphed into a smattering of trees. He stumbled on, his feet catching on an exposed tree root. He fell and rolled down a hill, unable to stop himself from crying out as his arm bent around behind him at an odd angle.

"...never got to tell her I loved her...

"Mommy! I'm scared!"

"...hold my hand..."

A chill woke him and he jolted awake, his breath puffing in the night air. Groaning, he managed to push himself into a sitting position. The beat of his heart pounded a staccato rhythm in his head, and it took him a few tries to get to his feet.

His steps were muffled by the damp leaves on the ground, and he spun around a moment before striking off to his left. The trees loomed all around him, blocking out the surrounding scenery. Screams echoed in his mind, and his fingers curled around an imaginary hand as he tripped forward. Haunting blue eyes stared lifelessly at him, and he sobbed even as he continued on.

The skyline ahead of him lightened gradually, the dark giving way to a new day. His throat was on fire and his head swam, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. The ground beneath his feet grew more solid, and when he looked down he saw the forest floor had changed to concrete. A sharp honk startled him and he leaped backwards as tires squealed on the road.

"Oh my God," a man's voice cut through the screams in his head. "Are you alright?"

Cold hands pale with death reached for him. He pushed away, his eyes wide and frightened.

"Hey, take it easy." Another voice on his other side. Surrounding him. He had to get away.

"No," he murmured, scrambling back as hands reached for him again.

"It's alright," the first man said. "You're bleeding. We need to get you to a hospital."

"I...no..."

"It's alright." The hands were warmer now, pink and alive. "It's alright." Those words repeated again, drowning out the screams and giving him something else to cling to. Those words anchored him as the world spun around him, surrounding him, devouring him.

"...African American male, mid-thirties, suffering from exposure as well as multiple lacerations and contusions..."

"...no identification..."

"What the hell happened to him?"

Home. He had to get home.