Chapter 1
When I opened my eyes, I didn't know where I was. Then I heard the beeping of machines and the whoosh of something else, and I tried to sit up. The tubes and wires coming from every conceivable part of my body prevented me from doing so, however, so I just laid there and tried to think. I raised one hand, which had a tube going into the back of it, to my head and felt bandages. Another tube went around my face and into my nose, and a third was clearly in my dick. What the fuck was going on?
Just then, a door to my left opened, and a man in a cheap, brown suit walked in with a book. His head was down, and he walked slowly and in a way that showed me he had a heavy burden to carry. I didn't know him, but I cleared my throat, and his head snapped up. He was Hispanic and about fifty years old or so. His black hair was starting to turn to gray, and his face looked sad. A slow smile stretched across his face, however, and he put the book down on a chair, pushed a button by the bed, and walked to me.
"Damien!" he said as he took my hand. "Thank God you're awake!"
"Awake? What does that mean?"
He patted my hand, and I fought the urge to snatch it away from him. "You've been unconscious for almost a day, son."
Son? I looked at him in confusion, and then I said, "I'm sorry, but who are you?"
His eyes went wide, and he looked like he was going to cry. "You don't remember? I'm your father, Damien."
I shook my head slightly but stopped when a sharp pain raced through it. "I don't remember. Where am I?"
"You're in the hospital, son. What's the last thing you do remember?"
I searched my brain for the answer to that question, but found it empty. I started to panic as I said, "I don't remember anything." I looked at the man. "What is happening to me?"
He gripped my hand tightly as a doctor and nurse came into the room, the first dressed in a white lab coat and the other in light blue scrubs.
"Mr. Gutierrez!" the doctor said cheerfully. "Good to see your eyes open. My name is Doctor Simonton." He came to me and raised the head of the bed before poking and prodding my entire body. "How are you feeling?"
"My head hurts," I said quietly, still disturbed that I had no memories of anything. "And I have to piss."
"You have a catheter," the doctor said distractedly as he looked into my eyes. "Just let it go." As I relaxed and did so, he leaned back. "How bad is the pain in your head?"
"Compared to what?"
"On a scale of one to ten, with one being no pain and ten being so bad you can't breathe."
I thought about that. "Four."
He smiled. "Well, that's not too bad, then."
"Um, Doctor?" the man who had first come in said tentatively.
"What is it, Mr. Gutierrez?"
"He doesn't remember me, sir."
That brought a frown to the doctor's face as he stared at me. "You don't remember your father?"
I looked at the other man. "No. I don't remember him, I don't remember me, and I don't know what I'm doing here!" I knew my voice was becoming hysterical, but I couldn't stop it. "Why can't I remember anything?"
Doctor Simonton laid his hand on my shoulder and spoke softly. "Calm down, Mr. Gutierrez. You hit your head in the accident. Amnesia after a head injury isn't uncommon. Just be patient. You might get your memory back."
"Might? And if I don't? What then? I go through life with no memories?"
"It's called retrograde amnesia, and it's unpredictable. You might get your memory back, and you might not. There's no way for anyone to tell."
I looked at the man who had called himself my father when he let out a sob, and then I realized what the doctor had said.
"Wait. Accident? What accident?" At that, my father burst into tears and ran from the room. I reached out a hand and grabbed the doctor by the front of his coat. "What happened to me?"
Doctor Simonton calmly pried my fingers from his coat, pulled the chair up to the bed, and sat down. "You were hit by a drunk driver who ran a red light. You were on your way to Mass when it happened." He cocked his head and looked at me. "Your wife and children died in the accident. I'm so sorry, Mr. Gutierrez."
"Wife and children? I had a wife and children?" I felt sad, but it was the sadness that I felt when I heard about any tragedy that didn't affect me personally. For this tragedy didn't affect me personally. At least, not that I could remember. "How many children?"
"Three."
"Three children. And a wife." I looked at the doctor. "What were their names?"
"Your wife's name was Annabelle, and your children were Eduardo, Ana, and Louisa."
I tried to make a connection to those names, but had no luck. "How old were my children?"
"Seven, four, and one. I'm sorry, Mr. Gutierrez, I really am."
"There's nothing to be sorry for, Doctor," I said bitterly. "I don't remember them." I shifted in the bed. "How long do I have to stay here?"
"Well," he said as he stood, a frown on his face, "we have to do a few tests to make sure there's no pressure or bleeding on your brain, but if that all comes out normal, you shouldn't have to be here past tomorrow. We'll get you up and walking today if the tests are normal, and you should be able to go home tomorrow."
"Home. I don't even know where home is."
"Well," he patted my arm, "maybe once you're there the memories will start coming back. Sometimes being around familiar things helps."
"Maybe."
The rest of the day was spent getting poked and prodded and scanned and manhandled. The nurse took the catheter from my dick, and her hands felt good. When she was finished, I had a semi, and she just smiled. She was cute, maybe twenty-two or so.
"Don't worry, Mr. Gutierrez. It happens."
"I'm not worried," I grinned at her, and she frowned at me before rushing from the room.
The scans turned out to be normal, and a physical therapist came in to help me learn to walk again considering the fucker who had hit us shattered my right femur. I had three metal plates and several screws in my leg, and the whole thing was immobilized from toes to hip. It didn't take long for me to figure out how to use the crutches, though, and by the end of the day, I was hanging out at the nurses' station, flirting with them, especially the cute one who had handled my dick. She tried to avoid me, but I made that hard for her to do.
"Mr. Gutierrez," she finally said, "this is not appropriate behavior. Your wife just died."
I shrugged. "Maybe so, but I don't remember it. All I know is that you're really cute, and I'd like to take you out to dinner sometime."
"No! Now go back to your room before I call security."
Giving her another shrug, I did. I fell asleep that night wondering if I would remember anything the next day, but when I woke up in the morning, everything was still a complete blank.
