The last thing Mike saw was the truck careening out of control in the distance and bursting into flames. He had suffered a blow to the head and it hurt badly. His memories faded and he lost consciousness.
Mike wondered where he was. The bedroom was strange to him. Muffled sounds reached him through the slightly open door. Bright sunlight seeped through the curtains.
He stirred. “Shit, my head hurts!” Realising he didn’t remember his name or what had happened, he was worried. He lay back down and waited until the blinding pain dissipated. Then he wrestled with the fact that he drew blanks: His name? His family? Why didn’t he remember anything?
A little while later, a dignified-looking man nudged the door open. He was of medium height and had a tangle of blonde hair. He made his way to the bed, and Mike noticed that his hands showed signs of hard work. Mike looked into the man’s face and estimated him to be 50ish. He was quite good looking.
“Hello. We found you wandering in the sugar plantation and brought you here. When you’ve relaxed a bit, we can feed you up. It looks like you could do with a hearty meal.”
Mike was confused.
“I’m George Thomson.” The man offered his hand. Mike looked at it and then tentatively took and shook it. The effort was painful.
“I’m... ” Words failed him. Think, dammit, think! He looked around the room to see if there was anything recognisable.
“I’m sorry, Sir, I don’t have a clue what my name is. Or my family... or anything... ”
George looked stunned. Hesitantly, he went on: “That’s okay, you just rest up. We’ll take good care of you. My twins are curious to meet you.”
“My daughters,” he added as an afterthought and smiled.