The Stranger In Room 205 (Hot off the Press! 1)

The nurse nodded. She leaned over the bed and peered into his eyes. “Headache?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“He seems a little disoriented,” Serena added, proving she hadn’t been entirely fooled by his act.

The nurse didn’t look surprised. “That’s to be expected with the concussion. The doctor will be in soon, but they’ve got him running out there now.”

He tried to nod, but went still when his head hammered in protest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She didn’t smile. “How bad is the disorientation? Do you remember how you came to be here?”

According to Serena, he had been severely beaten. Left for dead in a ditch. “I know what happened.”

“Do you remember the attack itself?”

It seemed safe enough to say, “Not much, I’m afraid.”

“That’s to be expected. Any other memory loss?”

He looked straight into her dark eyes. “No.”

She seemed to believe him. Her pen hovered over the clipboard cradled in her left arm as she asked, “What’s your name?”

“Sam Wallace.”

“Middle initial?”

“None. Just Sam.” The parents he’d just invented for himself weren’t particularly creative. He wondered what his real parents were like. Were they even now looking for him, frantic with worry? Was he being a total idiot not to tell someone what was going on between his ears? The answer, of course, was yes. Still, he didn’t change his mind.

“Birth date?”

As far as he could remember, he’d been born less than half an hour ago. He chose a date at random, finding it mildly curious that he could remember things like names and months and numbers, even though they held no personal meaning for him. “June twenty-second.”

“Yeah? Today’s the twentieth, so that means you’ve got a birthday coming up in a few days. What year were you born?”

Year? He wasn’t even sure what year it was now. He couldn’t remember what he looked like, whether his hair was dark or light or gray—if he even had hair. He didn’t feel old…but he didn’t feel young, either.

Damn it, what was going on here? Why the hell couldn’t he remember?

He groaned.

Serena stood and rested her hand on his shoulder, the gesture oddly protective. “He’s obviously in pain, LuWanda. Isn’t there anything you can do for him?”

LuWanda closed the clipboard. “I’ll get the doctor.”

He was grateful for the brief reprieve. He gave Serena a shamelessly pitiful look. “My head’s killing me,” he said.

She brushed a lank strand of hair off his forehead, her fingertips cool against his skin. So he did have hair. Nice to know.

“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do for you? Someone I can call for you?”

He thought again of the family that could be searching for him. With a mental apology to them—if, indeed, they existed—he shook his head. “There isn’t anyone to call, but thank you for offering.”

What he really wanted right now was to be alone. A chance to think. To break through the mental barrier that was keeping him from his memories. He was certain that he could do so if he only had the time to work at it a bit…on his own, without disruptions. But as the door opened again and a short, squarely built older man he assumed to be the doctor strode briskly into the room, he knew it would be a while yet before he would be left alone. Now he had only to keep up his pretense until his mind cleared, which he fervently hoped it would do before he had to deal with the police. If the memories didn’t return soon… Well, he would take this one step at a time.

Seeing the doctor, Serena smiled and stepped back. “I’ll get out of the way now and let Dr. Frank take care of you. You’re in good hands here, Sam.”

Sam. The name sounded strange…but maybe just a little familiar? Was it possible that it really was his own? “You’re leaving?”