Memories can hit you like a brick, but for me it’s like walking down a path into the sunset. Memories in perfect clarity can appear at random intervals. At least it used to, so I’m told.
Right now, I have no memories. My life up until the point I woke up this morning in a hospital bed is all black, nothing.
A woman I have never met before, my girlfriend, is talking to a guy I also have never met before, my best friend. I can tell something is bothering them, and it’s not the fact that I have no memories of them. It’s something else. They look back at me, as I pretend to sleep.
“He said to call him when he woke up,” my best friend says.
“But he had nothing to do with it,” my girlfriend replies. “He obviously doesn’t remember what happened that night, why trouble him with the Detective.”
“Because she’s dead Jean, and somewhere locked in that blank brain of his is the answer as to why.”
“He didn’t do it! I can’t believe it.”
“You have to believe it!”
“Why? Why should I?”
“Because he killed her!”