Hardy Boys - Lead Me To Myself

Danny

'Danny'

'Hey, Danny'

'Danny!'

He momentarily opened his eyes, only to close them again as rays of light attacked him.

"There you go, son," Said a low, rumbling voice from somewhere above him. "Nice and easy. Take your time."

"Ohh..." He groaned. He tried again to open his eyes, taking a slower approach, this time, to let them adjust. He blinked a few times against the brightness. When he finally opened his eyes, he could see a bulk figure of a man, silhouetted against the light, hunched over him.

"Wha-" He began as he tried to sit himself up. His head began to spin and he laid himself back down.

"Slow down there, son," The large man said. "You must have got hit pretty hard. How long have you been out?"

"Out?" He asked. He gently turned his head to take in his surroundings. Tall metal shelves filled the room, stretching from wall to wall and rising almost to meet the ceiling. Pastel rays of sun shown trough narrow windows lining the the very top of each of the concrete walls. Must be morning, he reasoned upon seeing the bluntness of the sunlight.

"Where am I?" He asked after realising that this strange, bulky place held no name within his mind.

A look of concern passed over the man's features. His bushy, red eyebrows furrowed and his deep, brown eyes conveyed thought. The man's bald head wrinkled as his brow creased and his mustache - which matched his eyebrows quite well - rose as he opened his mouth to say, "You're in the warehouse, boy. Suppose you have been since we all left last night. Don't you remember?"

"No," Was all he said. Shaking his head would hurt too much. "I don't remember."

"Well, now," The man grumbled. "Surely you remember something of last night."

"No," He said again. "I'm sorry."

"Hmm." The man rubbed a hand over his bald head, his fingers seeming to run themselves through the memory of the bright red locks that used to be there. "And you don't know where you are?"

"No." It seemed like the answer would be the same for every question this guy asked.

"You remember who I am, of course?" The man said, pausing all of his fidgets to listen more closely as the question passed his lips.

"I'm afraid I don't," He said, honestly. The question had kind of startled him. Should he know this man? Obviously he'd taken quite a blow to the head; it wasn't terribly surprising that he should forget the the moments leading up to the trauma, including where he was when it occurred. But to forget actual people.

Then it dawned on him: Do I even know who I am?

He panicked a moment, but regained himself quickly. Maybe it was only temporary. Maybe his memory would return in a minute or two. Maybe?

The man seemed troubled as well. "You don't know who I am," He was saying. "Do you know who you are?"

He bit his lip as he tried to summon up memories of his life, his past, his family, anything, but it was hopeless. He just couldn't remember. "I- I don't know. I don't know who I am!"