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Chapter 3

After buying his bus ticket, he still had about $160 in his pocket, just enough to afford the essentials once he arrived in Las Vegas. As he sat in the terminal waiting to board his bus, his mind drifted to the events of the past year.

He woke up in an alley covered in blood and laying in a puddle of dirty rainwater. The smell of garbage and the sounds of the rats in the dumpster next to him were overwhelming. Every sense seemed to be magnified. His breath was heavy in his chest, the sun too bright in his eyes. The world itself seemed to be in slow motion. He looked up toward the sky where the sun was happily shining directly overhead. He squinted and turned his head toward the street. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. People were out walking to their various appointments or lunch dates. It looked like a normal day in the city.

He sat up quickly, and then wished he hadn't. It felt as if his brain was spinning around in his skull. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. He promptly turned to the side and threw up.

Another pleasant smell added to the plethora of odors assailing his nose. He bent over and held his head, trying to get his head to stop spinning while at the same time trying to get his bearings. When he felt that he could finally stand up without immediately falling over again, he grabbed the side of the dumpster and hauled himself up. As he familiarized himself with the vertical world again, he began to pay more attention to his surroundings. There appeared to be scorch marks on the wall, making it look like someone went to town with a flamethrower. How would he know what that was? He shook his head . . .which was a bad move, a very bad move. He grabbed onto the edge of the dumpster, clutching it so hard his knuckles turned bone white. He took a deep breath and started moving towards the entrance of the alley. As he reached the opening, he saw what looked like a hand underneath a pile of crumpled cardboard. He didn't dare investigate further.

He started to move on but stopped. What if it was someone he knew? As he was contemplating the right course of action, something twisted in his stomach. Wait. Something wasn't right. Where am I? Who am I? He started to hyperventilate. He couldn't remember who he was. What the hell was going on? He was wet, dirty, and didn't know who he was. He didn't know who he was. He didn’t know who he was. This same sentence kept repeating over and over in his head. Choose another mantra, buddy. Before this revelation could overwhelm him, he shut it away. Plenty of time to act like a wanker later. He shoved everything else to the back of his brain, as a sense of self-preservation kicked in. He needed a place to go, he needed food, and he really needed to get cleaned up.

He looked down at the hand again. He really should look. Chances were that he knew him. What are the chances of two people being either unconscious or dead in the same alley? He slowly cleared the rubble away from the body. It was a man. A black man. He reached down and tried for a pulse. The man was dead. As he stared down at the body, he had a fleeting moment of recognition and sadness. He quickly stood up. This was too much. He didn't know what to do. He glanced out into the street, and then back into the dark alley. He needed to leave. He couldn't help this man, since he really didn't know he was. He didn't have the answers to questions that the authorities would have. He gently knelt down next to the man and cleared the excess debris away from him. He brushed his hand on the dead man's shoulder and suddenly his eyes teared up, and without even realizing what he said, "Sleep well, Charlie boy." He took one last look and then stood up and hurried out into the light.

"All passengers, Bus 109 from Los Angeles to Las Vegas is now boarding" The man on the intercom calling for the boarding of his bus interrupted his reverie. He smiled. He hadn't been so excited since, well, he really couldn't remember now could he? It had been so long since something had gone right for him. William picked up his bag and walked over to the line by the bus. He stood behind an old Mexican woman who had knitting needles clutched in her hand.

Before he sat down, he shoved his bag into the luggage racks above his seat. He slid into a window seat and got comfortable. It was going to be a long drive. Fifteen minutes later the bus pulled out of the loading area and onto the freeway.

As he stared out the window his mind returned those first moments a year ago.

After left the alley, he was so confused.. He wandered aimlessly down the sidewalk. People gave him a wide berth and gave him nervous looks. After a few blocks, he started noticing this behavior. He realized that he must look horrible, so he quickly looked for the next building that would have a public bathroom.

The next building turned out to be a Burger King. He quickly slipped in the door and walked down the hall to the bathroom. It was the lunchtime rush so he expected the place to be busy but as he looked around, he found the bathroom completely empty.

He slowly walked over to the sink. He didn't know what he was going to see or what to expect. Hell, he didn't even know what he looked like. It was pathetic, really. He reached the sink and looked up into the mirror.


"Holy Fuck!"

He couldn't help it. He was surprised he didn't get arrested walking down the street. He looked like he belonged in one of those slasher movies, and not as one of the victims. He had bleached hair that was sticking up wildly all over his head. Well, where it wasn't matted from the filth and blood from the alley. His face was covered in the same. He had a large cut underneath his left eye that was crusted with dried blood. He started to inspect the rest of his body, but couldn't help looking up at the mirror every few seconds. His own face was so alien to him. "Blue eyes, I have blue eyes," he mumbled
to himself. He quickly stripped the leather duster off. "I'll investigate you, later," he told it, as he draped it over the neighboring sink. He grabbed a handful of paper towels out of the dispenser and turned on the water. When the water turned warm, he started washing his face and hair. Well, as good as one can with hand soap and a sink in a public restroom.

Ten minutes later he was relatively clean and feeling marginally better. At least his hair didn't resemble a creature from a horror movie any longer. He started wiping the blood and water off the sink just as someone walked into the bathroom. Taking that as his cue to leave, he threw the sodden towels away and grabbed the leather coat and walked out of the bathroom and into the dining area and sat down in a booth. He dragged the coat up on the table and started searching the pockets. The first pocket he
searched turned up a half empty pack of cigarettes, a hot pink Bic lighter, and a quarter. The second pocket had a wooden stake. "Well, that was helpful," the man groaned. He stuffed the items back into the pockets and put the jacket back on. As he was putting his left arm in the sleeve he brushed against a small bulge on the inside. Struggling to control his excitement, he tore the jacket off again and rummaged inside the pocket.

"Jackpot!" The woman at the booth near his gave him an annoyed look.

He ignored her and pulled out a handful of items. A passport and a roll of money. When he saw that passport, he almost cried. He looked at it, but was afraid to open it. Like it would suddenly disappear or something. It was a British passport, which made him wonder what the hell he was doing in. . .he quickly reached over and grabbed the newspaper on the next table. ‘The Los Angeles Times’, what the hell was he doing in Los Angeles? Shaking his head he turned his attention back to the passport. He opened it up. William Shaw. It said his birth date was June 11, 1976. He looked at the year on the newspaper. . .2004. So, he was 28. The passport also showed that he was born in London. "Hello," he said to the imaginary person across from him, "My name is William, William Shaw, and I’m from London, England." He gave a short laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. William took a deep breath and let it out. Bloody hell, this whole situation made him sick.

He shook his head and took the wad of money and started counting it out. There was one hundred dollars. That was a huge relief. At least he wasn't going to starve. He gathered it back up and put the money in his pants pocket. At that moment his stomach decided to make itself known. He shoved the passport back into the coat pocket. Then he took the money back out and peeled a few bills from the roll. He stood up, shoved his arms back into the duster and walked up to the counter to order some food.

When he finished eating, William continued to sit in the booth, as he began to realize the tough situation he was in. He only knew his name and birth date, and $100 wasn't enough money to keep him going. All he wanted to do was sit there and feel sorry for himself. He was really quite distressed, but there was this small part of him that was whispering in his ear to get up and move. He needed to find a job. He needed to find somewhere to live. Both seemed to be insurmountable tasks. How would he get a job with just a passport? It wasn't like he was a citizen of the States. This was utter crap. William stared out the window wishing that he could remember who he was. Anything had to be better than this. Unless he some mass murderer or drug addict. Though he didn't feel like he was either of those things, so point for him. But then again, he did wake up in an alley covered in blood and filth, next to a dead body. So point against him. Bugger. He racked his brain trying to figure out where to go. He could always go to a homeless shelter, at least for the night. Maybe they'd have a job posting board. Yes, that’s what he would do. He’d find a shelter and start from there. Now. . . how to find out where a homeless shelter was? William quickly stood up and walked out the door. He remembered seeing a phone booth outside the Burger King.

Once out the door, he walked quickly down the sidewalk the few feet to the phone booth. He picked up the phone book and quickly found a shelter that was just a few blocks down the road. Feeling more than a little guilty, he tore out the page and put it in his pocket. He turned around and looked down the street. He felt so out of control. Like he was spinning around with no way to stop himself. He raked his fingers through his hair. He really needed a shower. First things, first; Find the shelter, then worry about hygiene. He took off down the sidewalk towards his destination.


It took about twenty minutes for him to get there, but while he was walking he realized how hot it was. He was feeling pretty uncomfortable in the huge leather jacket, but he didn't want to take it off because he didn't want to lose it or anything in the pockets. It seemed irrational, but it was all he had. The only things that tied him to the world. The jacket and its contents were the only things that proved he existed. Shaking his head to get rid of the depressing thoughts, he looked back down at the page out of the phone book and checked the address. Just a few buildings away. Once he got there he stopped and stared at the front doors. He couldn't will himself to walk into the building. For some reason, he just couldn't do it. It was like he would be admitting that everything was true. The amnesia, the blood, the alley, everything. It would be true, and he didn't know if he could handle that. Well, there was only one way to find out. He took a step forward and opened the door.

William was jolted from his thoughts as the bus pulled into the terminal in Las Vegas. He had come so far since those first few days. Sometimes it felt like it had been forever, but sometimes it felt like it was just yesterday. He quickly pushed the memories back into the recesses of his mind. There was no need to dwell on the past. It would be a waste of time because he had just arrived at the crossroads of his future.





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