I’m sitting upright in a chair in a bright, white room that makes me think of a clinic. I don’t know where I am nor how I got here. Two people, strangers, stand in front of me. One is wearing a pale blue uniform with a yellow badge on his chest. He steps forward.
“Arthur Montague?” he says.
I tell him, “I don’t know who that is.”
He sighs. “C’mon Montague. Don’t draw this out for longer than it has to be.”
He must be mistaking me for someone else, for I’ve never heard of that name before in my life. My name is… and I realize that I cannot remember. All my memories from before are gone. What is happening here? I look at the other person in front of me. This one is wearing a sharp gray suit. He’s holding a folder close to his chest. His face is unreadable.
“This sometimes happens,” says a third person. I can only see her head and shoulders as she’s sitting behind a device with many cables flowing out of it in different directions. A finger twirls through her long hair. She is the youngest of the three.
“But that’s him, right?” says Blue Uniform.
“Oh yeah, that’s him, all right.”
Long Hair stands up and comes to me. She starts carefully removing cables that are attached to little pads, which in turn are suckered to my hands, my forearms, my face. They make tiny popping sounds, and I think
