Rediscovering Daniel: Rediscovering Daniel, #1

By Matthew Delaney

There is no 'I' without Identity.

 

When Daniel wakes up in hospital, he has no memory of how he got there or who he is. Driven by a desire for the truth, Daniel discovers the road to recovery is full of obstacles and that familiar faces are acting differently. In his quest to reclaim his true identity and solve the larger mystery surrounding him, he discovers that the hardest person to truly know is himself as he meticulously begins Rediscovering Daniel...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Goldhawk Publishing
• Release date: Oct 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223297109

Book preview

Chapter One

Alittle accident. That’s what they said had happened to me. But to be honest, for a little accident, I sure seemed to have gotten into a lot of trouble. I don’t remember what had happened to make me end up lying on a hospital bed, with only the chirping birds outside the window for company. In fact, all I do remember is my surname, which by the way is Spencer, and even then I only found that out by looking at the wristband strapped around my wrist. The first initial said D, although I had no idea what that stood for.

When the birds outside the window finally deserted me, I began to think about what my name could be. Looking into the small mirrored tile on the side of the drawer unit that accompanied the bed, I began pondering in an attempt to jog my memory, or at least to get it to wake up...

"David". That name seemed familiar but it didn’t feel like mine. Perhaps I know a David, or maybe even more than one, in fact, something in my mind seemed adamant that I did. Either way, all I knew was that it wasn’t my name.

"Dylan". I instinctively seemed to like that one, although I couldn’t explain why. It wasn’t my name either, but something about that name made me smile and for some reason I thought of a band; my band. But that’s all I remembered about that. Back to square one it seemed.

This was all so...so...irritating. Why don’t those bloody birds come back? At least then I’d have a distraction.  I wouldn’t have to remember that I couldn’t remember. Ignorance really would be bliss, even if only for a second.

Counting ceiling tiles didn’t help much either; I got bored after twelve. It turned out that TV wouldn’t work either. Typical. Without batteries in the remote that idea was a non-starter. I could just hear him now – going on about paying taxes seemingly for nothing.

Wait a minute...who am I thinking about?

Who would be grumbling about paying taxes for nothing? I closed my eyes and concentrated harder, trying desperately to hold onto the small fragment of memory. I was determined not to let any outside influence distract me. I had to remember. I had to.

I could begin to see images forming in my mind: blue overalls, stained with grease, an endless assortment of engine parts. This was exhilarating. This was progress. Woken from their deep slumber, more lights seemed to flicker on in my mind, as if undecided whether or not to stay on. I began to remember a voice that belonged to these images...

I tell you Bar, I don’t know what this world is coming to...

When I was a lad...

And then the answer came to me as if it had been there all along; as if all the pieces of this little puzzle had simply slotted together. I was remembering my Dad. It was overwhelming, like a floodgate opening. I had a Dad. This was great. I mean, obviously I’d always had a Dad, but now I remembered him. His name was David, which is why the name had been so familiar earlier. He was Welsh, with a strong and proud accent to match.

It was such a small piece of my identity to have reclaimed but in cases like mine - anything is everything.

If I had a Dad then I must have a Mum. It’s such an obvious observation but when you can’t even remember your own name, these things need careful consideration. I started thinking about ‘Mum’ but nothing came – I needed more to go on. Something I’d remembered Dad saying struck me as important. He’d said Bar as if talking to someone.

Bar...Bar... I pondered, probing my sleepy mind for enlightenment.

And  then  another  light  inside  switched  on  unexpectedly  –  Barbara.  My mother’s name was Barbara. She was a nurse...no, wait...a doctor. She drank coffee a lot and always moaned when Dad got grease on the carpet when he came home from work. She had brown hair, which she usually kept clipped up, and loved listening to 80s music. Without having memories from which to make a definite conclusion, part of me seemed adamant that Dad always referred to Mum as Bar in his strong accent.

Come to think of it I didn’t even know if I had an accent! I didn’t seem to know much about myself. In fact, I could probably write everything I knew about myself on the back of a postage stamp and still have enough room spare for someone to lick it without getting ink on their tongue. It was really frustrating to be alive and yet not know virtually anything about myself. It was both frustrating and frightening at the same time because if I didn’t know me, then how would other people know me, the true me, not the one currently lying here pondering. Would anyone know I was here? More to the point – where was here, anyway?

After attempting to count ceiling tiles again I thought about how old I was, soon finding myself staring blankly into the mirrored tile on the side of the bedside cabinet again, looking for answers. Pulling on my cheeks and the sides of my eyes I desperately prayed for familiarity’s embrace. I was young – late teens at a guess. Light brown hair and green eyes. As I paid more attention to my eyes I could see that they were hiding something deep. What had I forgotten? What was lurking beyond where I could recall it?

Mirror, mirror, on the wall... came a cold, smooth voice from the corner of the room.

I looked over to where the voice had come from to find a lone figure standing in the corner, his features consumed by shadows.

Who are you? I asked, unnerved by the sudden appearance.

Someone you should know, but not necessarily remember. he answered in the same cold and smooth voice as before.

The stranger stepped forward, emerging from the obscurity of darkness to reveal his face as he came into the light. Caucasian, around five foot eleven inches with gelled jet-black hair. He wore a vintage patterned shirt, blue denim jeans and a three-quarter-length light brown leather jacket. Something about him deeply unnerved me. I felt uncomfortable around him, like his very presence set me on edge. He radiated an unusual sense of controlled anger, like a gathering storm set to strike.  Yet  at  the  same  time  I  felt  a  distinct  closeness  to  him, suggesting that he was more than a stranger. His hazel eyes also seemed to hide secrets that beckoned me in. I knew them as much as I knew him; well...you know what I mean. There was a link there that I couldn’t explain and didn’t understand but here he was – standing barely a few feet away as bold as brass. The longer we held each other’s gaze the more obvious the fire in his eyes became, a near-volcanic motivation that appeared adamant not to explain.

I take it you haven’t recovered much of your memory then? he teased.

No, but...how would you know? Who are you anyway?

He laughed softly to himself in a chillingly sinister way, lowering his head in a moment of secluded contemplation.

So eager to know about me and yet you don’t even know your own name!

If you know so much then tell me! Why is this so funny to you? I fumed.

The man rushed towards the bed, leaning over with a cool menace. His hazel eyes  burned  much  brighter  than  before, as  if  they  had been given  a  new purpose to burn.

This isn’t funny. This isn’t even close to funny? he said, as the cold smile quickly faded from his face.

Then why laugh?

Because people need you. YOU need you. There’s a lot you have to remember and it’s not all going to be good. In order to face these things you have to be clear on who you are. You’ll have to know yourself inside out. You’ll need to be at your best; so get it together...quickly!

As he said all of this, a part of me seemed to warm up to him. He still unnerved me but he didn’t seem as menacing as he had done before. For some unknown reason, I identified with what he was saying. The tension between us was clear but there were glimmers of understanding, of common ground.

Who am I? Please, I have to know. I pleaded.

Emotion took hold of me. It was like a thunderstorm raging inside: hope, desperation, pain. All racing through heart and mind together at a speed so fast it made my eyes water. Duality of thought and feeling.

He brought his head closer to mine and whispered softly in my ear – "Daniel".

The man stepped back from the bedside as I became consumed by the wildfire of what had just been shared. I had a name, a full name. It was mine and no- one could take that away from me now. Not again. I was Daniel Spencer and I was proud of it.

As I concentrated on my name I began to hear familiar voices calling out from the veil of fragmented thought. I couldn’t make out who the people were but I knew that I knew them and that was good enough for me. My brain still felt frazzled, but it was starting to make connections.

The lights in the room flickered uncontrollably for a minute or so, plunging the room into darkness. When they eventually stabilised I looked over at where the man  had  been  standing  to  find  that  he’d  vanished  with  no  apparent explanation as to where he’d gone. He had definitely been here. He’d spoken to  me.  I’d  felt  his  breath  on  my  face,  and  yet  he  had  now  seemingly disappeared into thin air. What was going on?

The man didn’t come back again that night, although I did keep an eye out for him. I spent the evening trying to expand upon what I had remembered but for the most part it appeared as if my mind had revealed all it was prepared to give up for now.

I must have dozed off a short while later because when I came around it was morning, with the sun shining radiantly through the window as the birds sung outside. Before my mind could wander, the doors opened to reveal a woman in a white knee-length lab coat carrying a large clipboard.

Ahh...you’re awake.  How are you feeling today young man?  she asked, peering periodically over the notes on the clipboard.

I know my name...it’s Daniel! I said proudly.

I must have sounded like a five year old but at this point I was too happy for that to bother me. It felt such a relief and source of strength to have a stable sense of identity. I was someone again; I had a name. I had an identity. I had a place to start from. And that was the type of progress worth celebrating.

That’s very good, Daniel. I’m Doctor Monroe but you can call me Sandra, she beamed, I’m just going to do some routine checks, OK?

Doctor Monroe pushed her red-rimmed spectacles back to the top of her nose before placing the clipboard on the table at the end of the bed and putting the ends of her stethoscope in her ears. She leant over me for a couple of minutes as she carried out her checks, carefully noting down the results on the charts on the clipboard afterwards.

So  apart  from  all  this  seeming  a  bit  disorientating,  how  are  you  feeling physically? she asked softly.

OK I guess. I’m having trouble remembering some things though. I answered as Monroe scribbled notes diligently on her clipboard chart.

I chose not to tell the doctor about the man in the brown leather jacket. Gut instincts were telling me to keep that to myself, even if those same instincts weren’t elaborating as to why. Judging how uncomfortable this made me feel, I guessed that I was the type of person who hated lying. Perhaps if circumstances were normal then there wouldn’t be cause to lie or withhold information, but these were anything but normal circumstances. I couldn’t trust what my mind was telling me right now and until that changed, I couldn’t risk saying the wrong thing. The last thing I wanted was to be branded crazy.

The doctor produced another tool from one of the pockets in her lab coat. It was one of those miniature torches that doctors use to examine your eyes with.

That’s not altogether strange in cases like yours but it’s never usually anything to worry about. It’s probably your mind’s way of trying to repair whatever damage it suffered.

Will I remember completely? Completely, I mean.

She sighed. In life that was never a good sign. With doctors, that observation was multiplied by the Nth degree.

Past cases have shown that a full recovery is possible. However, every case is different. There’s every chance you could completely regain your memory, but at  this  stage  there’s  no  sure  way  to  know.  It’s going to take time.  Doctor Monroe said sympathetically, as she half-sat on the end of the bed looking at me.

The look in her eyes calmed most of my fears but on some level I was still worried. A person’s memories are a record of who someone is and all that they have done. I needed my memories or else I wouldn’t be me, at least not completely; would I?

Doctor Monroe must have seen the worry in my eyes because she smiled at me in that infectious way that mothers and doctors do that lifts you up from the lowest depths. Mothers...mothers... That’s right I thought, Mum’s a doctor,

My mum...I remembered...she’s a doctor. I said, pleased to have recalled something without the painstaking effort it had taken last time.

Monroe smiled before once again pushing her red-rimmed spectacles back up to the top of her nose.

Yes, that’s right, She said, What else do you remember?

Random things really. A face here, a name there. Not a lot I can make sense of though. It’s like watching a film while someone’s pressing ‘Fast Forward’; it’s hard to make out details.

The doctor placed a reassuring hand on my knee.

Don’t worry. It’ll just take time.

Doctor  Monroe  finished  making  her  notes  then  looked  to  me  with  an encouraging and sympathetic smile.

I’ll check on you again later. In the meantime, try and take it easy.

She left the room after that, leaving me to my thoughts. But it wasn’t long before strange familiarity reared its head again. I first noticed the figure when the lights started flickering just like they had before. The man who had visited me last night was back. He grinned as he stood at the foot of the bed and took a grape from the bunch laying discarded on the table nearby.

Missed me?! he grinned mischievously, before eating the grape.

I shuffled nervously as I sat up. There was still an element to him that I found deeply disturbing. He didn’t come across as the kind of person I could trust. He an edge to him, a world-worn cynicism. What puzzled me most was that he kept visiting and yet retained the allure of distance, as if I didn’t really know him properly. He, however, seemed to know chapter and verse about me, even if he wasn’t prepared to share this information.

Have you remembered anything else? he asked.

No. Should I have?

It was a stupid question in hindsight, but as Dad says hindsight is for those who have the time to look back because they’re too scared to move forwards. Wow, that was random; why did I remember that?

"In a word, yes!" the man snapped back.

I don’t think I like you! I said, scowling at him as he stood at the end of the bed.

I don’t think I care! You think the world stops just because you’re in here?! Get real, Danny-boy. They’re all still out there, you know; and you’re going to have to face up to everything soon enough. You can’t do that when your head’s like undercooked cheesecake.

I had been so preoccupied with the man that I didn’t see anyone else come into the room. But when the mysterious man and I had paused for breath, we both noticed the little boy standing on the opposite side of the bed. He seemed no older than 10 and had wavy brown hair. He looked at both of us without saying a