WINTER 1983

Percy Pleasure sat at his desk in the headquarters for the Order of the Crescent Eye. He wasn't wearing his purple robe today, for he was only here for a short time before he had to leave. Instead, he wore a checkered golf sweater and khaki pants with comfortable loafers. As he bent over his work, he hummed a jaunty little tune to himself.

That tune halted as his wrist lit up with a deep green glow.

Percy put down his pen and frowned at his wrist. There, he had an intricate design inked into his skin. And it was glowing.

He sighed. "Not again."

What was this, the third time this week? He stood and gave a little sigh. His records would have to wait for now: Percy had to go babysit.

He walked down the stone halls of the Order, passing a few purple-robed cultists who gave him a curious look when they saw his outfit. He ignored them. There was only one person he needed to see, and that person wouldn't be wearing a robe either.

Or, perhaps he would be. Perhaps he thought that blending in would help him escape.

Percy turned a corner and saw him. No, no robe. It wouldn't have helped anyway, which he surely knew. Instead, Lincoln wore simple jeans, a t-shirt, and a sheen of perspiration on his forehead as he struggled in vain against the barrier.

This barrier was nothing fancy. In fact, it was almost nothing at all. No one was affected by this invisible barrier except Lincoln, who was currently trying to push through it.

Again.

"Lincoln," Percy said.

Lincoln didn't react to his voice. Instead, he kept pushing against the invisible barrier, grunting in pain as its magic pulled him back.

"Lincoln, it's not going to work. You're only hurting yourself."

No response.

Percy stepped up next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Step back, Lincoln. You can't get through."

"I could if you let me through," Lincoln replied through gritted teeth.

"That's not an option." Percy pulled gently on Lincoln's arm. "Come on. Step back. It's okay."

Lincoln didn't respond at first; Percy was about to pull harder when he finally stepped back. He stumbled a bit as the magic forcibly pushed him away. Percy moved to support him, but Lincoln waved him off. He bent over, bracing his hands on his thighs, and let out heavy breaths. Percy waited for him to recover.

Soon, he straightened and wiped his forehead with the back of his left hand. There, on his wrist, was an ink design that matched Percy's — glowing the same shade of green.

"It's a good thing the hex alerts me," Percy commented. "If I didn't come, how long would you have been here?"

Lincoln just glared at him and balled his left hand into a fist. Since he was no longer pushing against the enchanted barrier, the green glow on his wrist faded. The black ink, forming the hex that kept him prisoner here, stayed.

Percy had applied the hex six months ago, but Lincoln had never stopped fighting against it.

"Let's go," Percy suggested.

Stubbornly, Lincoln plopped onto the ground, leaning back on his hands. He stared up the nearby staircase — the one he could not climb — and to the door at the top.

"You're in the walkway," Percy pointed out. "Surely it can't help to stare at what you can't have."

Frosty silence.

"I brought some new ingredients for you," Percy coaxed, knowing that Lincoln enjoyed cooking. "I think we can try again with the kitchen."

Lincoln glanced up at him, unimpressed. "You'd trust me?" he asked sardonically.

Percy cocked an eyebrow. "Do you think you can be trusted?" he replied. "You know full well that you can't get through the barrier, but you keep trying anyway. I want to trust you around knives, but I don't want you to purposefully hurt yourself again."

He was referring to an incident from last month. One evening, while Percy enjoyed a lovely dinner with his wife, his hex lit up and started flashing. He had never seen it flash before, so he regrettably excused himself and hurried to the Order. Lincoln wasn't at the base of the stairs, where Percy expected to find him: Instead, he was back in the Order's small kitchen, gouging at his left wrist with a sharp knife. Percy had immediately intervened, wrenching the knife away from Lincoln and dragging him back to his room. Once Lincoln was safely cuffed to the wall (by his right wrist), Percy had tended his injury with the first aid kit he kept in a nearby broom closet. "That won't work," he'd admonished Lincoln. "The hex is active unless I purposefully deactivate it."

Later, once Lincoln's wrist was healed, Percy deactivated the hex and reapplied it. This time, the kitchen was excluded from the area where Lincoln was permitted to roam.

Now, as he sat on the floor by the stairs, Lincoln studied the stones beneath him. "I won't try that again," he said morosely. "I'm not a masochist."

"Then why do you keep pushing against the barrier?" asked Percy. "That looks painful, too."

A long silence passed before Lincoln answered. Then, he looked up at his captor with longing in his eyes. "I haven't been outside in six months," he said quietly.

This was true. In fact, Lincoln's only memories were down in the Order headquarters. Six months ago, he had woken up with total amnesia. And he hadn't left headquarters since. Percy hadn't allowed him to.

"I know the sun exists," Lincoln continued. "I know about trees, and flowers, and clouds. But I can't. . ." He took a deep breath. "I can't remember ever being in the sun. Or climbing a tree, or smelling a flower, or looking for shapes in the clouds. I know those things are common, but. . . as far as I know, I've never done them."

Percy watched him solemnly.

"Do you know how horrible that is?" he finished. His voice cracked with emotion as he said it.

"I'm sorry," Percy said. Lord Cipher, leader of the Order, had long since informed him about the nature of Lincoln's amnesia. Lincoln still had his procedural and semantic memory, meaning that he remembered basic facts (such as the existence of the sun) and skills (such as cooking). However, as of six months ago, he had lost all of his episodic memory. All the events of his life, all the relationships he had before his amnesia, were gone. This led to confusing and frustrating moments when Lincoln knew that he knew something, but he couldn't remember where he had learned the fact or when he had used the skill.

"If you were actually sorry," Lincoln said, "you'd let me go."

"Then what?" Percy replied. "If you left here, you'd have nothing."

This was untrue. Percy knew full well that Lincoln, prior to losing his memory, had been a man named Stanley Pines, and that his twin brother Stanford still lived nearby. If Lincoln escaped, he'd probably find Stanford and rediscover his past.

Percy couldn't let that happen. Lord Cipher had forbidden it.

"I could find something," Lincoln argued. "I could find my past, maybe even get my memory back!"

"This is a small town," said Percy with a shake of his head, "and I'd never seen you before I found you, remember? You were probably just visiting. Whatever clues there are about your past, they aren't here. I'd hate for you to build up hope, only to have it taken from you by reality. You'd be penniless, and in despair, and angry at the world. . . . I couldn't bear to know I let you destroy yourself like that."

"And why do you care so much about me?" Lincoln demanded. "So what if I have nothing? So what if I get out there and starve to death? What is it to you?"

Percy shrugged. "Like you said. I care about you. I want you to be safe." He cast a significant look on his prisoner. "And I want everyone else to be safe, too."

Lincoln glared at him. "Don't," he said tightly.

"You're dangerous, Lincoln," said Percy, and his voice was soft. He sat down next to Lincoln and took his hand; Lincoln tried to tug it away, but Percy held on. "If I let you go, you'll hurt people. You'll hurt yourself. I'm the only one who cares about you enough to prevent that from happening."

"Stop," Lincoln whispered.

"You know it's true," Percy said gently. "I give you food and shelter; I care about you; and I stop you from hurting anyone. You're angry at me, but I'm acting for your own good. And, if you have to be angry at anyone, at least it's me."

"Since I can't actually hurt you," Lincoln muttered.

"Exactly." Another perk of the hex: Its caster, Percy, was immune to any harm from its victim, Lincoln. Between Percy's protection from the hex and Gaston Northwest's protection from his amulet, Lincoln couldn't attack the two people he most often desired to hurt. Then, when he tried to attack them anyway, Percy could claim that as proof that Lincoln was dangerous and unstable. The tactic worked beautifully, according to Lord Cipher: Lincoln's natural anger held plenty of fuel for the fire, and Lincoln became more convinced that he was a danger to others every time that anger arose.

Percy stood up and pulled Lincoln to his feet. "I'm sorry you haven't been outside yet," he said. "That must be hard for you. If it helps, the weather is quite dismal this time of year."

Lincoln didn't answer.

"That doesn't help, I suppose," Percy said. "Come, let's go somewhere else, so you don't have to think about it. The library, maybe? Or I can redraw the hex to include the kitchen now."

Fire entered Lincoln's eyes. "Redraw it right here," he challenged.

Percy shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course I won't redraw it here." If he did, Lincoln could break away, pass through the temporarily defunct barrier, and escape into the outside world.

Lincoln let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine. The library, I guess." He wasn't one to read for pleasure; but between reading, eating, and sleeping, he didn't have many options.

"All right, I'll walk with you," Percy said. "Then I have to go."

Lincoln glanced at him. "You're golfing? In the winter?"

"No, I just like this sweater," Percy replied. "I'm glad you associate it with golf, though. More proof that you can still remember things like that." He smiled brightly.

Lincoln didn't smile back. "Sure, I can remember things like that," he said, "but who cares? I still don't know who I am." Desperation infused his voice as he said, "I have to know who I am, Percy."

"I know who you are," Percy said immediately. "You're Lincoln. You're my friend. Just because you don't remember your old life doesn't mean you can't build a new one."

Lincoln didn't answer.

The two men walked together until they reached the top of the staircase that led to the library. There, Percy pulled Lincoln into a hug.

"I care about you," he whispered. "I'm sorry you can't see that right now, but I do."

Lincoln didn't respond, but he seemed to hold on a little tighter. Then he stepped back. "I'll see you later."

"Yes," Percy said, "and I'll redraw the hex. Until then." He waved goodbye.

Lincoln raised a hand in farewell and watched his caregiver walk away.