Art by me

SUMMER 1982

The man woke up.

His eyes flickered open, showing unfamiliar surroundings. A small room with stone walls, lit by flickering firelight. He didn't recognize it, yet it felt right. His brain assured him that this room was normal, that he had always been here. He didn't worry about how he had gotten here, where he had come from, or even where he was. This situation felt natural, somehow: the rough blankets beneath his arms, the poor lighting, even the metal digging into his left wrist.

Wait.

Now that he had noticed the uncomfortable feeling in his wrist, he noticed other pains. His stomach yawned with hunger. His abdomen was sore, raw, throbbing. His back simmered with discomfort.

It was then that he wondered. Why was he in pain? What had happened?

He sat up and was surprised to find the source of the pain in his wrist. He was. . . he was cuffed to the wall. A pair of handcuffs, one cuff around his wrist, the other looped into the metal sconce that held a lantern. Why was he cuffed? In fact. . . what was this place?

So, his mind searched the past, casting a net into his sea of memories to discover the answers to his questions.

The net came up empty.

Wait. Wait, no, that couldn't be right. He tried again. What had happened? What was the last thing he could remember?

Nothing. The more he reached for his memory, the further it evaded him. He tensed up all of his muscles, as if doing so would dislodge any spare memories from the recesses of his brain. It was futile. The rate of his breathing increased as his efforts repeatedly turned up fruitless.

What was wrong with him?

A distant sound floated into his range of hearing: the sound of a voice.

The man wanted to stand up, to get out of there, to find the source of that voice and demand what was going on. But he couldn't. He was cuffed so closely to the wall that he could hardly move his wrist at all.

Instead, he strained his ears to better hear the voice. He could make out the quality: medium timbre, rich tone, versatile inflection that rose and fell with the words. But he couldn't tell what any of the words were.

The voice grew closer, and the man could gradually piece together what it was saying. "I doubt it will work," the mysterious voice said, "but we may as well try, don't you think? He's just in here."

There was a door to the man's right. The knob turned, and the door swung open.

A man in a purple robe entered. His eyes widened in alarm as he saw the first man sitting up in the bed. "Scrabdoodle!" he swore, and he spoke with the timbre of the mysterious voice. "I thought you were still asleep."

"I. . . I woke up," the man said. But even as he said it, he wondered if it were true. Maybe he hadn't actually woken up. Maybe he was dreaming. It wouldn't surprise him.

The purple-clad man's face clouded in concern. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

Instinctively, the man's mind reached out for the answer, but it found only a knotted mess of emotions as his brain struggled to find his identity. "Where am I?" he asked, instead of answering. "Who are you? Who—"

The purple-clad man watched him curiously.

"Who am I?" the man whispered.

"We were hoping you could tell us that," the purple-clad man said. "We found you outside, unconscious, and we brought you in here."

"We?"

Another person slipped silently into the room. He was a young boy, barely a teenager, dressed in formal clothing and a somber expression. A small blue stone on his lapel seemed to glow, but it was probably just a trick of the firelight.

"I'm Percy Pleasure," the purple-clad man said, placing a hand over his heart. He gestured to the boy beside him. "This is Gaston Northwest."

The boy said nothing.

"I. . . I don't recognize those names," the man said. He had to force down panic as he said it. Would he recognize anything?

Percy shook his head sadly. "We figured you wouldn't. We don't recognize you, either. Can you tell us where you're from?"

The man's mind once again cast its nets, eager to find an answer to the question. Surely he knew where he was from, right? Everyone knew where they were from.

Yet his memories remained empty.

"I. . . I can't," he said. He had to force the words through a mesh of panic. "I don't know where I'm from. I don't — I don't know who I am." He looked desperately to Percy. "Help me."

Percy's face was a mask of sadness. "I can't help you," he said. "I'm sorry. Is there nothing you can remember? Not even a name?"

Despite the futility of the endeavor, the man's mind still searched urgently for something, anything. He tore through the vault of his memory, swam through the depths of his brain, ran through the open fields of his mind. His hands went to his head and clutched at his hair.

A single syllable floated into his awareness.

"Lee," he gasped. "I — I remember — the name Lee—"

"Is it yours?" asked Percy.

The man considered this question. He tentatively took hold of the name, drawing it into himself. Applying it to himself.

It spread through him with a faint warmth.

"I think it's mine," he said, though he still wasn't entirely sure. "It. . . it feels right."

"Perhaps it's the first syllable of a longer name," Percy suggested.

"Maybe," Lee replied. "I don't know." The name didn't carry anything with it. No recollections, no memories of anyone saying the name aloud. It still felt foreign to him, despite his increasing surety that it belonged to him.

That feeling was extremely painful. To have a name, to believe it was his, yet to still feel no real connection to it.

So he changed the subject. "Why am I cuffed to the wall?"

Percy granted him a slight grimace. "Sorry about that. We couldn't be sure who you were or what you would do when you woke up. It's for everyone's safety."

"I won't hurt anyone."

"Are you sure?"

Lee blinked. No. . . no, he wasn't sure. He didn't know himself well enough to be sure. And that was terrifying.

Percy let Lee's silence speak for itself. "You'll have to stay cuffed for now, I'm afraid." He turned to Gaston. "Anything?"

"Of course not," Gaston replied.

Percy nodded. "I expected as much."

"What is this place?" Lee demanded. "Why are you dressed like that?"

"Gaston is dressed like this because he always dresses like this," Percy answered with a slight smile. "I'm dressed like this because that's the uniform." He gestured around the room. "This is a room in our headquarters. I lead a group known as the Order of the Crescent Eye."

Again, no familiarity. "What do you do?"

"Dress up in stupid purple robes." It was Gaston who answered. "You'll probably get one soon."

"Gaston," chided Percy, but he didn't sound angry. Before Lee could ask any follow-up questions about the Order of the Crescent Eye, Percy asked, "Are you hungry, Lee?"

Lee frowned. "Starving, but—"

"Gaston, will you go and ask your cook to prepare something for our guest?" Percy made the request politely enough, but something in his posture made it clear that this was not optional. Gaston looked disgruntled at the dismissal, but he did as Percy said, leaving the room as covertly as he had entered.

Questions budded on Lee's tongue, but he held them back as Percy turned. "I would've asked you what food you wanted," Percy said apologetically, "but I wasn't sure you'd have an answer."

Indignation rose inside of Lee until he realized that Percy was right. He didn't even remember his food preferences. And with that realization, the panic set in again. He stared sightlessly at the far wall as a horrible dread swept through him.

Then Percy was at his side, touching his arm. "Breathe. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Breathe, you're okay."

But with the dread, with the utter despair of not knowing who he was, Lee's anger set in. "I'm not okay!" he burst out. He pushed Percy away. "I don't remember who I am! I have nothing but a measly one-syllable name that I don't even know is mine! How is that okay!"

Percy put up his hands. "You're right. I apologize. Maybe if we figured out your full name? Would that help?"

"It might not be a nickname," Lee pointed out.

"No," Percy agreed, "but it could stand for a number of things. Levi, perhaps. Leonardo. Lincoln."

"Lincoln. . . ," Lee whispered.

Percy's eyes lit up. "Does that one sound familiar?"

Wrong thing to say.

"No," Lee snapped, his voice rising like a hot fire. "No, nothing sounds familiar! Nothing! I have nothing, Percy!"

The shout hung limply in the tiny room before slowly fading into silence.

"I have nothing," he whispered.

Percy gave him a small, sympathetic smile. "You'll at least have some food soon," he said.

"Oh, like that will fix anything," Lee said irritably.

"It will at least help a little," Percy assured him. "I'll leave you for now, all right? I'll come back in a few hours."

"Wait!" Lee protested.

Percy paused, half turned away from him. "What is it?"

"You can't just leave me handcuffed here."

"That's what I'll have to do for now," Percy replied. He at least seemed reluctant about it. "I'll stay nearby; you can shout for me if you need anything. It's probably best if you have some alone time, though, don't you think?"

He left before Lee could answer that no, that wasn't what he thought at all.

With a huff, Lee lay back on the bed. It was uncomfortable, mostly because his left hand was forced to hang from the handcuff. He should've at least asked Percy to loosen the cuff on his skin — this thing was tight.

But it was something to focus on. Something other than the gaping hole where his identity should be. And for that, he was grateful.

It wasn't long before a stranger entered the room with a plate of food, which Lee ate awkwardly with one hand as the plate rested on his lap. Despite the discomfort, though, Percy was right: Having a full stomach did help.

A little.

Not long after the meal, the door opened again to admit the stranger who had brought the food, along with Gaston. The former took the plate and left; the latter held a key.

"Don't try anything," Gaston told Lee as he unlocked his handcuffs. "I'll show you the bathroom. Then it's back here."

Lee looked sideways at him. He could take this kid.

Before he knew what was happening, a blue glow sprang up around him, and he found he couldn't move.

The glow disappeared, and he could move again. "Don't try anything," Gaston repeated. He gestured for Lee to walk ahead of him.

He did so, confused. How did Gaston do that? Somehow, he didn't find it impossible — even though he felt that he should. He did want to know how Gaston did it, though. Mainly so he could find a way around it.

When he asked Gaston, the boy gave no sign that he had even heard the question.

On the way back from the bathroom, they once again crossed paths with Percy Pleasure. "Ah, glad to see you on your feet, Lincoln," he said jovially. "Are you feeling better?"

"No," Lee said, though it was a lie. He was feeling better than he had been before, but since he still didn't feel good, he didn't think it counted. Plus, he was irritated with Percy for referring to him as Lincoln, despite him failing to agree on the name.

Percy gave Lee a look of disgusting pity, then held out his arms.

What, was he going to give Lee a hug? No, no thank you, please don't—

Percy stepped forward and pulled Lee into an embrace.

"It'll be all right," he said.

Lee stiffened and tried to push away, but Percy was deceptively strong, and he didn't let go easily. Lee soon gave up and just stood there. The longer the hug lasted, the more he had to admit. . . it was nice.

"I have to go home," Percy said, pulling away. "Gaston will see you back. I'll see you in the morning."

Having no idea what time of day it was, Lee just stared at him. "It's nighttime?"

Percy nodded. "You woke up at about seven-thirty PM."

"And — I have to sleep handcuffed?"

The sympathetic smile returned. "Yes, I'm afraid."

"Why are you keeping me prisoner?" Lee demanded. "I'm not going to find out who I am down here. And I'm not dangerous."

"We're not entirely sure about that part," Percy reminded him.

"I haven't attacked you!"

Gaston's blue glow appeared around him, as if reminding him that he couldn't attack even if he wanted to. When it disappeared, Lee turned menacingly on Gaston, only to be frozen once again — and levitated out of the way. The latter action threw Lee off balance, and he stumbled into Percy's arms.

"Be nice, Gaston," Percy said. He helped Lee onto his feet. "Listen, Lincoln, I'm sorry. But it's what we have to do for now. Good night." He walked away.

"You didn't tell me why," Lee called after him.

Percy didn't turn back.

"Follow," Gaston commanded. When Lee didn't immediately obey, he was once again pulled off balance by that blue glow. This time, when it faded, he noticed the blue stone on Gaston's lapel fade as well. So that was the source of Gaston's power. Could Lee steal it somehow?

Not tonight, apparently. They returned to Lee's room — his prison cell, more like — and Gaston cuffed him to the same spot. Then, without a word, he took the lantern from its sconce and left.

Lee was alone once again. Alone in an oppressive darkness. Alone, without even his memories to keep him company.

It was like he had told Percy. He truly had nothing.

Nothing but these handcuffs, which were once again painfully tight on his wrist.

He closed his eyes (not that it made much difference in this blackness) and tried to steady his breathing. It's okay, Lee. You're not in danger, you have a warm place to sleep, and they're going to come back in the morning. If they didn't. . . Lee would be stuck in darkness forever.

Despair swept over him. It didn't matter if they brought the lantern back or not: Without his memory, Lee's world was still devoid of light.

This is your life now, his brain whispered.

His face contorted as he realized it was true. Maybe it is, he replied, but what was my life before?

He lay there in the darkness, desperately waiting for a response.

But his brain had no answer.

END OF EPISODE ONE