|
Once he'd changed into dry clothes, Brennan's hands were recuffed behind his back. One of the two men that were with him then shoved him towards the door. He didn't know where he was supposed to go, but he instantly started walking.
When he didn't respond quickly enough to the commands he didn't understand, he'd be hit. The large man constantly treated him roughly. The other, younger, who'd been there since he'd waken, seemed to interject on his behalf. Brennan did nothing.
Not knowing who or where he was, he didn't know if he could trust his instinct to fight back. Maybe he'd done something to harm them and they had a right to hit him. Or even if they didn't, it would surely encourage them to abuse him further.
His muscles were stiff, but as far as he could tell, he wasn't injured. Maybe being hit was a rare occurrence. He hoped they would treat him kindly since he couldn't lash out at them. He was their captive, and until he understood why, he was better off trying to avoid confrontation.
He was either a hostage or a convict. Neither situation allowed him the option of kicking ass. Did he even know how to fight? If he was a criminal, he likely did. And being some kind of outlaw seemed to fit. He had noticed a couple tattoos when he'd gotten dressed. He was also in very good shape. Add that to the several days worth of stubble from not shaving and he likely had the whole scruffy, bad boy look going for him.
On the bright side, however, from what he'd seen of his tattoos, they at least didn't say "Mayhem" and weren't of naked women. But they weren't military symbols either, so he could rule out being a POW.
Besides, he didn't think any prisons were this clean and white. Perhaps he was in a mental institution. But they didn't handcuff patients, did they? Maybe the ones with amnesia got special treatment.
Although, maybe he wasn't crazy. He might not understand them because he was from another country and didn't speak the language. What if he was an illegal immigrant? So why didn't he know anything about his home country? Heck, he didn't even know what country he was in now.
He must have hit his head. That's what caused lame plots like this in all the movies, even though he wasn't certain which specific movies he was thinking of. Probably the really bad made for TV ones. Did he watch a lot of television? What was his favorite show? What were his options? He didn't even know what genres he liked. And how did he know words like "genre" but not remember a thing about who he was? His memories must be in his head somewhere, just scrambled or something. Not everything had been wiped clean.
Yet he wasn't in a hospital. This place had obviously had a lot of money dumped into it. Possibly government funded. That would explain the wardrobe of the stiff, white-haired guy he'd met earlier.
Maybe he was the son of a foreign politician and was being held for ransom. Or maybe not. That made no sense.
For all he knew, he was an alien who'd been injured when his spaceship had crashed on this planet. Now, he was being held captive by a covert group of some nefarious shadow government... A prisoner of the Men in Black. On the other hand, that mental patient idea was seeming more and more likely.
He wondered how long he'd been here? How old was he? He had the body of a man anywhere from 18 to 35. It was kinda hard to tell. What if he actually was in his thirties? Could he have already lived almost half of his life and not remember a single day of it? That was rather depressing.
Stopping in front of a door, one of the men pressed his palm against some sort of scanner. As the light flicked from red to green, the other man released his hands.
Brennan stared at the door as it was opened. His lack of memory suddenly terrified him once more. Figuring out who he was wasn't a game. He was without an identity in a strange place. Who knew what horrible... whateverness... lurked on the other side of that door.
Quickly bracing himself, he stepped into the room, fully prepared to defend himself against... A girl?
Brunette hair hid her face, and she was curled up in the corner, crying. He had a roommate? Girlfriend? Sister? Stranger? He felt as though he should comfort her, even though he didn't know her. There were bruises on her arms, clearly indicating that she was being held captive as well. He didn't think she was a threat.
He watched her as sad blue eyes finally looked up at him. She was pretty. She froze, as if the mere sight of him was impossible, like she'd seen a ghost. He couldn't tell if she was frightened. She said something he couldn't understand, then stood.
They stared at each other a moment before she ran over to him, fresh tears streaking her face. Happy tears? She smiled, hesitant but overjoyed, then she paused briefly before throwing her arms around him and hugging him so tightly he almost wasn't able to breathe. Brennan tensed, causing her to pull back. She brushed his hair back from his forehead and studied him.
Eventually, she spoke again. Once more, the words made no sense. Brennan thought he should understand, but his brain refused to translate. He decided she was indeed speaking the same language he was thinking in, but he couldn't figure out how to reply. Everything was too confusing.
Another tear rolled down her cheek, bittersweet this time, and he instinctively wiped it away. He felt like he somehow knew her. He no longer doubted that she knew him.
-----
Emma just stared at him in stunned silence for a while when he didn't say anything. His clothing was fresh and dry, yet his hair was still damp. And he seemed so withdrawn, so different. She knew he'd been dead. She'd seen his body with her own eyes.
"Brennan..." she said carefully, afraid and hoping her fear wasn't of him. "What did they do to you?"
He opened his mouth but then closed it again without replying. His behavior was making her very nervous. Was he even able to speak? How badly had Eckhart hurt him? "Do you understand me?"
He showed no signs of comprehension, and she felt more tears break free. A simple nod would suffice, yet he only continued to look at her as though she were a stranger. "Please, Brennan, at least tell me you know who I am?"
He brushed away her tears, yet pulled back when she tried to touch him. "It's okay," she said gently. "I'd never hurt you, Brennan."
He blinked a few times, and she realized that he wasn't even responding to his own name. "Please no..." she whispered silently. He looked so lost. She'd give anything to remove her governor and was tempted to try yanking it from her neck. "Bren... talk to me, okay? You're scaring me."
Carefully, she touched his hand, scared her fingers might pass right through him and praying he wouldn't retreat from her again. His stance shifted somewhat nervously, but he didn't draw his hand back. "Are you hurt?" she asked gently, her eyes glancing over his entire body several times. His wrists were healed, so he'd obviously slept.
Of course he had, he'd been dead. She instantly chased that thought away. He was standing right in front of her. Alive. Breathing. Definitely not a hallucination. This was what she wanted - him back no matter what. But she refused to let herself believe he wouldn't be okay. It had only been another test and now he would heal, and she'd have her best friend back. "Please don't let me be dreaming," she pleaded to whomever might be listening. Then she tried to encourage Brennan to sit.
Tugging his hand, she lowered herself to the floor and he sank down beside her. "You just need to sleep," she told him. "Then everything will be better."
He gave her such a blank look it made her heart ache. He had no idea what was going on, and she longed to pull him close and protect him from ever being taken away from her again.
"Lie down," she prodded gently, keeping her voice smooth and calming. "It's okay to sleep. I won't let anybody hurt you."
She would stay awake and watch over him while he slept.
-----
|
