Episode 1

He knew that he was in unfamiliar territory before he even opened his eyes. Acute, sharp beeping radiated directly from his right. Two nostril-sized hoses pumped clean oxygen into his nose. He resisted the urge to sneeze. A dull ache pounded in his arm, a few centimeters below the inside of his elbow. His eyelids fluttered open, and he shut them against the sheer bright light of the sunlight pouring in from the reinforced windows. From the brief glimpse he managed, he seemed to be in a hospital room. The curtain to the left of his bed was drawn, and he couldn’t hear any noise, so he had to assume that he was alone. An IV needle protruded from his aching arm, filling him with a clear liquid from a bag hung on a metal hook above his head. The source of the beeping came from a heart rate monitor with a reader clip on his third finger of his right hand. Somehow, he had failed to notice it earlier, which bothered him. Thankfully, the television mounted on the wall near the ceiling had been left off. He opened his eyes more slowly this time, allowing them time to adjust. As he sat up in the folding hospital bed, a sense of dread formed in the pit of his stomach. He threw off the covers from his midsection.

Remnants of post-op surgery remained. A few stitches ran up the right side of his abdomen, holding together an inch-long wound. Feeling around for other wounds, he discovered that his head was bandaged with thick white gauze. Head injury, if he were to measure a guess. He silently counted to thirty, wiggled his fingers and toes, and recited the alphabet forwards and backwards. Aside from a curious numbness in his right hand, he didn’t find anything else wrong with his mental state. Everything was perfectly fine. Well, almost everything.

With great difficulty, he leaned forward enough to grab a hold of the medical chart clipped to the end of his bed. He flipped through the charts, unable to grasp the more technical data placed on them. What he did pick up on, however, were three specific details about himself. Joseph Sinner. Twenty-two years old. Gunshot victim. Strange. He didn’t feel like a Joseph. Perhaps he preferred to be called Joe. He discarded the chart, turning his attention to the pile of clothes on the windowsill. Reaching out towards it, the tips of his fingers barely managed to grip onto the side. The heart monitor clip slid off of his finger, causing the machine to flat line. With one big stretch, he grasped the clothes and yanked them over to himself. A collared shirt and blue jeans fell into his lap. The outfit annoyed him for an unknown reason. With great difficulty, he managed to trade out the hospital gown with that disappointing outfit. It felt like it fit well enough. Carefully, he removed the IV drip from his arm. Some blood followed the needle out. He pressed the gown against it, applying pressure until it stopped bleeding. Once he stood up, a sharp intense pain in his gut nearly took him off of his feet. Ignoring it, he squeezed into his pants. His foot nudged a pair of shoes stored neatly under the bed. He slipped them on as well, kicking them against the floor to secure their placement around his feet.

As he made for the exit, he caught the adjacent bed covered by the curtain out of the corner of his eye. He jolted involuntarily. The elderly man who had been sleeping on it was dead. Somehow, he knew without a full examination. His discolored face and immobile chest caught his attention. The heartrate monitor next to his bed had no power. He approached it and fumbled with it until he managed to turn it on. Its flat tone confirmed his suspicion. A nurse poked her head in and spotted him. She pushed him out of the way in a desperate, yet ultimately futile attempt to save the man’s life. As she brushed him aside, he caught a glimpse of her badge. It said ‘head nurse’ on it, but the photo of the woman on the badge; a curly, auburn haired woman with a cute round face and freckles, didn’t match the straight blonde haired nurse performing chest compressions on the cadaver. He didn’t have time to worry about this, now. After all, whoever this Joe Sinner belonged to had to have a family or loved ones who cared about him. And he needed answers. He slinked past the amassing crowd of doctors and nurses in order to make his way down to the lobby.

“Hey, Joe!” a voice called out to him. He turned to see a tall, slightly overweight man running towards him. A little girl followed him, her gaze averted to the ground. She couldn’t have been more than twelve years old. She had a short, practical haircut with a boy’s backpack that looked two sizes too big for her frame strapped to her back. The man who called out to him held onto her wrist and seemed to have been dragging her all over the hospital.

“Yes?” he responded, trying to hide his uncertainty, “What is it?”

“Don’t tell me that you don’t recognize your own brother. It’s me, Johnny,” he panted. Joe’s eyes widened infinitesimally. The girl looked up at him. In the span of a blink, Joe tried his best to take in all of the man’s information. He wore a slightly bulky business suit. The watch on his wrist, while golden, was a cheap knockoff. His short, military hairstyle revealed his advancing hairline. He seemed to regard Joe with weary, suspicious eyes. However, the tiredness wasn’t from lack of sleep; his body language betrayed a sense of exasperation. He didn’t want to be there.

“You’re not my brother,” he said flatly, “What are you trying to prove?”

The man sighed, “Sorry, Joe. Sarah made me pretend to be Johnny. The nurse told her that you had amnesia or something.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he and the girl lied in unison. She smirked at him from under her bangs. “I feel perfectly fine,” he continued.

“C’mon, Bruce,” the girl whined, “My legs are tired! You said we could go for ice cream.” Joe could tell that the girl was lying. She hid it amazingly well; he was surprised that he picked up on it. The girl kept looking sideways at him. Tiny glances. Trying to signal something to him. Get rid of Bruce.

“You seem exhausted,” Joe continued, “Sarah must be running you ragged, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Bruce groaned. He let go of the girl’s hand. She retreated from him, standing next to him, instead. Joe found her presence surprisingly reassuring. “Ever since she got that ER call, she’s been working us overtime. Isn’t that right, Amy?” The girl nodded, saying nothing.

Joe smiled at her, “Hey, why don’t you let me take her out for ice cream? I could go for some, myself, actually. Go home and get some rest.”

Bruce’s shoulders relaxed, “Thank you, Joe! You’re a lifesaver. I need to tell Sarah that you’re awake, anyway. Are you sure you can take care of Amy all on your own?” The girl tensed up. From what he could tell, she desperately wanted to escape this man.

“I think I can handle it,” Joe said simply. Satisfied, Bruce said his farewells and retreated. The door of his room opened up, and several doctors wheeled out a gurney covered in a sheet. Despite the urgency in their eyes, Joe knew what they knew; the old man was beyond saving. He had to commend them for trying.

“So, ice cream?” Joe turned to the little girl.

She brushed some hair out of her face, “Sure. But I have a question, first.” Joe felt confident that he could handle anything that this little girl could throw at him.

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Who are you?”