Something Went Wrong

I wake up lying on a cold, hard basement floor in a room I don’t recognize. In fact, I don’t recognize much of anything, including the man completely prone next to me. My head is aching, and when I touch my right hand to my temple my fingers come away with blood. That may explain the most important thing I can’t reconcile… Who the hell am I?

I sit up and examine the room. It’s large, one big windowless cavern completely devoid of furniture. The only adornments at all are a steel door about twelve feet ahead, pillars to support the ceiling, and the unconscious guy here with me in the center. He is unconscious, right?

I crawl over to examine him more closely. Honestly, he’s pretty nondescript. I mean, he’s appealing enough with his short black hair combed expertly back and his nicely tailored gray suit. The thing is, I think if he was walking on the street he’d just be another face in the crowd. At least that’s my initial response until I notice a small patch of red on his chest where I can just barely see his white undershirt. Without thinking, I reach out and unbutton the suit jacket and it moves away to reveal a large crimson, circular stain. This, at least, makes him interesting. It also calls to my attention that this bloodstained chest is not rising and falling. Great, the unconscious guy is dead.

I feel around his unsoiled breast pocket, finding nothing. Continuing my examination, I notice no bulges in his front pant pockets indicating keys or a phone. Feeling underneath him, there is something for sure in his back pocket, but he’s heavy and I’m having trouble maneuvering him so I can reach back and grab it.

Suddenly, there are noises outside the door, light footsteps and perhaps whistling. I give one last shove and reach under this unknown former member of the breathing club and reach into his back pocket for what I think is a wallet. I dash for the door, though my vision goes blurry as I stand up and propel forward. I’m afraid I’m going to throw up but instead I make it to the wall with the door and lean against the side of the wall the hinges are facing.

The door opens wide, nearly hitting me. I don’t know who I am or what I’m doing, or why I searched a dead body instead of cowering in a corner. That’s why I’m a little surprised when I find myself kicking this steel door with impressive force and it snaps back away from me roughly. There is a sickening cracking sound and a muffled grunt followed by the unmistakable sound of someone smacking their head on a cement floor.

The door doesn’t close, having hit its opener instead, and now said opener is obstructing the entryway. I try to take a look at him as I step around the door, but between the blood gushing from his nose and half his face smashed into the floor there aren’t a lot of features to behold. I don’t recognize him, so I suppose I should be pleased that my lack of memory is staying consistent. We are all creatures craving consistency.

Leaping over my captor, I find myself in a narrow hallway with one dimly exposed bulb. To my left quickly fades to darkness, but I think I can make out stairs about ten feet down to the right, and I barely hesitate as I sprint in that direction. I say sprint, though it’s kind of wobbly and I’m breathing hard, but still pretty fast.

Up two flights of stairs I see another door with light peaking in through the poorly insulated seams. I try the handle without much optimism, but it actually yields and the door swings outward into what seems to be an alley. Things are going really well for me if you ignore the concussion, amnesia, and dead body.

I pass out of the alley and onto the street of an industrial neighborhood with buildings stretching up at least twenty stories high. There are quite a few people on the sidewalk, but it’s not until I catch the gaze of a clearly horrified woman in a trench coat and designer black stilettos that I realize I must look like garbage. There is a convenience store farther down the street and I speed walk to it, give a side nod to the clerk at the front of the lobby, and beeline to the unisex restrooms in the back.

It’s not until I’m locked safely inside a stall and trying to control my breathing that I realize I’m still holding that guy’s wallet. Except now that I’m really looking at it, this isn’t exactly a wallet. The exterior is black with rounded corners, and the inside only holds pages. Blank pages. I flip through it slowly, willing myself to calm down by examining each page, but there’s nothing of interest until the very end. As I get to the second to last page a folded piece of paper escapes and falls to the tiled floor. On the page I see only a ten digit number. A phone number?

I bend over and briefly question if it’s wise to touch something that has been in direct contact with this sticky, odiferous floor. This doesn’t stop me from picking up the folded rectangle that fell from the little book and opening it. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t a check. A blank check. A blank check for $20,000! The upper left hand side names some corporation that doesn’t ring any bells. The signature is illegible. I have no idea what this is about, but I tuck it back into the book.

Leaving the stall, I slowly approach the bathroom sink and mirror. I really do look like hell. My right ear, all the way down to just above my shoulder, is covered in the blood I already discovered from my head wound. My shirt is torn at the neck and I can see bruises forming around my throat. When I look into my eyes, they hold a glint in them that I had assumed would be terror, but seems more like rage. I wish my face seemed familiar, but why would it?

Trying to remain calm, I clean myself up the best that I can and form a plan. I walk slowly back to the front of the lobby, approaching the clerk. Now that I’m really looking, he seems barely older than seventeen, and very nervous as he watches me approach. I ask to use his phone and instead of handing me the one belonging to the store he shakily pulls his own cell phone out of his pocket and places it on the counter between us and backs up a few paces. Maybe he wants the store phone so he can call the cops on me, I don’t know. I just take it and walk a few feet away.

With one eye on the clerk, I open the little black book and dial in the number on the singular written page. Before I hit send I hesitate, thinking about who may be on the other line. I’m hoping it’s an ally, because I clearly need help. There’s no help for my poor dead friend back in the basement. Unsure what to say, I connect the call anyway.

After four rings I hear a muffled male voice answer, sounding like he has a head cold. “Is that you?” I don’t say anything, but he must be able to hear me breathing.

“Where the hell are you? What happened back? You were supposed to check the guy out, make sure he had the random money. I leave you alone like you asked and the next thing I know you’re shoving a door in my face and taking off! I didn’t know what to do. When I got off the floor I saw that he was dead. You were gone. I… I panicked. She’s dead.”

That’s when I reached behind me and felt it tucked into the back of my waistband. A gun.