>> Well that’s… concerning. Ask him to elaborate, is it possible your Uncle has amnesia?

Concerning is a good way to put it. Yes, I thought, I am definitely concerned, and not at all slightly panicked over the idea that Uncle James might have been wandering around with amnesia. Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember anything a moment ago either. Could it be connected?

“You don’t remember?” I ask, rolling down the window further to look up at him. “What…. Do you mean?”

“Exactly that,” he says, frowning, and leaning a little forward into the car. He rests his arms on the edge of the rolled down window, and I get a better look at him. Under the black peacoat he has a slightly rumpled dress shirt and tie on. “I woke up a few minutes ago on a park bench over there, and I don’t know where I am, or how I got here– and you’re the first other person I’ve seen…”

“I just woke up here in my car,” I murmur, resisting the urge to put my hand on his arm. “I was having trouble remembering things too, but it came back after a moment.”

He rubs his head, brushing the locks of pale hair out of his face. “It’s been a few minutes for me, and I still can’t even remember my name. Just that I feel like I was here looking for something… wherever ‘here’ is.”

“Silent Hill. Um, well, it should be Silent Hill anyway. I guess I don’t have any proof…” I shake my head. “Listen… my name’s Vanessa– if you are my uncle James, you’re the one I came here looking for.”

“James…” he stares past me into the distance. “I wish I could say it sounded familiar…”

>> Oh dear; whoever this poor guy is, he definitely seems out of it. Check to see if you’ve got your cell phone on you in case you need to call him in some medical assistance.

This guy… whether he’s my uncle or not, I have to help him. Honestly, how could he be anyone else? The odds of coming looking for Uncle James and finding some guy with amnesia who looks just like him… that has to be impossible, right?

I reach in my pocket for my cellphone, thinking maybe I can call… I don’t know… someone? For some help here, and have a thought.

“Hey, do you have any ID on you? A wallet? A phone or anything?”

He shakes his head sadly. “That’s the first thing I checked. All I have in my pocket is this blank folded paper….”

He reaches into the breast pocket of his dark coat and takes out a piece of yellowed paper, deeply creased, as if it has been folded and refolded time and again, like an important memento.

He unfolds it delicately, and shows me both sides of it, like a magician performing a trick.

He’s right. Both sides are blank.

>>_ _ _