“Here are your supplements, sir.” The orderly handed Stephen a small cup of pills, watching carefully beneath hooded lids to see if Stephen swallowed all of them.
They both knew the pills weren’t vitamins. What Stephen didn’t know was if the orderly was aware he knew it. The meds brought a numbness to his mind, and he hated the lethargic response of his thoughts. He tossed the pills into his mouth, gulped down the entire glass of juice, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He set the balled-up paper down on the tray and waited until the orderly took the tray to the trolley.
Taking advantage of the man’s turned back, Stephen slipped the pills into the space between the chair’s back and seat, letting them rattle with the others he’d stashed there.
“Your parents will be visiting you today, sir,” the orderly mentioned, stacking the tray with the dish covers. “They’ll be joining you in Entertainment Room C.”
“Lovely,” Stephen drawled.
They were waiting for him, a well-dressed, elegant couple whose every movement spoke of money and privilege. Stephen didn’t have to look hard to see himself in the older man. They shared the same inky black hair, light blue eyes, and strong features. Nearly the same height, they both towered over the delicate-boned blonde woman picking at the edges of her nails in boredom. She smiled when Stephen approached and murmured an air kiss near his ear before drawing quickly away. The man patted Stephen’s arm awkwardly and sat down next to his wife on a tapestry settee. The orderly closed the door as he left, leaving them alone.
The room was on the small side for the facility, offering a private venue for family gatherings, and Stephen wished they’d been able to meet in one of the larger areas so he could have some room to pace off his frustration. He was halfway to the window when the man who called himself his father broke the silence.
“Why don’t you come sit down with us, Stephen?” Hell, they even sounded alike, but for the life of him, Stephen couldn’t remember a damned thing about the man he resembled. “We want to hear how you’re doing. Do you need anything? Maybe more books?”
“What I need is to get the fuck out of here,” Stephen said, staring down at the parents he didn’t know. “Look, you seem nice and all, but I don’t remember you. I don’t want to be here… I…. This isn’t my life.”
“Stephen, we’ve gone over this,” his mother said in the same damned lilting singsong the staff used to speak to him. “You’re our son. You were in a car accident… a very serious car accident. It’s okay that you don’t remember anything—”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. I sure as hell don’t remember you, but I remember a lot of things,” he interrupted. “I remember that my name’s not Stephen Thompson. It’s Damien Stephen Mitchell. I know I was in a car accident, and I know Johnny and Dave are gone. What I don’t understand is why you’re not letting me see Sinjun or even letting me talk to him. So if you want to do something for me, let me out of here. Because what I need… who I want is Sinjun, because I need him to take me home.”