Cars zoomed by, not noticing the slumped figure along by the side of the road. If anyone had cared to stop and take a moment out of their busy lives, they would have noticed this figure was a man. If they had taken a closer look, they would have seen a small amount of blood at the base of the man's head, slowly congealing and drying.

In the waning sunlight, he awoke. Sitting up slowly, he groaned as pain lanced through his head. Spots danced before his vision and he took several deep breaths. When the world stopped spinning and the spots stopped dancing, he stood up.

Carefully dusting off his clothes, he looked around. There was no car although there were tire tracks in the dust. There was also a large 2x4 lying near him. He picked it up gently and noticed there was blood on it, his blood. ~So that's what hit me!~

It was that moment that he realized he didn't know who he was. He had no memory of his name, where he came from, his family or friends. Nada. Zip. Zilch.

He started to feel around his pockets, looking for a wallet or identification to hopefully jog his memory. He couldn't find any. He didn't even have a watch.

"OK," he said out loud. The loudness of his voice surprised him. "I was obviously mugged, why else would I not have identification. OK, think. Obviously I'm heading in toward," his vision zoomed in unconsciously to the far-away green sign. "Cascade, wherever that is. Guess I should head there." With that decision made, he started walking toward the big city.

He reached the outskirts of the city just as darkness completely descended. He was in what could only be described as the bad part of the city. Buildings were falling apart and in dire need of repair. Cardboard boxes were situated at regular intervals, each containing a figure in rags asleep. In dark alleys and abandoned buildings, drug deals were being made and completed every few hours.

He walked through the streets of this area quickly, knowing that he was in danger with every second that he lingered. He quickened his pace.

His ears picked up a stray sound behind him.

^Crash.^

He looked back. Something or someone had kicked a beer can.

He walked faster. He felt like he was being watched. Probing eyes wandered all over his body, deciding if he had anything expensive on him. ~Sorry guys, someone already beat you to it he thought. And because of them, I don't even know who I am.~

Then he saw his escape: a homeless shelter. He started heading to it but it was not to be.

A hand reached out from the darkness of the alley and roughly pulled him into the alley. He stumbled and the hand tightened its hold on him. He was pushed up against the wall. Sight compensated for the darkness and he found he could see the faces of his captors.

There were four of them, all in their twenties but strong, as thought they worked out regularly. He was held up against the wall as four pairs of hands roamed over his body and in his pockets, looking for money and objects they could sell.

"Hey man, don't you have anything good?" asked the leader of the group. His breath smelled of alcohol and smoke. He was obviously high and in charge and that made him dangerous.

"Hey guys, I don't have anything so why don't you let me go." He tried to get away from the roving hands but they tightened and he was pinned.

"Not good enough man. You gotta have something. Me and my posse, we need the money. Ya gotta have something to give us." The leader smirked at him then glanced at him. "How about those shoes. They look expensive, 'sides I've been meaning to get me a new pair."

"Look, I got to go. If you need shoes, you can get your own." With lightening reflexes, the leader punched him solidly in the gut, stopping any protests.

"Oh, that's too bad. Looks like we'll hafta get payment 'nother way. Whadda ya guys say?" Looking at one another, his captors grinned and prepared themselves for fun.

Before he was ready, he felt a blow delivered to his midsection again. The wind was knocked out of him and he tried to slouch and protect him stomach. The hands would not allow that. It went on and on, each one on taking a turn. Blows to his stomach, his chest, his face, never relenting. He felt and heard cracking in his ribs. He felt his eye swell up, tasted blood on his lips. It seemed as it went on, the pain got worse, more intense. He could feel each bruise as they formed, each blow separate and yet adding to the pain. He felt the darkness come and with it a reprieve from the pain. He followed the darkness willingly.

He awoke to find himself on the concrete of a dirty alley. He was one big hurt, his ribs, his stomach, his face, his feet. He slowly sat up and willed the world to stop spinning. He glanced down and saw he had no shoes. ~Great, they took my shoes anyway.~ He tried to stand up.

He almost made it up completely when he felt an explosion of pain and sensory overload. His ribs protested against the movement and let him know. He felt himself losing consciousness but fought to stay awake. ~Might have a concussion, gotta stay awake.~ He looked around. Dim sunlight was streaming into the alley but to him, it was like he was looking directly at the sun. He shut his eyes. He heard a loud grinding noise that nearly drove him crazy with its intensity. He opened his eyes slightly and saw a rat, eating a piece of meat. ~What the . . . ? What is going on? I can't be hearing a rat eating!~

He leaned against the alley wall and closed his eyes. Taking as deep a breath as possible he willed his muscles to relax. Repeating this a couple of times, he opened his eyes to find that his vision had returned to normal. With a sigh of relief, he started to head toward the shelter he had seen the night before.

He reached the shelter and hesitated at the doors. Why was he here? Could they help him? He needed answers and he needed them now. He opened the doors.

Walking inside he saw a younger woman probably in her early thirties. She had dirty blond hair, green eyes and an innocent smile. She saw him at the door and walked up to him.

"Hi. I'm Julia. You're new, haven't seen you before." She said perkily.

~Huh, she reminds me of someone. But who?~

Julia took his arm and brought him to a bed. "So, what's your name?" she said with a slight bounce.

"I . . . I don't remember." He said shakily.

"Oh you poor thing, what happened to you? Were you mugged? And you don't remember? Sit down so I can clean those cuts. We better get you to a hospital if you were hit on the head!"

"No! No hospitals! Please. . . " He looked at her pleadingly. He didn't want to go to a hospital. He knew they would do nothing for him.

"Why?" she asked

"Just . . . they can't help me. That's all. No hospital."

"Alright." She said slowly. "We should at least report this to the police. I mean, someone may be looking for you and all." She sat down next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. He jerked away; her hand felt like fire to his skin! What's happening?

"Are you all right?" she looked at him with troubled green eyes. "Look, I'm gonna call the police, maybe they can help alright?" She slowly got up. "Stay here. I wanna help you," she said softly. He reacted to her, sitting down on the cot without a word. "I'll be back," she promised.

He sat on the cot thinking. ~What if I never remember? What if I go through life with no memories of my past, who I was, who my friends are, my family. Can I truly live a life like that? I know nothing about myself and I think I'm going crazy from these damn senses! Hearing that rat . . . the light in the alley . . . What is going on?!~

Julia interrupted his reverie when she came back. "Some cops are going to come down, take your statement and maybe take you down to the precinct to get you fingerprinted and photographed. Is that ok with you?"

He just looked at her with no expression on his face. ~What did it matter, I probably won't remember who I am anyway.~ He sat there, waiting.

"Oh and I brought you a pair of shoes. Hope they fit. And here's some food. I'm sure you're hungry." Again, he said nothing.

Julia looked uneasy as if torn between staying with the conflicted older man and helping out others who had come. "I have other obligations. I'll come by when the cops come here, ok?"

He didn't answer her. She walked off, leaving him alone with his troubled thoughts.

She came back later, pulling him out of his zone. What was that? he thought. ~What just happened? Didn't she just leave? I was sitting here and then the flashing light in the window was so bright. And now she's back again?~

He looked up at the two cops in uniform. Standing up, he waited to be addressed.

"Hello sir, I'm Officer Carson. Are you the man with no memory?" asked Carson.

He nodded.

"Come with us sir, we'll bring you down to the precinct where we can hopefully find an ID on you," said cop 2. Cop 2 grabbed his arm and towed him not to gently to the door.

"Hey!" Julia called out. "If you ever remember who you are, stop by! I'd like to know your name." He looked at her. For the first time since he woke up, he smiled.

The drive to the precinct was quiet. The partners talked between themselves, but did not try to include him in the conversation, which was fine with him. He found out their names were Officers Carson and Woodville and they were recent transfers from another city.

They were almost to the precinct when a call came over the radio. "Attention all units. There are reports of a robbery in progress. Proceed to the corner of 5th and Market, Westview bank."

Woodville picked up the cb and answered, replying that they were on their way. He turned back to him. "Sorry but it looks like we'll be a little late in getting to the precinct." Carson turned on his lights and proceeded to 5th and Market. For some reason, this all felt familiar to him as the two officers speeded toward the bank but he didn't know why.

They arrived at a large bank. There was a ring of police cars and an ambulance around the building. A blockade was set up to stop traffic and the press from coming in and messing up the situation.

He slowly got out of the police car, remaining unnoticed from the crowd. He had this feeling, this urge to go help and do something. He looked at the bank, at the closed windows and locked door. His hearing picked up the stray conversations of the robbers inside. He didn't stop to wonder at this as he listened.

"Look man, there are cops out there! Why don't you listen to them. They're not gonna let you out." Why does that voice sound so familiar?

"Shut up hippie just shut up!" As he listened, he felt a rage toward the robber. ~But why?~ Without realizing it, he started moving toward the bank. Forgetting about the conversation, he looked for a way in.

~Wait? Why do I want to go into a bank where there are robbers with guns? I'm not a cop and I certainly don't have a gun! And I'll probably screw everything up. But why do I feel this overwhelming need to go in there and make sure no one gets hurt? Make sure that kid doesn't get hurt? And how the hell did I hear what they were saying in the first place?~

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he went to the back of the bank and moved for the fire escape.

On the roof he crept to a duct, trying to avoid being seen by the police for fear that they may spot him and try to stop him. He found an air duct and crawled into it, working his way through the building. During all this time, a little voice in his head was protesting to this whole plan.

~What are you doing? Are you crazy?! Going into a bank that has bad guys with guns! That's it, you're officially crazy! This blow to the head has affected your memory and your brain. What do you think this will accomplish? You're hallucinating, that's it! How could you have heard what was being said in a bank 30 feet away from you? Huh? Can you answer that one? That's what I thought. You're crazy.~

He dropped down into a bathroom. "Why am I here?" he muttered. He slipped out of the bathroom and walked nonchalantly out of the bathroom. Whistling slightly, he started down the hall.

"Hey you! Stop right there."

He turned around and saw a gun pointed at his face. "Oh, did I come out at the wrong time?" He tried to look confused. ~Don't piss off the nice bad man with the big gun.~

"Come with me," the robber gestured with the gun. He shrugged and went with the robber. ~The question is:~ he thought, ~why don't I feel deathly afraid?~

He was led into the main bank room. It was a large room with a rope line and 5 teller sites. The large windows were shut and had the blinds down, making the room very dark although he was able to see clearly. He looked at the people being held against their will. A business man was sitting down, watching the two robbers fearfully. A man and his wife were huddled together, giving each other strength. A man with short semi - curly hair was in a corner comforting a woman and her children.

He was shoved roughly toward an empty spot where the woman and her children were. He sat down and put his head in his hands, finally realizing the danger he was in.

"Hey man, it's alright. We'll get outta here." He felt a hand on his shoulder. The touch seemed electric to him. Suddenly it was all he could do not to scream. He felt like someone had turned on the hyper button on his senses. He was assaulted with smells. He could smell aftershave, perfume, deodorant, paper and everything else imaginable. His clothes felt coarse on his skin. It was like he could feel every stitch, every thread. Except for where the young man touched him. There, he felt only a comforting warmth but he had trouble focusing on it. He didn't even try to open his eyes. And his hearing was beyond words. All he could hear was a rhythmic pounding, one so loud that it seemed to pound directly into his head. He couldn't control anything he felt or sensed. He bit back a cry and only a muffled sob escaped.

"Hey, you alright? What's wrong?" the voice was low, pitched with concern. He latched onto that sound, trying to find control over his senses. He raised his head and looked up at the young man.

He gazed up at pure blue eyes and locked into them. He felt the chaos that was his senses start to fall under his control. He barely noticed the gasp that had escaped the young man.

"Jim?" he said softly. "Jim, what are you doing here man? What's wrong? What happened to you?"

The blue-eyed man seemed to know him. He looked up at him and asked a question he had been dying to ask.

"Do you know me?"

The young man laughed uncertainly. "Jim man, if this is a joke it's not fun . . . " he faltered slightly as he searched the older man's eyes. "You really don't know who you are?"

He nodded.

"Oh this is bad, this is very bad," Blair muttered

"Hey you two! Shut up over there!" A robber glared at them with pure hatred.

This time the young man sat next to him and whispered softly. "Oh man, what happened to you? How did you get all these bruises? Ok, no time to panic. We'll start at the beginning. You're Jim Ellison, a cop. I'm your partner Blair Sandburg. We've been so worried about you man! We found your truck abandoned in a bad part of town and we didn't know what happened to you!" He finally noticed the tortured look on the older man's face. "What's wrong? Oh no, is it your senses?"

Jim could barely nod. He barely had control of these senses and he didn't know what to do. "Am I going crazy?" he asked, gazing up into Blair's eyes.

"Shit! Ok Jim I want you to listen to my voice. Close your eyes." ~Why am I doing this? Who is this kid, telling me what to do? But if I get these senses under control, things could be better. And I've got to trust someone.~ He closed his eyes.

"Good Jim, that's good. Take a few deeps breaths. Now I want you to picture a dial, like a radio dial. There are 5 dials, one for each of your senses. Right now they are pretty high. I want you to lower them one by one. First sight, then smell and so on until each of them are at normal levels. That's good." Jim felt himself relax as Sandburg continued to talk. He felt his senses slowly descend in power, coming more and more into his control. Finally, when all was normal he opened his eyes. He could barely see in the dark. Taking a deep breath, he slowly raised his sight level until he could see clearly in the dark bank. ~Wow, this is cool!~ He looked at the man who had helped him and suddenly felt uncomfortable and vulnerable.

"You can stop touching me now you know." Jim said gruffly. ~What was this hippie punk doing helping him? Be nice to him, he did help you get control of these senses.~

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