The Lost and Found

Chapter 3 - Box of Unremembered Memories

The sunlight poured through the window, stabbing John's eyes with shards of pain that radiated throughout his entire body. Every muscle in his body ached as he tried to shield his eyes from light. His legs must have been broken; he couldn't move them on account of the pain that throbbed through them. What happened? Where is this place?

Shadows of the room slowly became clearer as his eyes adjusted to light. He was in a small room of what appeared to be a cabin of some sort. The walls were knotty pine and decorated sparsely with country pictures. An old straw broom was mounted over the door; a bear skin rug lay near the bed. An oil lamp was still burning on the night stand, though its light was no longer needed. The desk in the corner was buried beneath a mountain of books, Bibles and paper. Shelves of more books— all worn and a bit dusty—lined the window wall. The room gave the feeling of being in a Mark Twain novel of old. There were no light switches, no television, and no phone.

The bed on which he lay consisted of a stuffed mattress with no springs, which only enhanced the pain he was feeling in his extremities. The quilt covering him looked to be handmade out of old rags and linens. Its intricate detail and elegance far surpassed the humble pieces sewn together. It held a familiar scent that reminded him of someone. He had been given a quilt very similar to this one for his birthday, hadn't he? A gift from a girl he knows. What was her name? He couldn't remember. He searched his memory for anything familiar, but found nothing—not even one face came to mind. How did he get here? Was this home? No, he couldn't be home. He remembered television, video games, electricity—this place seemed to lack all of these. Could this be just a dream? Yes, a dream. He tried to scoot up to get a better look at the room, but a fresh surge of pain shot up through his spine, telling him it was a bad idea, if not impossible. But why so much pain in a dream? What had he done to himself in this dream?

"I'm glad to see you're awake, finally. It's been hours."

The voice startled him back to the reality of the moment. He looked up to find an older woman walking towards him with a wash basin in hand. She placed the basin on the nightstand and retrieved a rag from the warm water within it. Wringing the excess liquid from it, she sat on the edge of the bed and gently placed the rag against his forehead. He pulled away from the sting it caused, immediately sorry he had done so due to the excruciating pain it caused in his neck. She gently calmed him and dabbed his wounds again.

"You gave us quite a scare there for a bit. Weren't sure if you'd make it." Her eyes were a gentle brown, concerned yet distant and almost vacant at the same time. Lifeless dream eyes, he thought. Her touch was tender and careful with each dip in the water. Slowly she painstakingly cleaned each of the wounds on his face and arms. He was horrified by the extent of the damage that had been done to his body. Every press of her cloth brought him to a new level of pain he didn't think he could have endured before, but he didn't move for fear of finding even more unbearable pain. His voice could not muster the strength to scream out but only allowed a small whimper. A tear escaped down his bruised face and stung hard against his wounds.

"Must have scared the wits out of ya. It sure woulda scared me. Half out of my mind, I tell ya."

The blank expression on his face told her his memory was gone. For being the dreamer of this strange and painful dream, he was oddly out of touch with the details.

"You don't remember a thing, do ya?"

The pain only allowed him to move his lips slightly to tell her no.

"You're hurting pretty bad, too, I bet." He tried to nod. "Well, don't you worry a bit. Old Sam will be in here soon and he will fix you right up. Yes, sir. He'll fix you up good. He fixes everyone up here. He's real good at fixing things."