Ace

DANIEL

               I woke up in a car with some buff-looking guys sitting beside me. A lady in a waistcoat was driving.

               "Who are you, and where are you taking me?" I asked. The lady looked at me through the rearview mirror.

               "Good morning, sleepyhead, although it's the afternoon," she smiled. "I'm a transporting doctor–in other words, I'm a paramedic. We're taking you to a different hospital, in Russia, because your insurance can't cover the meds and treatment for you here in America," she explained, then asked one of the guys sitting beside me a question in Russian. "Who's taking care of Benjamin?"

               "Who's Benjamin?" I queried.

               "He's another patient that was in a car accident, just like you," she answered.

               "Car accident," I whispered to myself, "I must've bumped my head pretty hard."

               "Agent 114 is taking care of him," the guy to my right told her. That name sounded familiar.

               Suddenly, my head started hurting, and I started having memories. Memories of me roped in a chair, talking to Agent #114. About me being dead, and about only one person knowing that I lived. When did I ever "die"?

               I abruptly came back into reality, and I was yelling with a terrible headache.

               "What's wrong with him?" the lady asked, "Does he need Advil–or pain medication?" The guy to my left started shaking me and speaking to me in rapid Russian.

               "Hey," one of the guys said loudly, "What's wrong with you?"

               "I just remembered something!"