It seemed safe enough to say, “Not much, I’m afraid.”
“That’s to be expected. Any other memory loss?”
He looked straight into her dark eyes. “No.”
She seemed to believe him. Her pen hovered over the clipboard cradled in her left arm as she asked, “What’s your name?”
“Sam Wallace.”
“Middle initial?”
“None. Just Sam.” The parents he’d just invented for himself weren’t particularly creative. He wondered what his real parents were like. Were they even now looking for him, frantic with worry? Was he being a total idiot not to tell someone what was going on between his ears? The answer, of course, was yes. Still, he didn’t change his mind.
“Birth date?”
As far as he could remember, he’d been born less than half an hour ago. He chose a date at random, finding it mildly curious that he could remember things like names and months and numbers, even though they held no personal meaning for him. “June twenty-second.”
“Yeah? Today’s the twentieth, so that means you’ve got a birthday coming up in a few days. What year were you born?”
Year? He wasn’t even sure what year it was now. He couldn’t remember what he looked like, whether his hair was dark or light or gray—if he even had hair. He didn’t feel old…but he didn’t feel young, either.
Damn it, what was going on here? Why the hell couldn’t he remember?
He groaned.
Serena stood and rested her hand on his shoulder, the gesture oddly protective. “He’s obviously in pain, LuWanda. Isn’t there anything you can do for him?”
LuWanda closed the clipboard. “I’ll get the doctor.”
He was grateful for the brief reprieve. He gave Serena a shamelessly pitiful look. “My head’s killing me,” he said.
She brushed a lank strand of hair off his forehead, her fingertips cool against his skin. So he did have hair. Nice to know.
“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do for you? Someone I can call for you?”
He thought again of the family that could be searching for him. With a mental apology to them—if, indeed, they existed—he shook his head. “There isn’t anyone to call, but thank you for offering.”
What he really wanted right now was to be alone. A chance to think. To break through the mental barrier that was keeping him from his memories. He was certain that he could do so if he only had the time to work at it a bit…on his own, without disruptions. But as the door opened again and a short, squarely built older man he assumed to be the doctor strode briskly into the room, he knew it would be a while yet before he would be left alone. Now he had only to keep up his pretense until his mind cleared, which he fervently hoped it would do before he had to deal with the police. If the memories didn’t return soon… Well, he would take this one step at a time.
Seeing the doctor, Serena smiled and stepped back. “I’ll get out of the way now and let Dr. Frank take care of you. You’re in good hands here, Sam.”
Sam. The name sounded strange…but maybe just a little familiar? Was it possible that it really was his own? “You’re leaving?”
Again, he found himself reluctant to see her go, perhaps because she was, for now, the first thing he remembered.
“Maybe we’ll see each other again before you leave,” she said lightly.
“I hope so,” he murmured, and realized that he meant it. At the moment, she felt very much like his only friend.
The hospital was quiet, all the school bus passengers treated and released to the care of their relieved families. At the end of the hallway, Dan Meadows stood talking to an attractive young woman who was scribbling in a battered notebook. Serena could tell from the police chief’s posture that he was rapidly growing impatient answering the reporter’s questions. She moved to rescue him.
“As I said,” she heard Dan saying in a flat, clipped voice, “no charges will be filed against the bus driver or anyone else until a full investigation of the accident has been conducted. Now I really don’t know what else you want me to say, but—”
“What have I told you about hassling the local authorities, Lindsey?” Serena asked with a faint smile.
Her employee grinned with the irreverence Serena had come to expect from the youngest member of the Evening Star staff. “You wouldn’t deny me one of my favorite pastimes, would you?”
“For the sake of the newspaper’s future dealings with the police department, I’m afraid I’m going to have to. Is there anything else you need for your article?”
“I’ve got everything I need about the bus accident,” Lindsey answered. “But I hear we have another interesting story in Room Two Oh Five. Who’s the mysterious stranger, Serena?”
“I’m waiting to hear that, myself,” Dan said, giving Lindsey a repressive look. “Until we have all the facts, there’s really nothing for you to write about him.”
“Dan’s right, Lindsey. All we know now is that he was found on Bullock Lake Road, suffering injuries from what appears to be a severe beating. I think you’ll have to wait until tomorrow for further details. He’s not strong enough to deal with the police and the press this evening.”
“Is he awake yet?” Dan asked.
She nodded. “I talked to him for a few minutes. He said his name is Sam Wallace. I’m afraid that’s pretty much the extent of what I learned about him. Dr. Frank’s with him now.”
“He refused to talk about what happened?” Dan frowned, as if that confirmed his suspicion that Sam Wallace had been involved in something shady.
Serena shook her head. “He didn’t refuse. He’s groggy, in pain. It seemed difficult for him to concentrate. He was quite pleasant, actually, just a bit confused. I’m not sure he even remembers what happened.”
“He’s claiming amnesia?” Dan’s lip curled in open disbelief.
“No.” Honestly, sometimes Dan took his official skepticism a bit too far. One would almost accuse him of being paranoid—if anyone had the nerve to do so to his face. “He’s simply disoriented, Dan. I would imagine that’s a fairly common reaction to a concussion.”
He nodded reluctantly. “I’ll try to talk to him when the doc’s through with him. If he can identify his attackers, we’ll have a better chance of finding them if we don’t wait too long.”
“He’s in a lot of pain.”
He gave her one of his rare smiles, though it didn’t quite reach his glittering dark eyes. “Don’t worry, Serena. I won’t browbeat your stray. Just want to ask him some questions.”
“So do I,” Lindsey agreed.
Serena gave her a look. “Go file the school bus story. Everyone in town’s going to want the details of that tomorrow.”
Lindsey’s expression implied that a mysterious wounded stranger was of as much interest to her as the mercifully minor school bus accident, but she had the discretion not to say so. She nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Serena. You, too, Chief. I’ll be wanting details of your investigation into this guy’s story, of course.”
Dan glared after Lindsey as she sauntered into an elevator. “Have I ever mentioned that I really don’t much like being questioned by your reporters all the time?”
“You’ve alluded to it a time or two,” Serena replied. She knew Dan didn’t mean anything personal against Lindsey, whom he’d known since she was a toddler. There were