Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
One Year Ago
April 2028
MY HEAD SNAPS FORWARD from its resting place against the cool window, pulling me instantly from sleep, and I have to look around to catch my bearings. To remember where I am. The police SUV climbs up the dirt road of a mountain with nothing but thick trees and brush on either side. To my left is Chief Daniel Sloan, dressed in a starched white button-up with a navy blue tie secured by a gold tie clip, all underneath a black jacket with a sleeve patch that reads Bezer Police Department . There’s a white cowboy hat on the bench between us.
Taking a deep breath, I rub my hand over my shaved head and settle back into my seat. I hadn’t been asleep long, but I wonder if I had been able to get a few more minutes if I would have been able to dream of something and it would trigger another memory or a name or anything…
“You okay over there?” Chief Sloan asks.
“Y-yeah,” I say. “Good to go.”
“You sure you want to do this?”
“Do I have another option?”
It’s been three days since I woke up in Bezer General Hospital. Doctor Sanders said there isn’t anything we can do… It’s up to me to remember. And so far, there have been no signs of that happening soon.
Yesterday afternoon, there was a discussion between Doctor Sanders, Chief Sloan, and Mr. Blackwood about what to do with me. The doctor was adamant there must be some way to identify me—fingerprints? DNA? Anything?
“We ran his prints,” Chief Sloan had said, standing in the hospital room. “I took ’em when he came in, but nothing showed up in our database.”
“What’s that mean?” Mr. Blackwood asked. Joseph Blackwood was one of the men who had found me on the outskirts of town two days prior. He was a gruff man with a head full of white hair and a white beard. His broad stance oozed confidence, a kind of confidence only certain individuals had. I was surprised when he walked in with Sloan that morning, unsure what insight he could offer into the situation, but at that point, I was open to just about anything.
“Just means he’s never been arrested. And I’m sorry to say, but until we figure out who he is, or someone comes looking for him…we can’t let him leave.”
“Well, what are we supposed to do with him?” Doctor Sanders asked, his fingers rubbing the white mustache resting on his upper lip. His striking blue eyes narrowed on Sloane.
“Well, we can put his photo up,” Sloan said. “I’ve alerted the sheriff, gave him a copy of the photo too, but he hasn’t had any reports come in.” His words trailed off, shoulders raised in a shrug. He didn’t say the thing we were all thinking: If I had been in Bezer at least four days at that point, and no one had filed a missing person report yet, what were the odds of them doing it at all? Chief Sloan shrugged, hands gripping his waistband. “There isn’t much else I can do until he remembers something.”
The pounding in my head grew with each word as I listened to them continue to go back and forth. The light became too bright, and the sounds of the machines pierced my eardrums. The only thing I could hear was the loud whoosh of blood as it coursed through my veins, making the throbbing between my eyes worse.
A cold hand ushered me to lie back, and I could faintly hear Doctor Sanders on the other side of the thunderous pounding. “Okay, that’s enough for today.”
A moment later, the nurse walked in with a Tylenol and an ice pack, taking over for the doctor and helping me settle back onto the bed.
“Look.” Chief Sloan sighed. “I wish there was more I could do, but this is how we have to proceed when dealing with a John Doe.”
John Doe.
John? Hmm, no.
Johnny? Nope.
“You have no identity, no money, and nowhere to go. So, for the foreseeable future, you’ll be right here until we figure out what to do with you.”
“Actually,” Joseph said, combing the ends of his beard. “I have an idea.”
“Joe,” Sloan warned.
“I need some help around the ranch.” Joseph turned from Sloan to me. “You any good with your hands?”
“I guess so,” I said.
“I need some help getting things fixed up and help with some ranch work. In exchange, I’m happy to put you up in a room at our bed and breakfast.”
“Re-establishing a routine can be helpful to jog the ol’ noggin,” Doctor Sanders said when Sloan tried to counter Joseph’s offer.
“It’s up to you, son,” Sloan said, and all three men looked at me. “You can stay here, or you can take Joe up on his offer.”
And that’s how I ended up in Chief Sloan’s police cruiser, heading up the mountain to Blackwood Ranch. If my only choices were sitting in a hospital room or working around a ranch, I’d take the latter.
The ranch sits a few miles up a dirt road off a dead-end street perpendicular to Main Street. Bezer is a small, off-the-grid type town in the Rocky Mountains. The whole place looks like it’s stuck in the 1950s, with Main Street thriving as the central part of the community. It’s an odd sight. I may not remember my name, but I’m pretty sure small towns like this don’t exist anymore.
The thick brush on either side of the road loosens until it’s completely gone, opening to a wide clearing. The rolling hills and mountains in the background look more like a painting than real life. Black iron letters spell out Blackwood Ranch above the open gate the dirt road runs through, and a homestead becomes visible. A white farmhouse with a barn about a hundred yards north and an old red tractor that looks like it hasn’t run in a long time is parked outside. Not too far from the tractor is a dusty blue pickup truck with a white stripe down the sides that also looks like it hasn’t run in quite some time.
Sloan lets his foot off the gas, coming through another patch of trees and creeping toward the house until he comes to a complete stop. My stomach drops when he maneuvers the stick shift to park. I have no idea what I’m walking into, or what to expect from Mr. Blackwood, but Chief Sloan and Doctor Sanders seem to think he’s a good enough guy. He appears well-respected, but what if he’s secretly a serial killer?
What? It could happen.
Joseph stands on the front porch of the farmhouse. It’s bigger than it looked from the gate, towering over me as I step out of the car. I shade my eyes from the spring sun and a cool wind whips around the door. Goosebumps rise across my skin beneath the coat Sloan had given me before we left the hospital. His wife had taken the liberty to gather some clothes for me. She’d picked out some of his old clothes that didn’t fit him anymore and even went to the store to get whatever she couldn’t find at home. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. The house is secluded and surrounded by acres upon acres of untouched land, with no sign of anyone for miles. The only sounds are from the birds in the sky and a horse’s whinny from the direction of the barn.
“Thanks for bringing him up, Danny,” Joseph calls to Chief Sloan. He’s wearing the same thing he wore both times he visited the hospital—Wrangler blue jeans, a plaid button-up, brown boots, and a brown cowboy hat.
“You got it, Joe.” Sloan waves to him. “You sure about this? We can figure something out if—”
“Oh, no, it’s no trouble. I can use the help. The ol’ ticker ain’t what it used to be, y’know? And I had to let my guys go. It’s just been me and Charlie, so an extra pair of hands is gonna help a lot.”
The hinge of the screen door creaks as an auburn-haired girl steps out of the house. The hinge grinds away at something deep inside me and I make a mental note to grease it as soon as possible. She looks around at the three of us before turning to Joe. “Who is that?”
“Charlie this…What did we say again?”
“Xavier,” I answer.
“Right, right. Charlie, this is Xavier. He’s gonna be staying with us for a bit,” Joseph explains, and Charlie’s eyes narrow toward me. “He’s gonna help out around the ranch while—”
“Dad, we can’t afford—”
“It’s no trouble. We already worked out the details.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Charlie’s glare turns on her father.
“Don’t worry about it, Char,” Joseph says, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “He’s just here until he can get the ol’ noggin working again. It’s no trouble, is it, Xavier?”
“No trouble at all,” I say with a brief smile.
“He’s happy to have a roof over his head.” Chief Sloan chuckles and a heavy hand clamps down on my shoulder, urging me forward. “Well, I best be getting back to the station,” the chief says, rubbing his hands together when the wind blows again. “Gotta finish up a few things, and Doris’ll have my head if I’m late for dinner again.”
“Thanks again, Danny,” Joe says. “Tell Doris I said hey!”
Sloan waves over his shoulder and hops into the cruiser, starting the trek back down the mountain.
I watch the taillights for a moment longer, gripping the handles of the drawstring and plastic bags in my hands a little tighter. The contents of the drawstring bag from the hospital are all I have left of my past—a pair of gym shorts and one tennis shoe. The hospital had to cut me out of the shirt I had been wearing, it was torn and covered in blood, from a head wound and countless scratches and scrapes across my body. No one knew where my other shoe was. I wasn’t wearing it when they found me.
“Well, c’mon, boy, let me show you to your room,” Joseph calls from the porch behind me.
Taking a deep breath, I finally turn on my heel and follow him inside the house, passing by Charlie, who glares at me the whole way in.
Joseph leads me upstairs and down the hall to a bedroom, next to the communal bathroom. The room is decorated to match the farmhouse aesthetic. A blue patchwork quilt covers the queen-sized mattress with a matching blue rug on the floor, a carved wood dresser against the exterior wall, and a desk in the corner to the left of the bed. All that’s missing is some rooster décor.
“This’ll be alright?” Joseph asks.
“It’ll be perfect.” I set my bags on the bed, but don’t let go of the handles. “Anything is better than another night in that hospital bed.”
Joseph laughs and pats me on the back. “You can say that again. I couldn’t wait to get out of there when I had heart surgery a couple years ago. Well, make yourself at home, Xavier. Dinner is at six, make sure you wash up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Enough of the ‘sirs.’ You can call me Joe.”
I nod, smiling toward the older man, and wait until I hear his retreating footsteps completely disappear before I let out the breath I’ve been holding. With another look around the room, it all starts to sink in…This is home for the next however many days…weeks…months…
Until someone figures out who I am or the Blackwoods get tired of me.
It’s homey, but it’s not home .
“Just because my dad is okay with you being here, doesn’t mean I am.” Charlie stands in the doorway, arms crossed tightly over her chest. No longer blinded by the sun I get a proper look at her. She’s pretty, with auburn hair falling below her shoulders and a slender figure. She doesn’t wear much makeup, if any, and is dressed in blue jeans and a plaid flannel tucked into her waist—like her father. But something about her feels out of place, like she’s playing the role of the rancher’s daughter, not that she is one. Her eyes narrow, looking me up and down, and she says, “I don’t know what kind of ‘deal’ you have worked out with him—”
“That’s not any of your business, is it?”
Charlie scoffs. “There’s something about you…I don’t like this.”
“Well, if you know something that can help me get out of here quicker, by all means…I’d love to know.”
“My dad thinks everyone can be trusted, but I don’t, and I sure as hell don’t trust you.”
I roll my eyes. This tough girl routine is going to get real old, real fast if I’m stuck here for a while. “There’s nothing here that I want, Charlotte.”
That’s the formal name for Charlie, right?
“It’s Charlie,” she quips. “And what was your name again?” A devilish grin spreads across her lips as she kicks off the wall and disappears down the hall.