His dreams were strange and fitful: images of guns and explosions, friends dying... at least, he thought they might be friends. One of them always held a hand out to him just before flames engulfed them both.
Sometimes, his dreams were more pleasant. These variations included a grassy bank by a stream and a soft, feminine figure sitting next to him on a blanket. Her hand would be in his, and he always felt safe there, in that dream.
He never saw the people in his dreams. They were blurry shapes that his mind registered as human. He didn't know how he knew them or from where, just that he did.
The dreams consumed him, leaving him feverish and lost.
He awoke from another fevered dream to the sight of dark brown eyes staring intently at him. They were full of concern and something else. He didn't know what that something was, though, and a million other unknowns pushed it to the back of his mind. He opened his mouth to voice one--or all--of them and the first one that surface was "Who are you?"
"Dr. Helen Bryce."
Her voice was that of an angel--soft, warm and friendly. He felt certain he could trust her, this doctor. It was a title that meant something to his fuzzy brain, if the name behind it did not. It meant he was in a hospital, though where remained a mystery to him. He might have asked had she not asked the next question for him.
"Do you know who you are?"
Of course he did. He was -- but the information wasn't there. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and asked "Do you?"
"These.." Here she held up a set of silver tags that meant nothing to him. "say your name is Whitney Fordman."
He blinked, repeating the name. Testing it on his tongue. It seemed familiar, but in a "far way" manner that lingered on his mind and created a whole new unspoken question:
Who is Whitney Fordman?