Chapter One: Dante
I am Dante. That is all. Nothing else. I have no last name, nor is Dante my real name. It's just something that I call myself, so that everyone else can call me that. I have no memory of my past. I can only live in the present and perhaps think of the future.
Why? I have no memory of who I am. Or what I was. I am merely a shadow. A shadow that reflects memories of who I was. I can remember shadows. I've been like this for two years of my life. Two years ago…the doctors assumed I knew who I was. I have to believe them because they're not as fucked up as I am.
What does a man do with no memory? He spends his time living from day to day. I am a private investigator of sorts. I'm investigating myself. I look into the mirror and I don't recognize myself. I see my red hair and blue eyes starting back at me. I see that I'm tall and skinny with some muscles. Other than that I had a hard time waking up each morning, looking at a face I didn't recognize.
There is a clue to who or what I was. The doctors at the hospital found a gold ring on my left ring finger. They said that I was a married man. I still wear my ring. It's the only thing I know about my past. It has an inscription in it: "R.W. + H.G. 14/2/2003. 4 EVER." I don't know which one I am. I think the date is my wedding date. The nurses said that was some kind of holiday called Valentine's Day. I married someone on Valentine's Day two years ago. No memories of the person I married. Nothing. All I have is my wedding band. At least, I believe it is my wedding band. It's hard to tell if anyone is telling you the truth when you don't know who you are. But, it's the only thing I have to believe in.
I wake up every morning in a new place. Different places. I keep going from hotel or motel to other places. There's nothing really there for me. I keep looking for any answers to my past. I've thought of filling out a missing person report on myself, but I never get around to it. I live in London, England. At least, for right now.
He's been gone for two years now. They never found his body. And here I am looking at our son as he toddles around the living room. He has his father's red hair and blue eyes. He looks up at me with those eyes. Sometimes it's too painful to even look at my own son. It makes me think of him.
I didn't even know I was pregnant until a few weeks after the last confrontation with the Death Eaters. It took the Aurors days to find the site where the last confrontation took place. It looked like someone had been through there. Ron's body wasn't found among the bodies. There was a trail of his blood leading out of the site, but nothing more. What was left of his wand was found at the site. It was just splinters. We were married for less than six months when he disappeared. I say disappeared because I cannot bring myself to even think that he is dead. Not until a body is found.
"Tyler come to Mummy," I said to my son who looks up at me with those painfully blue eyes. He thrust his arms up into the air to make me pick him up. I pick him up and go to the next room. There are pictures of his father everywhere, so that he knows who his father is. He's all I have left of my husband. "Hi, Dada!" he cries out as he waves at the pictures. I hug his tiny body even harder.
My husband's family visits with us often, and I'm always invited to all the family events. Our best friend, Harry comes and checks up on Tyler and me all the time. He acts as Tyler's father figure.
After so much time past, people were saying that he probably left me. I don't believe that for a second. My husband loved me. I would rather wait a million years for him to return, rather than even think of moving on with my life. I only move on with certain things for my son's…our son's…sake. I will tell Tyler that his father was one of the best Aurors the Ministry of Magic had. I can feel he's alive. I just know it.
I woke up the next morning in a hole in the wall of a motel room. My cell phone woke me up that morning. Probably a job. I do jobs all over the world. It pays great. I get a call and I do a job. Now, before you say I have no morals, let me say that it's pretty hard to stick to a code of morals if you can't remember ever them.
Besides, some bastard out there stole my life from me. I figure it's the cosmic law of the universe. If someone fucks you up, you should fuck someone else up. And since I don't know who messed me up, I have no choice, but to mess around with other people's lives. I figure life isn't fair, and so I don't have to be fair. Besides, it's practice until I figure out who stole my life from me.
The call tells me I have to do a hit in New York. They're paying for everything. I travel with some money, but I have a Swiss Bank account. I swear when I came out of the hospital I was more messed up than I thought I was. I didn't remember how to use a telephone or a computer. That's really bad. Everyone uses that stuff. And there were lots of other things I didn't know how to use or even knew what they were. I've been relearning everything.
The only thing that worries me is what my wife would think. I look down at my wedding ring again. At least, I think I'm married to a woman. I'm pretty sure. Sometimes I have dreams that I'm making love to a woman. It's always the same woman. I don't remember much how she looks like. All I know is, I loved to run my fingers through her hair. It's thick, curly, and like silk. I can hear myself breathing deeply and her moaning in the darkness of our room. In my dreams, this woman, my wife, says that she loves me. I just kiss her lips and let her sleep on top of my chest. Sometimes we made love during the day, but mostly at night. Or at least that's the time I remember. We made love often. Or maybe, I'm just having the same dreams over and over again.
I get up and run my hand on my chin. I probably should shave. I usually keep the stubble. It's too much trouble to shave all the damn time. I run my hand through my short hair. I put on my coat. I don't wear a tie usually. I don't see myself in polite society that often. It's pretty hard to introduce myself. In polite society, they ask you for your full name. Hell, I don't have a real name, let alone a full name.
Dante was the name I picked off a book. He was the one who wrote a long poem written in Italian called The Inferno. Dante means lasting. So, I figured it's bound to make a lasting impression on the people I meet.
I sigh as I waited for the image of the target to come to me in my e-mail. I look at the picture. It's a woman. I have no problems killing women. Life's not far. Besides, she looks nothing like the woman I'm married to. At least, I don't think so. She looks like she's only in her late teens. Who am I to judge? I don't even know how old I am really. I think I'm in my mid-twenties. I can't tell.
Anyway, this girl's got short, jet-black hair. One lock covers one of her brown eyes. She's going to school in New York. It's an easy hit. No challenge whatsoever. I was known as one of the best in the business. Yeah, whatever. At least, I'm doing something that some people will remember me for. Because no one else from my past has come to look for me. No one from past, not even my wife came to me when I woke up in that hospital. So, I assume either I'm really a missing person, or no one from my past wants to know me anymore.
After all the things I've done in the past two years, it would be better that no one from my past knows me. I don't think they would recognize me anymore after the things I've done. I don't leave much time to feel shame.
I feel nothing at all.
AN: It's a mystery and a thriller. And a little confusing at the beginning. ^_^ This fic came to me during my Psychology class. We were watching a movie called Momento, but in this story, I've decided to give amnesia instead. I also thought it would be darker than my other fics, and a lot more swearing. I plan on going back to third person, unless anyone has objects to that. I thought it would be interesting to open the fic this way. Angel of the Apocalypse is still up and running. For now, just play some guessing games as to what will happen next here. ^_~
Disclaimer: As always, I don't own Harry Potter. I don't. If you've been living under a rock for the past few years, or have amnesia like Ron, then you must know that J.K. Rowling owns the rights along with some other companies. ^_~