Thwack!

The sharp rap of wood on wood startled him awake. An arm covered in a lilac-colored floral sleeve, connected to a hand holding a slim wooden rod, took up the majority of his field of vision. He followed the sleeve upward until he was staring into steel-gray eyes filled with a mix of frustration and hate. The woman was middle-aged, her face lined with the beginnings of what would be deep, unkind wrinkles soon enough. Her silver hair was pulled into a bun as tight as her lips, not a strand out of place.

"Am I boring you, Mr. McKinnon?"

At first he didn't realize she was talking to him. He looked around expectantly at the other people in the classroom, all girls and boys aged sixteen -- maybe seventeen -- until the older woman's eyebrows arched, expecting a response. From him. He was dizzy, disoriented, and worst of all was a realization that chilled him to the bone.

He didn't remember a thing. At all.

About anything.

The stern woman crossed her arms in front of her chest and tapped a foot impatiently. He stared at her a few moments more before managing to stutter, "I...I don't feel so well."

He realized this was true as whatever he had eaten last tried to make a reappearance. He swallowed heavily, preventing it, and clutched his desk. He was filled with panic. Panic and fear, with just a little hysteria mixed in. Gripping his head, he started to sway. Little drops of sweat began to trickle down his forhead.

The woman's face didn't turn kind, but it relaxed slightly. She looked at a young girl nearby and snapped, "Ms. Lawrence, please take Mr. McKinnon to the nurse."

"Yes, Ma'am." The girl, blond and freckled, with a hint of mischief in her eyes, came and helped him to his feet. It was as if the girl knew that, if he tried to stand by himself, he would fall over.

They made their way slowly down the hall, the boy leaning heavily on the girl. They were walking down a small hallway with walls of an indiscriminate beige color. Brown doors punctuated the walls, and through small window slits more students could be seen.

They were coming upon a bigger hallway, apparently the main one. Before they reached it however, the girl paused. "That was brilliant, Bobby," she said with a giggle. "I knew you'd come through."

Bobby McKinnon - that must be his name. And the girl's last name was Lawrence. But what was her first name?

Nevermind. At the moment, he had more pressing concerns. "Can we keep walking?" he managed to say, his knees nearly collapsing.

The girl giggled again. "Whatever you say - you're the boss since you're the one who got us out of pre-calculus."

Did he take pre-calculus? Apparently he did. At the moment he wasn't quite sure what that was, but hopefully it would come back to him.

"You don't understand," he said, leaning against a nearby wall. "I really need to go to the nurse's office. Something's wrong with me."

The girl rolled her eyes. "Something will be wrong with you if you'd rather keep up this charade and go to the nurse instead of play hooky with me."

Bobby answered by fainting, and the girl turned just in time to watch him fall to the floor.

"Aw, shit," she said under her breath. "The asshole was telling the truth." There went her plans for the day.

"Get up you freak," she said, grabbing a hand and pulling it. She somehow managed to get him to the nurse.

The nurse laid Bobby on one of the cots and began examining him as he woke. Bobby opened his eyes to find the girl - what was her name? - staring down at him, and unreadable expression in her eyes. "That was your only chance," she said stonily. "And you blew it."

Bobby could do nothing except watch the girl as she whirled angrily on her heels and stormed out of the nurse's office. He idly wondered if she had gone back to the classroom, but somehow doubted she would do that. He wasn't sure why he thought that way.

"Do you feel any pain?" the nurse asked, jolting him back into the room.

He shook his head and realized that he had no idea what was wrong, exactly. Only that his memory began a mere fifteen minutes prior.

"Dizziness? Nausea?"

He nodded at her, and admitted, "I was kind of dizzy before I passed out. Am I dying?"

She favored him with a smile. "No such luck, I'm afraid. But I think it might be a good idea to call your parents to come get you."

His parents. How could he tell her that he had no clue who they even were?

Bobby, or so he assumed he was called, waited patiently outside the nurse's office for parents he didn't even remember to show up. He wondered about them nervously. Where they kind? Did they yell a lot? Would they believe his crazy story about losing his memory? A part of him hoped that the moment he saw their faces everything would come flooding back.

He realized that was not going to happen as a woman in her mid-thirties approached. Her face showed recognition, so he knew he should know her, but she didn't look familiar at all. If she was his mother, she looked younger than he had expected--she had possibly been a teenage mother. Her hair was tied back in a loose pony tail, and she had very expressive eyes. She smiled when he looked at her and hurried towards him.

As she sat beside him on the bench, she placed a cool hand to his forehead. Bobby had to stop himself from flinching away.

The smile turned to concern as she said, "You definitely have a fever. How are you feeling?"

Bobby decided that honesty was probably the best policy, even if she did think he was nuts.

"I'm a little dizzy, and my head hurts...and...and," he was reluctant to say the next part, "and I can't remember anything."

Her forehead drew together in a frown. "What do you mean?"

"I...I don't know who you are...I don't know who I am...I..."

He saw a flicker of doubt go over the woman's face. Gently, she placed a hand under his chin and raised his eyes to hers. She stared at him silently for several seconds, making him uncomfortable.

After a moment, she announced. "I think you need to see Dr. Brahms."

He followed the stranger – hell, everyone was a stranger to him – out of the building and to the parking area. Once outside, she seemed to want him to lead the way. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe to catch him in a lie? Maybe in the hopes that he’d remember some detail? He wasn’t sure.

When he meandered in the wrong direction, she took over again and led the way to what was apparently their car. It was a lime green vehicle with the word “Jetta” in smallish letters near the rear. Bobby had no idea what “Jetta” meant.

The woman – Mom, he reminded himself – pressed a button on her key ring, and he heard the click as the doors unlocked. He hesitated. What if she wasn’t really his mother and wanted to kidnap him? How would he know?

An inner voice made the decision for him. What choice do you really have?

The voice was right. He didn’t have much choice, unless he wanted to act like even more of a lunatic than he must already have seemed. And besides, the woman was taking him to see a doctor. He wished he could remember her!

With a resigned sigh, he opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat.

As she drove, “Mom” kept glancing in his direction. It was making him even more uncomfortable than it had at the school.

“I told him this would happen,” she muttered suddenly. She had stopped looking at him, her eyes now intent on the road ahead.

“Who?” Bobby asked.

“Brahms,” she answered. She turned left at the next intersection. He had no idea where they were or where they were going. It was disorienting. “But did he listen to me? Does he ever?”

He was getting more confused by the second, and considering how confused he already was, this was quite an accomplishment. Wasn’t this Doctor Brahms person his physician? So how was it that she would know something the doctor wouldn’t?

“You really don’t remember me, do you?” she asked him, as if the concept had just occurred to her. “No memory of me at all?”

“Of... of course I do,” he lied. “You’re my mother.” He tried to smile, but it probably looked as fake as it felt.

“I didn’t think so.” She seemed to spot something outside and turned right. The car pulled into a small parking area. A small brick building with signs promising the “lowest prices in the area” was off to the right. To the left, the street they’d just left. “Mom” shut off the engine and turned to face him fully.

“Have you ever heard of Project Integrate?” she asked.

He could only stare at her. This wasn’t his mother. He had no idea who she was, and he was scared.

“Have you?” she prompted.

“No!”

“Wrong. What’s your name?”

“Bobby McKinnon.”

“Wrong again. Where were you born?”

“That’s easy,” he answered – then realized he didn’t know.

“Strike three.” She looked like she was trying to figure out how to explain something. He wanted out of the car. He started to ease his hand to the door latch.

“Project Integrate was the first phase of what we hoped would become Project Infiltrate.”

Closer... closer...

“We selected a small group of people around your age, mostly runaways. Kids who would likely not be missed when we...” She paused, searching for the right word. “borrowed... them.”

“You mean kidnapped?” he supplied.

“Fine. Kidnapped. The point is, you were one of those.”

His hand seemed to develop a mind of its own. It hadn’t stopped reaching for the door handle, but it had slowed.

“You told us your name was Peter Gifford. Does that name mean anything to you?”

“No. It doesn’t. Who the hell are you, lady?”

“I’m trying to explain that. And don’t bother with the door. It’s securely locked.”