After learning that I was found back in Nevada on the roadside, my confusion really set in. My last memory was in the outdoor restaurant with her. Iíll get to who she is eventually. The restaurant we were at was in a park in Providence, Rhode Island; so I am assuming that is where something went terribly wrong, but how I got all the way back to Nevada is beyond me.
Seven months ago my life made a dramatic change. I worked for a Department of Defense contract company, in a very remote location in central Nevada. I cannot tell you the nature of my work, but I will say it was a dream-come-true. I learned my trade in the military after joining right out of high school and for the two years before I got this job, I was struggling as an unemployed veteran.
One day, while, at work, I was driving through a mountain pass and a man was standing in the middle of the narrow dirt road. I had been struggling to find a radio station, because there arenít many to be received out there, and looked up at the last second before hitting him. I narrowly avoided the man by swerving to my right, which was a big mistake. I went over the edge of the cliff in the government jeep and rolled several times before stopping at a flat landing about eighty feet below. I have never felt the amount of pain as I did at that moment. I passed out.
Upon wakening, I found myself lying on a soft bed in a windowless concrete room, barely large enough to fit the twin size bed and a small desk. The fluorescent lights were dim and flickering as if on the verge of dying and there was no light coming through the small window in the single metal door in the room. The soreness from my wreck hit me immediately as I sat up in the bed and I collapsed back down onto the large feather pillow. As I lay there unable to move from the pain, the light outside the door to my cell flickered on and I heard people speaking. When the door finally crept open slowly, I instinctually wanted to jump up and attack whoever it was keeping me captive in this cell. That did not happen though, because I could barely move without crying out in pain.
A man in his forties with a thick peppery beard entered carrying a folder full of papers and sat down at the desk next to the bed. He wore a deep black military-esque uniform with a Beretta M9 strapped to his leg.
Before I could speak he pulled out several sheets of paper from his folder, arranging them into two neat piles on the desk in front of him, and pulled out a notebook and pen. In a thick English accent he finally said,
"Hello, Ray. My name is Samuel and I want to talk about your past and your future."