Post by Jed Fernandez on Feb 1, 2009 1:09:25 GMT -5
Spiders.
All he remembered from his nightmare was the presence of crawling spiders. Aside from that, nothing.
He could not fathom the rest of the dream, nor what it meant but he knew that it had something to do with his past, the past that had been evading him for three years now.
Jasper rolled over to his side and let his hand slip into his bedside drawer where he usually kept a stock of aspirin. The usual migraine that followed his dreams was attacking him now leaving him vulnerable. He groped with his blanket, eyes closed, to switch on the lampshade—he needed some light both literally and figuratively.
“One of those days” he muttered to himself—the medicine stuck in his throat-- as he stared at the blank ceiling that mirrored his unknown past.
Blank.
All he knew was that he had some connection with spiders, and that was not comforting, whatever angle you try to reason from—unless of course he was Spiderman, which was not likely. It was one of those days when he would wake up from a dream he couldn’t remember nor discern, yet knowing that it somehow had something to do with who Jasper Atkins really was.
As the dim light illuminated his table, he saw its emptiness staring back at him in ominous mockery. Where one usually kept pictures of his family, friends and himself, Jasper’s was bare except from a single photo of him taken when he was with the investigators. He wasn’t even smiling when the picture was taken—it wasn’t a mug shot, but he felt like it could pass for one. He decided to keep it though to remind himself that he was someone—he had an identity.
“Name Jasper Atkins.”
He replayed in his mind the briefing the investigators had subjected him to; clinging on to the only factual information about himself he had so far. He felt like he was a newborn, minus being an infant. Somehow knowing those things lifted his spirits—he had to hold on to them, for they were the only ones he owned.
“Age seventeen.”
Of course that was three years ago. He mentally altered that part and whispered his present age: twenty.
“Eyes, olive green. Hair, light brown. Complexion, fair. Physique medium.”
Those he didn’t change—there was nothing to change except that his hair was darker now, but it was still light in color. That didn’t count.
“Height five feet eleven inches.”
And a half, he noted.
“Parents, dead. Siblings, one brother and one sister.”
They refused to impart further details of his brother and sister at first, but he pressed them on. It didn’t take a professional lawyer to know that he had the right to know about his relatives. They knew he had every right to know about his family. As a compromise, they gave him only their names—Nathaniel and Nerissa—in lieu of leaving out the cause of their parents’ death and the location of his siblings.
Nathaniel and Nerissa Atkins.
He knew some way of searching for missing people, but he had already exhausted all of them to no avail. There was still no clue to where they were. Jasper wondered if he had been given his siblings’ real names or even if he had been given his real birth name.
And why was the cause of their parents’ death confidentially concealed, even from their son?
The hourly alarm signaled him to gather his thoughts. It was eleven in the morning, and prepared himself for another day. The first thing he did was pick up the phone.
“Blue, it’s me. Can I come over?”
The answer was always yes. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
He had only one friend—-Blue. Rather, Blue was the only one he considered friend. He was one of the investigators that talked him through his memory loss. Of all the men in uniforms Blue was the only one that offered him a ride home—-he didn’t have anything then. From that little gesture, Blue—-who was a neophyte at that time-—would forever remain his closest friend.
For people with amnesia, it was either they trusted too much or they didn’t trust at all. Jasper chose to trust Blue.
He finally dragged himself up after his Morning Prayer and skipped surveying himself at the body-length gilt mirror. He already knew how harried he looked. All he wanted to do was take some nice shower to refresh his mind and somehow filter through his dream. The earlier he achieved; the latter never happened.
His closet was ‘buried’ deepest in the large bathroom. Before he would reach it he had to pass by twin glass cabinets facing each other. The twin cabinets and its contents were his treasures. As of the moment he had three hunting rifles, four automatics, five semi-automatics, four nine millimeter pistols and two forty-fives—-all loaded. He also had a generous supply of ammunitions for every kind of gun, not to mention four silencer barrels he bought from a professional marksman. Adjustable monocular lenses and night vision goggles that matched his collection were kept in place beside designer leather gloves.
All of these were legal—-they had every paper, every permit necessary for them to be carried around locally or internationally. Yet, Jasper never brought any. There was no reason for him to.
He never went out except when he was with Blue, on which case there was really no need to carry any protective firearm—-Blue was an officer, for crying out loud. Being with him somehow made the guns a waste of energy to carry.
Sometimes he works as Blue’s supplier. He even repairs his guns. Blue gives him information in exchange, nothing too confidential that would wring them in trouble—-Blue was still bounded by the law.
Aside from the guns, Jasper also had the knack of reconstructing and rebuilding other gadgets, some Blue benefits from. The latest addition to his inventions was a pocket pen that would never be traced as a laser gun plus the silencer, minus the fingerprints.
Somehow, Blue has a theory why Jasper had to be away from his family—-from anyone who would give him away, actually—-and assume his amnesia as a means of protecting himself from people who wanted him dead (three years ago they had nearly succeeded).
And somehow, Jasper has a theory why Blue never lets him out of his sight.
All he remembered from his nightmare was the presence of crawling spiders. Aside from that, nothing.
He could not fathom the rest of the dream, nor what it meant but he knew that it had something to do with his past, the past that had been evading him for three years now.
Jasper rolled over to his side and let his hand slip into his bedside drawer where he usually kept a stock of aspirin. The usual migraine that followed his dreams was attacking him now leaving him vulnerable. He groped with his blanket, eyes closed, to switch on the lampshade—he needed some light both literally and figuratively.
“One of those days” he muttered to himself—the medicine stuck in his throat-- as he stared at the blank ceiling that mirrored his unknown past.
Blank.
All he knew was that he had some connection with spiders, and that was not comforting, whatever angle you try to reason from—unless of course he was Spiderman, which was not likely. It was one of those days when he would wake up from a dream he couldn’t remember nor discern, yet knowing that it somehow had something to do with who Jasper Atkins really was.
As the dim light illuminated his table, he saw its emptiness staring back at him in ominous mockery. Where one usually kept pictures of his family, friends and himself, Jasper’s was bare except from a single photo of him taken when he was with the investigators. He wasn’t even smiling when the picture was taken—it wasn’t a mug shot, but he felt like it could pass for one. He decided to keep it though to remind himself that he was someone—he had an identity.
“Name Jasper Atkins.”
He replayed in his mind the briefing the investigators had subjected him to; clinging on to the only factual information about himself he had so far. He felt like he was a newborn, minus being an infant. Somehow knowing those things lifted his spirits—he had to hold on to them, for they were the only ones he owned.
“Age seventeen.”
Of course that was three years ago. He mentally altered that part and whispered his present age: twenty.
“Eyes, olive green. Hair, light brown. Complexion, fair. Physique medium.”
Those he didn’t change—there was nothing to change except that his hair was darker now, but it was still light in color. That didn’t count.
“Height five feet eleven inches.”
And a half, he noted.
“Parents, dead. Siblings, one brother and one sister.”
They refused to impart further details of his brother and sister at first, but he pressed them on. It didn’t take a professional lawyer to know that he had the right to know about his relatives. They knew he had every right to know about his family. As a compromise, they gave him only their names—Nathaniel and Nerissa—in lieu of leaving out the cause of their parents’ death and the location of his siblings.
Nathaniel and Nerissa Atkins.
He knew some way of searching for missing people, but he had already exhausted all of them to no avail. There was still no clue to where they were. Jasper wondered if he had been given his siblings’ real names or even if he had been given his real birth name.
And why was the cause of their parents’ death confidentially concealed, even from their son?
The hourly alarm signaled him to gather his thoughts. It was eleven in the morning, and prepared himself for another day. The first thing he did was pick up the phone.
“Blue, it’s me. Can I come over?”
The answer was always yes. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
He had only one friend—-Blue. Rather, Blue was the only one he considered friend. He was one of the investigators that talked him through his memory loss. Of all the men in uniforms Blue was the only one that offered him a ride home—-he didn’t have anything then. From that little gesture, Blue—-who was a neophyte at that time-—would forever remain his closest friend.
For people with amnesia, it was either they trusted too much or they didn’t trust at all. Jasper chose to trust Blue.
He finally dragged himself up after his Morning Prayer and skipped surveying himself at the body-length gilt mirror. He already knew how harried he looked. All he wanted to do was take some nice shower to refresh his mind and somehow filter through his dream. The earlier he achieved; the latter never happened.
His closet was ‘buried’ deepest in the large bathroom. Before he would reach it he had to pass by twin glass cabinets facing each other. The twin cabinets and its contents were his treasures. As of the moment he had three hunting rifles, four automatics, five semi-automatics, four nine millimeter pistols and two forty-fives—-all loaded. He also had a generous supply of ammunitions for every kind of gun, not to mention four silencer barrels he bought from a professional marksman. Adjustable monocular lenses and night vision goggles that matched his collection were kept in place beside designer leather gloves.
All of these were legal—-they had every paper, every permit necessary for them to be carried around locally or internationally. Yet, Jasper never brought any. There was no reason for him to.
He never went out except when he was with Blue, on which case there was really no need to carry any protective firearm—-Blue was an officer, for crying out loud. Being with him somehow made the guns a waste of energy to carry.
Sometimes he works as Blue’s supplier. He even repairs his guns. Blue gives him information in exchange, nothing too confidential that would wring them in trouble—-Blue was still bounded by the law.
Aside from the guns, Jasper also had the knack of reconstructing and rebuilding other gadgets, some Blue benefits from. The latest addition to his inventions was a pocket pen that would never be traced as a laser gun plus the silencer, minus the fingerprints.
Somehow, Blue has a theory why Jasper had to be away from his family—-from anyone who would give him away, actually—-and assume his amnesia as a means of protecting himself from people who wanted him dead (three years ago they had nearly succeeded).
And somehow, Jasper has a theory why Blue never lets him out of his sight.