So, I'm continuing where I had left off. I had just finished my food when I decided to check on why the backpack felt heavier than it looked. It took me a while, but I finally found a hidden pouch. Inside were identification papers. Passports, driver's licenses, everything. For more than just the United States as well. None of them had photos on them, and I found a kit that would allow me to get a photo applied to them properly. I grabbed a random passport. The name was Johnathan Carter. It would do for my trip to Russia.
After that, things got quiet again, so I decided to try and do research. On all the blogs, and Carter. I wish I knew who I was. Anyway, it was almost afternoon when I heard a tap at the door. Of course, I grabbed the revolver and prepared for an attack.
"Who is it?"-me
"Me." The voice sounded feminine, but I couldn't be certain.
"Who is 'me'?"
I told her to come in. She apologized for how I had woken up, and asked if I was done eating. I said that I was and she started walking out.
"Tell your father that the food was great."-me
"You really think so?"-her
"Well, I'm no critic, and I've been living off of canned foods. But...yes, it was."
She smiled as she walked out. I guess she was the cook. The rest of that day was uneventful.
Then the 4th came along. Lotta guys in the bar drinking. Oswald came down to talk to me. He said that no one's been able to find Randall or Sampson, but that they should be fine. I hope so. He then said that he would like to given me a quick examination, since I was going to be staying here for a while. Apparently, he knows basic medicine. He said that everything looked fine and asked if there was anything that I thought felt odd.
"Yeah, actually, my arms do. One feels less...sensitive to touch."-me
He looked closely at the arm.
"Well, I wouldn't'a seen it, if you hadn't mentioned it. Look here: a small scar. By the way it's shaped, it looks almost like a precision blade made the wound. Any surgeries?"-Oswald
I told him that I couldn't think of any. It was odd. After that, he went back upstairs. When dinner came along, I decided to eat up there. I sat at an empty table and ordered some soup. I decided to watch the TV. After a few spoonfuls of soup, a man blocked my view of the TV. I decided to ignore him and keep eating. He made a show out of pulling out a chair and sitting.
"I don't want you here."
I ignored him.
"My friends don't want you here either." I could smell the alcohol on his breath. "You think you're funny? Ignoring me? Do you know who I am!?"
I looked up, and back at my food. He was about to keep talking when Stacy came up to him. She grabbed his arm.
"Come on, Jimmy, you've had enough fun for tonight. Don't make my dad throw you out.." She was cut off as he turned and hit her.
I don't remember how I did it, but I just started moving. He had two friends behind me, and he was at least twice my size. I remember swinging back and hitting the one guy while throwing the soup at the other. They both went down, as I turned to Jimmy. I remember picking up a chair, and the next thing I know, he's on the ground. Unconscious. I helped Stacy up, as Oswald came running in with a baseball bat. When he saw the results, he laughed a little. A few men helped drag the brawlers out. Then Stacy gasped.
"Carter! You...you've been stabbed!" I looked down and saw a knife still embedded in my side. It must have belonged to Jimmy, and it explained the quick feeling of pain I had when I saw him fall. Oswald rushed me downstairs.
While he was getting medical supplies together, I yanked the knife out. I don't know why, I just did. He came over and started putting pressure on the wound, but the bleeding stopped within a few minutes. When he removed the cloth to apply bandages he froze.
"Carter...wasn't there just a knife wound here?" I said that there was. "Well...I don't know how to put this...but...it's not here anymore."
I looked and saw for myself: no wound. No scar. Not even a scratch was left. Just dried blood. He thanked me for helping his daughter, and asked for a sample of my blood. I gave him one, and asked if he had any leads about my identity yet. He didn't.
So, now I'm sitting here in my room trying to make sense of all of this. Obviously, I've received some kind of advanced training from somewhere and it's still muscle memory for me. And then there's the arm and the possible surgery there. Not to mention this new development with the wound... I wish things could just be simple for once.