No Memory

Angela's blonde hair gleamed in the candlelight and her frightened eyes stared up at Roland.

"That's a knife. It's sticking out of your shoulder," Roland said in confusion.

"Roland, you've got to run," murmured Angela, raising her head with a gasp of pain.

"Why? It's not that bad...or is it?" asked Roland, still bewildered.

"GO! Get away from here before they get you!" cried Angela frantically, "RUN!"

The effort of speaking exhausted her, and she sunk back onto the floor.

"Please," she whispered pleadingly.

Roland stood irresolutely and she spoke again, "They will kill you for hurting me. You must go NOW!"

Roland hesitated and then obeyed. He ran up the stairs, and out of the shabby cellar. He slipped through a dark archway and down a dim alley. He had no idea where he was, but that was not as frightening as the realization that he not only didn't know who Angela was, but he didn't know who he, himself, was! She had called him Roland; was that his name? It stirred no chord in his memory.

The last thing he remembered was standing there, looking at her, saying over and over, "Angela! Angela!" But, if he knew her name that meant that he must know her too! Confusion and a feeling of chaos swept over him. He had many questions he wanted the answer to:

Who was he? Was his name Roland? Or was it something else? Who was the girl? Was her name Angela? Did he know her? If not, how did she know him? Where was he? Had he been here before? How did he get here? Who was after him? Why did they want him? Did he stab 'Angela'? If so, why?

He didn't know the answers, but he knew one thing for sure: He was afraid.