Lost

KILLIAN

I had a dream. In that dream, I was flying, or rather falling... falling fast. I looked down, and all I saw was a vast field of darkness. I pulled a handle, and the opening parachute jerked my body up and to the side. I was slowing down but didn't know where the land was. I couldn't see it. I couldn't see anything. Then the impact—

I sucked in a breath, yanking my eyes open. I was lying on a small bed in a clinic with an IV drip connected to my arm. A woman with short, dark hair entered the room and gave me a wry smile. “Another bad dream?” she asked, walking over to the drip stand and changing the empty bag.

Naomie Belanger—that was her name. She introduced herself two days ago, right after I had woken up. She was a doctor here. I was in her private clinic. I—a stranger the fishermen found on a shore unconscious. She generously decided to take care of me, although I could have been a fugitive or a serial killer. I didn't know whether I was or not. I didn't remember. But when