On Tuesday it was still there, and Sam couldn't resist any longer. He looked around as if feeling guilty even though it clearly didn't belong to anyone anymore and the street was, as always, empty. Jay's words the previous Saturday sprung to mind. "Dude, leave it. It's probably covered in herpes."
It seemed likely that if Arizona's climate was good for anything it was sterilizing things though, so this warning only made Sam hesitate for a second. The bag was made of clear plastic, and had PATIENT’S BELONGINGS printed on it along with a space for a name and room number – both left blank. Resisting the urge to open it there on the street, Sam hurried back to his car and drove home. Jay wasn’t there when he arrived which was a relief, and Sam started up the washing machine.
An old grey hoodie, nothing in the pockets. Into the washer. A pair of well-worn jeans with a dollar bill and a nice looking lighter. Jeans into the washer, dollar and lighter set aside. No shirt, shoes, or underwear. No wallet, or any other kind of identification. Sam picked up the bag and realized there was a folded piece of paper at the bottom. He was opening it when Jay walked in.
“Hey, are you washing clothes?”
“Yeah, there’s room if you want to add some stuff.”
Sam crumpled up the bag before Jay could see it and threw it into the kitchen trash. Once Jay was busy with the washer Sam unfolded the note.
REMEMBER! Your name is Jasper Reynolds. You were born in 1972. Your injuries were caused by a dog. Keep this story straight. Don’t give them reason to lock you up. Recharge time is three days. Just hang on until then.
Sam turned it over in his hands, but that was all there was. He couldn’t decide if that was interesting or a disappointment.
“Dude, nice lighter. When did you – “Jay’s voice cut off abruptly, and Sam heard something clatter against the tile. He stepped out of the kitchen and saw the lighter laying on the floor.
“Jay?” he called, but he knew there wouldn’t be an answer.
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