No trace of the incident remained. No blood stains, no footprints, no proof that he had ever lain here. Squatting down, he touched the grass and waited for an answer to appear. Why had he been in this place? Had his injury been an accident or had someone deliberately tried to kill him? Had it been a robbery gone bad as the sheriff thought? No matter what the explanation, the fact remained that he’d been left here to die. The knowledge brought a sick feeling to the pit of his stomach. Standing, he shoved his hands in his pockets and scanned the horizon. All around him lay farm fields. To the east, a wooded hill showed yellow and crimson splashes of autumn colors. A cold breeze flowed around his face. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, hoping to trigger some hint of familiarity. Nothing. He searched his empty mind for some sliver of recognition and drew a blank. He’d been so sure coming here would make him remember. This was where his old life ended. He wanted to see the scattered bits of it lying at his feet.
