Page 6 of Lost Prince

“The son of the murdered cop blames you… blames your family. I have no proof that he kidnapped you?—”

“He said he was responsible when he—” Lana cuts herself off. Both she and Henry have a dark shadow that crosses their faces, as if they’re having a bad memory. Henry takes her hand, squeezing reassuringly.

“But there is no evidence of that at this time. The witness wasn’t able to identify Hartley or his men. Nothing in the van that led us to find you leads us to him. Do you ever recall meeting Peter Hartley? He would have been a police officer at the time.”

“I don’t know my own fucking family. Why would you think I’d know a cop?” My head is throbbing.

“Maybe we should focus on something positive,” Lana says. "Elio, why don't you start? Tell us about that time you and Lazaro snuck out to that concert."

Elio clears his throat. "Right. Well, it was about eight years ago. I was… well, I was in a pisser mood.”

“Piper’s family moved away without a word goodbye,” Lana explains. “Elio was broken-hearted, remember?”

“Your wife, Piper?” I ask.

Elio nods. “Anyway, you had the bright idea that we should sneak out.”

As he launches into the tale, I tune out. My gaze drifts to the window, watching raindrops chase each other down the glass. It's all white noise. These stories are about a person I don't recognize.

"Lazaro?" Lana's voice breaks through my haze. "Did any of that sound familiar?"

I turn back to the group, noting their hopeful expressions. It makes my chest tighten with an emotion I can't name. Guilt? Anger? Both?

"No," I growl. "Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but this isn't working. These stories… they're about someone else. Not me."

"What about the time we snuck into that underground fight club?" Matteo chimes in, grinning. "You took on that guy twice your size and laid him out cold."

My stomach churns at his words. I can’t reconcile the man I am with the man I’d apparently been. Not only was I violent, but it seems I enjoyed it.

"Nothing?" Lana searches my face for any sign of recognition.

"It's all blank.” I hate the pity in their eyes.

“Do you remember when we were fourteen and you stole one of Dad’s cars and took me to Northerly Island?” Lana is determined to make me remember. I wish I did remember. Maybe it would make all this stop.

“These guys tried to hassle me, and you took them all, Lazaro. Beat them all to a pulp.”

“Good to know my brutality was honed at such a young age.”

They continue sharing stories, each one painting a picture of a man I don’t recognize. A man capable of violence, of loyalty so fierce he'd commit murder. The most unsettling part was not being sure whether that man was still in me, even without the memories to prove it. I didn’t think so. Did I have a temper?Yes. Had I ever gotten into a fight? Sure. But that guy in the bar hassling the waitress deserved to get his ass kicked.

"Let's try some lighter memories," Lana says. "Maybe from when we were kids?"

For a moment, I feel a flicker of hope. Kids. Innocence. Maybe there’s a version of me I can relate to.

"Remember that time we snuck into the movies and convinced the concession person that you gave them a $20 and hadn’t gotten your change, when you’d actually only given a $10?”

Jesus, I was a thief too?

"Or when we built that treehouse and you would sit up there with your BB gun as the lookout?” Elio shared.

Nothing. Just more blank space where memories should be.

"Oh!" Matteo exclaimed. "What about that time in high school when those jerks were picking on that freshman… fuck, what was his name? Derrick or David or something. I think he’s a bigwig in New York now. Anyway, you put them in their place real quick."

My stomach twists. "Put them in their place?"

Matteo nods, grinning. "Yeah, you roughed them up good. They never bothered anyone again after that. And all the freaks and geeks paid you to be their bodyguard.”

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