Simon woke in a bare gray room. He sat at a table and his diary was on it. The door across from him opened. A man entered. This older gentleman sat across from him and opened the diary.

"Simon," he asked, "Do you know who I am?"

"No," answered Simon.

"Do you have any memory of how you got here?" the man asked.

"No," Simon replied.

"Do you remember anything at all?" the man asked.

"That," he pointed, "It's mine. I want to read it."

"You will," the man lit a cigarette. "Right now you're under observation. We're trying as best we can to help you. Do you remember anyone from your past?"

"No," Simon said.

"You're a brave guy, Simon," the man said, "I've read this over ten times and I can't for the life of me figure out how anyone in your condition could pull this off. We've already had you looked at by a few neurologists, did a few MRIs, basic stuff. We'll be getting all the results back in a few hours. We'll know for sure then."

The man puffed on his cigarette. Simon froze.

"Wait," Simon said. The man lifted an eyebrow.

"I am waiting," the man. His voice sounded dangerous.

"Can I have one of those?" Simon asked. The man stood up. He tossed the pack on the table.

"Coming out," he said, and the door opened. Simon opened the pack. The door shut. He couldn't find a lighter. No lighter, no diary, he realized.

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