Remembering Amnesia

Remembering Amnesia

Status: Finished

Genre: Fan Fiction


Status: Finished

Genre: Fan Fiction


In a small town, Wren finds a strange man washed up on shore. Why can't he remember anything? And why is it more frightening when he can? Can he forget the angel he lost? Phantom of the Opera fan fiction. I own nothing.


In a small town, Wren finds a strange man washed up on shore. Why can't he remember anything? And why is it more frightening when he can? Can he forget the angel he lost? Phantom of the Opera fan fiction. I own nothing.

Chapter1 (v.1) - Remembering Amnesia

Author Chapter Note

Phantom of the Opera fan fiction. In a small town, Wren finds a strange man washed up on shore. Why can't he remember anything? And why is it more frightening when he can? Can he forget the angel he lost? I own nothing.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: March 10, 2014

Reads: 609

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: March 10, 2014



The loud, murmuring roar of the ocean couldn't drown out the calls of overhead seagulls, merely accenting them with sadness. The water was as gray as the sky, the turbulent rolls of the waves lighted in green. It was always cool in Brookings, Oregon. It was the middle of the summer and she had to wear a light sweater against the constant mist that permeated the town.

Wren twirled her finger around in the soft sand that she sat on, half hidden by the long, rich grass that hung sleepily on the shore. Behind her she heard the occasional car speed by on the freeway, going to some other important city than the tiny little town she lived in. Green stood out dramatically from the grey as she glanced back at the mountains that towered behind the shoreline, carpeted by evergreens.

Heaving a sigh through her nose, Wren touched the tender piercing on the side of her nostril. She finally managed to get the small stud she had always wanted. Somehow it seemed like such an insignificant accomplishment. The gentle wind that blew in from the sea, bearing the salty vigor, teased her red-brown hair, making wisps dance about and tickle her face.

It was beautiful here today but a heavy weight still sat in her chest like some imp, laughing at her. She honestly didn’t know if she was lonely anymore or if she had just gotten used to it. Gone a bit cold, as some have said. And there was no real reason; all bad things were past and gone with the last few years. Life had been good to her actually. School was going well, she finally got her own apartment and was stable with income which was unusual nowadays.

"God, why am I so stupid?" she wondered aloud, looking up at the seagulls and the clouds. She took a cursory glance about to see if anyone would be listening in to her. Sighing, she contemplated why on earth she was even out here and not with friends or even just other people. "It’s not like my life is bad or anything but hey, I still can't enjoy it. For some stupid, fucking reason, I have to choose to be miserable instead of being a normal, fucking person. What the hell is wrong with me?"

Her frustrated brown eyes glared at the sky, as if she was demanding some sort of a divine answer. When none came (as expected) she sighed and stood up, brushing sand off her skirt.

"What am I doing? Sitting here grumbling while the best years of my life are just blowing away!" she berated herself, half seriously and in sarcasm. "Why the hell can't I get myself together?"

Folding her arms about her torso self-consciously, Wren wandered down to the edge where the water lolled up the beach. No one else occupied the area considering it was a Wednesday and the middle of the day. Not that anyone ever really bothered coming here unless they were fishing.

Brookings was a retirement home on a large scale. There were barely fifty students attending the community college she was enrolled in. It was annoying, especially since she had grown up with them all and they were more like siblings than friends.

"That's just the problem, isn't it? I can't stop bitching about how I'm stuck here with a good life," she paused as she walked north slowly, eyeing the sand. "And I'm not really doing anything about it, now am I? Not going out anymore, not talking to anyone. Dear God, I am pathetic."

She turned about a large boulder that stuck up out of the rocky outcropping that bordered the shore. Her eyes slid back along it, bored, to land on an object that made her stop, her heart suddenly pounding.

Lying near the outcropping, shadowed by the overhanging grass and half covered in sand, lay a body on its back. Holy shit! Was he dead? Cautiously, Wren approached, trying to decide whether he really was dead or simply a blind sun tanner; the sun never shined here so what the hell was he doing?

It was a man in his mid-thirties in ragged clothing. Torn, waterlogged trousers were accompanied by a soaked, open collar white poet shirt. He wore no shoes or socks and his tousled ashy brown hair was half-dried, curls of it blowing about his shoulders. For a good few moments, she contemplated just leaving him be and walking away. But instead, Wren kneeled down next to him, scooting close enough to examine his face, her mind more curious than worried. Maybe he was just asleep.

One side of his face was quite handsome with a distinguished eyebrow, thoughtfully drawn in some ponderous passion. A light beard dusted his strong chin and along his thick neck, giving him a tired, haggard look. His lips were serious and inviting and his nose was perfect.

But the other side was a bit of a shock to Wren's eyes. There was no eyebrow over the sleeping eye. A ridge of malformed skin danced along his cheekbone. The flesh was slightly pinkish and mottled, seeming infinitely sensitive. The deformation ran beyond his ear to cut into his hairline. The ear didn't seem to have completely disconnected itself from the rest of the head and a lump seemed to grow next to it.

Wren could see that he was breathing faintly but raggedly. Abrasions and cuts ran amuck on his exposed skin, as if he had been drug around in gravel. At first, since she was wary, she poked his side gently then harshly when there wasn’t a reaction. Grasping his arm gently she shook it, trying to waken him. There was no response from him.

"Hey, hombre, wake up. You look beat to shit. You ok?"

After another two tries she managed to get him to stir slightly, his lips murmuring foreign words and his eyelids tightening.

Why wasn’t he waking up? Did he have a concussion? Oh my god, what if he was dying?! Her heart ricocheted around her ribcage, causing her breath to shorten. What on earth happened to him? Taking out her cell phone, she checked for reception, cursing when there was none. Oh, great, there was almost no power either. Frustrated, Wren eyed the man, pondering options. She could drive out to a phone and call an ambulance, which would take forty-five minutes to get there. Or she could just take him to a hospital and save time, which might be a factor if he was actually dying.

Tucking away the phone she took a deep steadying breath before reaching out and grabbing his wrist. Unable to put her fingers about it fully she tried pulling on him, standing up to see if she could lift him. Gracelessly, her feet slid out from under her and she landed on her ass rather hard. Barely moved him. Damn.

Quickly she went back to her Jeep, starting it up and driving it off the road onto the sandy beach. She’d better not get fucking stuck, she grumbled mutely. Backing up carefully, she checked to make sure she didn't run him over or go too far into the water. Climbing out shakily, she opened the back door, flinging her books and left over Taco Bell wrappings into the back.

For a good few moments, she considered how she was going to go about getting him into the Jeep. He looked a little big. Giving another glance about and discovering that she was still indeed alone with him, she gave up hoping for help.

Tucking her hands under his broad shoulders, Wren struggled to lift him up. Panting from his dead weight, she dragged him inch by inch toward the vehicle falling more than once to her knees or butt under him.

"Dude, you are so much heavier than you look," the girl grunted as she wrestled with the unconscious man. "You know, I didn't believe the whole 'one pound of fat equals three pounds of muscle' deal. I'm a believer now cause there is not much fat on you!"

After about ten minutes of lifting, growling and struggling, the man was finally halfway into the car. The long legs sprawled akimbo out of the vehicle, are feet still in the sand. Huffing a quick breath, the woman gave him one final tug from where she crouched in the backseat. Good thing no one was around to see her underwear with the way she was positioned. His unconscious weight fell on top of her due to inertia and she found herself trapped under him.

"God damn it all!" Wren hissed in mild embarrassment and frustration. Wiggling out from under him, she crawled to the front. Finally she sat in the front seat, gripping the wheel and panting for breath. Wiping her brow, she glanced back at him before grumbling.

"That was a workout. Jesus."

As gently as possible, Wren drove the Jeep back along the shore in the loose sand, getting stuck only once and for a brief moment. The wheels bumped over the sidewalk before the vehicle straightened onto the road.

"Sheesh, a little while I go I was complaining like there was no tomorrow about how fucking boring my life is, now look; I'm driving some half drowned idiot to the hospital," Wren mused, glancing back at him before focusing on the road with a small silly smile. "Pretty hot half drowned idiot."

The hospital was in another town, almost an hour away. There was an urgent care for small emergencies but it was closed at this time of day. Kind of stupid, considering how many dying and or going to be dying seniors there were, she thought. You'd think some smart guy would build a medical center where more people are likely to die. Wren got on the freeway, checking her phone once in a while, the third time discovering it dead.

After about twenty-five minutes of driving, Wren heard a sound from the backseat. Whipping about she spotted the man shifting dazedly, a low moan escaping his lips. Muttering 'oh shit' she pulled over at a camping site entrance, turning off the car and unbuckling. She turned and looked over at him, watching as he slowly wakened.

His long lashes fluttered and his lips tightened before the eyes finally opened. A confused glaze shined over beautiful grey-blue orbs, speckled in shocking green. They dazedly looked about, studying the dirty vinyl roof and the plastic lights before sliding over toward Wren who sat with a soothing look. It didn't help however. The man stared in blatant surprise and suspicion, his hands scrambling his body for some sort of weapon. Wren put out a hand to calm him but he weakly swat at her, his large but tired hands sluggish, missing by a couple inches.

"Qu'est-ce que tu fais?" he coughed in French, still trying to ward off her honest attempts at niceties. She frowned and dropped her hand, giving him a confused look. He stared at her, waiting for an answer, breathing harshly.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand you," she replied quietly as he sat up, having to slouch over from his coughs and how big he was in the seat. The top of his head brushed the ceiling, the wisps of ashy brown hair snagging on the cheap carpeting.

"S'excuser, where am I?" he asked through wracking coughs, shivering slightly from his damp clothing. Wren started at the wondrous sound of his voice, despite the rough quality. It was husky, deep and musical, penetrating and enticing. The very tune of it was like honeyed chocolate and hot nights. It gave her shivers.

"Uh…uh, Brookings Harbor, Oregon."



"America? How in the hell have I come to America?" he demanded raspy, his wondrous eyes wide in surprise. Wren stared at him as he looked about frantically and with suspicion, eyeing the Jeep like it was the belly of some strange beast.

"What am I sitting in, mademoiselle?"

"Um, a car."

"A what?"

"…A car. A Jeep, actually."

"A car…like a carriage?"

She continued to watch him warily. Great, what sort of nut job did she just pick up? A carriage? Shifting in the seat, Wren looked at him fully, studying his odd clothing, the old fashioned tailoring and the length of his hair.

"Dude, where the hell did you come from? Are you hurt?" she asked before gesturing at him briefly.

The man's thick eyebrow rose at her expression in curiosity before a look of horror dawned on him. His broad hand came up to cover the left side of his face, the deformed side, while he patted about the Jeep and himself for something. Curses in foreign languages floated to her ears before he looked up at her in suspicion and anger.

"Where is my mask?!"

"You didn't have a mask with you. I found you on the beach, all washed up and stuff. What happened to you?"

With the hand still in place, the man looked outside, his expression that of confused wondering. Wren waited patiently, a nervous knot growing in her gut. He didn't know? Did he have amnesia? Oh, wonderful, you watch; she'll end up being some suspect in some whacked out case and die. He was probably a serial assassin that was poisoned so he couldn't point out a crime boss and dumped into the ocean. Damn, she really needed to stop watching crap television.

The man gave a heavy sigh of resignation before shaking his head then turning to look at her. He looked weary and tired with shadows under his eyes and a dusting of a beard on his chin.

"As strange comme vous vous en doutez bien, I do not know."

"What did you say?"

"Er, I said, 'as strange as you might think, I do not know.'"

"Right. You French?"

He seemed to think for a minute before nodding.

"Oui, I believe so. I cannot seem to remember too well."

Wren stifled an internal sigh before giving an understanding nod. She was so tempted to leave him right there. He was apparently not all that sane but it would be inhuman to leave someone like that out in the wilderness with nightfall just a few hours away. Not to mention, he didn't look like he could handle the bears. Did they even have bears in France?

"Okay, alright, I'm going to take you to the hospital and maybe the police-"

"Non! Not the police!" he suddenly objected, as if some sort of revelation hit him. Wren eyed him even more warily, hoping he was not an escaped convict from another country. The man softened his eyes and calmed himself.

"No police. I'm not sure why yet but I do not think that going to the authorities would be the wisest decision. S'il vous plaît, I am very confused. I have no idea where I am or even if this is still 1876."

That blew it. Wren suspicions boiled over and she was getting the fuck out of there. There was absolutely no way she was staying in that vehicle with this freaking psycho. She kept her cool as her hand slid down to the handle, keeping her gaze on him.

"1876, huh? That's really…well, um, I hate to tell you this but…uh…you're fucking crazy!" she hollered, wrenching the door open to bolt out, leaving him behind stunned.

Sprinting across the deserted road, Wren reached the side nearest to the mountains, stumbling in her heels on the gravel. Going down the steep drainage dip then back up, she continued to run, hearing the man calling from behind her.

With a violent tumble she bit the dirt, scraping her knees. She glanced back once and screamed in surprise to find him running after her, yelling pleas for her to remain calm and explain.

"Fuck you, you psycho! Get away from me!" she spat, dodging around a tree. Unfortunately for her the man was faster than she was despite his state. The man grabbed her waist in one hand and captured her flailing hands in the other, stilling her as he whispered soothing words. Pulling her tightly against him so she could not escape, he stood a full foot taller than her. Wren whimpered and grunted as she tried to wrench away and get to safety. "Let me go! You're fucking crazy!"

"Why? S'il vous plaît, I do not understand. S'apaiser!"

His words didn't have the affect he was looking for. His murmured pleas only frightened her more, considering they were partially French. Her war was one already lost however. He was too strong. Wren finally gave up struggling, glaring at him with slight frightened tears, looking up at his tall height.

"Don't even try raping me, buddy. I bite really, really hard," she threatened pathetically. The man sighed, relieved that she had calmed enough to stop fighting to talk.

"I have no intentions of doing so. I am going to let you go in a moment but first, tell me, what year is this?" he asked honestly, keeping a steady gaze upon her. Wren eyed him in paranoid suspicion before easing into amazement. From what she could tell, he truly had no idea. There were no lies hiding in his expression.

"You really don't know what year it is, do you? Its 2006."

As soon as the words slipped her lips, the man's visage drooped into one of utter surprise and horror. He slowly let go of her, backing up, covering his face with a hand, as if the sun was suddenly blinding him from behind the canopy of pine trees and clouds. Wren watched as he backed into the thick trunk of a tree, slumping against it to fall and sit on the ground. She contemplated running again but the sight of him looking so lost, confused and scared made her stop.

What if he really was from 1876? It would account for his language and apparel but it just seemed so out of reality. There was no mistaking how terrified and lost he was at that moment though. He seemed very convinced that he had indeed traveled across time and continents with no memory of how or why.

Quietly, she came over and kneeled next to him, fiddling with her hands in her lap, trying to think of something to say. She opened her mouth but stopped when he looked up at her with weary pleading in his grey-blue eyes.

"Tell me that you are lying."

She mutely shook her head, feeling her heart sicken when he lowered his deformed face to hide in his large hands. After chewing on her lip for a moment, Wren timidly reached out and put a light hand on his broad shoulder. The muscles bunched under her palm and she pulled away. The man looked up at her miserably. She tried to smile a little and ease some of his confusion.

She was going to hate herself for this later but she had to ask.

"You wanna come to my place until we can figure this all out? Unless you've got somewhere else to go."

With a dejected shake of the head the man stood and fixed his composure.

"Non, I do not. But I cannot intrude upon you, a complete stranger. Autant que tu saches, I could be a murderer," a twisted little smirk hit his lip before disappearing, leaving Wren a little unsure of inviting him. It was a little late now. She hated her sympathizing nature, but crazy or not, she couldn't leave him out here now, alone.

"Nah, it's alright. You don't look like the mass murderer type. I'm Wren, by the way."

"EnchantéMerci for your kindness."

Wren gave a small snort of a laugh and shook her head. Standing, she offered him a hand up before heading back toward the Jeep, keeping an eye on the man next to her.

"You know, I really can't speak French. Half of what you say flies right over my head."

"S'excuser, I shall not do it anymore," he replied a bit teasingly. Wren rose an eyebrow and smirked at him. She sighed and shook her head again before laughing.

"Oh, this is gonna be interesting."



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