Installment 1:
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Sept. 1, 2002

San Marcello, CA

      Well after dusk on a warm, dry, late-summer night, a 1973 Chevy Camaro with obvious aspirations to greatness, despite the neglect of its owner, winds its way down an unlighted stretch of desolate highway, descending from the foothills.  Coated with patches of Bondo and primer, the muscle car roars down the road.  It's driver, Frank Cain, returns home from a vacation weekend in Las Vegas.
      
      Frank, a swarthy man of 29, slim but muscular, is a somewhat imposing fellow.  His tee shirt and jeans belie the professional image he normally presents.  As a loan officer at the Bank of San Marcello, Frank dresses for success.  Though geographically not far, he's come a world away from his meager beginnings growing up in a trailer park with his single mother and younger brother in nearby Mikesboro.
      
      A hard-working man, Frank is.  He'd do just about anything to find the easy way out.  Always scheming and plotting.  If he spent half as much energy actually working to get ahead than trying to shirk his responsibilities, Frank may actually have made something of himself by now.  Not that becoming a loan officer wouldn't be considered a success in itself.  But his promotion was the result of blackmail.  Frank discovered that the human resources director, a married woman, was having an affair with another man.
      
      Cruising down the road listening to his car stereo, Frank bounces his head to the beat of a heavy metal song.  As the tune ends, another begins to play.  Frank increases the stereo volume, really getting into the head-banging bass and drums.
      
      The Camaro speeds down Route 7, the main road into San Marcello, an edge city lying at the southern end of San Francisco's Peninsula.  Twisting through the gentle curves of the country road, the vehicle roars past a sign stating, "Jensen Hill, Next Exit."  Frank notices the lights of suburbia in the distance.
      
      In a nearby woods, a slim, young, olive-skinned man, dressed casually in khaki pants and a short sleeve button shirt, desperately runs through the woods, periodically looking over his shoulder as he tries to elude two men chasing him.  Both wear dark business suits.
      
      As the young man approaches a fallen tree limb, he trips and falls to the ground.  He looks back to see the men pursuing him continue to narrow the gap between them.  One draws a gun from the breast pocket of his jacket as they close in on their victim.  The young man scrambles to his feet and continues to flee.  Ahead, he sees an embankment and runs toward it.  Beyond the berm is a highway.
      
      In the Camaro, Frank looks away from the road for a moment as he adjusts his stereo's bass and treble controls, still bouncing his head to the beat of the music.
      
      Suddenly, the stranger emerges from the woods.  In a panic, he runs into the road directly into the trajectory of the speeding car.  Frank returns his attention to the road in front of him, horrified to see someone run into the path of his vehicle.  He slams on his brakes which screech with ominous implications but it is too late.
      
      The young man turns to see the vehicle about to plow into him and freezes with a look of horror on his face as the headlights bear down on him.  Time seems to all but stop as Frank's car strikes him.
      
      Propelled backward, the stranger lands with a brutal thud, hitting his head on the pavement.  Upon witnessing the accident, the menacing men gaze briefly at one another before retreating back into the woods.
      
      Stunned, Frank brings his vehicle to a stop, unaware of the men who chased the man into the road.  He sits, dazed, in his car momentarily as he gets his bearings.  Looking into his rearview mirror, he notices blood on his face and absentmindedly wipes it away from his eye with one hand.
      
      Then Frank becomes aware of the stranger's body lying on the ground in the roadway.  Throwing open the door of his car, he staggers toward the unconscious man.  He kneels next to the lifeless body and places his ear next to the man's mouth.
      
      Frank notes a faint breath.  The stranger is still alive.
      
      "Oh jeez.  Hang in there man.  Don't die on me."  Frank retrieves his cell phone from the clip on his belt and dials 911.  "Dammit.  Don't you die on me!"
      
      Frank puts his hand to the injured man's neck, feeling for a pulse.  "I need an ambulance, quick!" he tells the dispatcher.  "Yeah, I..." Frank chooses his words carefully.  "Someone was just hit by a car."
      
      He answers the dispatcher's questions to the best of his abilities.  "Uh, yeah, he's still breathing.  I'm on Route 7, um..." Frank looks around to determine where he is, eyeing the exit sign.  "...just before the Jensen Hill exit.  Um, yeah, he's bleeding...a little.  It looks like just a nosebleed."
      
      But to his horror, Frank discovers a pool of blood underneath the man.  "Oh, God.  No, he's bleeding bad.  Uh uh, I haven't moved him.  No, I won't!  Look, you gotta send someone.  Just hurry!"
      
      After ending the call, Frank wonders what to do next.
      
      "What the hell were you doing, man?  Jesus!  What, you got a death wish?"
      
      Frank checks the stranger's pulse again and bends forward to listen to the injured man's labored breath before sitting back up.
      
      "Ya know, if you die, I'm not responsible!  Okay?  You hear me?  You came outta nowhere...ran right in front of my car.  There was no way I coulda stopped in time.  No way, man."
      
      In the distance, Frank hears an ambulance siren.  He grasps his forehead, and slowly shakes his head.
      
      "Jeez.  You can't die, man."
      
      Frank stands up and paces back and forth.  He returns to his car and adjusts the side view mirror to look at his injuries.  He takes a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs the blood dripping from his brow.  Moving back toward the victim, he resumes pacing.
      
      The sound of the ambulance draws closer.  As he ambles around the accident scene, Frank spies a wallet a few feet from the man's body.  Curious, he steps forward and picks it up.  He begins to examine its contents and is stunned to find a large sum of cash in the billfold.
      
      "What the...?" remarks Frank.
      
      Frank begins to leaf through the wallet as the ambulance draws near.  He looks over his shoulder at the approaching vehicle and ponders momentarily what to do.  Looking back at the man lying on the ground, he pockets the wallet.
      
      The emergency medical team exits the ambulance and begins to assess the wounded man's condition.  They kneel next to the body and assemble their equipment.
      
      Frank looks on in horror as the gravity of the situation begins to sink in.
      
University of San Marcello Hospital

      The stranger is rushed into the E.R. on a gurney.  The EMTs wheel the man down the hallway where they are met by Antonio Martinez, MD, a strapping Latino man in his early-40s.
      
      "Unidentified male was unconscious when we arrived at the scene of the accident," states the EMT to the doctor.  "BP is 70 over 45.  Pupils are equal and reactive, breathing is labored, and his abdomen is distended.  He's hypotensive and mildly hypoxic: pulse ox is 89.  He's lost at least a liter of blood since we arrived.  We administered oxygen and two liters saline en route."
      
University Hospital: Trauma Room II

      As the accident victim is wheeled into the room, the EMTs and Dr. Martinez are joined by a team of emergency personnel.  All are wearing yellow disposable smocks over their uniforms.  A nurse helps the doctor put one on.
      
      "Let's get a cross-table C-spine and head C.T.," orders Dr. Martinez.  "On three," he instructs to the crew as they prepare to lift the injured man from the gurney.  "One, two, three."
      
      They successfully transport the patient to the exam table.  "Get him four liters O neg," the doctor directs.
      
University Hospital: Exam Room I

      Frank is seen by an intern for cuts and contusions on his face.  After visually inspecting the injuries, she rises.
      
      "I have to go get a suture kit," she announces.  "I'll be right back."
      
      Frank nods as she exits.  While waiting for the intern to return, Frank retrieves the wallet he found next to the stranger's body from his pocket.  He thoroughly examines the contents of each compartment of the billfold, pulling out an I.D.
      
      The out-of-state driver's license belongs to Marcus Aurelius Lazano of Twin Creeks, Virginia.  As the intern returns, Frank quickly places the wallet in his front right pocket.
      
      She sits in front of Frank, assembles the items needed to suture his eyebrow, and begins the procedure.
      
      "Ouch!"  Frank pulls back.  "Think you can be a little rougher on me?" he sarcastically asks.
      
      "Sorry about that."  She continues to sew up the wounds.
      
      "You know anything about the other guy they brought in here?" Frank casually asks, worrying he'll arouse suspicion if he's too eager for information.
      
      "They rushed him to Trauma II to assess his condition.  That's all I know," she replies distractedly, paying attention to the task at hand.
      
      "Was he still breathing?  Did he look like he was gonna make it?"
      
      "I really can't say," the intern muses.  "They're doing everything they can for him.  Friend of yours?"
      
      "Huh?  No.  No, I don't have a clue.  Never seen him before."
      
      The intern finishes stitching Frank's eyebrow and removes her gloves.  "The good news is, your injuries are only superficial.  As soon as we finish your paperwork, you can be on your way."
      
University Hospital: Trauma Room II

      But Marcus is not so lucky.  Abigail Renwick, RN, a petite, fair, redheaded nurse in her late-20s, holds Marcus's wrist as she takes his blood pressure.
      
      "BP has dropped to 65 over 40.  His pulse is still weak and thready," she declares as a symphony of electronic monitors beep and click at varying intervals.  The nurse listens to Marcus' breath with a stethoscope.  "Poor respiratory effort.  Sats are falling, now at 83."
      
      "Get him intubated," Dr. Martinez instructs.
      
      "I'm on it."  She grabs a laryngoscope and begins the process of inserting an endotracheal tube down Marcus's throat to aid him in breathing.
      
      The doctor listens to Marcus's heart with a stethoscope.  "He's tachy at 120."
      
      "Lost a lot of blood," Nurse Renwick murmurs as she finishes inserting the tube and begins manually pumping air into Marcus's lungs.
      
      "Type and cross match.  He's going to need type-specific," the doctor calls to his staff.
      
      "Page the blood bank," she alerts another nurse.
      
      "He's bleeding internally," Dr. Martinez determines.  "Prep the O.R.  He needs immediate surgery."
      
University Hospital: E.R.

      Frank emerges from his exam room to the commotion of the E.R..  As he witnesses Marcus wheeled to the elevator, a well-dressed African-American man in his mid-30s approaches Frank.  Wearing a fashionable dark suit with a police badge prominently displayed on his lapel, he casts an imposing figure.
      
      "Mr. Cain, I'm Det. Washington of the San Marcello P.D.  I'd like to have a few moments with you to go over the details of the accident."
      
      "I wasn't speeding, I swear!" Frank attests.
      
      Det. Washington leads him away from the busy corridor to a relatively secluded corner.
      
      "I'll need to see your license, please."
      
      Frank begins to take Marcus's wallet out of his front right pocket.  His eyes widen as he realizes what a mistake that could be.  Shoving the wallet back, he takes his own wallet from his back pocket, fishes out his driver's license, and hands it to the detective.
      
      Det. Washington takes the I.D. and begins entering the information onto a report pad.  "It doesn't appear the victim had any identification on him at the time of the crash," he mentions.  "Have you ever seen this man before?"
      
      "No." Frank begins to shift uncomfortably.  "No I.D., huh?"
      
      "None whatsoever.  Can you tell me what you recall happening immediately before your vehicle struck the victim?"
      
      "Uh, I was driving into town down Route 7, near Jensen Hill, and, and, this guy just, just runs right into the road.  I slammed on my brakes, but it, just, it happened so fast."
      
      "Do you recall how fast you were going at the time?"
      
      "No.  But I know I wasn't speeding.  I know it."
      
      The detective returns Frank's license.  "Here's my card," he says handing Frank his business card.  "You're free to go.  I'll be in touch with you when the investigation is complete.  If you have any questions or think of anything that may be of importance, please give me a call."
      
      "Yeah.  Sure thing."
      
      As the detective walks away, Frank stands for a moment, dazed by the nights events.
      
Sept. 2

University Hospital: Patient Room

      Marcus, now wearing a light blue hospital gown, lies peacefully in his bed.  Having been cleaned up, his handsome face shows no sign of the ordeal he's just survived.  Attached to him are an IV and several wires leading to various monitors which beep at regular intervals.
      
University Hospital: Nurses Station

      At the reception desk sits Nurse Renwick.  Having shed her scrubs, she wears a pastel green nurse's uniform.  Clicking away at the keyboard, the nurse types information from a patient chart into a computer.
      
      Gail, adopted as an infant by prominent business man Charles Renwick and his wife Amanda, has long had a strained relationship with her adoptive mother.  Becoming a nurse was about the last career Amanda would have chosen for her daughter.  Of course, this made the field all the more appealing to Gail.  But Charles has always been proud of his little girl, no matter what she decided to do for a living.
      
      While not opposed to money, Gail despises the command it has over our lives.  Without making a conscious decision, she has chosen a lifestyle that eschews material opulence.  Sharing a funkily-decorated apartment with her friend Paige, Gail lives comfortably on her modest salary.
      
      Dressed less casually than the night before, Frank returns to the hospital to inquire about the condition of the ‘stranger.'
      
      As it is the end of a long shift, Nurse Renwick greets him with fatigue in her voice, not really looking Frank in the eye.  "May I help you?"
      
      "I'm here to see the guy that got run over last night," announces Frank
      
      She accesses a different page on her computer terminal, prepared to look up the patient's information.  "Name, please?" she asks.
      
      "Uh...oh, um, he didn't have a name."
      
      The nurse looks up with one eye cocked, surprised by the response.
      
      "I mean, he didn't have any I.D.," Frank clarifies.
      
      "Oh, right.  Him," she says becoming more present.  "He hasn't yet regained consciousness.  I'm sorry, but he's not allowed visitors yet.  Do you don't know who he is?"
      
      Frank begins to shift his weight, nervously.  "Uh, no.  No, I'm just a, an interested party.  How's he doing?"
      
      "I'm sorry.  I can only give out that information to family members.  And, since we don't know who he is..."
      
      "Yeah, I get it," Frank replies, his mood souring.  "Thanks."  He turns and leaves the hospital.
      
University Hospital: Patient Room

      Meanwhile, slowly stirring, Marcus begins to regain consciousness.
      
      Groggily, he looks around the room, trying to figure out where he is.  Looking dazed, he scans the room, searching for anything to clue him in to his whereabouts.  He notices the remote control attached to the side of his bed and picks it up, pondering it for a moment before ringing for a nurse.
      
      Moments later, Nurse Renwick enters the room.  "You're awake," she says, moving to Marcus's bedside.  "I'm Nurse Renwick.  You're at San Marcello University Hospital."
      
      The nurse fluffs Marcus's pillow.  "You had a nasty scuffle with a speeding car last night."  She takes his pulse.  "The car won, by the way."
      
      Marcus stares at her, confused.
      
      "Can you tell me your name?" she asks.
      
      Marcus appears addled, and slowly shakes his head.
      
      "Well, you've been through a lot since last night," she tells him, becoming concerned.  "You just rest.  I'll get the doctor."
      
      Nurse Renwick steps to the night stand to pick up the phone, facing away from Marcus, and dials.  "Dr. Martinez?  John Doe has regained consciousness.  Alright."
      
      She hangs up and faces Marcus again.  "The doctor will be here in just a moment.  You're probably a little thirsty.  Let me get you some water."
      
      The nurse picks up an empty plastic pitcher from the night stand and leaves the room.  Marcus sits quietly, trying to make sense of everything.
      
      Moments later, Dr. Martinez enters the room wearing a white uniform coat.  "It's good to see you awake this morning.  I'm Dr. Martinez."
      
      He picks up Marcus's chart and reviews the data.  "I was the physician on duty when they brought you in last night after the accident.  You had surgery to stop some internal bleeding."
      
      Not getting a verbal response from Marcus, the doctor furrows his brow.  "Do you remember getting hit by Mr. Cain's car?"
      
      Marcus slowly shakes his head.
      
      "What is your name, son?  Rescue workers didn't find a wallet or I.D. at the scene of the accident."
      
      "I..." Marcus begins, hoarsely.  He clears his throat.  "I can't remember anything."
      
      "Well, let's just start with the basics.  How about your name?"
      
      Marcus struggles to remember.  "I can't...I'm not sure."  Marcus lapses into unconsciousness.

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On the next installment of Tomorrow Waits For No One:

Det. Washington to Dr. Martinez: “Are you telling me he has amnesia?”

Dr. Martinez to Det. Washington: “Yes.  He doesn’t seem to remember a thing.  Not even his name.”

Philip to Gail: “Rhonda?  You know her?”

Gail to Philip: “Well, I know of her.”

Frank to Martin: “I like to take risks sometimes.  And if I continue playing my cards right, there might be a lot more money where that came from.” 

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