Jack sat looking out at the placid movement of the lake. The air was quiet as he concentrated hard to remember the last few hours. Coffee, subway, work, running late, papers on his desk, a place, 8 Street Station, running, shaking, then darkness. He could retraced his morning steps over and over. Why brought him to the 8 Street Station? He knew he had dinner plans with Ryan later, more like he had plans to watch the game and drink a beer at some dive bar with wings for a quarter. He knew what he had for breakfast, but the time after ten until now was hazy at best. The woman who had found him in the cottage by the lake seemed as shocked as him, when she opened the door. Stumbling down the steps he caught his own foot on a board that was not properly nailed down, and it hurled him to the ground.

After some screaming and her husband pointing a hunting rifle at him, Jack was able to compose himself enough to feel his badge dangling from his neck. A quick flash got the rifle out of his face, but no closer to any answers.

“Jack.” he heard a familiar voice accompanied by heavy foot steps along the dock. Turning slowly, his gaze staying low, he was met with two shiny black boots. “Let’s get you home.” An arm was around under his arm and hoisting him to his feet. They were there, but they did not feel like they knew what to do or where to go.

“Captain?” What’s going on?” They paused on the dock. A gaggle of officers going about their business as he has seen so many times at crimes scenes. The Captain turned to him and faced back towards the lake, as though someone was watching.

“What is the last thing you remember?”

“I remember 8 Street Station. Going down the steps. Quickly. Hoping the turnstile. Doors closing on the train. Then darkness. And this lake. Where is this lake?”

“You’re at Lake George.” Jack’s face glazed over with emotion. Trying to fight the urge to run, he mustered up the courage to look back at the lake.

“Who brought me here?” Swallowing a mound of pain, Jack looked at the Captain.

“I don’t know. The couple they found you said you kept going on about someone named Sam and they have arrived. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Are you sure I said Sam’s arrived?”

“They’re not quite sure what you said, only that you sounded like a mad man and your lucky the husband didn’t shoot your ass.” A flash of blonde hair caught Jack’s eye. He spun around, but there was no one on the dock except them. “It’s been a long day. Let’s get you home and you can get some sleep.

Before the Captain could stop him Jack took off down the dock. Struggling to keep his balance, his hands caught him as he scrapped his way to the cottage. The Captain was close behind, waving off officers who tried to block him from entering.

Glancing around they watched as he counted the floor boards, one...two...three...eleven....twelve. They had always joked it was their lucky number since they both were born on the twelfth of a month. Pushing the chair that covered the area, the officers began to gather. Prying at the board, Jack’s fingers became raw from the jagged wood.

“Jack?” The Captain tried to get him to explain, but he knew it was only a matter of time. If Sam was alive, she would’ve left a clue for him here. Finally the board gave way. Thrusting his hand into the opening, he rummaged around for something...anything.

Slowly his shoulders drooped and his hands fell into his lap. There was nothing there. Maybe he was exhausted and his mind brought him here, where three years before Sam had left in the middle of the night. All Jack knew was there was a lot of blood at the scene and her phone was left behind, smashed to pieces. She had left a note, but it wasn’t like her to run, even if the thought of marrying his ass scared her to death.

“I thought.” He stood up and looked at his hands that were now strewn with splinters. “Just take me home.”

The Captain smiled, and wrapped an arm around him as the slowly made their way out.