Killer Karma

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He found himself standing in a parking garage with no memory except of his murder. Those final sensations felt seared into his brain: the hard pressure of a gun muzzle behind his right ear; his body stiffened by surprise, horror, and anger; a cry of No, wait! rising in his throat…but all vanishing the next second in an explosion of pain that hurled him into darkness.

As he recoiled from the memory, however, reason overrode terror. Those could hardly be final sensations if he were able to remember them.

“Way to go, numbnuts,” he said.

The sound of his voice reassured him of his reality, too. So did feeling the back of his head. His exploring fingers found just short hair…no stickiness indicative of fresh blood, no matting indicative of dried blood. Certainly no bullet hole.

“You just had a bad dream.”

But if that were the case, how did he explain the amnesia?

He fought the panic threatening him again. Maybe he had been mugged and received a concussion. Tan lines on his wrist and ring finger attested to a missing watch and ring. Except how could he be on his feet if he had been hit hard enough to lose all memory, and even awareness of what city he was in? A quick examination of his clothes — grey suit, pin-striped shirt, tie striped in yellow, maroon, and grey — found no blood or other signs of attack. Nor did running his hands over his body — a lanky one better than six feet tall — locate any injuries. His chin felt smooth, free of abrasions. Except for his tie being loosened and shirt unbuttoned at the collar, he seemed ready to walk into a business meeting.

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