It was already starting to get dark. And I still had no clue where I was.

“Oh boy,” I muttered under my breath, “I am so gonna get a lecture tonight.”

Before I did leave, however, I wrote down the license plate number. Considering the condition of the car I'm surprised it was even there to begin with.

I started to jog in the general direction I came from. I knew the orphanage bordered the woods and if I could find the edge I'd be able to find my way back eventually. It getting dark in late January like this doesn't actually mean much. I'd guess the time was only about five-six pm, give or take.

I was going for about thirty minutes before I reached the back door of the orphanage. I slipped in and judging by the look of the table, I was well within when I needed to be back.

That night was another one of those sleepless nights where it just feels like five years pass every ten minutes. I've been getting a lot of those recently. I know it's probably not good for me. But how am I supposed to get anything helped or treated with a cycle of nothing but prejudice against people like me?

In the morning I wound up sleeping in once I could find some sleep. Per usual. And with everything that happened yesterday, I just felt more lost than ever. Because that driver's license and the plate number could be some of the major keys to my past I've been looking for for so long. Or they could be useless little things I found in a junkyard and started overthinking a coincidence. At least it may do someone justice, whether dead or alive.

I pulled out my phone and began to do some digging. And for context a few weeks ago a phone dealer was throwing away some older models. And I asked him if he could give me one since he wasn't going to sell them anyway. And he'd agreed to it seeing some sort of reason. It's not as fast as something like the Galar 900 or the newest Wesley models, but it gets the job done. I hardly use it anyway. I'm always asked where I got it then accused of stealing it when people see me on it.

I found a little bit, but nothing breakthrough. The plate number was registered as having been in a fatal accident. There was Dashcam footage of the crash. I watched it and kinda wished I hadn't. There was a big semi truck; dual trailers; and something happened that caused it to veer sideways and ram that car off the road. And it fell out of the shot. I suppose off a cliff or down a hill or something like that. Apparently, there were two people in the car, as shown in the footage, but no bodies were ever recovered.

The only victim identified was the person whose name was on the title for the car: Flynn Finnick. There's no middle name listed. So that's all I have to go with: two names, and a plate number. I would ask around about the names, but people know me. And if they don't, they're skeptical. They're not just going to answer me. They'll ask me questions to determine whether I should be answered or ignored. It's human nature.

I decided to try looking at the funeral home site for our general area. I found an order for a family headstone with those names. Only the order was placed almost twelve years ago. But, coming to think of it, that would have been when my parents died. Or so I've been told.