Is there a name for the opposite of déjà-vu? You know; when you're sure you've done something before or been someplace before and absolutely nothing registers. Whatever you call it, that's what I had.

It was my house, my room, my furniture, even my smell, yet it was, without a doubt, a place I had never seen in my life. As for the two thuggish individuals who escorted me there as though I were walking my final mile, I feel it safe to say that they had never been any part of my existence, either remembered or mysteriously forgotten. This fact, however, did not prevent them from grabbing me with far too much familiarity and pushing me roughly down into a plush armchair.

They stood to either side of me like a pair of Foo dogs guarding the emperor. I sat in silence, trying to figure out what was going on.

The day started so oddly that I considered the possibility that I had had a stroke. To the best of my recollection, I had gone to bed after a grueling shift as a bartender at The Freak Show, a popular club in SoHo. I awoke on a bench overlooking the beach in Santa Barbara. I was clean-shaven, well-dressed in a two-thousand dollar suit, with a wallet full of hundreds, credit cards, and a California driver's license.

Nothing seemed right. The cars cruising by were sleek, silent, and totally alien to my remembrance of what cars were supposed to look like. The haircuts and fashions of the people milling about seemed...wrong. After slapping myself to no avail, I scanned the license and saw that I supposedly had a residence in nearby Montecito, a laid back version of Beverly Hills, a richer conjoined twin to Santa Barbara's upper middle-class population.

I was within walking distance of the address on my license and was soon standing at the gates to what was apparently my house. A very nice house, indeed. That's when the two goons made their presence known and escorted me inside after not-too-gently forcing me to press my palm on a security pad to open the front door.

My contemplation was cut short when an immaculately dressed man in his mid-forties entered and sat directly in front of me. He unbuttoned his suit and leaned forward. The leer on his face did nothing to reassure me.
"Hello, Sean," he said in a tone that couldn't be more sinister.

As I was about to respond, he held up his hand to silence me and continued, "I don't want to hear a peep out of you...just listen. Nod if you understand." I thought it would be wise to accommodate this request in light of the growls that my guard-dogs emitted. I nodded.

He went on, "Good, this is very simple. I want my year back and I want it back before the end of the week. If I don't get it back this will be the last week of your life."

He stood and began to leave, then turned toward me, "I'll call in two days to check your progress." He shook his head in mock sadness, "We were so close, Sean. I thought I could trust you. It would be a shame if I had to eliminate you. I really like you...really I do." He left with his thugs close behind. I had absolutely no idea who he was or what he was talking about. This fact did nothing to elevate my mood.

I looked around the house. It was very nice, far nicer than anyplace I could remember living in. My eyes stopped on the entertainment center beneath an enormous top-of-the-line, impossibly thin,  flat screen. There was a sticky-note attached to the MVD player. I walked over and read it.

You better watch this, Sean, it read. It was in my handwriting. I turned on the TV and started the MVD player. My face appeared on the screen.

" Howdy, as you can see, I'm you or you're me... or...well, you know what I mean. I have no idea how much they're going to take, so if what I'm telling you is familiar, just fast forward. Today is July 3, 2052 and I'm guessing it's at least a few days later when you see this..."

I pressed pause and stood up in a panic. 2052? That would make me nearly fifty. I was thirty-five when I left my shift at the bar. This is bullshit, I thought. I ran through the house looking for the bathroom. When I found it, I stared into the mirror. It was me all right and I was definitely older. My hair was a bit thinner than I remembered. I was graying at my temples and had a few more creases in my face. I also had a scar running down my right cheek. I fingered it and couldn't help smiling...it looked pretty cool.

After the reality of the situation settled on me I gathered my thoughts, washed my face and returned to the TV. I continued the MVD.

"I'm a memory-dealer. Not some low-life middle-man, though. I don't just sell the stuff, I create it and it's every bit as good as anything the major players have. Personally, I think it's better. I'm very selective about my product and I'm very honest to my donors. I've got a great selection of events, parties, romances, adventures, and, yes, sexual escapades. I offer every length from a few minutes to several years, if you can afford it. I can also seek out specific scenarios if the compensation is sufficient.

"On the other end of the business I supply discreet and complete erasure, no questions asked, with a backup created for re-insertion, if necessary. The erasure can take several sessions since some more disturbing memories tend to bleed into unrelated parts of the mind and can be a bitch to track down and obliterate."

The me on the screen paused and I knew that he...I...was trying to organize his thoughts. He looked up and continued, " As I said I don't know how much they plan to take, so I guess I better give you some background. When they developed this techno back in 2035, I thought it was pretty amazing and was already getting tired of my life..."

This I remembered. It was the next great thing. They had fully mapped the brain and started testing the idea of targeting specific memories for the purpose of therapy. It was initially tested by the military to treat PTSD for psychologically damaged vets returning from the Turko-Syrian war. They found that by removing the memories of the trauma, severely damaged soldiers could be restored to complete battle-ready sanity.

Recently, well, I guess not that recently, but recently as far as I could remember, the military had found a way to store the traumatized memories in order to analyze them. Apparently, if what the screen me was telling me was true, the techno had advanced a lot further.

I continued listening, My doppelganger seemed suddenly furtive and agitated.
"...I haven't got much time, they'll be here soon, so listen carefully. There are a bunch of people you need to avoid. Preston Giles would be number one on that list. He's rich, about forty and a big-time hood that you do jobs for. He'll be looking for some time you removed. It's in your studio behind the paint locker in the cellar.

"Whatever you do, be careful about giving him what he wants. Once he gets his memory back, he won't need you anymore and you'll be a liability. The people coming any minute are with a slimy scumbag named Yurgo. They also want Preston's time as leverage. You can't let them have it without the shell they promised.

"These lovely people like to use very persuasive questioning techniques, so I'm taking precautions. I'm going to Jackie's down at the waterfront. That's where the things you need are going to be.. You still have a chance at happiness...make sure you get that shell, I really think it's going to work.

"Trust no one till you are whole again...except Frankie, I'm sure you remember Frank...," a noise in the yard made the narrator nervous and he concluded at an accelerated rate, "I've got to get out of here now... don't forget to take Preston's crystals and make sure you take the set marked Pork-sex-electron. Don't let anyone know you have them and try not to find yourself alone with anyone associated with Preston or Yurgo...you will die if you aren't careful.

"Sorry for all this, sorry I can't tell you more, but I know that you're pretty clever and you can figure it out. Trust me when I say it's worth it and this whole mess is the most important thing you've ever done. Good luck." The screen went blank and I stared at it for several minutes before getting up.

I felt a little relieved that at least I knew where the object of my intruders desire was located. This relief was somewhat offset by the warning I'd given myself indicating he was likely to kill me when I returned it.

There was also this Yurgo guy and the whole thing about "the shell", whatever that was. On top of these concerns was the feeling I needed to feed my cat, even though the last time I fed him was apparently fifteen years earlier.

I did what anyone in my position would do, I scavenged around the house looking for some booze. The mission was a success, more than a success, since my newly realized wealth translated into a nice variety of very old, very expensive, single malt scotches.

I downed several shots to settle my nerves in an effort to formulate a plan of action. I decided to forget about the fact that I'd lost a decade and a half until the prospects for my survival were a bit more promising.

First things first, down to the paint locker to collect whatever it was that that Preston dude was so anxious to retrieve. I also needed to collect whatever Pork-sex-electron was.

Then I supposed I needed to find Jackie's at the waterfront to find my memory, so I could figure out the whole picture, my whole past. I had another drink and continued thinking. The video mentioned Frankie. If it was the same Frankie I thought it was, he is, was, my room-mate and fellow bartender. Locating him would be invaluable.

I started looking for a phone or computer that might have some contact info. I hoped that basic tech hadn't changed too much in the past fifteen years and was gratified when I found a phone, a little sleeker, a lot thinner, but still a phone. Thankfully, the operating system was very intuitive and I found Frankie's number quickly. He answered on the third ring.

"Who's this?" the familiar voice inquired.

"Frankie?"

"Yeah, who are you?

"Me, Sean."

"Holy shit! Sean? Am I glad to hear from you. Where are you?"

"I think it's my house."

"You think? Oh crap, you got erased, didn't you? How long? What's the last thing you remember?"

"Um, heading home from the bar...in New York."

"Wow, that's gotta be...what, fifteen years. Man you really took out a big chunk, didn't you?"

I was flabbergasted, "I did this to myself?"
"Yeah you did. Listen, stay where you are and I'll be right over. Give me about half an hour. I'll try to catch you up...and don't let anyone in, there are some not-so-nice-folks looking for you."

I chuckled, "Too late, I've met a few of them already."

"Geez, Sean. Just sit tight and I'll be right over." He hung up and I sat back in my chair. I actually felt a little better knowing I would soon see a familiar face who knew what was going on.