Making Sense of Nothing

Chapter 1 Nick

He awoke with the back of his head and neck aching like hell. Reaching fingers up to the source of the pain, they came in contact with a bandage. He pried open tentative eyelids to look around a hospital room where he lay in bed. Several people were in the room, none of which he knew or could place a face. Two of them were a couple to his right with their arms draped across each other's backs while they faced him. There were two police officers, if the uniform on one and the badge hanging around the other's neck were any clues, standing at the foot of his bed. Then there were two women standing close to each other to his left. One of those women was young with dark hair cropped at her neck and wearing grungy apparel. The other was a woman with beautiful auburn hair that hung down past her shoulders.

"Oh my God, Nick you're awake," the soft-eyed female of the couple exclaimed with compassion. "Maybe we should go get the doctor," she said speaking to the officers in the room.

"Right," agreed the taller cop in street clothes as he headed out into the hall.

"How do you feel, buddy?" asked the male of the couple. He had curly brown hair, was about forty-something, and wearing a cardigan sweater.

"My head and neck hurts," he replied to everyone's concerned faces. The auburn haired woman had glanced at the couple with a dimpled smile, but her expression looking back at him was worried with something else that hid in the corners of her eyes. Resentment? Maybe it was just his imagination, he thought.

"That's not surprising, Nick. Octopus Head got to you before Hank and I stopped him," said the younger woman with the short hair. What she was talking about, completely escaped him.

Just then an older graying physician with glasses entered the room with the officer that had left several minutes before. "Mr. Burkhardt, it's good to see you awake. I need to take a look into your pupils to make sure there's no neural damage," the doctor said while coming up to him and testing him by shining a small hand-held light into each of his eyes. "Now squeeze my hands," was the next instruction as the doctor grasped both of his hands. "Good. No lack of strength in your grasp. Do you need something for the pain?" He nodded and the physician smiled patting his hand then left the room.

The rest of the group came up to his bed with relief and smiles showing. Even the woman that seemed to be holding a grudge, had a small smile revealing her dimples while approaching him.

"I don't mean to be rude or to break up the party," he started trying to be polite, "but who are you people and why do you keep calling me Nick?

Nothing! He remembered nothing. After a little pandemonium, then some thorough explanation, he wasn't sure what to think. Supposedly, his name was Nick Burkhardt and he was a homicide detective for Portland's police department. He also was a Grimm, whatever that meant. Since he couldn't remember a different name or even some small detail about his life before this hospital room, he was trying to accept what they all said as the possible truth.

Everyone except the guy in the sweater, named Monroe, had left. The officers and the younger woman everyone called 'Trouble', were out hunting this Octopus Head which they called by another name that he wasn't even going to try and pronounce. The other two women had left together. The one named Rosalee had kissed her partner, and the one named Juliette came up to him with further hurt in her eyes asking, "You really don't remember me?"

"I'm sorry," he had tried to say gently. Whatever was eating at her, he didn't want to add to her misery but he couldn't lie. She had turned away with those sorrowful eyes and then left with Rosalee.

"Hey, man, are you okay?" Monroe inquired.

"Well, I don't know who I am, who all of those people that just left are, or what in the world a Grimm is," he rejoined wryly with a shake of his head that he immediately regretted. "Yeah, I'm feeling a little lost right now. How are you," he quipped sarcastically.

"Look, man, I can only imagine," Monroe responded with sympathy. "What a Grimm is would not be the first thing I would explain if I had my choice. Still without an explanation, you'd be really bad off if your powers do return, so let me prepare you," Monroe prattled on, but he didn't follow. "Now don't freak out, but my face is going to change. I'm a Blutbad." With that statement, Monroe tilted his head and his face became more angular and harry, with his eyes glowing red. Holy hell, he thought withdrawing from the creature, startled with surprise. Suddenly Monroe's regular face replaced the gruesome one saying, "See it's just me." He had to get his head checked out again, he thought. His breaths were rapid as this experience had his adrenaline high. "Nick, it's okay. You've been a Grimm for about three years, but just a few days ago you were cursed and your powers are gone right now. Normally you can see Wesen do what I just did even when they don't want you to see it."

"What are Wesen?" His life must have been just too weird. Maybe he didn't want to be this Nick Burkhardt, he thought.

"Wesen are everywhere, but we mostly want to live privately. There are many different species out there. In fact," Monroe said as if he'd just had an epiphany, "you have a tremendous library in your aunt Marie's trailer. When you're recovered I'll take you out there." He didn't know if that made him feel any better.

Nick, he thought, I have to start thinking of myself as Nick. He huffed in frustration.

Abruptly a sharp, excruciating pain was piercing his skull. Moaning, Nick put his hands to his head and slammed his eyes shut. He was swaying in the bed from this torture. If he had been on his feet, he would have gone to the ground.

"Nick, oh my God. What's wrong?" Monroe inquired with alarm.

"My head. It's so much worse," he managed as he felt like he couldn't breathe this was so intense. Then venturing to open his eyes, he wasn't in the hospital anymore. Glancing back and forth, he took in the old moss-covered stone walls and floor of a somewhat circular room. There were rats scattering every which way and an ancient rusted metal door that only had a small opening at eye level which was punctuated with iron bars. A dungeon? Then the stabbing pain returned, forcing his eyes shut once more. Not again! After an eternity the ice pick driving into his head stopped, leaving him reeling.

A/N: This story is complete. Whether I keep posting chapters or not is up to you all. Feedback appreciated.