Frank Pollard awakens in an alley, knowing nothing but his name and that he is in great danger. Having taken refuge in a motel, he wakes again only to find his hands covered in blood. As far as he knows, he's no killer. But whose blood is this, and how did it get there? Over the next few days Frank develops a fear of sleep, because each time he wakes he discovers strange objects in his hands and pockets objects far more frightening than blood.