I’ve known for months how this would end.
And now, I have no fucking clue what to do.
"Enjoy your freedom, Cormac," Clyde pats my shoulder, but I can't bring myself to look up at him. "Don't squander your second chance."
The underlying message is clear.
We all know you did this.
"They could just find new evidence and pick me up again," my voice sounds far away. I'm not even sure I said it aloud or just in my head.
But Clyde soothes my fear, "The judge has reason to believe the state’s attorney knew the evidence was inadmissible and hoped I wouldn't notice. That kind of shit would bar them from a retrial. It's something called prosecutorial misconduct. That, coupled with just how publicized this whole thing has been, it would be nearly impossible to find a jury that hasn't heard about it."
"What do I do now?" I ask.
He shrugs, "Get better. Rebuild your life. Hell, find out who tried to kill you and sue the fuck out of the state for taking advantage of your incapacitation instead of investigating your attack."
"You're an animal," I laugh, looking down at the red lines burrowed into my wrists. "Thank you, I think."
"You're welcome. If you decide to sue, call me. I know a guy." Clyde winks, gathering the last of his things before slinking out the side door into the hallway, whistling a far too merry tune for the things we've seen and discussed over the last several months.
“Come on, Mr. Fomori," Dr. Sad-Eyes appears in my peripherals. "Let's get you back.”
"Sure thing, doc," I sigh, standing on slightly stronger legs now that they've gotten practice.
Walking out the door, I look around for the cop cars that they've had transporting me back and forth before realizing they won't be here anymore.
"Give it a few. Hospital transpo is on their way," he shrugs. "I called for them as soon as I realized you were going to be released."
"What, I can't call a cab?"
He chuckles, "I don't think any would pick you up, Cormac."
"Damn," I push a very interesting pebble along the ground with my toe. "It's weird, you know. Feeling guilty for something I don't even remember doing."
"The mishandling of evidence would have given anybody reasonable doubt about your guilt," he assures me, checking his phone. "Even if the judge hadn't thrown it out."
"And you?" I ask, though I'm not sure why I care about Dr. Sad Eyes opinion. "Do you have reasonable doubt concerning my guilt?"
With a heavy breath through his nose, he considers me, and I feel like I'm seeing him for the first time. Man to man. Doctor to patient, without the metaphorical jail cell between us.
"I think the human mind is a powerful thing," he repeats what he's said countless times over the course of our visits. "It can convince us of many things. It tricks us into seeing things that aren't there, even when there's medically nothing wrong. Slowly conditioning someone to believe violence is acceptable isn't hard, it's just time consuming. I've seen your entire medical history. I know, better than most, what kind of monster you have for a father. And Iknowthat somewhere deep inside of your incredibly formidable mind, you twisted the lessons he taught you and made yourself into something new. I think the human mind can create an ethical code that justifies violent action as long as it stops the real monsters out there. As a doctor, Ineveradvocate for the loss of human life. However, I understand the desire to end suffering even at the cost of your own conscience.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, his words striking my chest even if I'm missing some of the pieces as to why he's telling me these things.
"You think I did it." The late afternoon sun warms my face as it sinks into the horizon, the first real taste of sunshine I’ve had in months disappearing far too quickly.
He doesn't answer me.
I don't blame him.
There isn't an answer that would change anything.
"I'll see you back in your room," he offers, nodding towards the EMT truck pulling up to the curb. "I've got my car here."
The ride back to the hospital is slow as the EMTs stare at me with wide, horrified eyes, readying for me to attack them now that freedom is within reach. Their fear makes me chuckle, unfortunately. I'm no more dangerous than I was this morning.
The moment I step foot out of the back of the van, the door slides closed, and they zip out into the parking lot to escape me.
