Distantly, I wonder if this is what my life will look like from now on; constantly surrounded by strangers who are afraid of me, if I'll spend the rest of my time on this fucking planet completely alone.
And I wonder if I deserve it.
Maybe I do.
The nurses duck behind the desk as I walk past it and head into my home for the last nine and a half months, if I'm not mistaken.
Dr. Dean waits in my room with a small stack of paperwork. "Here you are, Mr. Fomori."
Without looking too closely, I take the outstretched stack.
Only when a single word stands out to me do I freeze, looking up at him with shock.
"I really just needed you to take your discharge paperwork," his smile is tight-lipped but genuine. "I didn't think you'd come back willingly if I told you and?—"
"Discharge?" the word sputters out. "But you said— institutionalized!"
"And now I have no authority to implement that because you're a free man. There's nothing more I can do for you, Cormac," he shrugs. "The best thing you can do for your memory is to settle back into your old life."
"I don't even remember my old life," I bury my face in my hands. "How can I settle back into it?"
He breathes in through his teeth, "Well, maybe it's for the best that you don't. You may just have to settle for anewnormal. Which needs to include regular appointments withmy office, got it?"
"Got it."
With a heavy breath, he guides me towards the door, directing a nurse to hand me a giant plastic bag full of bloodied clothes and a mostly destroyed cell phone.
"Whatever happened before, Cormac," his tone is serious, fatherly, even though he can't be more than ten years older than me, "there's no denying you have a second chance, not just at freedom, butlife. Please don't squander away all my hard work at rebuilding your brain, yeah?"
I chuckle, nodding, "Yeah."
And then, I have to venture out into the world, both a free man and one still a prisoner to his own crazed mind.
Chapter 6
The Bees Knees
CORMAC
Ripping police tape off my front door to open it, my hands begin to shake.
What kind of person lived in this house?
I remember buying it, but I had hardly even started moving furniture into it when my memories begin to fog.
Every hazy recollection hurts as I fight for any piece of my past.
So much so that I've stopped trying.
My phone unlocks my door, the click echoing down the empty street.
Twisting the handle, I push the black steel door open and stand stock still, shocked at what's before me.
A tornado in the shape of my home.
More caution tape.
Piles of clothing thrown haphazardly around. My couch torn apart and cut into, its innards spilling onto the rug below.
