Simp

Chapter 17: Forget Me

He watched raindrops collect across his window overlooking St. Mary's Square as the sun set on San Francisco Bay. Long were the hours during the fall of Josh Triller. Long would be the nights to come. Shadows danced with glee, casting sinister visions within his line of sight.

Predictability had always been a necessity, but its torturous notions now fed his most paranoid delusions. How could anyone have ever seen this coming? Suddenly, an even scarier thought occurred: What came next? It sent a cold chill down his spine.

He could see all the doors that led him there; a pale ghostly veil composed of infinite choices. Some he walked through daily while others remained sealed shut forever.

She waited for him at the end of a once-thought-infinite hallway—his bane and one true love—The Lady and harbinger of death. There she stood silently watching, holding the final key to the final door; the secret to ending the nightmare.

Upon release from the hospital, he pleaded 'not guilty' then drove up the coast to retrieve his mLink from the courier, who had somehow managed to avoid running into any trouble. After which, he had promptly checked himself into The Ritz Carlton where he had stayed for two days in a permanent fugue state, unquestioningly guided by his shadowed passenger.

For two full days, no one came in or out of the room. When they came for him in the early hours of the third day, he was like some rabid animal kicking and screaming, stark naked in the dark. It took nearly four men to detain him.

Burly hands tossed him in the shower, and though he emerged more lucid, he was by no means calm. There was no way of telling who they were, but he was confident they weren't friendly. He decided he wouldn't go peacefully and refused to get dressed. It took another fifteen minutes before they got him to sit quietly by the window in a robe.

It wasn't until they began tidying the room for the sake of their own sanity that he wised up to who his mystery guests really were. He only felt embarrassment once he witnessed Monica apprehensively enter the room, but it was mainly on her behalf.

The place was turned over like a sty. Empty beverages and half-eaten room service carts cluttered the luxurious surfaces. It was the way he liked it. He felt it a projection of himself—a black hole in the center of reality; the eater of dreams.

It made the metamorphosis complete. With no more roles to hide behind, all that was left of Josh Triller was the monster whose existence he denied for years. The monster who lived inside the emptiness. He remained slumped over with a thousand-yard stare written across his broken face.

Monica shuddered. It reminded her of those early days. He was having a major episode. She could tell he could sense her—probably even saw her too. That was where the connection ended, however; where his gaze continued straight through her like she was some sad memory he couldn't move past. Like a ghost from another time.

"We're running out of options," she said, sitting across from him.

Josh pouted watching the two agents prep the room with wiring. "Yeah..."

"You need to prove something. For real. Do you understand what I'm saying?" she asked. "They want you to wear a wire."

He nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said, trying not to drool. "No problem. Whatever!"

Monica eyed him sternly. "Josh. Look at me. If any evidence comes out against you, they will use it. So, if you know anything..."

"I understand..." He breathed heavily. "He's just down the street. I got him a birthday present. I'll go see him now—"

He went to stand but his body refused to follow. He quickly lost his balance and stumbled back into his seat. He sighed, feeling humiliated.

"I got this," he sneered. "Fucking relax, would ya? You're killing me."