VALERIE

Ninety Eight (Epilogue)

"Nicholas how are you feeling today?"

Nick shrugged his shoulder, "Okay." He replied indifferently staring at the man.

The man stared over his patient, "Are you not the least bit excited that it's your last day here?"

Nick shook his head, "I couldn't careless." He replied with a small smirk.

"Do you think you'll do fine all on your own?"

He nodded, "I've been alone before I can be alone again."

"You've never been on meds before Nick, you'll have to take them everyday out there." The doctor cautiously warned.

Nick didn't move or reply, a few seconds of uncomfortable silence was then exchanged through the air.

"Do you miss her?" The doctor suddenly questioned.

Nick felt his body lose all feeling and all he could do was offer him a bleak stare.

He shook his head, "I'm over her." He replied feeling the anguish build up inside of him.

The doctor jotted it down on the laptop, "You'll be discharged from here in an hour or two, no more alcohol, drugs or tobacco." He ordered and then cleared his throat, "They aren't good to mix with your medication."

-

The first thing Nicholas King did when he got out of the mental facility was buy a plane ticket back to Washington.

The first thing Nicholas King did when he got off the plane in Seattle was buy a bottle of whiskey and a pack of cigarettes.

Two months, two whole fucking months without drinking, smoking, or snorting.

He threw the prescribed pills away too, he thought the diagnosis was bullshit. Antisocial personality disorder? He didn't believe it.

Being forced to take mood stabilizers daily made him feel what she would feel. Lousy and lifeless. No wonder she hated taking her pills. All they did was make him feel emptier than he already was.

And he also bought a switchblade.

Nick finally reached the cemetery that sat on acres of lands and he headed towards the private plots where the rich had their mausoleums.

When George died, Valerie mentioned something about how Emily hated their family mausoleum.

Nick knew she was probably buried there. He was strolling along with his suitcase in hand searching through the large mausoleums looking for the last name Laurent.

Then he found it after a few more minutes of searching.

Large and made out of black and white marble, he pulled on his leather gloves and climbed over the locked gate without hesitation.

He fell onto the other side on his feet and reached through the fence to get his bottle of whiskey before he stood up straight and proceeded to walk in.

It was beautiful. The stain glasses let in the perfect amount of light and everything on the inside was made out of white marble.