Volume X: The Industry of Chemical Artistry - or - The Age of Rockism

14. What's Rational and What's Real

I would tell you more, if I could remember the details, but things started fading to black quickly. Repression kicked in almost instantly as my subconscious struggled to ignore what was real. I didn’t want to remember Damiano’s tormented face, but at the same time I found it impossible to forget. The pain in her eyes was something I would have to carry in my soul, the driving force behind my vengeance. Vengeance, something I could only dream of in my current condition.

            For a while, I was sure I was dead. Black had overcome my world in so many ways I found it impossible to function any other way. Pain took a backseat to the more important anguish in my mind, which I could almost envision. There seemed to be a mental war ongoing between my true self and my better self, the stronger, more bloodthirsty version that was slowly seizing control.

            I awoke in my apartment, dazed and confused, with blurry vision and a mind-numbing headache. I recognized my surroundings immediately, though I had no idea how I’d gotten here. It didn’t matter either, as the familiarity helped the chaos in my mind rest. I was able to sleep peacefully, dreaming of bloodshed and pain, the foundation of my plan planting itself deep in my subconscious. I would need more than rage to accomplish my dark desires, and accomplish them I would. Time and patience would be the most important factors, and I was notorious for both.

            After an unprecedented amount of sleep was had, I woke up to Irish trying to clean off my face. The sting of alcohol roused me instantly, shooting me up from the bed. She kept a firm hand to my chest, her eyes severe, keeping me pressed down.

            “This is going to hurt a lot more if you don’t sit still, Edward.”

            She kept to her task, saying nothing else that would give me any clue to the day or how I’d managed to make it from upstate to here. I was content not knowing for now, trying to focus all my energy on appreciating Irish’s efforts to patch me up. Not really a doctor, she could handle a lot of basic injuries, a talent that had come in handy over time. I tried to lock my muscles as much as possible, focusing on her work, but the occasional jump came from time to time.

            “Those officers that were tailing you took off upstate, so you can breathe free for a little while,” she started, her voice neutral. “Apparently they had some interest in whatever happened. I don’t know the details, I was just told to come pick you up.”

            I nodded slowly at her, assuming Caine had made the phone call to retrieve me. My voice was lost in my throat, a foreign and pained object.

            “They’re looking for me,” I whispered, the tone unfamiliar and horrid. She seemed surprised I could make any sound at all, stopping her healing momentarily.

            “Your letter led them north, but they’ll be back soon enough when they find you’ve already left. I hope you have more of a plan from there. Someone called and tipped them off about the murder, they were in the bar asking me some questions when it came in. Young girl is sounded like, real quiet…”

            “Seven,” I muttered. She had set the wheels in motion perfectly, or so she’d thought. The elder Morrow twins would arrive on the scene to find Damiano dead, with me lying on the ground - their only clue. Except I had been removed from the scene - nowhere to be found. It didn’t mean they didn’t assume the worst, that they weren’t trying their damnedest to hunt me down and pin this on me. Like me, they would want vengeance. But unlike me, they were entirely lost in their search. They would never find peace, never find salvation; I would have to do that for us all.