Scar Tissue(41)

Room seven turned out to be a ten-by-twenty rectangle with a twin bed. The furniture was particle board, and the remote control was tethered to the night stand. The windows were draped in yellowed lace, giving the room a funeral parlor feeling. It smelled of chemical air freshener.

Home sweet home.

Daniel dropped the envelope on the dresser, went to the bathroom. He hesitated outside the door, his hand on the light switch.

Probably the moment he did it, everything would come clear. The shock would part like fog. He'd remember everything. Have a good laugh, then fall asleep with a light heart.

So why hesitate?

He knew the answer. It wasn't hard to figure out. What happened if you looked in the mirror and didn't recognize yourself?

Do it.

Daniel flipped the switch. Florescent light flickered on, revealing linoleum floors and Formica counters.

No fog parted. No veil lifted. The man in the mirror offered no answers.

He looked exhausted, bruised and worn and dark-circled, but more or less familiar. For a vertiginous moment, Daniel lost track of which was him and which was the reflection, like one was a doppelganger that could break free and act independently, as he seemed to have snapped free from his life.

"I don't feel crazy," he said, and the man in the mirror agreed. "I just don't…I don't-"

Bile rose in his throat. He slapped at the light. Stepped out of the bathroom, pulling the dirty undershirt over his head as he went.

Sleep. He would sleep for a long time, and when he woke up, he would remember. He would. He had to.

Dear god.

Please.