…and then some.
I was given a picture today that says so many, many things. Bad things. Foreboding things.
But the picture itself doesn’t say as much as the fact that I still have it and haven’t mentioned it to anyone.
This morning I was sent down to the hospital ward to tell John that he’d been approved to move around the grounds. (Only in the secure areas of course.) I walked in on him getting his morning injection. The drug we ‘liberated’ from Eli’s headquarters, (used to supress a persons powers for 12 hours.) He misunderstood my surprise and tried to explain, “A minor condition apparently.” He winced as the (very large, shudder) needle went in.
The nurse finished up, he rolled his sleeve back down saying. “Still, two shot’s a day seems a small price to pay for good health.” The nurse smiled at him in agreement. (I felt a little unsettled and for a second, guilty.) I told him the news and almost knocked over an orderly in my rush to get away.
…and then later.
I was sitting in the gardens just waiting till it was time to leave and I heard his voice behind me.
“I had a dream about you.” (Okay that’s the most upsetting thing I’ve ever heard him say!) How is a person supposed to react to a statement like that?
“Actually I think it was a memory.” Now that had my attention. The word memory was like a huge flashing sign (the kind that’s accompanied by sirens and panic and destruction and all manner of terrible, terrible things.) Before I could react (Run away, scream, hit him with something large.) he sat down beside me. “I’m not sure,” he said handing me a small folded up piece of paper. “When I woke up, I drew this.”
I looked down at the drawing in my hands as he spoke, “I’ve never seen this place before but that’s you. Have we, is this somewhere we’ve been, together?” He sounded almost excited like he was putting pieces of a puzzle together. (A puzzle made up from pieces of doom.)
The drawing I was staring at was of me and yes I recognised exactly where it was from. (What does one say when fuck doesn’t quite cover it?)
In the drawing I am wearing a black dress and no shoes, I am sitting on the edge of a fountain, which is situated on a large balcony. (Now doesn’t that sound familiar?)
It’s me on the night of my “supposed” fairy tale-esque mission with Michael. The night Katie and George had interrupted, the night I sat on a balcony waiting for them to finish the mission (the night I got more than a little drunk) the night I lost my (very expensive) shoes.
A million questions I’m not allowed to ask him (not that he could answer them anyway) but they’d all be useless since the picture in my hand answered most of them. He was there, I didn’t see him, he saw me, I’m still alive, he never mentioned it. (?)
What did I do?
I did what I was supposed to… Mostly. I pretended I didn’t recognise it, I seemed as surprised as my terrible acting would allow, I told him it was a beautiful drawing and I asked him if I could keep it…
Wait, anything else I should have done?
Oh yes, immediately take the drawing to my superiors and tell them that the memories of a mass murdering, highly trained, evil, prick are still in there somewhere?
Um, well… I didn’t quite get round to that part.
(What’s wrong with me!!!)
I’m on the train right now. Going home to my little flat which will undoubtedly be host to much pacing and hand wringing, soul searching, a little self hatred…
…and possibly even some heavy drinking.
Oh, this is probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. (Or not done.)