vagabonddaniel-recordedarchives:

The glassy eyes of the corpse watch me as I try to catch my breath. I came to moments ago, standing in the center of the hotel room, her body crumpled on the floor, bloodless and unmoving. I do not remember this woman with her striped dress and retro hairdo. I have no memory of meeting her or of bringing her here. I don’t even recognize the hotel room. It might be under her name.

Shit, shit, shit.

I shake myself out of stillness. I have to do something. The hotel information on the table tells me this room is in Philadelphia. Last I remember, I was in Charlotte, North Carolina. I don’t know how I got here or how long I’ve been here. I don’t think the woman’s been dead more than a few hours because blood courses through my veins. I assume it used to be hers. But I’m working with a very limited set of facts. And the thing about hotels is, they don’t let you hole up for days. Eventually, they make you open the door. How long do I have? I don’t know. 

The corpse has black hair and fake eyelashes. The stripes on her dress are blue and white. She is—was—pretty. Now she’s a corpse. Beauty doesn’t matter when you’re dead. 

I pick up the hotel phone and dial Night Island. There’s no answer. I dial his office number. This time, he picks up. His tone is smooth, all business. All he says is, “Hello.” I slam the receiver down. I pace. I stare at the corpse. She’s watching me.

No, no, she’s dead. Murdered. I killed her.

I do not remember killing her. And this isn’t the first time this is happened.

I swallow my panic. It’s just a body. I can handle this.

What I can’t handle is blacking out and losing time. The cracks in my sanity are spreading like cracks in glass, growing and splintering off in a thousand directions and soon my mind will be shattered to pieces.

I pick up the phone again but this time, I don’t dial. I just stare at the corpse. “I fucked up,” I tell her. But then I amend that statement. “I am fucked up.”

She knew it was true. Maybe it was her last thought.

If I don’t clean up this mess, it may very well be mine.