I awake desperate for breath, grappling for it in ugly, unmeasurable bursts. I become vaguely aware of a dimly lit room, a grotesquely plain one, with the singular characteristic of being colourless. A glance to the ceiling is all I need to know there is no light. Instead- a man. Objectively handsome and broad shouldered. Tall, yet I cannot be certain. He should be eye level with me but he is not. He is dangling messily, and from the ceiling, the only dash of colour in the room is the blood that pours down his sides. His eyes, bleeding, bloodshot and haunted- are still open. I cannot gather the strength to shut them and so I don’t. I don’t fight the inability to move, nor do I dislike it. I give into it for lack of reason to do otherwise. I’m heavy and weak and tired. Fatigue bounds me to the floor like a sadist with unmatched power (though I suppose in this case it’s masochistic rather than sadistic.)

The pain is addictive yet I force my eyes from his pleading face and throw them to the room. I’m on the floor, curled up in a ball. This room- it belongs to a hospital. Or an institution of sorts. The small candle in the corner reflects off the tell-tale white walls, making for an eerie glow. There are no windows. Thank god. Just a small door- locked from the inside.

My nose flares at the smell of sterilisation and blood. Such a familiar scent, and I thank it for reminding me I live. I live and I exist.

I look around again, and my eyes, they meet his. Him. His face- forever frozen in a look of agony- watches me as I walk the length of the room.

It is a small room. No more than 6 meters in length yet somehow it still feels as though it takes an eternity to cross.

An eternity; infinite or unending time. The amount of time Lee will spend wherever he is now. Who is Lee? This man. This is Lee. He is familiar. I glance at his mangled corpse. Lee. I know him but I do not remember him. It is still coming back to me. Who killed him? Will I learn that too?

I decide to lay him down as seeing him every direction I look is just becoming irritating. As I slump his lifeless body, I notice his clothes more clearly. He wears a previously white jacket, thin and harsh, with a badge clipped to it. ‘Lee Smith’ it reads. Yes. This man is indeed Lee. I turn away as soon as he is on the ground. My feelings of resentment are sickening. How can I hate a dead man, it was not his fault he was killed. I should figure this out. But first, I need to rest. My body is frigid cold and I can hardly breath.

I try to lie down on my back to rest, but instead I feel a sharp jabbing pain. I feel around and pull out a small injection of sorts. I cannot sleep now. I am too petrified of what will happen to me if I do. I will leave this room. I will find help. I will forget this ever happened.

I walk over to the door and unlock it. And then it hits me. The door is locked. From the inside. Such a simple thing, so easy to overlook. Yet, it terrifies me. The murderer is in the room. He or she is in the room with me. What if they try to kill me? I doubt that though, as they haven’t yet. Why would they wait?

Everywhere I look now everything looks different. The bed looks like a hiding place. The rope he was hung by now looks like evidence. This is a crime. A murder. The word tastes bitter in my mouth. Bitter yet familiar. Too familiar.

Another memory comes flooding back. Me, just sitting. On the bed. Staring at the wall. Counting the seconds as they pass. Then Lee walks in. I turn to face him. He locks the door behind him. I exit my haze of memories and return to the real world. I now know the name of this place. Danvers State Mental Asylum. But I am not mad? I do not feel a madman. But perhaps that is a sign of madness; The refusal to admit to it?

I need to get some rest but the injection comes back to me. Why was I injected in the first place? I grab it and begin to inspect it. ‘Amnesiatic Fluid.’ Amnesia. My Mother had that. What was it? Something to do with the brain. Memory, that’s it. It’s a memory loss injection. That’s why I do not remember anything. But the question still persists. Why was I injected in the first place?

I drop it. That’s the least of my worries. I am still in the room with a murderer. And so I sit. And I wait. And I hope that more comes back to me. So I wait some more. And then it comes.

James Morgan, my name is James Morgan.

I shake it off. The name gives me chills. I scan the room once more. A desk. I hadn’t noticed that before. Was it always there? It is metal, and therefore numbingly cold. I withdraw my hand quickly; it burns. It’s small and flimsy, with only a single drawer. I wrench it open and inside find merely a few slips of paper. Disappointing. One is simply a few illegible lines but the other one grabs my eye. It’s a letter. To James. Me, I suppose.

‘Dear James,

I tried to get you out of there but I didn’t succeed. They say the consequences need to be severe. They say murder is unforgivable. I just want you to know the family forgave you.”

I can’t read anymore.

My face is cold,

I don’t see anything,

My vision is blurred with tears,

I am not only mad,

But also a murderer,

And I think,

I think that I killed Lee.

Actually,

I don’t think;

I know.

……