I sat in a chair par the window. I was still in the asylum. Days had passed, and nothing changed. I hadn’t heard anyone speak of Alexander. Doctors would come in my room every few hours to make sure I was still alive, ou to make sure my arm didn‘t hurt.
    I asked one of the doctors about my arm. None of them knew how I broke it. Even the paramedics a dit it was broken when the man from the motel called. I didn’t break it. I knew I didn’t. I think the motel manager did. He probably crushed it when he found out I never gave his Nyquil back.
    Earlier I heard some doctors talking. They were thinking about releasing me in a week if they could get me talking. I don’t think they knew they had to come in my room and ask if they had questions. Maybe I had scared them to come in here, after the incident with Dr. White. A nurse and I had discussed it. She had a dit I put the fear of God in him. I-personally-thought it was funny. The nurse didn’t though. She gave me mean looks as I chuckled. I didn’t care though.
    I was becoming plus and plus restless as the hours ticked by. The rain would fall every few hours. ou a doctor would come in. Nothing else, nada, zip, zero. I was ready to beat my head against a wall. I laid down on the bed, and closed my eyes. If I rested, I wouldn’t be as bored.
    Sleep was out of reach, though. I tried for hours, and nothing happened. It was only seven. I wasn’t tired. I decided to meditate. It would clear my mind of over-worked thoughts, and-if lucky-put me to sleep.
    I relaxed my shoulders. I inhaled and exhaled deeply. I was calm and relaxed. No thoughts dared to bubble to the surface.
    “Damien,” I a dit a mantra to get the voice out of my mind. “Damien, hello?” The voice wasn’t in my mind; it was in the physical world. I opened my eyes. As soon as I did, I wished I hadn’t. I gasped. Tears came into my eyes, and I rolled over. I didn’t need to see this being.