Day 41: Intercom, Noon

[damned_intercom]

"Hello, hello," said the Head Doctor in a cheery tone. It sounded as if he'd gotten over his paperwork hangover. "I hope half of you are clean and that the other half of you are hungry! Or that all of you are hungry! Ha-ha... Either way, we'll be serving a down-to-earth lunch of crispy chicken strips and fries; we also have cole slaw, potato salad

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[otnemememento]

Leonard awoke slowly as he often did, feeling the other side of the bed for the familiar feeling of his wife's body. His hand hit the wall instead, and he opened his eyes. He sat up and looked around as his thoughts rang through his head.

An anonymous room, he observed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. No windows, two beds, two wardrobes. He routinely started rummaging through the drawers, looking for any sort of clue as to where he was and what he was doing here. A journal, he thought as he flipped through the empty pages. Pens in the drawers, clothing- unfamiliar. He caught sight of his bare arm- tattoos? They seemed to trail all the way up his arm. He looked down the collar of his shirt; there were more beneath his clothing. He pulled the garment off, revealing more ink. Words were etched across his chest in every direction, even backwards and upside-down. The words traveled to his arms, where he could read more: She is go-

His reading was interrupted by the door opening- a woman in white stepped into the room with a clipboard and a smile. She looked at the paper on the board, pinpointing his name with a finger. "Mister Shelby?" she questioned, a little confused as to what he was doing wandering about the room without his shirt.

"Yes?" he said, not bothering to reclothe himself. She looked friendly and undeceiving. Faking it wasn't necessary. "Who are you?"

She continued to smile sweetly at him, a look of pity hidden poorly behind her grin. "I've been assigned to help you adjust to the institute, Mr. Shelby. Remember?"

"Institute?" He asked, still trying to determine who this girl was. She seemed to know him. White outfit, institute- probably a hospital or some sort of research facility. What am I doing here? He looked to the floor, putting his thoughts in order- they seemed more jumbled than usual. Something was written on his hand- Remember Sammy Jankis. That's right- my condition. He closed his eyes, trying to see his wife's face. She was gone. He could see her lying before him on the bathroom floor, shower curtain around her face as she gasped for air. He had trained himself through strict discipline to remember and tell people about his condition; however, it seemed he could never train himself to forget her dying breaths. Perhaps he didn't want to.

"How long have I been here?" he asked, eyes still closed as he tried to remember more, anything more.

The girl continued to smile at him. "Now Mr. Shelby, your memory won't get any better if I tell you all the answers!" Her playful tone was beyond irritating. He opened his eyes and met her gaze.

"I have a condition," Leonard retorted sharply. If he was supposed to be here for help, how could she not know about his disability? No, it's not a disability. It's a condition. "I can't make new memories. They just fade."

"We know about your condition, Mr. Shelby," said the girl as she casually glanced at the paper on the clipboard. "Still, despite your injury, there is a chance for progress. Now, lunch is getting on, and we've got to get you out there and socializing! Get dressed, and I'll be back in a few, m'kay?" She turned on her heel and left, whistling a light tune as she closed the door behind her.