Reassertion
It had been hitting him every once in awhile, but it was so quick- here and gone- that he didn't want to bring it up. After all, what if he was just letting himself get paranoid from the reading he'd been doing? He hadn't wanted to bother Liz with it.
And it wasn't as if it had been anything too terrible. Something would smell different, suddenly. He'd think of a place he'd never been, only to have it slip away from him again. The counter felt wet and slimy once, only to be clean again immediately.
He was doing his best to ignore it. He had headaches and the occasional bad dream, but they weren't anywhere near as bad as they 'had' been, apparently. He wasn't worried.
Today shouldn't have been any different. Get up, read case files, ponder going out to try the shooting range, decide maybe tomorrow, and wait for Liz to come home. He finished reading case files and got up to head out to the range. He hadn't practiced in such a very long time-
He froze as he realized what it was he remembered. If he remembered how to fire a gun, that meant he remembered working for the Bureau. That meant he remembered living here before, and Connecticut before that, and he remembered Liz and their wedding and how he met both John and Warren and the way they had both sort of snuck into their house during the honeymoon. That meant he remembered Johnny and Derek and Chris and Leon and Claire and Eileen and Henry and-
Walter.
Three times. He'd been there three times, each one worse than the last (if that was even possible). And every little detail rushed in on him at once. Blood, dripping water, rust, screeching, pressure, chains, unnameable lumps of flesh, knives, moldering wallpaper, red notes, numbers...
He'd been standing and staring wide-eyed, but now he cringes and clutches at his head. He beat it, he beat this whole thing over and over, with lots of help. But he can't take this all at once, it's too much, it's too-
He whimpers and his knees give out.
His fumbling hands grab the cellphone in his pocket and mash the speeddial for Liz. It's an automatic reaction.
And it wasn't as if it had been anything too terrible. Something would smell different, suddenly. He'd think of a place he'd never been, only to have it slip away from him again. The counter felt wet and slimy once, only to be clean again immediately.
He was doing his best to ignore it. He had headaches and the occasional bad dream, but they weren't anywhere near as bad as they 'had' been, apparently. He wasn't worried.
Today shouldn't have been any different. Get up, read case files, ponder going out to try the shooting range, decide maybe tomorrow, and wait for Liz to come home. He finished reading case files and got up to head out to the range. He hadn't practiced in such a very long time-
He froze as he realized what it was he remembered. If he remembered how to fire a gun, that meant he remembered working for the Bureau. That meant he remembered living here before, and Connecticut before that, and he remembered Liz and their wedding and how he met both John and Warren and the way they had both sort of snuck into their house during the honeymoon. That meant he remembered Johnny and Derek and Chris and Leon and Claire and Eileen and Henry and-
Walter.
Three times. He'd been there three times, each one worse than the last (if that was even possible). And every little detail rushed in on him at once. Blood, dripping water, rust, screeching, pressure, chains, unnameable lumps of flesh, knives, moldering wallpaper, red notes, numbers...
He'd been standing and staring wide-eyed, but now he cringes and clutches at his head. He beat it, he beat this whole thing over and over, with lots of help. But he can't take this all at once, it's too much, it's too-
He whimpers and his knees give out.
His fumbling hands grab the cellphone in his pocket and mash the speeddial for Liz. It's an automatic reaction.