XXXII

                                    

                                          
It was a rather uneventful day at the Westerville Hospital until a worried-looking young man rushed in. 
                          
"May I help you, sir?" the secretary asked politely.
                          
The boy was out of breath, as if he had run. "I- you can't-t, I need t-to speak t-to a doct-t-or. If you can get-t one, then I guess you can help. But-t they need t-to specialize in memory."
                          
The secretary nodded, paging a doctor to the waiting room. 
                          
The doctor walked into the room, about to ask what this was about when the man rushed up to him. "I need my memory back," he said urgently.
                          
The doctor chuckled. "Young man, I'm sorry, but nothing's that easy. If we could just give back memories, this line of work would be a lot easier."
                          
"No, you don't-t underst-tand. I have a friend- or, at least-t, I did- and I t-touched him and he freaked out-t. I know he t-told me something, I know he did, but-t I can't-t do this. I can't-t do it-t t-to him, I can see him dying inside when I can't-t remember. There has t-to be a way, all these people- my sist-ter- they all need me. I need me. I lost it-t by at-t-tempted suicide, and I'd g-guess I t-tried t-to lose blood by the scars all over me. Don't-t help me and that's my go t-to method."
                          
The secretary blinked in shock and confusion. "Did you just threaten to kill yourself if he didn't help you?"
                          
The boy stared determinedly at the doctor. "Yes. Doct-tors save people. Your help get-t-ting my memory back would save me- or you could end up failing to save me if you don't-t."
                          
"There's no surefire way to get a memory back," the doctor said hesitantly.
                          
"I don't-t care. Do anything. Do everything. Blow t-to the head, specific light-ts in the eyes, a sound, a memory, I'm not-t the doct-tor. Please, just-t figure something out-t."
                          
The doctor sighed, nodding. "I'll have to warn you about the risks of each procedure, but we can try." He started walking to the back, before turning back. "Oh, and your friend? Sounds like he has some sort of PTSD, quite likely a victim of sexual assault. Doesn't sound like he's handling it too well."
                          
The doctor left down the hallway, and Sebastian stared after him in disbelief. 
                          
"Sexual as-assault. That-t's rape," he whispered. "That-t- he-"
                          
He trailed off, only one thought running through his head. Goddamn it, what did I do?