Salvation's Light - Reality // Eyes

"If you insist on asserting your way of living, then I shall do the same!"
- Takaya Sakaki (Persona 3)

Previously: Hallowed Light - Unravelling // Awakened

Christine doesn't even need to take my order the moment I reached the counter. She just hands me a cup and doesn't take my money even.
"It's on the house."
"Are you still trying to--"
She smiles and shakes her head. "I saw you last night getting out of that uber when I was going home from my work. Your friend dropped by earlier and got himself a cup."
That word again. Friend. I didn't like that word and I didn't have any real friends at all.
But apparently Henry is my friend. I don't really comprehend. I know he's the closest thing to a friend but... Not outright one I would say is such.
"Must have been a hell of a night if you decided to get drunk last night."

I don't respond and look at my coffee.
"I guess you're wilder than I thought." She grins. "Next!"
I move away for the next customer and walk back to my apartment.
Friend... That word rattles me again and I find myself unable to shake why I'm not correcting anyone about it.
I can't have friends. Every paycheck I get is from killing people. Any means of weakness such as hesitation will make my job extremely difficult and trust in me would plummet. The moment Henry so much as pisses someone powerful off, he'll be a client's target. Considering how he operates, I wouldn't be surprised if that happens. And unlike a huge conglomerate like the Eden Foundation, assassins have no real excuse to say no to a job like taking on a single person. Even if I say no, someone else will be asked to kill him. And even if I do grow a conscience, taking on others just to protect him is not something I can accomplish forever. I am highly skilled assassin but there will always be someone better than me. And if others hear about such treachery, a target will be painted on my back as well.
My math sums up, right?
So why am I opening my computer and stalking Henry on Facebook? Why am I so curious about why his friendship suddenly matters to me?
I was shown small gestures of kindness and was called a friend and suddenly it matters to me?
No no no. That's not how it works. All we've done together was drink, do each other favors, and the occasional small talk. Why is the word friend suddenly ingrained as important?
I drink my coffee too quick and burn my tongue a little. That thought process didn't take nearly enough time as I thought to cool the coffee down.
I'm going to have to take a few days off.
After that encounter with James Osmond and my sudden memory flashes, I think all I need right now is a break.

//

At around 6:30, a call from Henry rouses me from my stupor.
I had been drawing my memories from what I can recall and pieces that don't make sense without my entirety of my memories keep appearing.
The man, assumed to be my father, baking pie. Judging from the small detail I could see from my memories, it was a pecan pie.
James Osmond wrapping me in his arms from my perspective as a woman I assumed to be my mother hitting him with a chair.
Crayons strewn across the floor and that memory of James putting me in a room.
"Hello?"
Henry was out of breath as if he was running. "Hey! I got the file!"
"Why are you panting? Is someone chasing you?"
"No... I..." He pants again... "I stepped on a dog's tail and... it chased me for a while... I... I don't... want to stop to look... and see if it's still chasing me..."
"...Did you even bother to check if there was barking behind you to see if the dog was still there."
He stops and gasp for more air. I can hear his shoes turn around to check and finally a sigh of relief.
"Okay... I'm here."

"Why didn't you just drive here?"
"It's leg day." He says, still out of breath. "Do you want me to come up or--"
"I'll come down. I need to go buy some food anyway. No, I'm not buying you dinner."
"Lame." I hang up and grab a jacket from my coat rack.
The old lady from across the hall greets me as I walk toward the elevator.
A sudden flash occurs as the elevator goes down.
The image of James Osmond protecting me. It was more vivid now.
Why can't you just eat the fucking vegetable! The woman shouts.
Mom! No! My eyes catch site of James' embrace and the chair hitting him in the back. Blood gushes out of James' head but the embrace continues to protect the memory of me.
The elevator dings and my flash ends. I turn the corner and find Henry there, still wearing my clothes. He raises the file as I approach and smiles.
"I'll tell you, this thing wasn't easy to get. I had to call in a favor from the Utah Police Department down in Terra just to get a hold of this but-"
It was too fast.
I was falling, the file shoved right into my chest. The normally talkative Henry had suddenly gone quiet. His usual, friendly expression was replaced with dead seriousness.
From across the hall, I caught a glimpse of what Henry saw before he pushed me. A figure clad in a black coat and covered with a mask and hat. He was pointing a gun at me.
And Henry realized it too. I didn't have time to react so he did.
He had reached quickly into his holster and fired. I could only see a glimpse of who he had fired at,
Henry's shot forces the man to stumble back and I make brief eye contact with him before he fires back. Everyone in the lobby scrambled as the gunshots echoed across the room.
In the chaos, the man disappeared and I'm left on the ground with Henry standing over me.
"You... okay?" He says.
"Yeah. I'm--" I felt a drop of something wet fall on my face. It smelled metallic and it poured out some more on me. Years in my job has desensitized me and it's unmistakably blood.
"Oh." Henry touched his abdomen where the bullets had hit him. My vest had a growing blotch of blood and more dripped on me and the floor.
He falls to his knees and keels over next to me.
I sit up and move us further to the reception desk to hide. The doorman was quick to call 911.
Henry's breathing slowed and attempts at speaking makes it more painful for him.
"Why?" I say
He closes his eyes and mouths something.
Friend.

//

The police arrived at around 6:43, around 8 minutes after the shooting happened.
Henry Santiago was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital.
His mother and little brother arrived 20 minutes later to see him.
A detective approached me to gather a statement.
"Don't worry." He says to me. "You were Henry's friend, right? The guy told me about your situation so I'll make sure the police don't harass you." 
Friend... The last thing he said... or mouthed... was that damn word.
"Guy was like family, you know? He's sleazy but he'd look out for you. Considering what happened, it looks like you've got someone after you. Better lay low for a while."
I thank the detective for the advice and go see Henry's body after his family had left.
Henry looked so weird being still and quiet.
"Why me?" I ask his corpse. "Why am I your friend? I'm just a psychotic killer, remember?"
I have to get used to the concept of real tears. They just keep falling off of my face.
This is what I meant about friends being a weakness. They go and get themselves killed. Maybe I didn't do it, but someone wanted him dead. Everyone dies.
But despite all this, I have to make sure Henry's service to me isn't in vain.
I need to compartmentalize my goals and deal with each one at a time.
I am a professional. I must be able to organize and move without fail.
The detective dropped me off at my apartment building. The lobby was sealed off by police tape and lingering cops searched the area.
I walked through the crime scene, avoiding the splotches of Henry's blood on the floor and made my way to the elevator.
There were no flashes, something I was hoping would keep my mind off things.
When that fails, I look over at the file and take in what was compiled for me.
Henry was organized in his own way, highlighting sections of what I would have found useful. James Osmond, 32. A professor and researcher at Terra University. Lives in Terra, Utah with his son, Nick Osmond. Contact details listed below.
Utah is a six hour drive from here. I have to prepare my clothes and rest.
I'll hit the road first thing in the morning.

//
I take a glance at Cloudy Day and contemplate a cup. But considering what happened to Henry, I'd be putting Christine in danger considering the association. If Henry was a friend, someone who was seen flirting with me would be in just as much danger. I can grab a cup later.
The drive was surprisingly met with no surprise attacks on the way.
I've only made a total of 3 stops since I left. One at a Starbucks, One at a diner, and One at a gas station. 
Once I got to Terra City, I quickly checked myself in at a motel. The plan was to give James a call and see where it went from there.
"Hello?" It was his voice. The man at the party. It was definitely him.
"Hi. I'm..." I stammer, unsure what to actually say now. Do I say I'm his brother? Do I say that I have something of his? Do I blackmail him?
"I'm sorry, if this is a telemarketing call, I'm afraid I'll have to--"
"You met me at that party." I suddenly say.
There's silence and I can hear Spongebob Squarepants played in the background.
"Taylor?"
I don't respond to the name. I don't acknowledge it. Even if Taylor exists... I'm still Patrick Walsh.
"I'd like to meet you tomorrow. If that's alright."
I could hear the man stutter a little. "S-Sure! I'll give you my address."
"There's no need." I hang up and throw away the burner phone I used to place the call.

//
I didn't know what to expect when I pulled up to James Osmond's house.
It was a modest home. A two-story home with white picket fence and a small porch. Toys were strewn across the lawn. Probably had a bed made of white roses. The American dream.
It must have been at least 20 minutes before I finally got out and walked up to the door.
I knock a couple of times and I hear footsteps approaching the door.
A little boy with black hair and green eyes peeks from behind the door's window curtain.
"Daddy! There's a stranger at the door!"
There's a hushed conversation and finally, the man I saw at the party comes to the door. He doesn't open it quickly, glancing at me from the window for a second.
When he opens the door, his watery eyes gazes right at me. It looked like he had a lot to say but couldn't, as if the air in his body had been sucked out.
Instead, he lets out a coarse, whimper and pulls me in to a full embrace and he begins to sob.
"Taylor. I missed you so... so much, Buddy."
I stand still, a little overwhelmed about what's happening.
He pulls back for a second and looks at me. "Look at you! So big! So handsome!"

I'm pulled back into an embrace and I awkwardly return it.
The little boy from earlier approaches us and looks at me with cautious eyes. "Daddy, who is he?"
"He's your Uncle Taylor. Taylor, this is Nick. Go on, say Hi."
The little boy... Nick, suddenly hugs me as well. What is with this family and hugs? Ever heard of personal space?
"I'm sure you have a lot of questions." James says. "I'll field them one at a time. Just let me give Nick his lunch."

//

Nick was eating a plate of chicken and mashed potatoes. The boy seemed a little too happy munching on the side vegetables.

James returns with a large box in his hands.

"Just a question first." I say. "What were you doing in Northbrick that night?"
"I was visiting a friend." He says, dropping the box on the coffee table. "Sadly, she passed away." 
Serena.

James opened the box, revealing bunch of assorted memorabilia that trigger a bunch of flashes in my head.

"You are starting to recall your memories, am I correct?”

James’ amicable tone had become emotionless. “Flashes of images that make no sense right now... Unfamiliar emotions flooding in... Have you been experiencing those?”

My eyes widen and suddenly I’m on guard. I have many hidden blades in my body and a loaded gun holstered at my back. If this was a trick, I am prepared to make this a personal job.

He waves his arms, as if reading my mind, to try and calm me.

“This... it’s the Myst Protocool wearing off. It’s giving you your memories back.”

“Myst... Protocool?” Myst... that’s the association that took me in and trained me when I was young. 

James takes out a family photo. A man who looks astonishingly just like me stood next to a woman and had his hand on two boys shoulders. A pre-adolescent me that I can recall from my old pictures in Myst’s files and James, looking as he did in my memories.

“As you may or may not have gathered, we lived a rather miserable life with our mother abusing us. Our father, the one parent that loved us, could not touch her and we had very few options to escape. That is, until I met and befriended the founder of Myst.”

He hands me another picture. This time of him and my mentor, Gantz. The man who had himself erased from society’s memory.

“I became close to them and I was set to enter their science scholarship. And he told me that if I ever needed anything, all I needed was to call. Can you guess what happened next?”

I looked at the picture and flashes in my head intensified.

//

She... she killed Dad.

What? Mom killed... Dad?

Shrill Screaming echoed in my memory.

James took my hand and ran towards a room, all while calling a number.

“Help! Our mother is trying to kill us! He killed our father!”

The memory of James hiding me in a closet became so much clearer. Our mother had approached us with a knife and he had blocked her way. She was going to murder us.

And from here, those men in black arrived, quickly dispatching my mother.

Gantz had arrived and James approached him.

“Please make him forget this... all of this.... our life. He doesn’t deserve this pain.”

“But you realize....” my mentor says. “...everyone that enters the Myst Protocool is to be enhanced and trained as merciless assassins, correct?”

James turned his head to me. “It’s better this way.”

My mentor nods and I see James move away for the men in black to take me away.

//

“You stole my life.” I say, controlling my voice to not alarm James’ son.

James lowers his head. “Yes.”

“You let them turn me into a killer.” I reach for my neck, something seemed stuck on my throat. “You abandoned me.”

“I didnt. I would never.” He said sharply. “I couldnt let you see me until the Myst Protocool had set in. It would compromise your programming. But when I came back during the safe period, you volunteered to transfer. I looked for you. I looked everywhere for you.”

I stand up and open my mouth to argue. For years of my life, I had been empty. Longing for something to mean something to me. My memories were sealed away and family would undo what would become Patrick Walsh. Whoever Taylor Osmond was got locked away.
"I did it to protect you." He says. "You didn't deserve the trauma. You were just a kid."
"It wasn't your decision."  I say behind my grit teeth. "Didn't it ever cross your mind that weaponizing your younger brother is far worse than letting him live his life knowing his family's dark history? I may not have all memories back yet, but you took away my humanity."

I finally let myself cry willingly. My emotions, my memories, my true self. All were supressed and now that I finally start get them back, I thought I’d be happier. Instead, I feel betrayed. I feel lost. Conflicted. 

“I’m gonna go out for a while. I need some time to think. ” I tell him. He doesn’t try to stop me as I walk out and get on my car to drive back to the motel.

//

I've been contemplating how I was going to continue with this revelation. Do I go home? Try to live normally? Stay, deal with my resurfacing humanity? Erase my existence?

When I got back to my room, I found the CEO of the Eden Foundation, Richie Walter,  sitting at my room’s couch and held a Manila envelope.

“What do you want?” I say, coming off a little hostile. “Are you here to kill me for stopping your deal with Serena?”

The man tosses the envelope into the coffee table and images scatter out.

“No. A job is a job. We don’t hold grudges.” He beckons me over to come look at the images.

These were shots of my apartment building at the time Henry was killed. Pictures of Henry's death and pictures of the hooded figure escaping.

“However, we also do not tolerate our own from deviating.” He hands me one picture and I almost drop it when I see who it was. 

Christine. She was at our apartment’s stairwell, taking off the mask and clutching her shoulder from where Henry shot her.
“But this doesn’t make any sense!”

“Christine Mackenzie was our scout, keeping us informed of any anomalies and informing us of movement we can use to further our cause." Walter lights a cigarette, puffing smoke into my room. "She volunteered for our company’s call for trained assassins and trained herself to rise up. It wasn’t until after she killed your friend that we realize what she’s after.”

“And pray tell, what does she want?”

He hands me another image. It was of me killing a corrupt prosecutor in his home. One of the easiest jobs given to me to cripple an unjust case.
She was there. She was his daughter.

From what the CEO tells me, prior to joining them, she had bounced between foster homes and fended for herself in the system. She had lost everything. Just like me...

“Revenge...” I suddenly say. It's ironic, really. She, herself a kid in the system that got abused, ended up working for a company that misuses foster children for their own gain. All just for a chance to kill me. “She’s here isn’t she?”

Walter nods and checks his watch. “If I were you, you ought to run home to your family.”

My memories haven't completely resurfaced yet but what little I have knows that I can't lose them. What little I found... What family I have left.

//

It was just as I thought. Christine was here.
Her pink Mercedes was parked outside my brother's house.
I quickly barged in and found Christine sitting in our couch.

“Christine...!”
"Oh, hey!" She smiles at me, the same flirty smile whenever I came to the cafe. "You sure took your time."
James came in holding a tray of tea and Nick accompanied him with a plate of biscuits. "Taylor. I didn't think you'd be back so soon."
I felt sweat trickle down my temple and I give James a nervous look.
To his credit, he recognized it extremely quickly and put Nick behind him.
"I know why you're here." I say, already positioning myself to fight. I take a quick glance around the room. Christine was seated across the coffee table. If she gets up, I can force her down with that and restrain her.
"What are you talking about?" She stands, feigning confusion. "I came here because I got a--"
"Drop the act Christine Hope, daughter of Prosecutor Reynold Hope!"

She stares at me, seemingly dumbfounded at first, before finally dropping her kind attitude. She lets out a loud and creepy laugh and takes out a gun and pointed it at me.
From behind her, James drops the tray and the cups he had shattered and spilled all the tea he had prepared.
"What do you live for?" Christine asked me, her cold voice echoed in my brother's living room. "Give me the pleasure of taking it away,"
I looked back at my nephew hiding scared behind my brother.
For the first time in my life since I can remember, I was actually scared. Scared about what she'll do. Scared about dying. Scared of losing what I realize finally have.
Because after years of living for nothing, I finally had an answer to that question.
"To be someone."
She chuckles, raising a brow in confusion.
"Someone who mattered." and I wasn't going to let go of what I found. What I finally got back. Not without a fight.
I kick the coffee table forward, toppling her off balance. The pistol bounces off the floor and accidentally fires at a fruit bowl, eliciting a scream out of Nick and prompting my brother to pick him up and run.
I take no time waiting for the girl to catch her second wind and kick her again, knocking her down on the floor before stomping on her stomach.
She coughs and staggers but does not let me make a second attack. She slams a chair at my leg and gets up to counter attack. But I'm faster.
She's flying the moment my fist connects with her face.
From my back, I grabbed my revolver and aim at her.
She got back up, having recovered her own gun and aimed back.
There were no words. No time wasted. Just two successive pulls.
It felt like the seconds were getting slower when we both fired. The bullet inched ever so slowly into my chest and for that brief moment in time, I remembered everything without the static. 
The coloring books Dad used to buy. James' band practicing in the basement. The pecan pie that my Dad baked with me. And the day James hid me in the panic room and blocking the way.
I remember loving how I helped James and Dad tended to the garden. I remember being so picky about my food. That I hated vegetables enough for my Mother to grow violent about it. I remembered being sad about seeing my hamster dying. I remember how much my brother would sing me to sleep.
For this briefest moment in time, I remembered the feeling of being.
Taylor was a person that Patrick Walsh had to protect in the world where killing was the way to live.
No phases, No static. No black and whites and echoed voices.
I was here. Patrick Walsh opened the door. Taylor Osmond was finally free.
My hearing pounded with ringing and I could barely hear her crashing into my brother's door. Funny, it was much louder than when I hit the ground.
"Uncle Taylor!"
My chest was warm. Not just from the pouring blood. But from the hands that caressed my wound.
"Call 911!" Nick's hurried steps were muffled.
"No no no no no no...." James muttered, like he always did whenever he was getting into deep trouble.
My mouth felt warm and sticky. I can't breathe. I can't speak.
I reach my hand out to his face. "I..."
I wasn't empty inside anymore. 

-Author Notes
It's up to you to decide if Taylor dies or not.
After working on this for a while, I'm happy I actually finally finished this. Even if it seems kinda cliche and long at the end.
Thank you for reading.
-ThanosVenge

Hallowed Light - Unravelling // Awakened

"You don't get anything out of facing reality, and there's no way to change it either."
- Tohru Adachi (Persona 4)

Previously: Cold Light - Blurred // Beyond

I have never been one to drive fast. If one is as efficient as I am, there would be no reason to rush or draw suspicion to oneself.
But I've never been sick either.
Every time I blink, I feel static in my brain zap and send flashes into my eyes. If I don't hurry home, I'm going to end up crashing into someone.
If that last trail of thought and sudden flash lasted just a second later, I would have missed a swerve and rammed the bench just outside my apartment.
I park the car and stay put in my seat for a while. I could feel sweat trickle down to my suit as my hand on the steering wheel maintains its grip.
My eyes are closed only for a minute before someone raps at my window.
Christine.
"Hey, are you okay?" She says. "You almost ran over the bench."
I roll the window down and give her the best fake smile I could muster at that moment.
"Yeah, just had a little too much to drink."
She crosses her arms, either disapproving of dui or that she didn't believe me at all.
"Being drunk is more being red than being pale and sweaty. You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I'm fine." I open the door to get out and wipe my head. "What about you? Why are you still here? Doesn't your shift end during the afternoon?"
"Oh ho, someone pays attention." She winks at me but her concern returns. "I had to pick up an extra to cover for Anissa. But never mind me, You look terrible!"
"I'm seriously okay." I don't give her a chance to respond and quickly scurry into my apartment. I do not have time to deal with this.
Walking straight wasn’t much of an option. I wobbled every step of the way to the elevator.

Concerned neighbors and guards offered help but I tell them I’m just having a bad night.

I practically keep my eyes shut on the way up, laying my head to the side as I wait for the ding to my floor.

Finally, I made it home.

Calling this a headache wasn’t quite right.

I wasn’t in constant pain. But the persistence is hurting my senses. I don’t think I can take any more jobs while this goes on. My phone buzzes and see that my pay has made its way to me. Normally, I would splurge on what I am currently attempting to make my hobby, prepare payments for my bills, and set aside some savings just in case.

But I think this time I just want to pass out. I wish I actually were drunk.

Another thought crosses my mind. Alcohol.

//

“That was fast” The look of excitement from Henry's face slowly vanished as he finds himself less impressed by the normal restobar I take him to. It's not like he complain since it's free booze though.
"Don't get used to it" I don't even bother hiding my annoyance and quickly grab a booth.
I don't do crowds in my personal time, but sometimes it's better to drink with someone around. Sure makes getting home easier.
I've known Henry for over 10 years in the business. I kill people, he looks away.
He's too invested in his own thing that his sense of justice is fuelled heavily by moodiness and boredom. His nonchalant attitude and no questions asked approach made it easier to rely on him than the other people in my connections. And if he's around when I get numbers up on my bank account, he's usually the first to cozy up for a drink. In a weird sort of way, I guess he's the closest thing I have to an actual friend.
A server approaches us, handing us these fancy matte black menus with gold plated linings.
I stop Henry from taking one as I was already prepared to order for both of us.
"Two buckets of Red Horse. Also, a plate of nachos and fries."
I hand the server my card and she politely leaves.
"Dude." Henry crosses his arms. "You need to cut that out. Sometimes I'd like to order those fancy cocktails, y'know?"
"So the entire menu?" I snap, suddenly flashes hitting my head again. "Can you just give me this for once?"
The server quickly returns with the beer and tells us she'd be back with the rest.
"You okay man? You're sweating like bricks." When I don't reply and knock back one bottle, he continues. "Wait, are you feeling guilty about your job today? Aren't you supposed to be some remorseless psychopath? Look, if it makes you feel any better, that kid wouldn't have survived if his family got in deep with those lunatics from Eden."
"I can kill you with a toothpick and make it look like an accident. Tread carefully." He raises his hands in defense. "It's not that and I take offense to being called a psychopath! No. It's something else."
I sigh and shut my eyes as a particularly persistent image flashes in black and white.
The same image I've forgotten. That same teenage boy in that patchy bits of my memories putting me inside that small closet I presume and blocking some guy's way.
Why now? After years of being dormant, why now? Why haunt me again when I've stopped looking and stopped caring about what my life used to be?
This painful reminder of what I failed to find. One I was happy to give up on. Why flash this cold, colorless image now?
But it doesn't stop there. No, this wasn't an image anymore.
The boy... The face that was always blurred out in my head moves aside. His face, clearer and better now.
Thin lips, hardened but worried face. Eyes that I see tones of green from.
"Taylor." He mouthed. His voice muffled and unrecognizable. But his face, clear as day.
Slowly, I heard muffled footsteps, closing in on me.
My eyes trailed to the boy. The boy who's features I captured extensively.
And in the brief moment this memory let me see him, I realized who it was.
"Patrick." The flash felt like it lasted 30 minutes but it must have only been a couple. Not very long, but long enough to alarm Henry. "I thought you were asleep."
He inches back when I snarl at him. I may not appreciate my long lost memories slowly resurfacing, but having it interrupted when I thought I could piece it together was just too much for my already fractured patience tonight.
"Geez, asshole. If you're gonna ask someone to go drinking with you, the least you can do is be fucking polite." The table pushed a little strongly as he got up, "You make me come over and get an uber, don't let me order, and snap at me for showing concern. Why should I put up with this bullshit?"
He was leaving, as one would expect from terrible company. But, and I don't know why, my hand reflexively grabbed at his wrist before he could continue to go.
"Wait... I..." My voice cracks a little.
I feel weak. I feel like a different person is asserting himself within me.
To Henry's credit, he didn't continue snapping back or let his already angered state control him. Suddenly, he places his free hand on my forehead. I was startled, but my body doesn't activate my usual, untrusting reflex of backing away right away.
"Man, are you sure you should be drinking?"
He sits back down and crosses his arms, staring at me as if to scrutinize what's in front of him.
"So what are you dealing with here?"
"I just want to drink." I say. "It's nothing."
"Enough with the Tsundere act. There's obviously something wrong and you need my help. Well, you'll be glad to know that I'm always willing to help those in need."
"Aren't you supposed to be a corrupt cop?" The server arrives with the nachos and fries and Henry takes a new menu while I'm distracted, grinning at me to say he's going to order whatever he wants.
Sure enough, this tall, fancy glass of blue liquid arrived. It even had one of those little fucking umbrellas.
He takes a sip, looking almost a little too delighted. I'm not even sure if the thing has any alcohol in it.
My options were limited. Being ill is bad enough. Not knowing what to do about it is just going to make it harder for me to take more jobs.
"Henry." He raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue.
"Do you have your sketchpad?"
He continues to sip as he produces a small, leather-bound book and a pencil from his manpurse.
It has been 4 years since I last attempted to draw the boy in my memory.
Always distorted and away.
But now...
My hand swipes at the pages, memorizing the details I pieced in my mind.
Lips, short hair, hardened face, worried eyes...
The alcohol manages to dull the flashes, but it continues. Past the boy, men arrived to take me. My throat hurt, as if screaming a name.
"Wow. You're giving me a run for my money." Henry yanks the sketchbook from my hand, making me drop the pencil in surprise. "If your day job doesn't work out, the department is more than willing to get new artists. Who is he?"
 "Someone... in my memory. I can't remember but he keeps showing up suddenly."

"What, you have amnesia?" He chuckles. "That's kind of cliche, don't you think?"
"Some people are nice to those who lost part of their lives, you know?"
Henry doesn't respond to the sass. His sly eyes squint, staring intently on what I managed to produce.
"I've seen this kid before." He takes another sip of his drink. "Well, no. Someone familiar is more like it."
"Who?" I say, a little more strongly then I thought I should.
"Some guy who dropped by at the station. The idiot dropped his passport. He was lucky some chick found it and dropped it off at lost and found."
I was wide awake now. It felt like the alcohol in my system was suddenly flushed out. "What's his name? What did he look like?"
"James Osmond. He had this same strong look in his face but his eyes were definitely kind like this. Though he had a buzzed head now." He smirks. "Does that ring any bells?"
"I met a man with that description earlier. But I ran away."
My head flashes again. This time to my encounter with him earlier.
The way he rapped at my window and called me Taylor echoed in my head.
"I need to ask you a favor."
He calls over a waiter. "Hi. Can we get a plate of chicken wings and another one of these blue lagoons."
"Coming right up sir."
He points to me. "Put it in his tab."
The server nods and walks off. Henry looks at me and tilts his head a little as if to tell me to continue.
"I need you to look this guy up for me. Anything in the database that can help me know and find him."
"Well maybe you shouldn't have run away." He chomps on a nacho and happily greets the plate of chicken wings that arrived. "Give me a day. I'll have it to you by tomorrow night."

//

As a professional killer, I've been trained to have a tremendous amount of tolerance towards alcohol. I must consistently have sharp senses. So to numb these and compromise myself, it would take a large amount of alcohol. 7 plus 9 bottles plus nachos and pizza plus wings equals drunk right?

Ever felt so light and heavy at the same time? That's what it feels like.
But I don't feel these flashes that's making me go epileptic and that's fine by me. But woah it's so tunnely.  What's with these borders around my eyes?
"Uh, buddy? I think you should let me take you--"
I need to pee.
"I know, buddy. But maybe not on that lamp."
This is a lamp?
"Yes, Patrick. That's a lamp." I barely feel him pull me towards my apartment.
"Hi Mister Doorman ." He gives me a little wave and smiles.
"Sorry. He's drunk."
So worth it.
"Is it?" He says. Have I been saying these out lout?
"Yes, you idiot."
Ding! It's the elevator!
"You know, you're kind of cute drunk. Like a little kid in Disneyland."
Man, now it feels heavy everywhere. It's like we're being pulled down.
"Hey. hey." Henry pulls me up from the evil floor.
"We're almost there."
I feel him grope at my body and I can't help but feel emasculated.
"Where are your stupid keys?"
"Guess." I grin.
He sighs, playing hard to get and reaches for me but I'm a ninja, doesn't he know?
"Give it-- Give it to me. Don't make me put you in a headlock!"
"Kinky."
He checks my coat pockets and my keys betray me :(
The door opens and Henry takes me in to my apartment.
Clean as ever, just as I like it.
Because a clean apartment makes Patrick happy :)
"It's too late and we're both drunk so I'm staying the night. "
"M'kay." I shove him to the wall and grabs his face.
"Whoa, what the hell are you doing?"
His lips tastes like cheese and his tongue like pico de gallo.
Henry pushes me back and I can feel my ass hit the floor.
"What the fuck was that?"
"Don't worry, I've done both ways." I smile at his scared blue eyes. "Gotta be able to do stuff when you kill after all."
Detective Henry's hand is in my face and he's pushing me. He's mean.
"I appreciate the offer, but I don't swing that way."
"But you called me cute." Now I'm sad.
He sighs again and pulls me in. But only for a short hug.
"There, there buddy. As much as I like drunk.. and horny Patrick, I'd rather not experiment tonight. We'll talk when your sound judgment is back."
That's boring.
"Oh." I look down.
"What is it?" He asks.
"I  need to pee."

//

Taylor, did you eat all the pie again?
No.
I told you to leave some for me! You know how long it takes Dad to bake those.
I'm sorry.
Look buddy, I know how much you like them but you need to learn how to share. And eating a whole pie isn't healthy.
But I was hungry.
Next time, I'll buy you two burgers. How does that sound?
But what about Mom?
Fuck Mom. She doesn't have to know.
I'm scared. Why won't Dad just fight back?

Because she's a girl, buddy. If Dad hits Mom, he'll get arrested. Do you want to lose Dad?
Then why can't we leave?
If we leave, Mom will threaten Dad and find us. It'll make things so much harder for us.
Why can't we call the police?
The police won't believe Dad. They'll believe Mom. And even if they do believe us, she'll probably only get a light sentence.
Then what can we do?
I don't know, Buddy.

//
Calling whatever this is a hangover was an understatement.
My head was splitting open and I could feel my stomach churned.
And perhaps for the first time in years, I felt tears in my eyes.
And fear.
Whatever that dream was, it was definitely a memory I've long forgotten. A life taken away.
James Osmond... Was he my brother?
And if this was really a memory, did I really have such a terrible life that I decided to erase everything?
The flashes of my memories become violent and I keel over in my bed.
I'll take care of you buddy.
Don't hurt the kids.
You pieces of shit don't know how hard my life was.
One day...
The flashes aren't consistent anymore. Images of my memories zip by like powerpoint slides. James Osmond. A blurred man with pie. A blurred woman holding a chair. The room James Osmond put me in. And suddenly, the flashes stopped. The voices vanish and all I hear is the city life bustling outside my window.
"Awake are you?" Henry stood at my doorframe, fully dressed in my clothes. Maybe even a little overdressed with my coat over my vest over my button up.
"What's with the getup?" I get up, realizing that I have been clothed in house wear despite not remembering changing at all. Rather, I don't really remember anything after getting on the Uber home.
"Where'd you put my clothes?" I say, getting up from my bed.
"You puked on them so I put them in the washing machine." Henry crosses his arms and smirks. "Gotta say bro, could used to living like this. Maybe I should add extra to my fee and be your roommate"
"Don't call me bro. And don't push your luck."
"Worth a try."
"Why'd you do that?" He looks at me, confused. "Change my clothes and put em in the washing machine, I mean."
Henry raises a brow, still dumbfounded by own confusion. "Because we're friends. It's the polite thing to do. And I wasn't about to let you sleep covered in puke. That's just gross."
My first reaction would have been to tell him we weren't friends at all. But I say nothing. I don't know why. Friends?
He leaves and comes back with a glass of water and hands it to me.
I say nothing again, drinking the glass empty.
Flashes aside, I've still got a hangover to deal with.
"I'm going to get some coffee. " I stand, walking to the door and he backs slightly away from me. His face looking slightly red. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing!" He stammers. "Just, I got some earlier and I need to get to the station."
I stare at him, trying to figure out what that reaction was from.
"I'll give you a call when I get the file, alright? See you later."
He bolts before I can say anything else.
Weirdo.

Continue to the last chapter: Salvation's Light - Realty // Eyes

Authors Notes:
The Monochrome Abyss storyline was meant to end in this chapter. But the progression took too long to get points across and thus I had to extend the story by one chapter. In doing so, I had to move around quotes in each chapter and change the titles, which messed with my original title ideas and idea of giving opening quotes to three Persona-user villains counting down from 5 to 3. I have not played the 2 duology, but, research and stock knowledge aside, know that I can't quote a villain persona user from there(Though quoting Hitler would have been hilarious). And while I HAVE played Persona 1, I don't think it's fair to skip on 2 just because I can't quote anyone from there. So I'd rather just do 5R-5-4-3. (In hindsight, Kandori DOES appear in 2, but yeah I didn't think that far ahead when I was redoing the quotes anyway)
-ThanosVenge