02:01// Psychology decides

~ Tempest's POV~

" How are you feeling, dear?" I hear a voice ask me. My vision seems blurry; my head feels like it's underwater, trying to fight to stay afloat. There's a weird sense that seems to whisper in my ear, "shhh" and I almost imagine myself floating above an ocean, salty sand dug deep into my fingernails, the ocean whispering things in my ear.

It seems like a sixth sense.

Then, I see, in front of me, an elderly woman, sitting in the chair next to me. Where am I? What the heck happened?

I see that I'm now sitting upright on a hospital bed, an IV cord restraining my movement, and there seems to be a tube inside my mouth, used to let in oxygen when needed. The pale cream walls of the small hospital room are suffocating me, no really, everything at this moment feels and seems suffocating.

I'm sent back to sleep, as I let my mind drift away.

****

When I wake up, the same elderly woman sitting next to me starts crying. And, I don't know why.

" Ma'am, are you okay?" I ask her, as I place a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

" Yes dear, I-I'm a-alright."

" Are you sure?"

She dabs a tissue in her watery eyes and answers," Yes, I'm alright, Tempest."

I look at her, a bit confused. Who's Tempest? Is she in this room as well? Is she hiding somewhere?

" Uhh, who?" I ask her, as I try to break free of the IV cords connecting me to the heart rate monitor.

" I wouldn't do that if I were you," she warns.

Then, out of nowhere, a nurse comes into the room, holding a tray containing what looks to be mashed potatoes, greasy fried egg, and stinky green beans that look a bit moldy. Ew.

" Thank you, ma'am." The elderly woman thanks to the nurse and with a nod and a 'enjoy' (which is probably NOT what I'll do with this lunch, no siree!) the nurse makes her way out the door with a SLAM! Of the door.

" Wow. She sure must be angry!" I giggle to myself, as look at the unappetizing meal before me.

I decided to ask the old woman beside me, just to verify that this gross mess is my 'lunch'. When she says that I have to eat the meal, I nearly puked on myself.

" Uhh. How about... No?"

" Tempest, dear, you need to eat your food. Why do I have to tell a twenty-one-year-old woman like yourself to eat her food? You aren't a child anymore."

"Twenty-one?!" Okay, now I'm really confused.

Really, everything about this situation is confusing.

First, the fact that I'm inside a hospital room. Secondly, the elderly woman beside me tells me I'm a twenty-one-year-old woman who's apparently named Tempest? I don't understand.

Who am I?

What did I like to do as a child?

What kind of person was I?

Did I ever have a family?

"Dear, if there's something on your mind, you are welcome to tell your Granny Dorothy anything, you know that, right?" The woman tells me, kindly.

She continues, " After all, if there's anything I want more is for you to be honest." Granny Dorothy looks me in my eyes, seeming a bit suspicious like she was accusing me of not being able to remember anything from before.

" Honest?"

" Ah, you've been in a coma for two months dear. I just want you to be honest about anything you last remembered before the blackout." She continues to blow on her kleenex tissues, and once she says an 'excuse me' to me, she heads out the door.

" What does she mean by...?" I start to say to myself. I take a look at the palms of my hands and I see a long vanity mirror in front of me. My long, black hair is messy as if a bird has dug a hole into my hair, and sat on it. My nails are long and brittle, my body looks frail, probably weakened from the medication I've been on, and lack of real food.

But, then I see something.

Granny Dorothy seemed to have left something on the chair she was sitting on.

" What's this? Oh, it's just a magazine."

On the cover of the New York Times magazine, I see that there's a subheading:

IT'S BEEN A COUPLE OF MONTHS SINCE F.L.Y.N.N HAS DISAPPEARED.

WHAT IS HE UP TO NOW?

Below the subheading, I see that there's a picture of a girl lying dead on the ground, and in front of her, a cliff leading to the ocean is shown. I can't seem to get a very good glimpse at what the girl looks like, however, I see something that's quite peculiar.

On the back of my hand, there, written in black permanent marker, is:

F.L.Y.N.N

The same acronym, the same mysterious killer from the magazine... Saved me?

****

A few minutes later, the door abruptly opens, and in comes a sheriff and two news reporters. The sheriff, a stocky, short man, is looking and pointing at me, I guess indicating to the news reporters that I'm the same girl from the magazine.

The sheriff makes his way towards me, and along with the two news reporters, start asking me a series of questions that I don't even know where to start in answering.

" Ms.Tempest, I'm Sheriff Hernandez, and these are two reporters who'd like to interview-" He starts to say, and then the sheriff is cut off by one of the news reporters, a woman in large cat-eye glasses and bangs, " Do you have any association with the mass murderer, F.L.Y.N.N?"

I answer, " Um, I just woke up, I have no idea what-"

" You surely know who this F.L.Y.N.N is! He has labeled itself on the back of your hand!" The woman pries, as she moves her microphone closer to my mouth. The other news reporter is flashing a bright fluorescent light coming from his video camera, for the interview.

I shake my head, " No, no, I really don't know! Honestly, I don't know why he labeled my hand."

" Perhaps, you can tell us what you last remember?"

I start to think. What did I last remember?

" I only recalled the sound of waves from the ocean nearby," I tell her, out of all honesty. Do these people seriously believe that I have some magical photographic memory that stays even when I've been in a coma?

" Okay! Cut!!" The man recording the interview says.

" Wait, wait! Weggy, I didn't even get to the spicy detai-"

" Ms.Kim, you aren't being very professional," The sheriff says with a sigh, as the other man rolls his eyes. The woman called Ms.Kim sighs, as she removes her fake bangs and large cat-eyed glasses, revealing her wide eyes.

" Erm, excuse me?! I for one was being very professional Samuel," Ms.Kim tells Sheriff Hernandez, with a playful smile.

The Sheriff booms, " Do you want me to FIRE YOU, Ms.Kim?!! I'm your boss for god's sake! You little-"

The other man cuts him off continuing for him saying, " dumbass?"

Sheriff Hernandez snaps and lightens up with a smile, " exactly! A pure dumbass, that's what I should call you, Ms.Kim, thanks a lot Detective Jenkins!" And, with a skip in his step, he announces, " TAKE CARE OF THE SUSPECT!! GOTTA GO DO NUMBER TWO!!"

Ms.Kim chuckles saying, " Geez, he's trying so hard not to be a boomer."

" Ms.Kim, he's a Gen X, not a boomer," Jenkins says, as he chuckles.

" Ha! I made ya smile, what did I tell you? I never give up!" She pats him hard on the back, and Detective Jenkins coughs.

" Would you stop that already!"

" No!"

" Yes."

And that's when I suddenly lost it. I need to know what's going on here!

" Uhhh, do you guys happen to know why and how I ended up in a hospital room?"

Immediately, they quit bickering, and Detective Jenkins pushes up his glasses and starts going back into professional mode saying, " ma'am, we can assure you that the nurses had taken great care of you."

" That wasn't what she was asking, Weggy!" Ms.Kim rolls her eyes, in exasperation.

" Then what-"

Ms.Kim looks at me, answering the question instead of him, " well, to answer you're question, kid, you where found in the middle of a ditch near a cliff, and was taken here because you remained conscious but didn't wake up."

" Uhh, based on the fact that she's holding the press magazine paper, I think she already knows, Ms.Kim."

" Will you shut up!" She retorts, and they start reverting back in bickering mode, all over again.

And then, Sheriff Hernandez comes back.

*****

" So you're saying that I'll be training as a detective? Why though?" Upon hearing what Sheriff Hernandez had just told me, proclaiming that I'm going to be the newest recruit of the Floyd detective corporation, I'm very, utterly, confused.

He explains, " Ms.Zappia, you are the first person to have ever gotten this near to the murderer himself, he's even saved you. If there's anything we'd like for you to do, it's for you to help us find him. You were a Psychology and Criminology graduate at Buck Rodingson University, am I right?"

" Well, you're telling me. I don't exactly remember anything, remember? Coma."

" Oh, yes. I forgot." The Sheriff says as she scratches his mustache, trying to think.

He continues, " But, according to your student records, you had dropped out halfway into your bachelor's... So! At the very least, you'd still have had some knowledge. If you have forgotten it all, then I suggest-"

Ms.Kim cuts him off saying, " Perhaps, you should go back to University, and retake some of the courses you for sure forgotten. Besides, the psychology behind this whole coma situation is to try to let your surroundings decide your memory."

" Say what now?" I ask, a bit puzzled.

" Psychology decides, meaning that if you want to remember something, you can! Just visit places or experience things that you seem to have remembered a bit in your mind about, and maybe you'll remember!"

" I guess, yeah."

She smiles and gives me an encouraging thumbs-up, and I smile back, feeling glad that I have people supporting me.

Maybe I'll remember.

Maybe so.

****

Shortly after Sheriff Hernandez had given me his business card, he tells me that I can contact him anytime I feel like I want to join. The three of them made their way, and soon (after two weeks) I was instructed by Granny Dorothy the address of my house:

1302 Salisbury Drive, 77678

Salisbury, New York City, United States

Once I walked over to the front of the house, an old Victorian-style type of house, I hear a creak behind me. The hairs on my arms go up, and I glance every so slowly...

Behind me.

" W-who a-are you?"

" I'm your enemy." The voice answers, in a deep, dark tone of voice. He chuckles, and out of instinct, I grab the small handgun that the sheriff gave me and point it at his forehead.

" Reveal yourself, or you'll be sorry!" I say, scared for my life. My hand holding the handgun is shaking, and he realizes how scared I am, and grabs my shaking hand, and twists it.

" Urghh." I let out a moan. I can't feel my wrist.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

" What was that?!" I look around, and behind me:

But the man is gone.

The man from the magazine... Was that just him? Did he just attack me?

But, what scares me the most is that he didn't kill me, leaving me in pain on the doorstep of my house. He's nothing like I've seen before, he's a true killer.

But I start to have this strange sensation. This feeling is causing my head to spin, and my heart to beat so fast, it might've gone out of my chest already.

RING!RING!

Silence.

The voicemail.

" Who is th-this?" I mutter into the phone call.

I think I've made a big mistake.

The mistake of not telling the authorities what I really remembered.