The Haunted Traveler Vol. 2 Issue 1

screaming. I wake with clammy hands and drenched in sweat. When I
dream, I want nothing more than to wake up. But the numbness of the
deep, dreamless black is the best analgesic.
I don’t know how long it is before I fully awaken. It must have
been a long time, because I can barely feel any injuries. Or maybe that’s
just how much they’ve drugged me. I am still plagued by nightmarish
visions of what I’ve done. A demon in the back of my brain whispers that
it was all for a good cause. That I performed my service to the world. The
demon scares me. I try not to listen to it. Instead, I listen to the voices I
hear outside my door.
“How’s he doing?” The female voice sounds familiar, but I can’t
place it.
“Physically, he’s recovering remarkably well. Mentally . . .” A
male voice. It sounds authoritative. A doctor, maybe?
“Not so well?”
“Well, it’s still hard to tell. The few times he’s been awake, he
hasn’t been lucid.”
“Can I see him?”
There’s a silence, as if they’re waiting for a third person to
answer. A female voice, deeper than the first one, says, “I can’t let you do
that. He’s dangerous.”
The first female voice says, “What do you mean, ‘he’s dangerous?’
He’s chained to the bed. He probably doesn’t even remember
anything. The MRIs showed some pretty serious brain damage.”
There’s another silence, then I hear footsteps leading away. The
guard at my door must have stood resolute. Memories begin to trickle
in. The demon voice fights to be heard. I try to silence the voice, but the
trickle turns into a waterfall; the voice gets louder with each memory.
The female voice I heard was Maria Smith, my former boss.
I betrayed her. She trusted me.
You did your service. You have begun a great journey.
The voices, my own and – well, I guess they’re both my own,
knocked loose from each other in the crash – feel like they’ll rip my head
in half, leaving a jagged, bloody seam down the middle. I settle deeper
into the bed and close my eyes, praying for the analgesia that dreamless
sleep brings me. As soon as my eyes are closed, though, flames play
across the backs of my eyelids. I snap my eyes open.
Embrace it, the demon tells me. You did the right thing.
I turn as far over onto my side as the handcuff and medical
equipment sticking out of my arms will let me, as if I can turn my back
on the demon and, thus, banish it forever. I think I hear it laughing.
After three days of being semi-conscious most of the time, I am
allowed out of my room. I quickly learn that the guard outside my door,
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