There was no way around it any more. Every moment of her life was dedicated to the not-so-simple task of avoiding blood. Her own. Everyone’s. And it was everywhere, filling every single person in every single city and town and shop and bus station and school and supermarket….
It was starting to drive her crazy.
Claire had barely left her apartment in almost a week now, hadn’t taken any contracts because there was always the chance. The chance that she might slip up and be lost to herself yet again. Then later would come the flood of memory fragments as she tried to piece together her berserked actions. It was no way to live.
That was when she’d heard of him. Dr. Suresh. It was just hints, whispers of a man who had helped others like her. Snatches of conversation in shady bars from someone claiming they could think again; that they didn’t have to worry about hurting the ones they loved anymore. One of them had caught her eavesdropping and must’ve seen something in her face. He grabbed a napkin and scribbled down an address and passed it to her, no questions asked.
“It’ll get better,” he’d said and gave her a knowing smile. She’d been too surprised to say anything–if he could read her that easily, she must be slipping–but she took the napkin regardless and hightailed it back to her home.
It was only three days later that she finally convinced herself to act. Actually taking the time to make herself look halfway decent, something she hadn’t done since she’d started to shut herself in, Claire took a deep breath and ventured outside again. She didn’t want a taxi, preferring to walk to try and focus, clear her head. Before she knew it, she was on the right street.
She looked down at the address on the napkin in her hand then back up to the iron numbers fixed to the building. This was it. Claire stepped up to the door and rang the buzzer.
Oh, please let this be the right person…