The middle aged man with the terrible teeth – his choice of action as a show of his freedom from social convention - had taken a while to divulge information. But he had explained everything. At least sufficient for now.
Apparently, I had been chosen for an extremely expensive procedure by an organisation known as The Institute. A company only billionaires could afford – this simply because of my psychological disposition and the fact that I had suffered a serious trauma. This was considered a luxury as I didn’t have to pay a dime.
I had agreed to the terms. Signed documents. But then, somewhere during the process, I had decided against it. Opted to force my mind to remember by leaving myself a simple note that broke the brain washing course. I had absolutely no memory yet I had a tiny nagging force at the back of my mind requesting I regain my stolen identity. This was not supposed to happen.
I also now had a bank card with infinite cash and a world to explore – given to me by The Institute as a parting gift. I had then somehow run away from The Institute and woken up to find myself jogging down an English country road till I reached this immense estate.
None of it made much sense, but there was this calming feeling in my mind – an emotion that warmed my body like placing myself up against a radiator: I was free. That much was clear. And it felt great to have no memories. Nothing limiting or restraining. A clear conscience ready for a new world.
As I washed my face in the basin, removed my shoes, shirt and trousers and crawled into bed in one of the country estate’s nicer bedrooms – and they were all grand – I thought about the woman. The lady I had seen just before I had been escorted down into the basement of The Institute. What did she want? What was she trying to tell me?
It seemed completely pointless to question anything in this situation. The old man, who come to think of it still hadn’t told me his name, had said the answers would come later. Acceptable, I thought as I sighed.
Repressed memories or supressed memories, whatever it was called– they could wait. I would regain them with time, but it was now time to focus on the positive.
I’m free, I kept saying to myself. I’m free. I’m free.
Where to go? What to do?
I knew immediately that I wanted to go to a hotel. Any hotel. Have a fulfilling meal and be completely alone. A bottle of tequila as well would be a great addition. And some music – maybe some Miles Davis. And have a good old think in solitude.