Chapter 9 - The Overdose
Smoke choked his lungs. Heat blistered his skin.
Marcus wasn't in the basement anymore. He was seven years old.
He stood outside the heavy clinic doors. He watched his small, trembling hands loop a heavy chain through the handles. He snapped the padlock shut.
A woman screamed from inside. Desperate, agonizing shrieks as flames licked up the interior walls. His biological mother.
He had lit the match. He had locked her in.
The memory burned through his skull, shattering decades of mental blocks. He was the monster.
Marcus gasped, his eyes snapping open.
He was sitting in the driver's seat of a running car. The engine revved violently in an enclosed space. The air was thick and sweet with deadly carbon monoxide.
He tried to move his hands, but his right wrist was tightly handcuffed to the steering wheel.
He looked at the passenger seat. The dirty detective sat beside him. His eyes were wide open, a bullet hole perfectly centered in his forehead.
Through the haze of the blue serum, Marcus noticed something on the dashboard.
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The bulky audio recorder Sarah had packed. Its red light blinked steadily. Recording his drug-induced, hysterical confession of the clinic fire.
