Some indeterminate time later, George drifted back to semi-awareness, instantly wishing he could retreat into that painless void once more. This time, his entire body felt like one massive bruise on top of the persistent screaming inside his skull. He was rocking back and forth, cocooned in some sort of stifling fabric prison.
Blinking his eyes into focus, George realized with a jolt that he'd been wrapped up tightly in a thick blanket or mat, like a human burrito. Storage shelves and cleaning supplies surrounded him - he was in some kind of supply closet by the looks of it. The air was hot and stuffy, making it difficult to breathe.
He started thrashing around, trying to loosen the coarse fibers binding him. What little medication might have been left in his system after blacking out was rapidly burning off, leaving his head pounding in sync with his racing pulse.
A metal squeaking sound caught his attention, and he twisted around to see the doorknob turning, light from the outer hallway spilling in. The bundle of blankets shifted and strained as George writhed around to face the opening door.
"Well, well...look who's finally awake," came a gruff, unfamiliar voice. The blanket was pulled away with a hard yank, tumbling George out onto the cold tiled floor. He blinked up at the silhouette of a burly man in what looked like a security guard's uniform, harsh fluorescent light blazing in from behind him.
"You and me are gonna have a little chat, buddy," the guard said, looming over George menacingly. "About why you thought you could come in here and rob my nice pharmacists blind..."
That was the last thing George heard before darkness mercifully returned, sweeping him away into its silent embrace once more. What new horrors awaited when he resurfaced, he hadn't the strength left to ponder.
***
When George regained consciousness again, he was alone. The supply closet was pitch black and silent save for his own ragged breathing. His entire body throbbed with a deep, bone-weary ache.
Carefully, he stretched out his stiff limbs and felt around the tight confines of the closet. He was unrestrained this time, though his head swam with dizziness when he tried to sit up too quickly. George couldn't tell if it was the lingering effects of the beating from the guard, or something more insidious stirring inside him once again. Why they hadn't called the cops on him remained a mystery to him.
Squinting into the darkness, George made out the barest outline of the closet door. He crawled towards it tentatively, favoring his right side which seemed to have taken the brunt of the abuse. When his outstretched hands met the cool metal of the door handle, he grasped it firmly and pulled.
The door swung open silently, revealing an empty hallway on the other side. Dim emergency lighting cast eerie shadows in the narrow corridor. George poked his head out, straining to hear any signs of movement. When he was met with only silence, he slowly hauled himself the rest of the way out of the closet.
Using the walls for support, George staggered down the hallway. His sense of time was completely thrown - it could have been hours or days since his frantic episode in the pharmacy. All he knew was that he needed to get out of this place as soon as physically possible.
Rounding a corner, he spotted an exit sign glowing up ahead. Each step was like wading through knee-deep water, but George pushed forward determinedly. When he finally reached the door, he threw himself against the bar and tumbled out into the parking lot.
The shock of fresh air hit him, clearing his head a bit. Looking around, George could see it was night, perhaps the night was soon moving into early morning based on how deserted everything was. A thin fog hung in the air, rendering the streetlamps into blurred halos.
For a long moment, George simply leaned back against the building's exterior, letting the mist settle over his clammy skin. He pulled in one deep breath after another, trying to sort out the garbled thoughts ricocheting inside his aching skull.
The anger, grief, and existential dread that had consumed him over Carmen's death still swirled beneath the surface, an undercurrent threatening to pull him under at any moment. But more pressing was the sense that some darker metamorphosis was seeping into his very cells. Memories surfaced of the unholy spasms that had wracked his body back at the house like a possession by some eldritch entity.
Pushing off from the wall, George set off at a shuffling pace across the vacant parking lot. He had no real destination in mind, no idea where he could possibly go from here. His frantic desperation to dull the agony, physical and metaphysical, through any pharmaceutical means had clearly backfired spectacularly.
As the fog swirled around his boots, partially obscuring the way ahead, George found himself simply...wandering. Perhaps gaining some distance from that nightmarish incarceration would help clear his addled mind. The harsh glare of the streetlamps felt like spotlights scrutinizing his every pained step, so he veered off towards a darkened side street.
The residential neighborhood was still and silent as a grave at this late hour. The only sounds were the periodic hum of a distant highway and the muted thud of George's footfalls. He walked aimlessly, hands jammed into the pockets of his sweat pants, shoulders hunched and head down.
Everywhere he looked, he was assaulted by idyllic images of tranquil domesticity. Lovingly tended gardens, neatly manicured lawns, and cozy porch swings all seemed to mock the utter unraveling of George's own life. Flashes of the bright future he'd envisioned with Carmen, perhaps even starting a family of their own one day after her retirement, lanced through his heart like searing knives.
By the time George realized it was starting to rain, he'd started getting wet already, his legs were leaden and trembling from exertion. Steeling himself, George continued his walk and let the shadows embrace him like a cold, damp shroud.
Meanwhile, a man, James, a tall and imposing figure with a stern expression, stood by the tall, shadowy building, peering down at the deserted street below stood by the window of the towering building, his gaze fixed on the scene unfolding below. Raindrops streaked down the glass, distorting the view of the street outside. He watched as George stumbled out of the pharmacy, a disheveled figure in the dimly lit night.
Beside him, Michael, a shorter man with a wiry build and sharp features, leaned against the windowsill, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His expression was quite neutral as he surveyed the scene below.They were both head of security for the pharmacy.
Turning to his companion, Michael, James's frustration was evident in his voice. "I can't believe we let him go. He's a liability, a loose cannon. Who knows what he might blab to the cops?"
Michael, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, sighed before rubbing his forehead.
"Calling the cops would've been an even worse idea. You know that. We can't afford to draw any more attention to ourselves, especially with everything we have going on here. I think calling the boss to inform him and his decision on letting that loser go was the best,"
James clenched his fists, the tension radiating from his body palpable in the room. "But letting him walk free? He could ruin everything we've worked for."
Michael shook his head, his voice low and urgent. "Look, I get it. But we can't risk it. We'll keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't cause any more trouble. And if he does...we'll deal with it."
With a heavy sigh, James reluctantly nodded, his eyes still fixed on the scene below. "Fine. But if he so much as breathes a word to anyone about what happened here,"
Michael raised a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence. "I know. We'll take care of it. Trust me."
They turned back to the window, their silhouettes outlined against the darkened room. Rain continued to drum against the glass. Below, George disappeared into the misty night.