Prologue

It was three - or maybe four weeks later, when Greg found me sitting in the corner of a bar. I was not that sure about the time, since I had stopped counting the days. Oh, I did keep track on the weekends and weekdays; I made sure that, during the mornings of the working days, I was sober enough to keep track of the ongoing trial and the sale of my parents’ house and some of my old property. I had no need for a big house full of memories - the small apartment near the bar was enough for me. But most importantly, I didn’t want to have those memories anymore because I did not want to remember. Whiskey helped with that, but the progress was damned slow - but at least, it dampened my dreams.

I had no intention of talking with Greg or to leave with him, and I was quite sure that I could have beaten him in fair fight even while drunk. That sneaky bastard spiked my drink and the last thing I remembered was how relieved the bartender looked when Greg carried me out of that bar.

Edited By Robin Pentecost and JIM7, final proofread by Robin Pentecost