Daze Dream (part IV 2/2)

The BMW pulled silently into an abandoned warehouse and Derek and Theresa disappear. 


Two days after my accident. My parents had been by to see me and pretty much never left my side at all. My mothers Victoria's Secret perfume still lingered in the air. The doctors patched me up the best they could. Ribs still hurt but starting to heal. My leg was all casted up and bandages surrounding every inch of my body it felt like. The police, well some seriously high ranking officer judged by the Gucci suit and matching shoes, stopped by and questioned me. Not so much a question but drilled me as too why I'm doing drugs. He refused to except my explanation and said the morphine wasn't making me think properly and too call him when I felt better. This was his card.


Anthony Dior. Executive Assistant @ Jackson Trust. 261-037-5528. 


This was the weirdest experience in those couple of days. I searched his name and no hits online and no bank called Jackson Trust. Even the phone number routed me to the operator. Clearly my normal seventeen year old life was about to change, but I had no idea what was in store for the future.