Desperation.

It washes over him ever so cruelly. He's sat there for two hours now, a shell of a man that he used to be. Two hours ago, he was a God. Now, he's a mere mortal. He pulls himself up from the spot in the bathroom that he hasn't moved from in those two hours and walks out into the bedroom, hoping to pull himself together, and figure things out.

As he walks out though he spots something sitting on his bed. The synapses in his brain act in mere nanoseconds and he knows what it is.

'Jessica's scarf,' he says ever so silently. Immediately, he knows that she was here, and rushes to his door before ripping it open and heading down towards the lobby.

John walks around, looking around like a crazed man before he approaches the receptionist behind her obscenely large desk. Honestly, it had to be the largest desk ever for a mere receptionist.

'My wife,' John whispers, still halfway between insanity and lucid. 'This is her scarf; do you know where she is? Her name's Jessica,' he mutters as he continues to look around the hotel lobby, praying that he doesn't miss her. The receptionist looks at John and then closes her eyes, already tired of dealing with the crazy people that she encounters in her new job.

Yet, as she sighs under her breath, she remembers a woman coming up to her as she walked out of the hotel, and had given her a piece of paper with a phone number written on it. She tries to remember the vague memory as she recalls different names in her mind.

Julie.

Janet.

Jessica.

Bingo! The name hits her like a sack of bricks and she pulls out the phone number from a small drawer to her right. Jessica had walked up to her confidently even though it had been evident that she had been crying from the running mascara.

Jessica had told her that if her husband came down and asked about her that the hotel should call her. The receptionist hadn't even thought twice about it.

'Yes,' she says eagerly as she can see the acceptance in the man's eyes. She picks up the phone and starts dialing away. 'If you hold on one minute, I'll get her on the phone for you.' John just simply nods his head as he starts walking away, the world ripping apart at the seams before his very eyes.

He starts scratching his head as he tries to put the pieces together, but they just don't fit. He walks outside and discovers that it's raining, but even that doesn't wake him up. He keeps walking, his eyes starting to hurt, and as he does, a loud sound blares at him.

John turns his head to the side and the next thing he knows, he's on the ground, his hands bloodied from the impact of hitting the rough gravel. He looks around and sees people looking at him.

He shakes his head as he tries to wake up from the stupor he seems to be in. The pieces start to fit as he figures out that he was just hit by a car. He looks up and sees a man standing outside of his car and looking down at John.

'Hey man, what the hell are you doing?! Are you okay?!' he yells at John who just sits there.

'Where am I?' John asks, the lucidness slowly starting to slip into the insanity.

'Look, get out of the road before I call the cops on your drunk ass!' the guy yells at John and quickly, John gets up as he starts walking back towards the hotel. The pain is becoming unbearable as he feels like his brain is being pulled into separate directions.

As he walks into the hotel, remembering that somebody is supposed to call his wife, a clicking sound echoes in his ears. He looks around, wondering if anyone else heard the noise, but everyone keeps going about their business. As he looks over at the receptionist, he jumps out of her chair, and looks at John.

'Sir? John? I have your wife, Jessica, on the phone for you,' she tells him and John just looks over at her, mystified.

Who's John?

'My name is Malachi, you worthless wench! Get it right! Don't ever talk to me again!' he yells at her as he walks off, the drugs having worn off.

For years, he had been taking the medication that kept him sane, and he had been at the point that the drugs were effectively holding off his schizophrenia. Yet, for a year he had stopped taking the pills. Their effectiveness had worn off. The insanity had won far too quickly and he walks away, hoping to drown his night away with alcohol.

On the other end of the phone, Jessica sighs, knowing she's lost her one chance to get her husband back. She hangs up the phone, effectively, giving up all hope.

Fin.