�So how did I get here?� The strange feeling of amnesia was not the only thing disturbing him though; from the moment Charles had wakened in this room, he had smelt the faint odour of Jasmine, which was always a favourite of his and not strange in itself. The reason he thought this strange however was the way the room looked apart from that. The entire room was a clean clinical white and the only furniture was a white bed with white sheets, a steel white table, and two matching chairs. When the doctor, as that was all Charles could assume he was when he arrived induced a similar feeling of unknowing anticipation in Charles. All in white, Jacket, trousers and shoes, even the mans laces were white, had Charles a touch nervous. Worse though was the hair, white, not with age but still white as if to remain in uniform with the rest of this surreal vista. �I am sorry Mr. Wilson, what did you say?� it was the first thing that the white clad man had spoken in the twenty minutes he had been here. Or in fact had looked up from his clipboard, which irritatingly to Charles was also white. Charles stopped as he felt the glance of the man in white run over him and then he realised why. In the midst of all this uniformity amongst all this ordered white, there sat Charles, nothing about him looked ordered, nothing about him ever was. Like a blemish in the landscape, his Trousers were black for a start and leather, with more than one scrape mark on them. His T-shirt was also suitably black and more than a little the worse for wear, even his jacket, a leather trench coat bore marks and scrapes from the many scuffles or falls he�d suffered in the Jackets time. Scuffmarks extended especially to his boots, steel capped which he was sure would probably be enough to get him ejected from wherever this place is.
�Mr. Wilson, you had a question?� the man�s head bobbed slightly as he spoke almost hypnotically Charles thought. �Yeah, sorry umm how did I get here? In fact for that matter where the hell am I?� This was terrible Charles thought, the man in white�s head bobbed even when he listened. Patiently and with methodical attention to detail The man in white noted something down on his clipboard, rose from the table and left the room without another word, leaving Charles alone again. Rising from the chair Charles stretched himself to the sounds of popping from his body that usually accompanied his rise in the morning. Absently he chewed on his bottom lip and stared at the featureless ceiling as he tried to recall where he had been last. His mind raced and it occurred to him he had no idea where he had been his head felt full of sand, sluggish and unable to spark into thought. He thought over his vital details, his name was Charles, David Wilson, he was 28, and worked as a messenger, he lived at 29 Acacia Drive with his Fianc� Celia. He was working to try to save for their marriage, and then he was going back to school, to learn to be an artist. What, you think you will support my daughter as an artist? Painting what?� he still heard the voice of their respective families at the announcement of their plans, no one had wanted this for them, no one had wanted them to succeed. He felt the bile rise in his throat as he thought about the obstacles placed between him and the woman he knew he needed by their friends, their families, even life, but they had beaten them all. They had managed to accomplish the impossible and traverse it all to be together.
His thoughts snapped from the reverie as another person entered the room; surprisingly this one was dressed normally in a dark grey suit, with white shirt and a nice (at least Charles thought) burgundy tie. �Charles Wilson?� the man�s voice had a soothing slightly gravely tone as if talking had been this voices calling in life. Charles nodded once again taking a seat at the table. �I�m Mr. Forman Charles. You can call me Gerry though. I will be dealing with your case.� Sitting as he spoke Forman ran his fingers through his hair and slid a white clipboard onto the table looking intently at Charles with piercing eyes. Eventually Charles gave up and spoke, �So I can ask again, how did I get here? And what is with this place?� Forman glanced down at a small black notebook and jotted something down. �Well Charles, I�m glad we�re going to get somewhere fast here. First off, you are here for help, and to answer your other question we are here to try to find out exactly that, how you did get here. You see my young friend how you got here is something of a mystery to the men upstairs so they called in me and I�m going to work with you try and unlock what brought you here so early.� As Forman spoke, he glanced continuously at the small black book in his left hand. �So Charles shall we begin.� Before Charles could even answer Forman the room slid into a blur and he fell into darkness.
�It had been November, ironically it was Celia�s birthday this month, Charles had been saving for a new exhaust for his bike, it had taken him three months and a lot of work but he�d finally gotten the right cash, but then another of the many arguments and long silences between them had broken in late October. He had been in London for the club with his old stomping partners, The Craig�s, two of his best friends both called Craig who had been the source of parties for Charles since he first joined his best friend in moving from their small Lanarkshire town to the greater London area. Of course, she had known he would be there, even when they did not speak there were ways of knowing what the other was doing. A quiet evening in the Slimelight a Goth club in the heart of the angel in London. Charles�s mood had been sombre, he had been unable to shake the feeling of that a huge part of him was missing since April when he had last spoken to Celia, he dare not tell the group of close friends he was with that he�d still been thinking of her, that his mind had still constantly wandered back to her. That in spite of himself he couldn�t shake the feeling that Celia and he belonged together. In his current mood he had opted for the old fashioned approach to clubbing sitting with his old friend Scott and one or two cans of Guinness too many to yap like the two prematurely old men they really were. Discussing the various pro�s and cons of their respective lives, jobs and all the other little things that filled their respectively boring lives. That was when it had happened. Like a gust of wind In had walked Celia, her hair was going through one of it�s black stages, with a streak of purple to top her off. Even with the different hair, Charles recognised her instantly, despite not having seen her in over six months. As usual for her she wore a corset, �a real one not some fake� he could almost hear her say and as usual she looked to him to be divine, almost heavenly. His heart quickened and his stomach turned as all his internal organs fought to be the first one for the emergency exit, like a child Charles slid further into his chair not wanting to see her, not wanting to deal with the terrible scene that would probably follow when they finally spoke. Just as Scott was about to say something the sky fell, the tides rose, the world began to end. In short Celia looked straight at Charles and he felt as if the power would almost throw him through the wall.
The headache was the first thing that Charles noticed as he awoke, his brain felt as if it had been removed, and used to wash his motorbike. He looked up still seated opposite him was Forman, an intrigued look upon his face as he studied Charles. �Well done Charles, it appears you are a natural, this might be easier, we could be through this quicker than I suspected.� Charles looked confusedly at Forman who was already up and halfway to the door. �Get some rest Charles, we�ll discuss what we saw once you�ve had some rest.� With that, Forman slid the door shut leaving Charles to draw himself slowly to the simple bunk before his body gave in.