Here We Go

I got out of the hospital about a week ago. I still have my arm in a cast. It itches like hell, but the bones were reset and I'll heal fine. Physically, that is.

Mentally, I don't know. I've stopped reliving the events in my head, I've stopped trying to figure out what I could have done differently. The fact is, what happened happened. I can't change a thing.

The police had my office closed off while I was in the hospital - "still an active crime scene," they said. I had John ask everyone who was still staying there to leave. They didn't need to pay their bills, they just need to get out.

I stepped back into the building today. The windows were shuttered and the rooms were empty. The police finally took down their crime scene tape and my office had been cleaned out, like nothing had happened there. Like no one had died in there.

Do I dare reopen the hostel? Without the protection of the Dying Man piece, we could be swarmed with Them. They could eat us alive for all I know.

But if I don't reopen, what do I do with my life? Do I go on the run again?

I remember my father telling me one summer afternoon, "There are no rewards without risks, no life without risks. You got to embrace the pain, son."

So here I am. Risking everything again.

I've pulled open the shutters, aired out the rooms, and put the sign out on the front door.

We're open for business.