Chatline: Epilogue
#18 of Chatline
This is the last official post for Chatline. This one is really short, but epilogues aren't always long and I don't like posting two chapters in one post. I'll be coming back every now and then touch things up, but there will be no future chapters.
There is a lot I want to say, but it can wait until after you finish reading.
I do want to offer my heartfelt thanks to everyone who has read this entire entire story from beginning to end.
Any feedback is appreciated and once again, happy reading.
Epilogue
Doctor Daniel Morrison loved slow workdays. Working in a mental hospital, a quiet day was a good day. Although he preferred the challenge of balancing a hectic schedule, he would give it up for a day where no one suffered a psychotic break.
He opened the bottom-left drawer of his desk where he kept the bottle of scotch. If it were one of his assistants, he would've fired them on the spot for drinking on the job. But the whole week had been slow, so he figured one glass couldn't hurt.
A sudden knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He sighed and put the bottle back in the drawer. "Yes? What is it?" he asked.
The door opened and his assistant, March, poked his head inside. Daniel never bothered to remember the names of his assistants anymore since most of them never lasted longer than a few months. They always found that dealing with people with mental defects took its toll on them. The latest assistant, March, was a gangly college student who was looking to complete a thesis. Daniel suspected he would be getting a new assistant before Thanksgiving.
"Dr. Morrison, the police are downstairs," March said.
"The police, huh?" Dr. Morrison asked. He sighed heavily. Ever since that ONE abuse incident, they seem to be making regular check-ups. Don't they have anything better to do? "What do they want this time?"
He followed his assistant downstairs to the reception where the police were waiting with another human who stared into the distance. A tall, muscular man with long brown hair. At first glance, the man looked like a simple vagrant, but he was too clean to have lived the street. Something about the man felt...off. Dr. Morrison couldn't put his finger on it, but it gave him chills.
"Is there something I can do for you, officers?" Dr. Morrison asked.
"We just need you to sign off on having this man admitted, Doctor," one of the officers said. "We picked him up wandering the street. He claims to have no idea where he is or how he got there."
Dr. Morrison sighed. It sounded like another classic case of I-have-amnesia-whenever-cops-are-around. But he also couldn't take the risk of him actually having some kind of mental disease and sending him back out into the street. "Very well, officers. I'll take him and see if I can diagnose him." He approached the man. "Hello. My name is Doctor Morrison. Do you know your name?"
The man looked at Dr. Morrison as if noticing him for the first time. "My name is...David."
Post-story Notes
First, I want to say thank you again to everyone who has read this story. It's my first real story which means it's full of all kinds of errors, but you stuck with it anyway. I also want to give an extra-special thanks to those who provided feedback. Your advice and support was invaluable.
Since this is my first story, I really want to go back and give it a complete rewrite since there is so much I did and didn't do because I didn't yet know how to approach it or just didn't know better. Haven't decided yet because I don't want to make a habit of it.
Either way, this is the end of only one of my stories. I've said it before, but I have no intention of stopping anytime soon. There are already several ideas currently in the works. Already I've started my Pokémon fanfic, Tainted Glory, so any poké fans interested can check it out by clicking here.
Thank you once again for reading, and I hope you will continue to read my work.