Henry rubbed his bloodshot eyes - another restless night with no dreams that left him aching all over.

Even though he was tired all the time, he was having trouble falling asleep, and the few times he did, he woke up more tired than he was before. He rubbed his unshaven chin while waiting for his mind to catch up with his body. The cold floor pinched his bare feet as he slowly shuffled to the bathroom where a cold splash of water gave him a bit more clarity.

The man staring at him in the bathroom mirror was a long shot from the man he remembered.

His full cheeks had sunken in the last few days. Or had it been weeks? Years? He could not tell anymore. Henry couldn't even distinguish his cheekbones from his scruffy beard. While reaching for his toothbrush, Henry realized he had run out of toothpaste. Making a mental note to buy more - a thing he had done the day before - he returned to his bedroom.

Henry's bed was messy and unkempt. A wrinkled, crusty comforter lay half-tossed onto the floor, dirty, and with several dubious-looking stains. On top of it rested a red silk robe, also dotted with different smudges. Henry sat on the bed, opening a drawer in the nightstand. Its contents were simple: a half-used bottle of DayDream, and a syringe, which had been used more than once judging by the blood-stained needle.

With practiced ease, Henry tapped his left forearm to make a vein pop up. It didn't take much to find one given how he had developed very visible track marks. What came next was something that came as second nature: fill the syringe, take the air out, inject it into his vein, and feel the world turn upside-down. No solution, no diluter. Just straight-up DayDream.

And turn upside-down it did. Henry felt as if a fifty-ton hammer smashed against him and broke every bone he had, one by one. He tried breathing, but his lungs were filled with viscous bile, tasting of goat milk and cheap pasta. The skin from his hands stripped away like banana peals while being replaced by lemon wedges. A flesh gong resonated on his head, with his chest serving as an echo box.

But then, everything went gray. The colors of the room disappeared as if washed away. He felt the pressure of the room increase, making his ears ring. Every time Henry consumed, the transition became worse. He tried to shake the pressure away while putting on his silk robe which was the only clean piece of clothing he has left.

This had become his everyday ritual: waking up, getting his fix, going back to sleep. He had moved the record player to his room, but only brought one record - the only record that made Zizi appear: "A Kiss To Build A Dream On" by Louis Armstrong, the song that played the first time they met.

After a few minutes of gentle trumpets and growly voices, Henry knew - Zizi had appeared. He followed the tune all the way to the attic. For some reason that Henry didn't understand, she started to only appear there. Maybe because it was her favorite room in house.

The Atelier was dusty and musky, with several open cans of paint growing mold on the edges. Nobody had set foot in that room since...something happened. Henry wasn't sure. He couldn't remember. His mind had been fuzzy as of late. The only light in the room was a towering beam of sunshine from the skylight, interrupted by clouds passing by above. Zizi was sitting on the bench in front the easel that held his anniversary gift. She was static, looking straight at Henry, unblinking.

"Good morning, bear," said Henry, realizing how sore and dry his throat was.

Zizi blinked rapidly, her chest finally moving up and down with every breath as if breathing. A sweet smile adorned her round cheeks which narrowed her eyes. "Good morning, honey. Sleep well?" said Zizi.

"Horrible. I feel even worse than yesterday. Let's get out of here. This place bums me out."

"Okay, hon."

Zizi stood up sharply, almost robotic. She embraced Henry while pressing her lips to his own. Instead of the electric tickle he usually felt, Henry felt a cold tingle on his parted mouth, with a similar sensations on his back where Zizi's hands rested. Henry smelled shampoo and wildflowers on her hair. Such a nostalgic feeling.

"I love you, Zizi."

"I love you too, Henry. Wanna get some breakfast?"

They went to the kitchen, hand in hand. Every once in a while, the cold feeling of her palms reverted back to the electric pulse from before but quickly changed back.

Henry let go of Zizi, taking a seat on a stool by the counter. The room smelled of mold, with a dry humidity punching his face. Without noticing, a plate of food materialized in front of Henry. Two eggs, sunny-side up, hash browns and a couple of roasted sausages - Henry's favorite breakfast. Zizi was sitting in front of him, staring.

"This looks great, bear. Aren't you gonna eat something?"

"M-nah," she replied, gazing at Henry, unblinking. "Not hungry today. You eat your food, m'kay?"

"If you insist."

Henry took a bite out of the eggs. They tasted like a piece of ice. He tried the sausages. Ice. The hash browns. Ice. Everything tasted of winter.

"It is... delicious, thank you," said Henry between bites.

A hand wrapped around his wrist. It was warm and soft.

"That's enough, Henry," said a familiar voice.

Henry looked up to see Clara looking down on him. Her face was filled with pity and disgust.

"Clara, what are you doing here?"

"Hey, Clara, what's up?" said Zizi. Not like Clara could hear her.

"Jacob called Murray as soon as you fired him. What the fucking hell were you thinking? He has been with ya for decades!" she exclaimed, taking a seat next to Henry.

"He was a busybody who could not keep his nose out of my business," Henry said, taking another bite of food.

"He tried keeping me away from Henry. He was an asshole," commented Zizi.

"Jesus. Okay, whatever. We can fix that. Ya look shiesty. Have ya eaten anything?"

"What do you mean? I'm eating right now." Henry pointed to his plate as if to make the point apparent. "Have you eaten something? Want Zizi to make you a plate?"

Clara froze. She took a real good look at Henry. For the first time since she met him, he had a full beard. Not a big one, but full nonetheless. It was as messy and disheveled as his hair, both matted with filth and grease. The veins around his sullen eyes pulsed sickeningly. Henry's face was pale and thin with a grey hue. Chapped and broken lips parted as he placed something in his mouth with his bare hands, or at least mimicked doing so.

She could see how Henry's robe hung loosely from his shoulders. His fingernails were unkempt and filled with grime. How someone could become so miserable in the span of a few weeks, Clara could not tell.

She placed a hand on Henry's shoulder, rubbing it lovingly, but found it boney. "Sweetie, there's no food in front of ya. Zizi's not here either."

"What do you mean, Clara? I'm here. Hello!" exclaimed Zizi, waving her hand around Clara's face.

"Don't you see her? She is saying hi," commented Henry.

"Yes, Hon. Tell her!"

Clara sighed. "Sweetie, I want ya to tell me the truth. Are you on drug right now? I'm not gonna judge ya."

"Just some vitamins," Henry lied.

"I see," Clara said, rubbing Henry's shoulder yet again. "I need to go to the shitter. Be right back. Tell Zizi I say hi."

"You can tell me directly, Clara," remarked Zizi. "Rude"

Clara ran past the dusty living room, up the stairs, and into the master bedroom. It was incredibly filthy and smelled of urine and sweat. She quickly rummaged through the drawers around the room, eventually opening the one on the nightstand. Her assumptions were correct. She found the needle and DayDream bottle.

She took out her phone, placing the bottle inside her purse.

"Aloha! What's up?" said Murray from the other side of the phone.

"Mur, we got a problem."

"You have diarrhea, too? I told you that milk tasted funny."

"What? No, that's not it. I'm at Henry's and-"

"What the hell are you doing in that fucker's house?" yelled Murray, a little too loudly for her taste. "I told you to stay away from that guy."

"I was worried! God, don't yell at me! I need help."

"What did he do?" said Murray, huffing into the phone.

"He's a junkie now. I found him in the kitchen, saying that Zizi was there and that she made him breakfast."

"What?"

"Yeah, I found a bottle of DayDream in his room. And he's beat. Really beat. Methuselah beard and all."

Murray went silent for a few seconds.

"Mur? Ya there, big boy?"

"Yeah, yeah. Here's what you gonna do: clean him the best you can, and move his ass down to the office. I'll meet you here. DayDream junkies don't like to be contradicted, so go along with him. Go with the flow. I'll set a few things up here."

"How's that gonna help?" asked Clara.

"Just... trust me on this. Lemme know when you are near. If he gives you trouble, grab his arm and order him around, or better yet, tell Zizi to order him around. Love ya."

"Love ya too, ya bastard."

Clara sighed. She returned to the kitchen, only to find it Henry-less. She looked for him in the living room, in the smoking room, even in the utility closets. She tried to look for him in the basement, but it was locked. She pounded on that door.

"Henry?! Are you in there?! Talk to me!" she yelled.

"Over here!" she heard Henry yell. His voice came from the foyer.

Henry was sitting on the floor right in the middle of the foyer. He was looking left and right in awe.

"Hey there, sweetie," she said in her sweetest tone, "what are ya doing?"

"I come here every day. I spend my time looking at the paintings with Zizi. She is such a beautiful artist. Right, bear?"

"Whatever you say, honey," said the specter of Zizi.

Clara was never a fan of Zizi's newer paintings. Compared to the colorful, majestic works she painted in her youth, these were bleak and sad, and honestly, kind of disturbing. According to Murray, Zizi was a prolific painter, and she even did the paintjob of Geber Labs when she was sixteen. After her...incident, she was never the same, mentally and emotionally, and her paintings were a reflection of that change.

"Sure, they are...pretty. Hey, why don't we go out? It's very sunny outside. Ya could use some fresh air."

"No," said Henry almost immediately. "I want to be here. Here is good. I love it here. I am with Zizi."

Clara fiddled with her ring, a tick she picked up after Zizi's death. She never considered herself to a be a nervous person before. "Okay, here's what we gonna do: let's go out, the three of us, on a car ride! Is gonna be fun, I promise. We can get some Ice cream. Zizi loves ice cream," declared Clara, taking a hold of Henry's arm. "Right, Zizi?"

"Yes, I would love some ice cream," commented Zizi.

"Well...if you insist," said Henry while standing up.

"Good! Why don't ya take a shower first? You smell funny, right, Zizi?" she said, squeezing Henry's arm like Murray had instructed.

"Yes, hon," Zizi commented, scrunching up her nose, "let's take a shower."

While Henry took a shower in the upstairs' bathroom, Clara fixed him a meal. He didn't have much that wasn't rotten, spoiled, or booze, but had enough to make him a sandwich. A bit moldy, but a sandwich nonetheless.

As Clara placed the finishing touches on his meal, Henry appeared before her. Naked.

"Oh, Jesus!" cried Clara, covering his eyes.

"Nice, is it not?" said Henry, spinning on the spot. "It is a gift from Zizi. A brand new suit. Don't you like it?"

"Yes..." said Clara, not daring to remove her hands. "But let's try something more casual. We are only going for ice cream." She gingerly approached Henry, grabbing him by the shoulders and spinning him around, pushing him towards the stair by his back. "You also think so, right, Zizi?"

"You would look nice, honey."

"Okay, if you say so."

Clara picked up a blue turtleneck for Henry along with some khaki pants. She gave him the sandwich and a glass of water, both quickly disappearing down his throat, even though he said he was not particularly hungry. His mind might be broken, but his body knew better.

The Prendergast's tastes in vehicles were more conservative compared to Henry's. Clara drove around in a gray SUv, which was more than enough for her. She opened the front seat for Henry to enter, and, as requested by Henry, she also opened the rear door for "Zizi" to climb in.

As Clara approached the site of Zizi's accident, which was unavoidable to get to Geber Labs, Henry got fidgety.

"Hey, can we take another road? This is making me uncomfortable for some reason."

Clara peered at him from the corner of her eyes. As they drove through it, Henry became more forceful.

"Please, Clara. Please... Please!" he suddenly yelled, taking a hold of the steering wheel.

The car suddenly started to spin out of control.

Clara panicked, hitting both the brake and the handbrake at the same time. Henry kept crying "Please, Please!" over and over again. "Zizi" remained quiet and happy in the back seat.

Fortunately for them, the car managed to stop before hitting anyone or anything, only managing to scare a few pedestrians.

"Henry, you fucking idiot! We could've been killed!" cried Clara while punching the steering wheel.

"Please," said Henry, in a lower voice.

Clara huffed between clenched teeth, starting the car and driving beneath an overpass. They would have to take the scenic route.

"Henry, I know it's hard, but you gotta to let it go. She's gone."

"Who's gone?" inquired Zizi.

"Who is gone?" repeated Henry.

"You know...Zizi."

"Zizi is here with us. Don't be silly," replied Henry, dismissing Clara.

Clara pulled over the sidewalk, gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles whitened. She couldn't go any further. She had to speak up.

"Henry, sweetie, Murray told me. He told me everything. About you and that girl, your secretary."

"No!" he yelled out of the blue. "Don't listen, Zizi. She is lying!"

Clara grabbed him by the neck, pulling him closer to her face. She was fed up with his crap.

"Listen to me. Zizi's not here. Zizi's dead. She died and she's no longer here. Do ya hear me? She. Is. Not. Here."

Henry wanted to cry, to protest. He looked in the back seat for reassurance, for comfort, but there was nobody there. Zizi was gone.

Henry tried to say anything, to call her stupid, to open her eyes and see the truth, but the words wouldn't come out. Clara took that opportunity to speak up.

"Look, Henry, I came to your house to tell you something...to help you move on. Henry, sweetie, Zizi was going to ask for a divorce."

Henry froze.

"N-n-no...what are you talking about? Of course she's not going to ask me for a divorce."

Clara loosened her grip on his neck, settling on grabbing his hand.

"Sweetie, she was. Was. She's dead. But she wanted divirce you for a long time. She never had the courage to do it, but she wanted. She even called this lawyer, Ira something. She drafted the papers and all."

"No way!" Henry said, laughing. "You're kidding. That's a good joke."

Clara's deadpanned expression made the joke not as funny as before. "What? No...that can't be."

"It's the truth. She came to us for help a few months ago. We set up the appointment with the lawyer and all."

Clara tried to pat his hair, but he batted her hand away. Henry was livid.

"We?! Did Murray know?!" yelled Henry, inching closer to Clara.

"Yes," answered Clara, shuffling away from him.

Henry lost his mind - not like he had it to begin with. He punched the glove compartment with all his strength, breaking it completely. "Goddammit! You bastards! You wanna take Zizi away from me!" Henry tried to pounce on Clara but was stopped by the seatbelt snapping back in place.

Clara took the opportunity to kill the engine and bolt out of the car, grabbing her purse in the process. She swiftly locked her car, thanking herself under her breath that, thanks to Zacky, she had placed children's lock on all doors, trapping Henry inside. Taking her phone out with shaky hands, she dialed Murray.

"Mur!" exclaimed Clara as soon as the call went through, "shit happened. Henry went full bananas. I locked him in the car."

"Are you alright?! Did he hurt you?! I swear imma kill that son of a bitch if he even thinks about touching you."

"I ran away before he could lay a finger on me. You know I would've clobbered him in the noggin if he weren't all hopped up. Come pick him up."

"Okay. Where are you?"

"Ill Google-map you. Hurry up."

"On it," said Murray before hanging up. Ten minutes later, Murray's blue Ford Taurus pulled behind them. Murray and William came out of the car, with apologetic looks.

"I'm sorry, Clara," said Murray, giving her a light kiss on the forehead.

Clara pushed him away. "Take your druggie. Making me do this crap..." grumbled Clara.

"It was your fault for going to that dildo's home. What were you doing there anyway?"

"I wanted to tell him about the divorce. Ya know, maybe jumpstart him trying to move on."

"Dammit!" cried Murray, grabbing his head with both hands. "That's just gonna make hin worse."

"He was gonna find out anyways! Anyways, he's all yours nowz" she said, giving Murray her keys. "Take him out of my car."

"With pleasure," punctuated Murray with a bow.

Murray slowly approached the car. Henry was thrashing about, pounding and pulling at whatever he could get his hands on. For Murray, it was a hilarious yet pitiful sight. He wanted to leave him there all day, but that was Clara's car he was trashing, and he would never hear the end of it if he were to start flinging his shit like a mokey or something like that. He waited for a moment to strike and opened the passenger door, grabbing Henry by the arm with all his strength.

"Calm down!" Murray commanded.

Henry almost went limp on the spot.

"Well, that was easy. Way too easy," Murray said, beckoning William to help him.

"He was shooting DayDream straight up," commented Clara. "I didn't see any IV bags in the house, and the needle next to the bottle was bloody and used."

"Oh shit," said Murray, half laughing. "Holy shit."

"Whats wrong?" asked William, wary of the limp Henry.

"He is tripping balls. He injected pure DayDream for God knows how many days. I'm surprised he has not gone mad," said Murray, slapping Henry lightly on the cheeks. "C'mon. Get him into my car. If he starts to move, grab him by the arm and tell him to shut up. Hell, he will do whatever you want. Make him dance for all I care."

William reluctantly complied, with both getting in the backseat of Murray's Taurus. The ride to Geber Labs headquarters was smooth, with Henry mostly looking out of the window in thought.

He was pulled like a rag doll through the office building; every employee they crossed gave him snide comments and incredulous stares. The once greater-than-life Henry White was being paraded like a junkie around his own company, a building he ruled like a king. Now, he was a sad peasant. At some point of the trip, Henry regained some of his composure, although he was still powerless against William's grip on his subconscious.

Henry's heart froze when he saw where he was being taken. One of the perks - and curses - of having a conference room entirely made out of glass is that everyone could peer in from the outside. Right now, a crowd had gathered around the conference room where several figures sat around the shiny black table. Henry recognized most of them. He was in the presence of Geber Laboratories' Board of Directors. At the head of the table, on Henry's ergonomic leather chair, sat Tomas Gomez, Chairman of the Board.

His fingers were woven against each other. Even in a sitting position, his spine was upright, straight as a pencil. His thin nose and buzz cut haircut gave him a stern look, further accentuated by his small, olive eyes. A huge mole made its home on the left side of his forehead, with three distinct white hairs protruding out of it. His teeth were jagged and yellow, constantly being licked by his sharp tongue.

"Mr. White," said Tomas, unflinching from his position, "glad you found time out of your busy schedule to finally meet us. Please, take a seat. We have much to discuss."

12 DAYS AFTER THE DISASTER