The door that led to his parent's bedroom stayed locked. It wasn't his decision to keep that section of the hotel barred. Another part of the man's mind dare not allow him access to those rooms, there were far too many objects left in there that could potentially trigger any kind of memory relapse. Still lying on the bare floorboards, by the side of his adopted mother's bed, lay a dried up, brown oval of old flesh. Now it looked more like half a giant prune, only the scraps of light brown hair on the top and two eye holes gave clue as to what it could be. The woman who called herself Kevin's mother, wore that as a mask, all those years ago to help the young boy adapt to his new environment. The mask was his real mother's face. The woman's husband had used a sharp knife to cut around her head before gripping his fingers into the bloodied incision and peeling it away from her skull. The man once known as Andrew Collins had already shown evidence of instability by allowing the girl's last meal to live.
