Derek seemed to roll over on ...a bed? For a single moment his body felt as if someone had thrown gasoline all over his bodym and drenched it with matches to light a fire. His voice was hardly audible , and the sky was dark. Obviously, that old lady had to have been a nghtmare cause it didn't seem to be the next day yet. Or he had slept in for a few days, and apparently blacked out a bar? The mind loved to rationalize more than his brain did. After a long couple of seconds his tough hands shoved into the jean pants finding the pack of cigs hiden there. When he managed to open the pack, only one cig was left. What do they call that the last lucky cig?<br/><br/>On the other hand, his lighter was not in the right pocket of his jeans. Instead , he saw it dangling off a night stand next to the bed which meant that he was not inside his own apartment. This was far too odd, but still desperately his hands lit the cig allowing puffy gray circlets to convulge in the air. His head looked around the fairly nice room. It seemed at first glance to belong to a rich woman.<br/><br/>The room itself was fairly empty but his mind continued to try and configure how he got here , and why? When he looked down at his chest , his shirt was gone , and instead repaced with careful bandages. Was it safe to wander? His body pushed him off the bed but it felt as if every single bone ached by doing so. He walked past the bedroom door and ended up in a odd shaped hallway.<br/><br/>Not knowing the layout of the place, he played tug and war with the which direction to walk down. He decided heading right sounded promising. The hallway wall was lined with old depictions of women killing men, or boys, and of men tortuering others. Pretty much setting him in an oddly melanchololy mood. Finally, he came upon an open door that led to a rather modern kitchen.<br/><br/>His eyes nearly popped out at the sight of an old lady. For a moment his heart skipped a beat in a bad fearful way. He couldn't speak so just waited for her to speak.