The Universe's Mixer

There hadn’t been any warning that today was going to be any different form the days that had preceded it. He figured he’d wake up, do the sort of zombie, on some serious medication shuffle that he had spent the last however many days it was, doing. Then sleep. Wake up. Repeat. Except the doctor (or at least Eddie thought that it was a doctor, he had a white coat on, seemed like a doctor) after Eddie had greeted him with a “what’s up doc?” (however many days he’d been here -- that still hadn’t gotten old) had told Eddie he was free to go. Eddie (who was feeling more himself, more alert, more awake) had given the doctor a wary look and then took the doctor at his word.

He had no real plan except getting the hell out of here. He figured once he got out of this place, he’d figure out where exactly he was, and what exactly was going on. But first he had to get away from all these medication happy Doctors, and then once that was done he’d figure out exactly where he was, and how he was going to get to where he needed to go.

When his personal possessions had been returned to him, Eddie had taken back possession of Roland’s revolver, and quipped that maybe it wasn’t a great idea giving a person who had just been in a asylum a weapon. Even as he “joked” about that, he had tightened his grip on the revolver, well aware that if they had tried to take it back there was going to be an issue. The person who was handing over his personal effects just gave Eddie a blank look, and told him that he was free to go.

So go he did. Right out the door, and standing there on an unfamiliar street Eddie glanced around.

“Now what?”