Mistaking Identity
Our Asshole sits alone in a bedsit, waiting for his life to fall back into place. The insurance company have – in a fit of charity that, for once, he recognises as strength, not weakness – been able to cover the house fire. This means he’s waiting for the repairs to be finished before he can move in.
His business has evaporated, as both employees and clients have left him at the earliest opportunity. His savings have been wiped out, so he’s had to take a job as a labourer for a large building firm. He had to find someone he’d not had any dealings with, because he’s realised too late that the people you meet as you build a life may come in handy when you need to rebuild one.
Meanwhile he’s had plenty of time to think about why he lied to the police about the beating. Normally he’d be happily set the long arm of the law on anyone he could, but this time he held back, and he’d not sure why.
He’s also been trying to figure out the picture that was left on him when he woke up in hospital. It’s a picture of a girl he doesn’t recognise, which makes it all the more curious. He’s sure it’s a message; he’d assumed that it was a picture of someone he’d screwed over, screwed up, or perhaps simply screwed. He’s stared at the face for hours, and drawn a complete blank. He simply doesn’t recognise her.
It is fortunate then, that the news is on, and something has happened today that he may just be interested in.