4 Claustrophobia

The room filled up quickly, and there was little to no space around his bed. Questions were flying everywhere and Marshall was shocked, and most of all, short of breath. He wasn't able to pick up much, just the random 'you're' and 'feel'.

"CAN EVERYBODY JUST CALM DOWN FOR A SEC?!" Marshall yelled at the top of his lungs. There was sweat pouring down onto his face. The amount of people there was overwhelming, and the questions and noise just clambered ontop of the stress he was feeling. The noise died down, as they waited for a response.

"One at a time, please," Marshall exhaled. The reporters stood there, waiting for somebody to speak.

"You there, blonde haired one." he called.

"Marshall Fendell, as we know, at the age of 13 you jumped off an office building, belonging to your family, can we know why?" she asked.

"Unfortunately, I can't answer that question." Marshall responded.

"Why not, may I ask?"

"It's because I simply cannot remember."

"Of course you would remember, it's your memories."

"I.." he paused before continuing. He knew that this was most likely being broadcast live and there was a high possibility that there was many people watching on the edge of their seats.

"I can't remember any events before waking up, good luck getting anything interesting out of me," Marshall confessed. He felt a huge load of pent up anxiety release. The entire time he had been sitting there, there was this feeling of interrogation. Like the reporters were trying to squeeze the information out of him.

"I have no further questions, you can proceed to the next person," she said, defeated.

"The guy with the moustache and green tie," Marshall picked.

"What's it like, starting afresh?" he asked.

"Afresh? What do you mean by starting afresh?"

"You get to lead onto a new life, what does that feel like?" the reporter spoke. His words were slightly insensitive. The others waiting to question Marshall gave him a look of disapproval.

"I didn't choose to 'lead onto a new life', the person I was before didn't want to live." Marshall snapped back at him. He felt really offended. A guy like him wouldn't know what it would be like to have just woken up in the body of a previously depressed person.

"I'm terribly sorry, I didn't intend on-" the reported tried correcting himself, but he was far too late.

"Try putting your entitled arse in my shoes. You've woken up, in the body of a wannabe dead person, your memories, gone, your family,rich and worst of all cruel. You have this brother, and he hates your guts and this sister, whom is the most loving person on this planet, and you failed to remember her name. You have been in nothing but pain since you woke up, after surviving, what is known to be 100% mortality, 150 foot drop. Come the next day, after running around for 3 hours, and finally trying to rest. A bunch of obnoxious news reporters crowd your room, and bombard you with questions. How the hell would you feel?"

"I don't want any more questions, just get out of here."

"But Mr. Fendell we still have mo-" a reporter called

"I SAID LEAVE!" Marshall yelled.

The reporters spilled out of his room, each apologising before exiting his door.

'Just got into this city and I can't wait to get out of it.' he thought.

Marshall slumped into his hospital bed, covering his face with his hands. After the interview that felt like an interrogation, Marshall was tired and frustrated.

His eyes began to close, fluttering shut gently. Marshall was about to doze off into sleep, but was woken by the skittering of shoes on the hard hospital floors.

It was more news reporters, but this time, from different countries.

"Mr Fendell, how do you feel about the incident including your mother?" they asked.

The question was repeated and repeated, by each and everyone of them.

"My mother? What do you mean my mother?" he asked, frantically trying to understand what they were taking about.

At that very moment, a tall black haired man, accompanied by his escort waltzed in. He resembled Tavares heavily, but it definitely wasn't him. The man looked slightly aged, and had a gold, silver plated right on his two hands. One had a cursive 'F' engraved and the other, had an 'A'.

"Alright now, show is over. Please leave the room." he spoke.

"We have the right to stay here, who are you to say anything?" combated a newbie. Clearly he didn't know whom he was messing with as the most of the reporters shuffled away from him. There were a few who hadn't the slightest idea what was going on, or the imminent danger that was known as

"Adonis Fendell the great, the father of young master Marshall." spoke his courier.

"Well said my companion. As for the rest of you," Adonis paused. He took a brief look around the room and it's contents. "The rest of you, except the peasant who took it upon them self to defy me."

The reporters left the room in a hurry, and all but one remained.

Adonis approached the reporter. They were the same height, so the reporter wasn't scared of him. He was pretty confident, and held his head high, attempting to look down on Adonis.

They were now face to face and Marshall's heart was racing. He hadn't met his father yet, but already he could feel tonnes of fear.

A swift movement, and Adonis's hand was glued to the reporters neck.

"I CAN'T BREATHE" the reporter cried. His hands were waving everywhere in desperation.

"What's got you all red?" Adonis mocked. Marshall sat there shaking. His father was ruthless, and he didn't want to see him like this.

Adonis grinned from ear to ear.

"What's wrong? You claustrophobic? Can't breathe?"