Special Session

"Enough!" the mayor shouts into the microphone.

The crowd, swarming like a beehive, complies and calms. Docile.

"Now," the mayor continues, "We have all known Tom a long time," he says as he looks at Tom seated next to the podium. They're the only two on stage. The crowd, many more than two, doesn't agree or disagree.

"So let's please give this man, our neighbor, the benefit of the doubt here," the mayor continues. He waits to gauge the crowd's reaction. No buzz. "Tom," he says as he motions to the mic.

Tom is in his early 40s and was, until a short time ago, a relative ghost within the community he now stands before. These are the only people he's ever known, and they're all in this auditorium. Sweat beads from his forehead. His ring-less fingers grip the sides of the lectern.

"So," he chokes, "What do you all want to know? Like I said already, I don't really remember much at all and—"

"Liar!" someone yells from the swarm below. A few others shuffle and agree before calming down again. Sweat is now dripping off Tom's chin, visible on his face even to those deep in the crowd. His mind fluttering, he wonders if it somehow got hotter when he stood up.

"I—" Tom starts, "There really is no good way to explain something you can't remember. So I'll do my best with any questions you all —"

"What were you doing at the school, Tom?"

"And why were you naked?"

"Who was with you?"

"Are you a pedo, Tom?"

"Hey!" the mayor shouts from behind.

Tom gulps. His ears are ringing. The sweat a full sheen. "Like I said everyone," he says as he looks down. "I don't remember. I went to bed, same as always, and woke up at the school." He isn't lying.

"That's it?" a citizen shouts. "And we're just supposed to believe that?"

"Not my neighbor!"

"That's my daughter's room you were in!"

"You were looking for Ms. Penn, you weirdo!"

"And how many times have you done this without getting caught?"

"Listen!" the mayor booms as he gets up from his chair. Tom just stands there. He isn't frozen, but he reckons he wouldn't mind being so. He truly doesn't remember, and he just now wishes he didn't remember anything at all. His fugue state as much a mystery to him as it is to his neighbors. Although attached to a very different line of emotions.

"Now, I did not call this special session so everyone could scream at Tom," the mayor says as he slides in next to the accused. "I did call this session to open a forum. A forum to civilized questions. But we are also here to update everyone on what we are doing." He looks at Tom with kindness. An ally in the Kremlin.

"We've already added security measures at both the elementary and the high school. Not that there is any reason to think this will happen again. All the details will be emailed out this week, but it was long overdue regardless. The schools haven't been updated in decades."

The crowd buzzes a bit after each comment from their leader, but remains at attention. At a steady hum.

"I—" the mayor looks at Tom next to him and pauses. "We have also called in a specialist. He's coming up to help Tom sort through it all and hopefully provide some answers." The swarm perks up at this, with various shouts of special treatment and misplaced faith. Tom takes a step back.

"In the meantime—" he says. "In. The. Meantime," he repeats over the shouts. "We will continue to live life normally while this does get sorted. We will be—" the air is thickening at a rapid pace. Everyone's ears are now ringing. "We will be good neighbors," he finishes.

Pandemonium. The crowd pitches to a yet unseen octave. A cacophony of anger bounces off the walls as the mayor attempts further crowd control. It's futile.

Tom stands there, under the heat of the stage lights, knowing his memory of this will feel nothing like a fugue state.

Amongst the uproar, the entrance of the auditorium opens. A man steps in, dressed identically to Tom. Nobody notices him amidst the frenzy, except his copy. Tom stares at the man as a deputy blocks a soccer mom rushing the stage. He doesn't notice. He's transfixed.

The man doesn't move. Doesn't emote.

Crowd control isn't working for the mayor. He looks to Tom as a half-empty water bottle whips by the both of them. He traces Tom's stare to the back of the auditorium. "Hey," he says hoarsely, squinting down the aisle at the only stranger in the room. He shouts, "Are you the doctor?" Half the crowd notices what's going on. The other half still at a fever pitch. "I thought you weren't coming for another two days?" he weakly finishes as he pans back to Tom.

The man slowly moves his gaze from Tom to the mayor. His body unchanged. His stomach not ballooning. This isn't the doctor.

The buzz now fully faded. They all stare.

"Hey, who — who are you?" the mayor stammers.

Silence. They're still staring. Some around the man dart their eyes away briefly to Tom and back again. Confusion now spreading faster than the anger was. Nobody moves.

Finally, a man at the back looks to the stage and shouts, "So is this guy gonna tell us why Tom is such a freak now?"

More swarming. He's staring at Tom again.