Layers of Sin

Howling autumn winds blow past as you reach the wrought iron gate of your childhood home. Hesitantly, you place your hand on the cold metal, gazing up at the house that now feels foreign.
Unfamiliar voices echo through your mind – doctors, nurses, police officers – all failing to provide answers. "You've been unconscious for a week. You appear to be suffering from dissociative amnesia. Your mother's been killed."
The gate creaks as you push it aside, the sound grating in the sudden silence. Aging mahogany grumbles under the weight of your laced boots as you ascend the porch steps. Wind chimes greet you with a high-pitched jingle. Behind you, dark clouds surrender to the late October downpour. As you reach for the brass doorknob, you close your eyes, a single tear escaping before you suppress your grief.