Disclaimer:: I don't own anything of "Memento", apart from the videotape. (

A/N: This takes place after Leonard shoots Teddy/John G at the beginning of the movie.


"And your 15 minutes start ... now", thought the psychiatrist to himself, as his next patient walked in.

"So, your name is ...?"

"Leonard. Shelby."

"Make yourself comfortable, Leonard."

"Thank you."

The psychiatrist observed the man sprawled onto the leather couch. He was quite young, around 30 he guessed, with bleached blonde hair that hadn't seen a comb in quite a while. He wore a rumpled white suit, and had two mysterious scars on his cheek. He guessed that this newcomer must be one of those city workers, married obviously as he had a ring.

"So, how may I help you?"

"First of, let me tell you. I have this condition ..."


"Yes. It's when I can't make new memories."


"No, no. Amnesia is the loss of long term memory - I lost my short-term memory. So I can't make new memories. But I remember who I am, where I lived ... everything that happened before the accident. Sometimes if I talk too long I'll forget where I started and ... it's complicated."

"In that case, Leonard, I'm not really the best person to talk to. I'm not trained in dealing with medical conditions."

"No, I'm fine with my condition. I've learnt to get around it."

He coughed a little nervously and shifted. The psychiatrist looked at his watch.

"The reason why I'm here today is ... well, I just need someone to talk to about my problems," said Leonard finally.

"Okay. Start when you're ready."

Leonard took a shaky breath and began.

"I was an insurance investigator, y'know, checking for frauds and all that. One night though, a couple of junkies broke into my house while I was asleep. They raped my wife and killed her. I got hit on the head and there went my short-term memory."

The psychiatrist's eyes widened slightly.

"Your case certainly is an unusual one - "

"That's not the end though," Leonard continued. "I can't remember how long ago that was, but I've been searching for her killer ever since. I shot one guy dead at the scene, so I've been searching for the remaining one. A John G, according to the police files."

"And, have you found him?"

Leonard thought back to what had happened yesterday. He had trusted Teddy, foolishly, but he'd got him in the end.

"Yes. And I killed him too."

The psychiatrist coughed. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

"It's a pity you still have your short-term memory then," replied Leonard. The two men laughed a little uneasily at the attempt of a joke.

"So you should feel satisfied that you've avenged your wife's murderer," said the psychiatrist.

"Quite the opposite actually. Will I remember killing him?"

"Maybe you should write yourself a little note or something."

Leonard rolled up his sleeves to reveal his "notes".

"Or get a tattoo."

Leonard nodded. "I was planning on doing that today actually, but somehow ... I still don't feel satisfied. Now that I've killed him, what do I do with my life now? Is there a reason for me to go on living?"

"Of course there is. Listen, what you should do is move somewhere you've always wanted to live - "

"San Francisco. I was born and brought up there," interrupted Leonard.

"Fine, fine. Go back there or anywhere, and take up a new hobby, or carry on with your old ones. Y'know, stuff like fishing, swimming ... you get the idea."

Leonard tilted his head to one side as he contemplated the idea.

"A hobby." The words sounded strange to him. What had been his hobbies?

"Yes, yes," said the psychiatrist, returning to his desk and shifting through some paperwork, signalling the end of their session.

"Thank you, you've been a lot of help to me."

"No problem, it's my job," said the psychiatrist, without looking up.

Then he heard a gun cock. He looked up, to find himself looking at the end of an unusually long barrel. A silencer.

"What are you doing?" he asked, getting panicky.

Leonard smiled, which made the psychiatrist even more nervous. "Starting my new hobby."

He left the psychiatrist slumped over the desk, blood pouring from his head. Leonard thought to himself, "They're right, therapy really does work."