“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

I looked up to the nurse, or, well, who I thought was a nurse, and shook my head.

He gave a nod back, before standing up leaving, gently closing the door behind him.

Once again I clutched the blanket around me, even tighter this time. I glanced to my right, where a now cold cup of water awaited me on top of the table. I had thought of giving it a sip, if I didn’t worry I would drop it as soon as I got a hold of it.

It was a struggle to even think. My temples pulsed, my body shivered, and my strength slowly fading away. Quite frankly, I wished nothing more than to let the exhaustion take over me and sleep until next year, knowledge be damned.

But not yet. Not until I got what I wanted.

Earlier, when we had left the van, some people dressed in hazmat suits had come and taken us to a separate area, divided into two chambers. Men in one room and women in the other. If the suits didn't give it away, then the smell of disinfectant and soap made it obvious that we were in some sort of decontamination area.

They made us undress as soon as we entered our chamber, and I could immediately tell none of us felt comfortable doing so, some of us facing away in embarrassment. Personally, I was more wary of what they were gonna do to us. The suits weren't aggressive when we took longer than expected to follow their orders, but they did insist that no one was moving anywhere until we did so. To that, Belisaria was the first to comply. The rest of us looked at each other, as if asking if we should do so as well. I took the leap of faith next. A combination of both wanting to get it over with and the logic that our custodians seemed too professional about the whole process for us to be in immediate danger telling me to do so.

After that, the other two followed through.

I won't lie, when the showers were activated, despite the initial surprise, I couldn't help but feel some sort of relief.

Granted, it worked better if I closed my eyes while the hot water slid down my body, ignoring everything else around me. But just for that time, even in the few times that I allowed myself to open my eyes, as I watched the dirt mix in the water and wash away in the drain, I felt like everything I had just experienced was far away from me.

The abrupt end of the shower brought me right back to reality. The suits told us to line up, giving us another order to close our eyes and mouth and try to breathe as little as possible before spraying us front and back. I'm not certain how long it took, perhaps only seconds. Time flows in a funny way when you can't see it happening in front of you.

When they were done the first thing I did was breathe, and being surprised by the lack of smell from the chemical they used.

Soon after giving us each a towel to dry and cover ourselves with, we were directed to a locker room where a different group of people waited for us.

They were visible now. All women, maybe in their early thirties wearing clothes that I associated with surgeons instead of hazmat suits. By now I had figured that we weren't going to see the men again, or at the very least, until the end of these stations. Each of the surgeons had a sealed packet of clothes, given to us one by one as soon as we entered the room.

“Please tell us if they don't fit so we can give you one that does.” I heard one of them say.

The clothes were simple. Deep blue shirts with long sleeves and pants. At that moment I remember thinking that the only thing they needed was a hat and to be stripped, then we would look the part.

I hadn't really thought about it earlier, but with the routine of awaiting orders and then complying, it hit me that none of us had spoken a word since… since before we arrived here. Whether out of shock or simple reservation we hadn't really shared anything with each other in the van, and any kind of contact that we might have had was interrupted by our arrival.

“I have a question.” I dared to say, my own voice feeling alien to me as the words left my mouth.

All eyes were on me, and I felt small, very small all of a sudden.

“Yes?” One of the surgeons asked.

I froze, I hadn't anticipated that they would actually answer me. This made a world of difference.

What the hell was that back there? Who are you? Where are we? How did we get here? Were some of the questions that rushed to my mind, each one of them eager to be free.

“When can we go home?” Was what came out.

For one moment, for just a fraction of a second, I could have sworn that the surgeon showed pity, or even sympathy, on her face.

And just like that, it was gone, “After the interviews are over. You will go through a medical check up right after this, then to the interviews. It'll be over soon, we promise.” She said, voice calm but firm.

Maybe I had to give them more credit. The more I thought about it, the more sense it made as to why I, no, we didn't put up more of a resistance. I couldn’t speak for the other two but Belisaria and I were exhausted, both mentally and physically. Then these people had rescued us, and while we were at their mercy they hadn't used force or threats to make us do as they said, which hadn't given us a justification to be hostile towards them.

“How long will that take?”

I turned to where the voice had come from. One of the other two women had decided to make themselves present. A head taller than me, she had dark chocolate skin, and wavy hair in a pixie style. The way she crossed her arms reminded me of my mom when she knew I was lying to her but wanted myself to admit it.

“Not longer than an hour.” The surgeon said.

That prompted a laugh out of pixie hair.

“And if that doesn't happen?” She retorted.

“Then we tried our best.” The surgeon replied flatly.

Those words had an effect on all of us. Pixie hair went silent, articulating with her mouth as if she were to say something, but never did. To my right, Belisaria was visibly shaken, looking at the floor and her face pale. The other woman wasn't doing any better, looking as if she were about to vomit.

I was trying to analyze what the surgeon had meant. If I took her at face value then the interviews were the last step to our freedom, but only if we passed them. Which meant that they had the last word on whether or not we left. Which begged the question, what condition did we have to fulfill?

Or, put differently, was something wrong with us?

The surgeon spoke, “Before you try to ask more, I won't be able to answer any more of your questions. This will be brought up in the interviews too. I swear, there's a reason for this, but I can't disclose it.”

I didn't have the energy to question things further, and if she was telling the truth, it would have been useless anyway. Neither did anyone else for that matter.

We finished dressing, going through the medical station where another set of people dressed like doctors received us. The things they made us go through were so general, so normal, that the whole time I was expecting for the other shoe to drop.

We got measured, our blood pressure tested, our hearing checked, our breathing, we also got to stick our tongues out while saying ahhh, and for good measure they also threw a vision test in there.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Which eventually landed us in our individual rooms: completely empty except for a table, two chairs across from each other, and a double-view mirror.

I was only told to wait once I was there. I did so, sitting in the chair farther away from the mirror. That was a mistake.

It was like all the fatigue had decided to catch up to me merely for making myself comfortable, or maybe for not having another chore to work through, my body taking that as a sign to stop holding itself together.

I stayed awake by any means necessary. Pinching, slapping my cheeks, blinking rapidly, I even tried to walk around, disregarding the dizziness as it continued to build in my head.

The nurse came during one of my walks, immediately telling me to sit down and take it easy. He also offered me some hot water and a blanket, the same I was wearing right now.

I sighed. That had been a while ago. Now my head was killing me and I wasn't sure how long I could stay awake.

Then the door opened.

In came the same woman who had greeted us earlier at the van.

Sharon Thomas, if my memory wasn't wrong.

She held a cup with a spoon in one hand. I hated myself for the thought, but I was willing to ask for a sip if it was coffee.

“Hello”, she started, giving me a polite smile, “My name is Sharon, what's yours?”

“Marianne.” I responded.

She flashed another smile, “It's nice to meet you Marianne. Do you have any questions for me?” She asked as she sat in the chair across mine.

I wanted to have time to prepare my questions but I was so desperate for any kind of activity that I simply began with what first came to mind, “Where are we?”

She looked at me dead in the eyes.

Now that I had a good look at her I could tell that she looked… hardened. Not in a non-empathic kind of way, but more in terms of how much she had lived through, perhaps experienced was a better word. There were lines in her forehead and across her face that made her look older than she looked. Matter of fact I couldn't really put her age in place. She couldn't be older than 50, or if she was she took exceptional care in her person despite my earlier observations. Her brown hair seemed to be losing color but there were no signals of extensions or dye as far as I could tell. All-natural.

She took a sip before answering, her green eyes still on me, “To give you an answer that would satisfy you: You are in an area unknown to the general public, within the limits of Dencemont but further away from the urbanized area.”

“So I'm still close to home.” I said, but it sounded more like a question.

“Yes.” Was my only response.

She didn't seem evasive for now. I needed to capitalize on that.

“What happened earlier at the mall?” I shot.

Sharon gave a dry laugh, “You and your friend experienced one kind of event my team and I are in charge of making sure doesn't become public and cause overwhelming casualties.”

What kind of bullshit answer was that?

No, wait.

“What-what happened to Belisaria?” I asked.

“Miss Quijas is alright, physically she only suffered a minor cut on her face, which has already been treated. She's also sound of mind, despite our original concerns.”

I drew myself closer to the table, “What concerns?”

She went silent for a moment. Choosing to cross her hands on the table before speaking, “You two were closest to the epicenter of the event I mentioned before.” She leaned closer, “Which means you were at the biggest risk of going hostile and losing your mind in the process, like the others you saw.”

I was speechless. I remembered what had happened back at the billboard in the mall, how I had apparently attacked Belisaria and I had no memory of it. Of the music, and how I was drawn to it.

What if she already knew?

“Do you have anything you want to say to me?” Sharon asked.

I hesitated. I think I understood what the surgeon meant when she said that they would have tried their best if the interviews didn't work.

I didn't want to make things harder on me.

“I think…” I trailed off, trying to find the confidence to finish the sentence, “ I know, it happened to me, that I went berserk”.

I had half expected what she said next, “I know.” But not the smile accompanying it. I didn't feel any malice from it, it felt more like one you would get when you get an answer right.

“So what does that mean for me?” I asked quietly.

Sharon sighed, “You are in a position I wouldn't wish upon anyone. Have you ever heard the expression ‘Damned if you do, damned if you don't’?”

I didn't like where this was going. “Yeah.” I said

“The way things are in my line of work, once you are in, you are in for life. Marianne, no matter what you choose, you can't avoid things like this happening to you anymore, nor can Miss Quijas.”

“Why?” I demanded.

This time Sharon took longer to answer, “Because the same way you know they exist, they too are aware of your existence.”

“Who's they?” I didn't even bother trying to hide my frustration this time.

“I can't answer that.”

Motherfucker.

“And I'm just supposed to accept like that?”

“No.”

My emotions were on a rollercoaster right now, swinging from fear to anger and now, confusion.

“So I don't have to choose?”

“That's not correct either.” She looked at me again, holding eye contact the entire time she talked, “I am the leader of one team from a large organization, and that means there are people above me. But it also means I have some pull on how things go in my turf, partly because it keeps things relatively stable around here and partly because I've been around for a while, so I know my people.”

I connected the dots.

“You're giving me a deadline.” I deadpanned.

She smirked, “Correct.”

“How long?”

“A week, I can't do anything longer than that.”

“For both of us?”

Sharon raised an eyebrow at my question, but quickly realized who I was talking about, “Yes, the same goes for her.”

I let myself relax a little bit. It wasn't ideal, but I couldn't bargain for anything better than this, at the very least we had bought some time.

Still, now I had more questions than ever.

“Why are you doing this for us?”

“I have a daughter your age.”

I didn't think she was lying, she was old enough to be a mother, but I didn't think that was the entirety of it, “And?”

She gave me a full smile now, teeth showing, “My position is, traditionally, inherited, my father taught me and my grandmother to him and so on. I mentioned earlier how I've been around for a while. I've seen this ... group, try and coerce others into working for it. It doesn't usually end well.”

Small wonder.

“What about my mother? How am I supposed to explain this to her?”

“We've got that covered. And, to be fair, we got lucky. As soon as we got you two identified we tracked your mother's work address. After that it was just a matter of making the right calls to make sure she stayed longer at work.”

I squinted my eyes at her, ready to protest.

“Now, I understand how that sounds. Trust me, we don't meddle more than we need to, or would you rather explain for yourself why the two of you were bruised and cut to your mother this late at night?”

I said nothing.

“Anything else you want to know?”

I did, as a matter of fact. “How will I contact you?”

“Oh so you won't try to run away?”

“I figured you could always just track me down, and it would look great for me.”

“Smart. We will contact you by the way.”

Okay.

“How are you taking us back?”

There was a sparkle in her eyes as soon as I asked my question, and she began making circular motions with the spoon in her cup.

“You ever know when you fall asleep?”

“You mean the exact moment?”

The movements kept going, and there was a certain rhythm to it that felt pleasant to me.

“Yeah.”

“No, I don't”

The spoon moved all over the inside of the cup, each movement more elegant than the one before it.

“Isn't that weird?”

The spoon drops inside the cup. Never to be seen again.

And everything goes black.