Allie woke to blinding lights. The smell of bleach burned her nostrils, a harshness echoed in the bare white walls of the room and the rough-fibered blanket laid across her. Thoughts trickled in like sludge. Metal guard rails on the side of her bed. Cool where they touched her arms. Wood cabinets and drawers lining one wall. Their warm brown the only splash of color in an otherwise sterile room. A long white counter with a metal sink lining the other wall. A single drop of water fell.
A vent near the ceiling hissed antiseptic air right above a door about five feet away from the end of her bed. Allie stared at the door. It gleamed under the fluorescent bulbs. Metallic. Odd.
The sludge receded. New thoughts surged to the surface. This wasn’t her bedroom. This was a hospital. Her heart leaped into the rafters as the remnants of haze dissipated into cold electricity.
Keith.
His boring gaze had cut right through her in the back room of the art gallery. His voice had been low, sharp, calculated. “You think you can blackmail me? What, you finally grow a backbone?”
She’d turned and left. She hadn’t wanted to cause a scene. The thought made her palms itch. It had been an accident. She hadn’t meant to see Keith unloading the art he’d claimed was his. All she had wanted was to congratulate him on his win. Be a good sport. She’d never use what she saw against him, yet the venom in his eyes had followed her the entire way home.
The sound of the deadbolt as she slid it into place hadn’t helped soothe her nerves. She’d checked the rooms, checked the closets, checked under the bed, for God’s sake, and there had been nothing but her own anxiety. Yet, after canvassing her entire apartment, she’d… what?
Allie urged another revelation from the mud. Nothing came. If she couldn’t remember, and she was in a hospital, only one thing made sense. Keith had attacked her, tried to kill her, to keep her quiet.
Her pulse thrummed under her ribcage. Fuzz edged in on her vision as she stared at the gray blanket across her lap. If Keith had attacked her, he must have hurt her. Everything felt fine, and her arms looked fine, so what if it was her legs? What if they felt fine because she couldn’t feel them at all? Allie’s hand trembled. She reached for the edge of the blanket and tore it off, a jolt of pain shooting through her shoulder as the blanket caught where it had been tucked in at the foot of the bed. She winced, but quickly forgot the pain as her legs came into view. Two very whole and bare legs stuck out of her hospital gown.
Allie frowned, then jerked her hands to her face, feeling every dip and bump, seeking something out of the ordinary. Nothing. Her frantic movements made the sleeves of her gown slip up, revealing a simple white bandage wrapped around the crook of her left arm. She’d only seen that when she had blood drawn, or an IV, yet there were no signs of an IV tree.
“Blood then? Did Keith poison me?”
Her voice came out in a strained whisper, her throat convulsing around the words as if it had forgotten how to make the sounds.
Nothing in the room gave her any sign of what was wrong with her, and she had no idea when a nurse or doctor would come by to check on her. She hated not knowing almost as much as she hated conflict. It wouldn’t be terrible if she just got up and looked for a doctor, would it?
What if she wasn’t supposed to move?
A quick examination of the bed didn’t turn up any buttons or cords at all. Now that she really looked at it, the bed would have fit in an old sixty's movie. In fact, there wasn’t a single machine or electrical outlet she could see in the entire room. A chill prickled across her skin. Something wasn’t right.
“Hello?” Her voice came out weak and thready. She gritted her teeth and put more force into it. “Is anyone out there? I need help.”
The words bounced around the mostly empty room, echoing back like a phantom mocking her from the corners.
“Probably just busy,” Allie muttered.
She should get up. Yet if she wasn’t supposed to, the nurse might yell at her. She rubbed her hands together as a new discomfort settled in. She had to pee, and the little hospital room definitely didn’t have a bathroom.
“Damn it.”
Getting yelled at by the staff was bad. Wetting herself was worse. With no other excuses to stay, Allie eased out of the bed. The shock of cold tile against her bare feet almost made her jump back in.
“Come on, Allie. Get to the damn bathroom.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Her hands were starting to feel raw as she continued to rub them together, and she was starting to feel like an idiot.
A sharp contrast of color caught her eyes as she passed the foot of the bed. Tucked in a clear plastic bag sat the clothes she’d had on at home. She took a deep breath as a sense of giddiness pushed against the fluttering in her stomach. Something had happened, but she was fine now. All the hospital staff were probably at a desk right outside the door, waiting for her to dress and come out. That had to be it.
She changed quickly, one ear pointed toward the door. The room didn’t have a privacy curtain, either. A worn t-shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of scuffed tennis shoes later, Allie felt almost normal, although the distinct lack of her cellphone made her feel just a little naked.
There had still been no peep from outside the door, yet wearing her own clothes gave her a rare bit of courage. Now that she looked at it closer, she could tell the metallic tinge hadn’t been her imagination. The entire door was made of what looked like steel without a doorknob or handle. Allie closed in on it and pushed. The door didn’t budge. Maybe because it was locked, or maybe because her rail-thin arms fed primarily on ramen noodle cups weren’t prepared for the weight of the thing.
“What the hell? Who puts steel doors in a hospital?”
Unwilling to give up the bit of momentum she’d gained, Allie braced herself and pushed as hard as she could. At first, she was sure she’d be stuck holding her pee until someone wandered in to check on her. But, after a few seconds, the door opened in a slow arc, and she stepped out into a hallway.
The hallway was huge. Nearly ten feet across, with white walls and eggshell tiles glaring under fluorescent lights. It stretched to Allie’s left and right, with more steel doors evenly spaced down its walls. Blocky letters and numbers sat above each door, stenciled in crimson.
Allie’s breath grew shallow. Metal bars ran across the middle of each door like deadbolts. This wasn’t like any hospital she’d ever seen.
She jerked away as the door to her room whirred and swung shut with a clang, the metal bar across its middle sliding into its lock with a hiss of decompression.
“Shit.”
Allie hissed the word out, barely audible even in the dead silence of the hallway. Every bit of her situation screamed danger, and this time she knew it wasn’t all in her head.
“Now what the hell do I do?”
*****
Dr. Miller watched on a security camera feed as patient number Thirty-One-Seven wrung her hands, eyes darting back and forth down the testing floor hallway. It reminded Miller of a hunting trip her father had insisted she go on when she turned six. The man had been almost as obsessed with doomsday theories as drink, and to him, learning to hunt was truly a matter of life and death.
Her younger self hadn’t understood until they’d found a yearling deer alone in the woods. It had been smart enough to know it was being hunted, yet too dumb to run. Even as young as she was, Miller knew the feeling all too well. Its head swiveled, eyes wild, right before a bullet tore through its heart.
Blood had poured down its tawny hide. Its eyes rolled back as its legs buckled. The image of the light leaving its eyes had stuck with Miller ever since. You were either predator or prey. Thirty-One-Seven acted like prey. Dr. Miller needed her to grow some teeth, for both their sakes.
*****
The pit in Allie’s stomach turned into an itch in her legs, and with the growing pain in her bladder, staying still wasn’t an option no matter how much she wanted to crawl in a corner and hide.
There was a bend in the hallway at both ends. She picked the closest one and started walking. The hum of the lights and the thudding of her shoes against the tile reverberated off the walls, assaulting her ears with an almost deafening cadence.
A handful of small black boxes hung at regular intervals from the ceiling. They reminded her of security cameras, although they had no blinking lights or lenses that she could see.
Every door she passed was locked and barred. What kind of hospital needed to lock their patients in their rooms? A realization settled, rock-heavy, on her chest, forcing her feet still. What if Keith had convinced someone she was crazy and she was in some kind of insane asylum? Did they even have those anymore?
No. It didn’t matter. She was sane. All she had to do was find a doctor, or guard, or whatever, and tell them they had it all wrong.
The comfort of a plan eased some of the weight in her chest. It returned as soon as she peered around the bend. More empty, echoing hallway lined with metal, locked doors.
“Totally sane,” she muttered. “Unlike this place.”
A door to her left, only a few feet away, caught her attention. It looked similar to the others, yet it had double doors, and more importantly, the lock wasn’t engaged.
Allie moved closer. Her heart nearly stopped when it slid open with a hiss.
“Jesus Christ.”
The place seemed intent on giving her a heart attack, but what she saw on the other side of the doors sparked her first bit of hope.
A stairwell.
Cold concrete, with stairs leading to a higher and lower floor. She had no way of knowing what floor she was on. Still, the thought of going into a basement made her nauseous. Up it was.
As she stepped into the stairwell, something wafted up from below. More a sensation than a smell, it brought to mind the warmth of fire in winter, iced tea on a hot day, soup when sick. It pulled her deeper into the bowels of the building, her better judgment forgotten.
*****
Dr. Miller leaned forward on the desk. Dozens of screens hung on the wall in front of her, dozens of camera feeds flashing different scenes, telling tales of loss, failure, and stillness.
All but one.
She watched as Thirty-One-Seven swayed on her feet. Her eyes, darting fearfully toward the bottom stairs just a moment ago, had gone soft. Relaxed. The patient grabbed a handrail and began a slow, dream-like descent.
Fascinating.
The scent Thirty-One-Seven followed hadn’t been planned. Dr. Miller hadn’t figured the patient was receptive to any scents just yet. Yet there it was. It was more than she hoped.
Hope.
She rarely allowed herself the pleasure. Too many dark nights spent absorbing another’s anger. Too many violent days spent cutting herself up to satisfy another. The world was cruel and cold. Things like hope made you vulnerable. Yet….
Dr. Miller allowed herself a small smile. Hope had a ring to it. A better one than Thirty-One-Seven.