Sitting on a windowsill at the far side of the lounge, face in my hands, I thought of what to do. Emilia had shown some sign of intelligence, even while under the effects of the medication. Whatever came next, I needed to place trust in her abilities.

With one last effort concocted in my mind, I stood up. One last chance. I thought to myself.

I went from the lounge chairs to a small nook that had bookshelves and tables. Taking the least-read book on the shelf, I sat in one of the many reading chairs. I held some text regarding sea travel. Considering the large amount of dust that plastered the leather binding, I had assumed no one had given the book a glance in many years.

With that, my plan could be put in place.

There would be one thing I needed before I could proceed. The night before, when I had just realized I was stuck in an infinite loop, I had pocketed the bent ink pen I had used to cut myself with.

Retrieving the pen from my pocket, I gave it a good shake. A small bit of ink dripped from the tip, assuring me it was still usable.

With all the discretion I could muster, I began to write on a random page of the book. A simple message, one I hoped Emilia would be able to decipher.

‘Do not sleep. Room number?’

With that, I wedged the pen on the page I wanted seen and clenched the book tightly. Slowly, and with many detours to conceal my intentions, I made my way back to the chair in which Emilia sat.

From there, I could see she had gone back to trying to block out a sensory overload just as she was before. When I sat the book on a side table next to her, she looked at me with utter confusion. It was as if she forgot the events of just ten minutes ago.

Nevertheless, I had to put my hope in her. I gave the book a single tap with my finger and left, hoping that would be enough for her to understand my intentions.

After that, I secluded myself at the windowsill I lingered at before. I forced myself to stay there for almost the entire duration of our rest period, making sure our actions could not be traced to one another.

The bell rang, signaling the end of our time. Everyone stood and began to congregate in a line, but I made my way over to the bookshelf. My cover of rushed and confused patients was quickly disappearing as I found the nautical book.

Upon inspecting the spine, I found an opening from where my pen was wedged between the sheets of paper.

I opened it, and my hopes bore fruit. In shaky, almost illegible handwriting, the disassociated Emilia simply wrote ‘116’, an answer to my question.

Hastily, I scribbled over the writing and pocketed the pen once more.

The rest of the day moved quickly as I tried to stand out as little as possible. First, we washed the dishes, then we scrubbed the baths, and after that, we ate lunch. A large period would have been spent in the yard, but the miasma from the industrial complexes nearby made that impossible. Instead, we all simply spent more time mulling about the lounge. Once the sun began to set we were all thrown into segregated bathhouses. After the allotted time for us to clean ourselves was over, we were given a dissatisfying dinner of brothy soup. Finally, we were led to our rooms and the candles were extinguished.

Over that time, I had tried my best to steer clear of Emilia and Bradley to stay discrete. Because of that, I had no record of their habits or routines beyond our first rest period.

Once I was in my room, I patiently waited until deep in the night. I hoped that by my waiting there would be a lesser chance of guards and a higher probability that the drugs Emilia were on began to wear off.

After the moon was high in the sky, I began my escape.

Luckily my first trip in the dark would be my worst, as I had stowed away matches and a candle.

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Kindling illumination against the depressing blackness, I began to tread deeper into the hall. My room was number seventy-three, which meant I was in for a brisk walk.

I worried I would encounter things such as the shambling horror from the previous night, but my flame warded me from the creatures in shadow.

The journey, very much so to my delight, was uneventful.

With a bit of walking, I reached room one-hundred-sixteen and found it locked. I grasped the handle and turned the other direction. My method had luckily become like clockwork with how many times I had broken the identical locks before, and within moments the door had been breached.

Creaking the door open, I saw Emilia sitting up in her bed, she looked defensive and scared, most likely because I broke into her room with a moderate amount of force. Despite my directions, it seemed as though she had been sleeping. That was to be expected, after I had noticed her inability to remember the events that had happened under ten minutes, let alone hours.

Before I could even show it was me, Emilia cringed and grabbed the sides of her head. Soon afterward she curled into a ball in pain, leading me further into the room.

I sat the candle on her desk and came up to her. I put my hand on her shoulder and tried to softly call out her name, but it was no use. She was completely inconsolable.

Still, I had no other course of action but to continue trying.

Shaking her shoulder, I grew closer. I could barely make out where her face was in the bundle of messy black hair.

Once close enough, I asked again. “Emilia?”

After a few heavy breaths, Emilia finally responded. “I-It’s… Loud…” She shivered. “I can’t think!”

“It’s alright. You are going to be fine…” I tried to reassure her, yet I had no clear remedy for the pain she was in.

Too loud… I repeated her words in my head, contemplating… That was when I had an epiphany.

It hurt me to do so, but I left Emilia’s side. Grabbing my candle, I broke out from her room and began a sprint down the hall.

Bursting into my room, I ran to my mattress. Pulling it up, I revealed the many tally-marks I had etched into the wood, yet further beyond them was a small wooden box. The same one my mother had mysteriously gifted to me the night prior. I grabbed it and began to return to her room.

With little time and much effort, I ran back to Emilia’s room. I sat the candle back down on her desk and propped myself on the edge of her mattress.

She was still curled into a writhing ball of pain, barely noticing my presence.

With hope, I looked to the bottom of the wooden box and turned the small brass key to the clockwork inside. Finally, I pulled the box open, letting a sweet melody play out.

Immediately upon hearing it, Emilia’s harsh tremors lessened. The song continued to play as she gained better control of herself. She began to hum along to the tune as she uncurled and sat upright.

The music box had to have looped hundreds of times as we spent countless minutes sitting there. Emilia hummed along to the song as I simply watched her recover, slowly but surely.

Eventually, she no longer seemed distressed, but at peace. Very cautiously, I closed the music box. Emilia continued to hum in the sweet key played for her.

Another good long while passed before she began to quiet. I was the first to softly ask. “Are you ok?”

She had her eyes closed, still somewhat concentrating. “As long as I keep the song in mind… I’m alright…” Eventually, she gathered the courage to look at me directly. “Where did you get that music box?”

I looked down at the wooden chest. “My mother gave it to me just last night… Do you know it?”

“I had that as a girl… My father gifted it to me before the voices made m-… Before they passed…” She contemplated her words for a moment. “When things became bad and we were not sure we would get more of our medicine, I gave it to your mother for safekeeping…”

How my mother knew the music box would have such effects on Emilia was unknown to me, but one other question pressed greater in my mind than that. “W-What did the voices make you do?”

At that, Emilia broke eye contact and looked into the distance shamefully. She heard voices in her head, but could they command her as well? Did they tell her to..? No. The tearing insanity has made us all do things, and I did not care to reprimand my trusted friend. I knew that whatever Emilia did was not Emilia… With a little more thought, I decided to say nothing and instead slip the music box in her hand. She whispered as her hand tightened. “Thank you…”

“I’m just glad you are alright…” With that, Emilia extended her arms. I leaned forward and hugged her.

It felt like a weight was lifted to finally have another person that was in my situation back. When the world was dark and violent, having a friend made all the difference.

Eventually, we broke apart again, and Emilia questioned. “Now what?”

“We help the others.” I answered, then I asked a question of my own. “What was the last thing you remember?”

With that, she thought for a moment, humming that tune again as she was left alone with the voices. Finally, she answered. “We were all called into a meeting… Dr. Prescott told us he had completed the new medicine and brought everyone to his office. He made us drink it, but when I did… Well, here I am.”

Shit. Dr. Prescott was not only a player in this entire debacle, but a key one at that, and if Emilia was telling the truth, the only way we could tell his motives would still lie in his journal…

“Vomit whatever they try to make you drink,” I said, thinking. “And get some rest… We have much to do…”