The memories of my childhood that have been accumulating at the forefront of my mind start flooding back, and an incredulous headache takes over, almost as if someone bangs on my head. Voices are heard behind me, but I’m too far away to understand what’s happening around me. I feel nothing. No pain, no sadness, no frustration. I have become an empty shell without content, something one can easily dispose of as it’s not of use anymore.
Before me, I see blood, masses of blood clinging to every nook and cranny. A red liquid fills the closet I’m suddenly sitting in. I feel someone grab me, a dark voice calling my name, but all I hear is that melancholy melody from outside the confined space. Someone tugs me closer to them, carrying me somewhere and out of the bloodied room. I know that body today more than before, but my mind cannot comprehend who it is even though my heart recognizes his.
His presence brings stillness to my troubled mind, and the demons in my head are silenced by the ones in his. Like two pieces of a puzzle, our souls fit together.
The piano melody that plays in my mind is haunting, trapping me in a state of misery, as if I’m destined to forever be imprisoned by it. An agonizing scream rips from my throat as I transfer to a time long before my life turned to hell.
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“DO YOU THINK SHE knows?”
The voices around me bounce off the walls until I can no longer distinguish between what’s real and what’s not. Everything around me is dark. It’s an endless darkness with no light on the other side. A room without walls intended to trap someone. My heart beats intensely inside my chest, a reminder that I’m alive, otherwise, I would have feared something else was happening. Everything hurts, and I drift in and out of consciousness.
“No, she doesn’t remember.”
Remember what? I want to scream at them, but it’s like I don’t exist in a room full of people, and their presence sends discomfort through my vessels.
“Good, keep making sure she eats.”
What food? The problem is that no one acknowledges me, and I am stuck in a spiral of not knowing that will forever break me into smaller pieces, day by day, as I go along. The voices seem close yet distant, and I can’t clarify my vision as I try to determine if I’m awake or still dreaming. My mind slips into darkness, and the last thing to break through is the harsh sound of the door closing.
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BACK TO SQUARE FUCKING one.
The room I’m in has pale pink walls, emitting a gentle, warm glow that comforts the otherwise clinical atmosphere of the multiple hospital-like beds. In the room, the draperies are hung in squares and cover every bed, but now they are all drawn, and I’m the only person inside the space. The ceiling lamps emit such strong light that I have to squint my eyes as I get out of bed. The outside world is dull and rainy, so the lamps are the only things that keep the room from being swallowed by shadows. There is a desk in one corner with papers, a rolling chair, and nothing particularly personal. A nurse sits in the chair, and the wrinkles around her eyes speak of her years of experience and age. My groan reverberates as the pounding intensifies, causing her to turn her head in my direction.
“Oh great, you’re awake.” Her smile beams, showing a dimple on her chubbier left cheek.
The white coat draped over her black sweater and skinny jeans, along with the stethoscope hanging around her neck, gives her the unmistakable look of a nurse.
“How long?” I croak a feeble question, desperate to know how long I’ve been unconscious.
I’m completely lost, and the minutes feel extended and warped.
“One week, dear. We kept you sedated because you woke up every now and then, frustratedly screaming in a frenzy. Looks like you’re out of it now, wouldn’t you say?”
After a long and intense moment looking into her eyes, I slowly nod, feeling unsure. As of today, it has been approximately three months since I first awakened in the basement of this place, becoming the victim of the curse Dankworth Institute beholds. To be precise, eighty-five days since then, and my memory still hasn’t returned.
The nurse takes out a watchstrap and secures it around my radial artery before using the stethoscope to listen for my pulse. I feel the chill of the material against my skin, sending goosebumps across my body.
“I’m just checking your vitals before I can send you back to your room. We will put you on medication and get your sessions with Dr. Lewis back. Mr. Ricci does not need to meet you anymore.”
Her voice is calm as she speaks, and when she removes the stethoscope, she nods her head as if having an inner monologue.
“Everything looks great.”
The nurse rolls back toward her desk and scribbles something down on a piece of paper before handing it to me. Blue ink swirls around the words on the note, leaving me in a state of confusion.
“Give this to Dr. Lewis. It’s the medicine for your anxiety.”
It’s how she said it that sets off alarm bells inside of me, a pounding that desperately tries to get my attention, and fear becomes a tangible, living force engulfing and immobilizing me, as though some hungry beast creeps across my brain. If it is medication for my anxiety, why does she prescribe it and not an actual psychologist?
There is no way in hell I will take the medication, but I have to pretend. Who knows what kind of shit they would try to stuff me with, no fucking thanks.
Nothing about this encounter makes me feel better, and the crippling feeling inside me turns into one of paranoia.
At that moment, I realize the smile she’s flashing me is not genuine. She seems to be hiding something behind her eyes, and her expression gives off a feeling of artifice. It’s a smile I have seen on far too many people’s faces. One my mother gave me before abandoning me strapped to a hospital bed. While trying to keep my attention on the present and not my past, I feel my body trembling.
