by Zoe Parker
A soft chuckle drifts out, and I turn to look at him, frowning. I swear it’s almost like the dude can read my thoughts. “Your face is so open, and I’ve had years of practice reading them,” he says in a voice that’s incredibly deep for a geriatric Casanova.
Brett grabs my upper arm and forces me to look at him. I grab his hand twisting his last three fingers backward until he yowls in pain and pulls away from me. Now several feet from me he’s giving me dirty looks and nursing his sore hand.
“Touch me again, and I’ll break it,” I say through gritted teeth. All those years of bullying paid off. Mom put me in Krav Maga classes my freshman year in high-school. I made it all the way to the blue belt before the instructor closed the teaching center. I was his only student, and he couldn’t afford to stay open. To be fair, I haven’t kept it up but some things you never forget.
I’m not Bruce Lee, but I won’t go down without breaking or biting something off. That strangely sexy chuckle comes from the dark room once again. Whipping my head around I look to where I know he’s standing.
Do you have wrinkly balls? I ask in my head.
Another chuckle and then he asks, “Are you thinking something naughty, beautiful?”
The bottom of my stomach drops out and I back away from the door. Is he truly that good at reading my face? There’s no way he read my mind. This place… is so fucking off. A home or prison to a sexy man who looks like he’ll crumble to dust any minute and pink winged orderlies. Or a place that pulls out a patient’s teeth. The wall stops my backward journey and Vale; he has a name now, starts walking towards me. Smiling his bloody-gummed smile, he looks inhuman. Those eyes that hold me prisoner flash in the light like a crocodile and give me goosebumps.
“No harm shall come to you here, not from any of us,” he says lifting his hand towards Brett who freezes in place a look of abject fear on his face. Vale stops a scant foot from me and with a look of pure apology, spits in my right eye. The wash of red swirls across my eyeball and then starts to burn, within a second it feels like it’s on fire. Staggering away from him I lift the edge of my shirt to rub it, and the pain only increases.
“What did you do to me?” I demand. Scrubbing at my eye with my shirt. All the fear of what could be in his blood, of what could infect me in my voice.
I was nice to him!
“You’re on your own new girl!” Brett exclaims, and I hear the receding footsteps as the chicken shit runs the other way. Gradually the burning starts to ease, and I can see out my eye again. Maybe? The world is awash in colors. The hallway is a purple color with smoke or fog swirling at my feet. On the wall small black lizards crawl about, some stopping to look at me in curiosity before moving on.
What. The. Fuck.
“You have to fully see to survive this place because once they realize what you can do, they will stop at nothing to make sure you’re in one of these rooms with us.” He’s speaking from above me, and I realize then that I’m sitting on the ground, I have no idea how I got here. When I look up at him, he hands me a white handkerchief. Taking it, I give him a dirty look and wipe my face, wishing that I was near a shower. As I pull the cloth away, I see a smear of blood on it. A lot less than it felt like hit me, still gross though.
“I’ve lost my fucking mind, haven’t I?” Hands covered in paper-thin skin, so soft that I feel like a mere breeze can bruise them, lift me effortlessly to my feet. I immediately step away from him. He spit blood on me…on purpose. He’s probably infected me with God knows what. I realize that I’m shaking and cram my hands in the crooks of my elbows to hide it. I should walk away, I know this, but well—I need to know if I’ve indeed fallen off the deep end. Mostly because there’s a dragon at the end of the hallway looking at me while she paints her talons.
I’m not kidding.
She’s small, about the size of a large dog but unmistakably a dragon; with wings and everything. How I know, it’s a she, that’s the mystery because the painting of one’s nails is not a concrete way to guess. There’s just a feminine air about her, I think? God, I hope they give me some awesome pills when they lock me up in here because I’m pretty sure I freaked out and am imagining this entire thing. Wait, maybe I’m already a patient here and I’ve imagined living in a shed in my mom’s backyard with three birds?
Couldn’t my crazy have provided a better fake life than that?
The sharp slap on my cheek pulls me right out of the rabbit hole I’m falling down. Gritting my teeth again, I slap him back, or I try to—once again I get nothing but air. How does someone so freaking old move so fast? A few feet from me he’s watching me once again in that reptilian way, a smile on his toothless mouth.
“Welcome to the Nothing. Coming here is something a normal human can’t do. You did showing me your true nature, but your eyes were not opened enough to this world, and that put you in danger,” he explains hurriedly, in a loud whisper, his eyes intent on me.
Logic reasserts itself, thankfully. “Okay, I’m sorry—I need to go call someone. I’m just the maid; you need the doctor.” He rolls his eyes at me. A man that’s so old he has jowls just rolled his eyes at me AFTER spitting blood in my eye. I turn to walk in the general direction of the main room someone there can deal with this. I clean rooms and feed them. I don’t deal with their… issues.
Stepping around the skeleton dressed in striped pajamas staring at me I say, “Excuse me.” Then keep walking. I’m all the way at the end of the hallway when I realize what I did. Shit. Vale chuckles again, and I look over my shoulder at him. He’s standing there one hand gripping the wall watching me with swirls of shifting colors undulating around him.
My head hurts from my left eye trying to adjust to the new vision of my right one. Wait, what? Covering my right eye, I look at Vale. He still looks a bit odd for an old man, but there’s no smoke, no skeleton—no dragon. Colorful flickers yes, but not the full-on movie. Switching eyes, I clench my jaw, all the weird stuff is back. I drop my hand, the eye he spit in is the one I see all this stuff with. If it were drugs, I’d be seeing things out of both eyes, if it were hallucinations, the same.
What else could they be but hallucinations?
“Survive, Melantha. I’ll see you at meal time.” With that doom and gloom shit said he ducks back into his room, leaving me standing there with a skeleton who shrugs at me then starts shuffling back down the hallway.
How the fuck did he know my name? Freaked out and with more speed than I should probably be using indoors, I hoof it towards the main room. When I finally get there, I’m huffing and puffing from exertion. I’m pretty sure at one point in time I was flat out running. The nurse looks up from her desk and sneers at me.
“See something scary new girl?” Why does everyone keep calling me girl? I’m almost 40 freaking years old.
I open my mouth to tell her that Vale spit in my eye, but something stops me. Maybe it’s the way that the skin on her face is fluttering or how the smile she has isn’t real at all. It’s a smile of confirmation. She knows and is expecting me to rant about monsters. Why does the surety that telling her will put me in danger fill my stomach?
I can’t believe I’m letting the warning I got from a toothless old man who spit on me affect my judgment, but there it is just the same. “Spider! Big fucking spider!” I exclaim waving my hands around as I turn and walk towards the locker holding my Chinese food. I feel like eating something, it’s the only normal part of this day, and I’m determined to have that.
Connie heads me off outside of the lounge.
“Mel, I was told you might be heading this way,” she pauses, “Brett said you met Vale for the first time.” I look up at her, way up which is funny considering that when I met her earlier, she was shorter. And wow, gossip travels super-fast in this place. That was a whole ten minutes ago.
“What else did Brett say? Anything about him running like a scared little girl?” I say. Connie laughs, and her pose relaxes.
“I figured you were planning on packing up that pitiful
lunch of yours and running home yourself,” she says giving me a hard look.
“Maybe, I haven’t made up my mind yet. I wanted to eat first because the chewing helps me think,” I answer honestly and perhaps somewhat stupidly; however, it’s nothing but the truth. When I eat, I think while I chew.
“You’re an honest one, but you’re here because you were meant to be.” She leans forward and pats my shoulder. “Well, I’m not going to let you eat that cold garbage, come along. I have some food you can eat while I get their meals together.” Oh, that’s right I need to give out trays which means going right back to Vale.
Why does that make me feel afraid and excited at the same time? Seriously need to shut my head in the door.
Chapter Seven
No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings.
William Blake
I stare down at the ID card that Connie gave me to get onto the third floor. The “high security” wing she called it and then mumbled something about how they “couldn’t pay her enough to go up there.”
That’s reassuring, right?
And the picture on it. I’m not even looking towards the camera. I had no idea when they took it, but here it is in all its glory, gaping mouth and all. I let it fall back against my chest and start pushing the tray cart again. It’s a big silver monstrosity that’s exactly like the ones you see in the hospitals, but it doesn’t look like it’ll hold the food for 111 rooms. Connie reassured me it will and sent me on my way.
My job isn’t to tell her what to do, in fact, it’s the other way around entirely.
As I push the squeaky thing down the hallway, I ignore the colors and critters I see all over the place. A lot like how I overlooked the horns coming out of Connie’s forehead, they were petite and cute so other than staring at them—which she noticed—I said nothing. It was hard, too. They were bright green, like nuclear green and had this adorable little curl to them. When I shut my right eye all I could see was her happy face and her hair net—no horns.
I also stuffed my face. With warm fresh baked bread and cheese that tasted better than any, I’ve ever had before. I’d bet an arm it was homemade right here. The cherry on the entire meal was the tomato soup. Thick and tangy with the right amount of flavor to make my tongue orgasm with the first spoonful. I had to fight the urge to lick the bowl clean, and that’s after scraping as much of it as I could off with the spoon. I can still feel it happily sloshing around in my belly as I walk. It’s been a long time since food has given me such a satisfied feeling as I have right now. It’s one that puts me right into the rarely visited happy-food-zone. This is a place that I don’t find myself too often, and I plan on enjoying it.
Looking down at the list I have taped in front of me on the cart I see which patient gets fed first. The order is haphazard, showing no priority, it says very clearly to follow the specific order listed, and that order can change daily—something I plan on doing because it’s my first day and I’m not about to get fired this fast.
I’m still adjusting to this weird hallucination thing I have going on. Yeah, I know that I “determined” that it wasn’t a hallucination but what else can it be? The stuff I’m seeing out of my right eye that’s all tinted purple and acid-trippy looking can’t be real, so I’m choosing to ignore it. Every single job I’ve had I’ve lost for one stupid reason or another some of which didn’t make sense, I refuse to quit this one.
I can’t promise it won’t happen sooner rather than later, especially if I keep seeing weird humanoid looking things crawling on the walls with the lizards and spiders. The people are worse, far worse. When I look at some of the residents, it’s like seeing another form superimposed over their human one. I’ve never drunk on the job before, but I’m seriously tempted. Being intoxicated might help me stick with the determination not to quit and check myself into a regular psychiatric ward—one that doesn’t have walls that move.
That’s the thing I’m trying to ignore the most, those breathing walls.
The calm that keeps me moving, and doing the job is not something I expect to remain, considering all the shit going on around me. I should have already run from this place screaming at the top of my lungs for the Ghostbusters, instead I give the man whose face is a maw of shark teeth his tray. On it is one big bowl of pink squiggly meat, a neatly folded napkin, and a spoon. My stomach protests at what I think it is, well, pretty much know it is. I can’t say I’ve ever seen a brain in real life, but I’ve seen plenty on the internet and TV, and I’m pretty sure those are brains in that bowl.
Pausing, I stare down at the next tray in my hands. Blinking at it rapidly, I swallow the bile in my throat. The smell of it is enough to make me swallow again just to keep from adding my vomit to his plate of “spaghetti.” Which has maggots in it and possibly some cockroaches. Live ones why this makes me more nauseous than brains I have no idea. They’re also something I can’t deny seeing, with both eyes. Without looking at the recipient, I’m honestly afraid of what I’ll see, I keep my head down and hand them their tray. Quickly moving onto the next name on the list, swallowing several times to try and keep my stomach from emptying its lovely contents.
When we walked through the first time, all the doors were open and people… ha, people were walking in and out of them freely, but now they’re all closed. Yet, I know they’re all now standing just on the other side watching me so intently that I can feel their hunger.
And the day gets weirder.
I pray to whatever gods are listening for me to make it through the day, so I can get back into the kitchen, where I feel somewhat safe, and think. I really need to think again. I need to analyze myself. Yeah, I’m a little freaked out but accepting this… shit so easily is what I need to think about. When I was young, I used to imagine this kind of stuff in vivid, 3D detail. My imaginary friends were toothy monsters and talking krakens. Basically, things like those that inhabit this place.
It’s almost like I’ve come home, how fucked up is that?
As I go about my task, a shiver runs up my spine, and I make myself stare at the floor to keep from looking behind me, where Vale’s room is. I know he’s standing there watching at me. I have no idea how I know, but I do. That gaze of his is like fingers running across my skin with a bit of scary thrown in. The repulsion that’s clashing with the attraction is something I know is a result of his age, well, mostly because of his age. The fact that I’m attracted to him in some way makes it all creepier and more noticeable.
He’s a walking sack of wrinkles and ointment; I shouldn’t feel anything but the normal sympathy and fear that I feel around senior citizens. Sympathy because I feel bad for how most of them are treated and fear because I know I’ll be them one day. Also, I don’t recall smelling ointment when I stood next to him, more like a sweet, earthy smell. That unique smell you get when you’re digging your garden for spring planting and the dirt smells rich and pure. That’s the closest thing I can think of to compare it to. I love the smell of freshly turned soil which adds to the mess that defines who I am as a person.
Big ole hot mess.
As I walk around from room to room, I can’t help but notice all the pink dragons on parade. And purple. And blue. This thought makes me snort and then kind of chuckle a little as I keep walking. Wasn’t the cute elephant drunk when he saw that? My laughter fades when I realize I’m at the first room of this floor and look up right into the amused gaze of Vale. Vale who’s looking at me like I should be his on his tray. I’m unsure of whether it’s the sexual kind of hunger or the gnawing on my leg kind, but it’s intense whatever it is. When his eyes brighten and he smiles broadly, showing those bloody gums of his, I get my answer.
Both. Without a doubt.
The wash of confusion makes me pause, out of all the things I see today this is by far the most bizarre one. As I stand there, with a puzzled frown on my face, I hold out the tray containing a large Styrofoam cup of red, goopy liquid which I know is pigs’ blood—with a squirt of whippe
d cream on top. With another gummy smile, he says, “You’re still telling yourself it’s hallucinations you see?”
I shrug, “So?” Do I sound defensive? I’m pretty sure I do. Great.
He looks at the cup with a mixture of hunger and repulsion, a strange look to see, but then again, the stuff in the cup doesn’t seem all that appealing. Snatching it up, he sniffs it, then tips it up and starts to down it in loud wet gulps, not even stopping when it runs down his chin to soak into his crisp white scrub shirt. He sits the empty cup down on the tray with enough force that it almost causes me to drop it, he burps softly and twists his red-stained lips in disgust.
“If I had real human blood I would not be in this condition,” he mutters.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I ask, not sure I heard him correctly.
With a sigh, he pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes his mouth. The air around us gets thicker, causing my ears to pop. Directly around me, the air shimmers and I swear it feels like I’m standing in a bubble.
“Soon enough you will accept what you see as truth,” he pauses studying me, then continues, “I must admit that I do regret that I couldn’t take you into this slowly,” he says, stepping towards me. Immediately, I take a step back towards the cart away from the hand he’s holding. He makes a face and drops it to his side. Anger burns bright in his eyes as he says, “With human blood, I would return to my true position and get rid of this ridiculous mortal coil. They withhold that privilege from me to keep me weak and at their mercy in this wretched place. Force me to remain here, to be a prisoner for nothing more than being what I was born to be.” He speaks in that calm tone of voice someone uses to talk about the weather or who’s winning at football. Not about drinking blood and dying.
“Eventually you’d have seen all of us as we are. It would have simply taken too much time and time is not something any of us have. Especially you, because unlike us, you do not have any gifts to protect yourself. You are far too mortal for the abilities you possess, Mel.”
