by Amy Cross
She nods, but I can tell there's something she's holding back.
“So he's rotting in jail, right?” I continue. “Please, tell me the bastard is never gonna see the light of day again. Better yet, tell me he drove straight into a tree after hitting me.”
“We'll get to all that later,” she replies. “Right now, you need to focus on getting better, not on getting angry.”
I open my mouth to tell her to shut up, but suddenly an image floods my mind. I see myself stepping out of a shack in the woods, turning to lock the door. For a moment the image seems like it doesn't quite fit, like it's from someone else's life or from a TV show, before I remember the image of a girl shivering naked at the bottom of a pit. I pause, convinced that I'm imagining the whole thing, but finally I realize that it's definitely a memory of something that really happened.
Glenda.
Glenda...
Damn, what was her surname again?
Rabindale.
“Glenda,” I whisper.
“What was that?” Alison asks.
Feeling a wave of panic filling my chest, I turn to her. For a few seconds, I search her expression for any hint that she might know the truth, but all I see is the usual innocent, slightly naive look in her eyes. “Has anyone come asking about me?”
“Lots of people have been worried,” she replies. “Do you have any idea how popular and -”
“What about the police?” I glance at the door, half expecting to see an officer standing guard. My heart is racing with panic at the realization that I've been completely out of action for the best part of half a year. Jesus Christ, anything could have happened in that time!
“The police got involved very early on,” Alison explains. “The driver initially fled from the scene, but -”
“Not him!” I snap. “What about -”
Stopping myself before I can say too much, I stare at Alison and see the expression of pure bemusement in her eyes. I have no idea what has been happening during the two years since I was knocked down by that driver, but one thing's clear: by some miracle, no-one has connected me to the disappearance of those girls. God knows how that can be possible, but Alison is terrible at keeping secrets and I can tell that she's not holding anything major back, at least not about the shack or the girls who went missing. As usual, she's completely oblivious.
“So I've just been here?” I ask cautiously, as the sense of panic starts to recede. “I've just been in this bed, unconscious, and the world has been running along just fine without me?”
“Hard to believe, huh?”
“It's...” I pause, and I can't help smiling at the thought of the cops still investigating those disappearances and not getting any closer to the truth. It's hard to fathom their stupidity, but I guess I covered my tracks pretty well and there was probably some luck involved too. “Jesus,” I whisper, before letting out a sigh. “Two years and...” I can't help laughing as I think about how much I used to sneak about, constantly worried that I was about to be caught. And now? Now it seems I can go into a goddamn coma for two years, and the cops still can't catch up. “Oh God, that's priceless,” I continue. “That's really priceless. Those dumb fucks...”
“Here's what you're going to do,” Alison continues after a moment, squeezing my hand. “You're going to stay in this bed until the doctors tell you it's time to leave. You're not going to rush things, you're not going to be cranky, you're just going to obey orders and be the nicest, friendliest patient in the history of the world.”
“I am?” I ask skeptically.
“You are,” she says firmly.
I want to argue with her, but I know there's no point. “Fine,” I mutter, “then I'll just -”
Suddenly there's movement in the doorway, and I turn to see half a dozen police officers storming into the room with their guns aimed at me. In the blink of an eye the room has become dark, and red laser-sights burn through the air, criss-crossing my bed as I try to sit up. Voices are shouting all around me, and a moment later there's a brief, blinding light at the window as a helicopter swoops in low. Hearing people running upstairs, I look at the ceiling and realize that the helicopter must have landed on the roof to deliver even more armed men.
“Brian Carter?” one of the cops asks, stepping closer to me with his gun aimed straight at my face..
I turn to him. “What -”
“You're under arrest for the torture and murder of eight women. Myra Dugdale, Sarah Jones, Mary -”
“This is some kind of a mistake!” I shout.
“Brian?” Alison asks, turning to me. “What's going on? Why are they saying these awful things about you?”
“These men are insane!” I continue, trying not to panic as I wait for them to make their next move. “There's not one shred of evidence connecting me to anything, this is just some kind of desperate fishing exercise that they're hoping might spook me into -”
“He's resisting!” the first cop shouts, before firing at me, shooting me in the chest.
I slump back, gasping for air as the others open fire, peppering my body with bullets that burst straight through my body and into the mattress beneath. I try to cry out, but more and more bullets are blasting through me and my body is jerking violently with the constant spray of gunfire.
“Brian?”
“I love you!” I try to tell her, but there's too much blood in my mouth. “I'm not a bad person, I just made a deal and I had to uphold my side! Don't believe the worst about me!”
“Brian?”
Gasping again, I turn to Alison and see the concerned look in her eyes. After a moment, I realize there's no pain in my chest at all. When I look down, there's no sign of the bullet wounds, and when I turn to the door I realize the cops are nowhere to be seen. The room is bright again, and one of the nurses smiles at me as she pushes a trolley past.
“What's wrong, honey?” Alison asks, squeezing my hand again. “You seemed like you were really out of it for a moment there.”
“I...” Taking a deep breath, I can't help feeling that my subconscious mind just served up a glimpse of what'll happen if I sit around in this hospital like a good little boy. The cops might be dumb, but they'll catch up to me eventually when they finally get their oafish brains into gear.
“Brian -”
“I'm getting out of here,” I mutter, starting to rip the electrode patches from my chest. “I'm getting out of this fucking, stinking hospital right now, and there's not a man in the world who can stop me!”
III
“You won't change my mind!” I hiss, limping across the foyer with Alison and Doctor Lucas hurrying after me. “This is still a free country, isn't it? You can't keep me in this hospital like some kind of prisoner! I haven't done anything wrong!”
“Honey,” Alison replies, “please, you're obviously scared, but -”
“Scared?” I shout, forcing a smile. “For God's sake, why would I be scared? I'm just ready to get on with my life!”
“You need to listen to the doctors!”
“Am I going to die?” I ask, stopping and turning to Doctor Lucas. I'm fully aware that my hospital gown is flapping open at the rear, but right now I don't give a damn. “If I walk out of here tonight and go home, am I in imminent danger of death?”
“Mr. Carter -”
“Am I going to keel over? Am I going to start vomiting and screaming, only to die a painful, miserable death on my bathroom floor?” I wait for him to reply. I can see the exasperation on his face, but that's nothing compared to my own anger right now. I have to get the hell out of here. “Is there a danger that my head is going to fall apart,” I continue, “or that my heart will stop?”
“Not specifically, no -”
“So I don't need to be in this shitty hospital!”
He sighs.
“See?” I continue, turning and smiling at Alison. “These doctors are all the same. 'He just wants me here so he can rack up my bill. He's probably gotten quite used to my insurance company po
nying up a nice chunk of change every month over the past couple of years.”
“That's absolutely untrue,” Doctor Lucas replies. “Mr. Carter, you woke from a coma less than twelve hours ago, you've been unconscious for two years, your body -”
“Is fine,” I snap, even though I know it's not remotely true. I feel weaker than I ever thought possible, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let them see that. “My body is... getting back to normal,” I continue. “I'm a fit man, I've always stayed in shape. Give me a few months and I'll be back on top form again.”
“If you won't think about your own health,” Doctor Lucas continues, “then think about your wife. By discharging yourself like this, you're placing an enormous burden on her shoulders. She's not trained as a care-giver, she doesn't know how best to -”
“She's fine,” I reply. “Look at her. She's a smart cookie.”
“Brian,” Alison says with a hint of fear in her voice, “please listen to the doctor. He's only trying to help, he wants you to go a little slower with your recovery. It's for your own good!”
“I've spent two years in that hospital bed,” I continue, taking a step back on my unsteady legs and almost tumbling over in the process. Reaching out, I steady myself against a yucca plant. “Two years! Do you have any idea what that's like?”
“You weren't conscious,” Alison points out.
“Not technically,” I reply, “but my body still feels... turgid! Jesus Christ, I could spend another six months here, receiving physio and treatment, but nothing is as good for me as getting back out there into the real world and moving on with my life!” For a moment, I think back to that vivid hallucination of police storming into the room. I can never explain any of that to another living soul, but I know deep down that I can't risk sitting around here. The hallucination was some kind of warning, and it's only a matter of time before the police show up. I just have to hope that I still have time to fix the situation. “I have to get back to normality,” I stammer, feeling a fresh wave of exhaustion in my chest. “I just... I have to. You can't stop me.”
“You can come back at any time,” Doctor Lucas replies.
“Whatever.”
“Someone needs to sign the release papers,” he continues. “Mr. Carter, you or your wife -”
“She can do it,” I mutter, waving them both away. “Honey, go to the desk and sign whatever's necessary, I'll be waiting here.”
Alison steps toward me. “Brian, please -”
“This is my choice,” I tell her, even though there are tears in her eyes. “Please, Ally, I need your support right now, not your complaints. I'll be absolutely fine once we get home.”
I can tell she disagrees, but I also know that she won't push the matter too much.
“What do I need to sign?” she asks, turning to Doctor Lucas.
As they head to the desk to get all the paperwork done, I turn and stagger toward the exit. The automatic doors slide open and I immediately feel a blast of cool air blowing against me, causing my hospital gown to flutter in the breeze. Limping outside, I stop and lean against the wall, taking deep, relieved breaths as I realize that I'm finally out of this infernal hospital. I don't remember a damn thing from the two years I spent in that bed, but I know deep down with every fiber of my body that I can't stay here.
I have to pick up my work.
I have to continue, I have to -
Suddenly I realize that the world has changed around me. When I look toward the hospital's parking lot, I find instead that I'm leaning against the wall in what appears to be some kind of huge store. I blink and in an instant the darkness becomes the bright electric light of a supermarket. Aisles of cheap tat run as far as the eye can see, under brilliantly white lights that hang down from the high ceiling. Still in my hospital gown, I take a few steps forward, struggling to stay upright on my emaciated legs, but when I get to the nearest intersection I realize that I can hear someone running nearby. I look both ways, but there's no sign of anyone. It's as if something plucked me out of the hospital parking lot and dropped me down in this store.
“Alison?” I call out, worried that I'm experiencing some kind of mental implosion. I blink, hoping to find myself back at the hospital, but nothing changes.
Stumbling forward, I make for the farthest end of this aisle, where the lights seem to have been switched off, granting blessed relief from the all-encompassing brightness. I have to lean against the shelves to support my weight, and after a moment I lean a little too heavily and end up shoving boxes of plastic garbage onto the floor. Stumbling over the mess, I keep going until I get to the darker end of the aisle, where I stop for a moment and try to get my breath back.
“Alison!” I shout, my voice sounding pained and weak. “Where the hell are you, woman? What's going on? How did I get here?”
I turn and look back, but this time I have to shield my eyes from the lights. They seem to be getting brighter with every passing second.
Making my way further into the darker part of the store, I can barely stay on my feet as I reach the next intersection and look around, trying to work out what the hell is happening and where I'm supposed to go next. Maybe I was wrong to discharge myself from the hospital after all, maybe these hallucinations are the side-effect of some drug that's been pumped into my body.
“Alison!” I scream. “For -”
Stopping suddenly, I realize there's a figure at the end of this aisle, sitting on the floor and sobbing with her back to the wall. As I take a step closer, I see that it's a young woman wearing an orange t-shirt with a BarraBuy logo stamped across the front, and she has a rifle resting on her knees as she covers her face with her hands, weeping with such uncontrollable force that her whole body is shuddering. I approach a little further before stopping and waiting for her to hear me, but she seems not to have noticed that I'm here at all.
“What is this place?” I ask finally, my voice trembling with shock. “Who are you?”
No reply. She just continues to sob.
“What am I doing here?” I continue, trying not to let my fear boil over. “Can you please tell me what the hell is going on? Is this...”
Suddenly a terrible thought strikes me. As I look around at the shelves, I can't help noticing that the lights seem brighter than ever.
“Heaven?” I whisper, feeling a sense of panic in my chest. “No, this can't be heaven, I can't...”
For a moment, I imagine myself dead on the ground in the parking lot while my dying mind is lifted up to the afterlife. Then again, as I glance around, I can't help wondering why the afterlife would be the kind of trashy out-of-town store that I usually avoid. Besides, there's also the not inconsiderable matter of the girls I've kidnapped and dragged into the forest, in which case it's hard to believe I'd get a straight pass to heaven. More like...
“Hell?” I stammer, taking a step back. Glancing at the boxes of detergent on the shelves all around me, I feel a cold sense of fear starting to build in my chest. “No,” I continue, “it can't be. I'm not dead, I...”
Looking at the girl again, I realize she must have the answers.
“You!” I say firmly. “Who are you, and what the fuck am I doing here?”
I wait, and slowly she lifts her head and looks at me. Her eyes are red-raw with tears and her bottom lip is trembling. After a moment I realize that she's whispering something under her breath, but I can't quite make the words out so I step closer again.
“What was that?” I ask. “Speak up, damn it.”
She continues, but her voice is still too soft.
Sighing, I crouch down in front of her. She has a finger on the rifle's trigger but it's pointing away, toward one of the nearby shelves.
“Now listen here,” I say firmly, “I don't know who you are or how I ended up here, but I need answers and I need them now. What kind of -”
Suddenly she lunges at me and screams.
Falling back, I reach out and try to push her away, only to suddenly feel a blast of col
d air as I find that I'm back in the hospital's parking lot. Behind me, the hospital's front door swooshes open and I hear footsteps running closer.
“Brian?” Alison says, sounding confused. “Oh my God, what's wrong, what are you doing on the floor?”
She reaches down to help me, but I push her away as I get to my feet. Stepping back, I look around for any hint of the girl or the store, but all I see is a mostly empty parking lot nestled beneath a starless sky. I turn and look back into the hospital, but everything seems completely normal.
“I...” Turning to Alison, I realize that if I tell her I hallucinated, I'll only set her off nagging again. “I'm fine,” I say finally, taking a deep breath, “just... I was just overwhelmed with sheer... joy at the feeling of being part of the world again, you know?”
“Joy?” she replies, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “You?”
“A man can change, can't he?” I ask, before realizing that I already know the answer. No, of course a man can't change, not on a basic, fundamental level. “Can we just get to the car, please?” I continue. “I assume you've settled the paperwork with that officious little prick back there?”
“The car's in sector A,” she replies, reaching out to take my hand. “Here, let me help you and -”
“I don't need that,” I mutter, turning and limping toward the large, illuminated A sign nearby. “I'm not a child and I'm not an invalid, and I sure as hell don't intend to be coddled like I'm some sort of... retard!”
“Brian -”
“We're going home!” I say firmly, hoping to end the discussion. Spotting her car up ahead, I limp over and stop at the driver's side door, before realizing that I should probably let her take the wheel for once. Limping around to the other side, I wait impatiently while she comes over and starts rooting through her pockets for the keys.
Glancing over my shoulder, I look back toward the main building. I guess that girl was just some kind of ridiculous hallucination, something to put out of my mind. My brain is probably still marinading in all the drugs they pumped into me, so it's no wonder a few neurons are firing off a bunch of random thoughts. I'm sure everything'll settle by tomorrow morning.
