He pours a glass of water and pulls out
a vial from the cabinet. He pops off the cap and takes one of the pills.
Quetiapine for paranoid delusions. Yeah, they would be paranoid too if someone
was stalking their every move. He
takes a long drink from the glass he just poured, then carefully, he makes his
way into the living room. He has gotten pretty good at navigating the house in
the dark. Its been a week now, since he last dared turn on the lights. All of
the doors are dead bolted, every window locked, and every curtain drawn. He makes
his way to the street facing window, then using two fingers, he gently parts
the curtain just enough that he can peek out.
Sure enough, there it is. Parked across
the street and one house down, a tan Chevrolet. It is too dark to see if– who
is in the car, but he knows. It’s the same car that has been following him all
month. The same girl. The same long brown hair, the same pale skin, and the
same eyes peering at him from every shadow. She does not approach him. She does
not speak to him. She just watches. Taking in every move he makes.
I’ve tried the police, but without a
threat of violence, there is nothing they can do. I’ve tried staying at a hotel
for a week… she was there. I considered trying to catch a mob boss offing
someone just so I could be put in witness protection. Hell, I’d off them myself
if I wasn’t convinced she would be there working at the prison. There is only
one way out of this.
He grabs his keys, fills another glass and
gulps it down, wishing it were vodka instead of tap water. He gets into the car
and turns on the ignition. The garage remains closed; the garage door securely
locked. As the car runs he begins to feel the effects slip over him. Slowly his
senses dull, his eyes holding shut longer with each blink, and just as he
begins to slip into sweet unconsciousness, he hears a banging noise. It’s loud
at first but growing smaller with each second as everything goes silent black.
…
…
…
Faintly he hears a fan. Steadily it grows
louder. Now chatter. People are talking. The fan continues to whir. A dream? He
tries to open his eyes. No use. The voices are nondescript. Suddenly an alarm
begins to sound. He manages to pull his eyes open. They take in light, but he
cannot see. Not yet. Everything is a blur of white and grey. But he can hear
now. Yes. He can hear clearly.
“Code blue. Room 434. Code blue. Room 434.
Code blue. Room 434.”
He is in a hospital. Now his vision is
returning. It’s still blurry, but he tries to focus. Is he alive? Is he dying?
There is a board on the wall opposite him. Focus! Names. Dr. Patel. Nurse Carla.
Room 428. 428. He’s not dying. Not yet anyway. But how did he get here? And is
not dying anything to be celebrating? Well, he is alive for now. One step at a
time. The girl. The girl! She’s here. She is standing in the doorway. He tries
to speak. There is a tube in his throat. How did he not notice that earlier? That’s
not a fan, it’s an oxygen pump. Another alarm sounds. This one is different,
and also closer. It’s coming from one of the machines in his room. He looks
back at the doorway. The girl is gone. Soon a nurse comes in. “You’re finally
awake,” she says with a smile. “You’re a very lucky man, do you know that? The good
Samaritan that saved your life had to bust down your door to get you out of
there. It’s a good thing she was watching over you.
To be continued…
-AMS
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