Page 15 of Wicked Games

Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I immediately curled my feet back after they encountered ice-cold concrete.

What the hell was going on here?

My bedroom had carpet.

Oh, fuck! Was I not even in my own room?

What the hell happened last night anyway?

Gritting my teeth as my feet once more touched the cold, hard floor, I began to tentatively walk around the room; arms outstretched, I felt my way through the darkness.

Nothing felt familiar.

My fingers traced the outline of what felt like a cinder block wall. The room was very small, almost like a cell. As my eyes slowly started to adjust to the darkness, I thought I could only make out the white sheets of a small twin bed. There was no other furniture in the room.

Panicking, my palms slid along the wall, searching for a door. I encountered smooth cold metal. Blindly reaching down, I felt for a handle.

It was locked.

I began to pound on the door.

“Let me out of here! Hello! Hello! Is anyone there?”

After several minutes, I could hear footsteps on the other side of the door. I stood back as I heard the scrape of a key. The door swung open and a woman stepped inside.

She was dressed in some kind of old-fashioned black gown with her hair piled high on top of her head in a tight chignon. Holding up a candle to look into my face, she scolded, “You stop these hysterics straight away, Lady Larkin, or I’ll have to summon the doctor!”

What?

“What are you talking about? I’m not Lady Larkin. My name is Lizzie Larkin. Where am I?”

“You know perfectly well you are at St. George’s Hospital, my lady. These hysterics will not be tolerated. If you do not compose yourself, I will summon the doctor for a cold therapy session.”

“Wait… I know you! You’re that homeless woman who sits on the corner near the theater!”

She looked different standing up with a clean face but I recognized the bulbous, slightly misshapen nose and her watery gray eyes. “It is you!”

“I have never been homeless in all my days. How dare you make such an accusation toward a hard-working, God-fearing woman such as myself!” she fired back, her voice quivering with rage.

“You’re fucking crazy. Let me the fuck out of here,” I screamed as I started toward her.

For an older woman, she moved surprisingly fast. As she took a step back into the hall, the metal door was slammed in my face and locked tight before I could find the door handle in time.

“Let me the fuck out of here!” I yelled as I pounded on the door.

“Such blasphemous language! The doctor will hear of this!” she admonished through the door.

I watched as the sliver of light cast by the candle disappeared from under the door.

Pacing the room, I tried desperately to focus. Try as I might, panic and the aftereffects of alcohol or maybe even some drug muddled my memories of last night.

The Cosmo. I remembered the Cosmo. With a gasp, I also remembered Mike encouraging me to take a specific Cosmo from his hand. Had it been drugged? Was this Mike’s doing? His idea of a joke? He was known for liking to play little practical jokes on the rest of the cast but usually it was stuff like putting real brandy in a prop cup instead of iced tea so the actor had no choice but to drink it while on stage or changing out a portion of your costume for something that was too big or too small. Harmless pranks.

I knew he had a small crush on me and I was often a focus of his pranks as a rather childish way to get my attention, but this was taking things way too far.

Seriously? Drugging my drink? Hiring a homeless woman to play some kind of deranged jail keeper? He had definitely taken this prank too far. I was going to kill him when I got out of here. And if Jane was in on it, I was going to kill her too!

With renewed anger, I began to pound on the door again. “Mike, if you’re out there, this isn’t fucking funny! Open this door, now! Jane?”

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