Page 4 of Revenant

The hauntings—if you want to call them that—would range from something as simple as moving a few items to full-out tormenting the orderlies until they land in a psych ward themselves. Not that I feel even a smidge of remorse. The fuckers deserved it, and I have the bruises to prove it.

The first time the spirits came to my defense, I was as gobsmacked as everyone else.

But maybe I shouldn’t have been.

After years—or even decades—of abuse, they want their own pound of flesh.

I climb to my feet slowly, my joints stiff, my muscles sore. I exercise as much as I can in the limited space, since being physically fit allows a person’s body to heal faster. But the drugs and lack of food are barely enough to keep me functional. Smiling at Dallas, I shuffle toward the door. “Ready as ever.”

“What the fuck happened to you?” Dallas snarls, his face folding into a scowl that rivals a pit bull.

Telling the truth would only stir up trouble for him, and I’m too afraid to lose the small kindness he has shown me in this hellish place. So I stare him dead in the eye and lie my ass off, my voice lacking any inflection. “I cut myself shaving.”

Apparently, only I find myself amusing.

Everyone’s a critic.

Instead of a laugh, a growl rumbles from his massive chest, sounding very much like a grizzly bear. His jaw moves like he’s chewing his molars, but I refuse to relent at his scary boss man face. The battle of wills only lasts a minute before he heaves a sigh, then he steps aside and admits defeat. While he might be stubborn, I’m even more obstinate—a lesson he learned the first day.

As I exit my luxury suite that smells of stale urine and toxic chemicals, he watches me with eyes that miss nothing. He hovers at my back like a giant shadow, waiting to catch me if I falter. I could almost pretend this is what it would feel like to have a big brother. Even though it’s a ridiculous thought, warm fuzzies fill my chest.

It’s the small things in life that keep me going.

My mind conjures up memories of the first time we met. I was admitted to this new facility a little over two weeks ago. After I woke up from the medically induced coma they put me in during transport, I didn’t have long to gain my bearings beforehell week started, where both the patients and the staff do their best to enforce their standing in the hierarchy any way possible, so no one ever forgets who’s boss.

Hell week was pure torture, mine more than most, as I struggled to survive both the living and the dead. With a few new tricks I picked up along the way, everyone quickly learned not to fuck with me. The second week of my stay consisted of solitary confinement—the repercussion for fucking with them.

Sigh.

I’m surprised they didn’t just lock me into solitary, toss the key, and leave me to rot. If not for Dallas, I suspect my stay might not have been so…hospitable. After they pumped me full of drugs and dragged me to my new cell, they left me strapped to a gurney for nearly a full day. The next morning, I woke to find Dallas towering over me. He stood next to my cot with his arms crossed, his legs splayed, his expression harsh.

He has an awesome resting bitch face, and I told him that.

He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. With his plump cheeks and droopy expression, he bore an uncanny resemblance to a hound dog. “Listen here, dollface. I know what you did at those other places.” A full-body shudder passes through him. “Keep your voodoo bullshit to yourself, don’t fuck with me, and I won’t fuck with you. If you can do that, I’ll treat you right.”

Once released from my confinement, none of the other employees would come near me, leaving Dallas permanently assigned to me.

I wasn’t sure I could trust him—I trust no one these days—but the big black man kept his word.

Color me surprised.

I squint as we head down the brightly lit hallway, grimacing when the harsh smell of chemicals burns my nose. After months, I should be used to the stink, but the bleach is too overpowering.Unfortunately, the stench of feces, puke, and urine still haunts the air, like it has bled into the very essence of the building.

Honestly, at this point, the harsh cocktail is all mixed into one toxic mess. It’s seared into my senses, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to smell it again without suffering from a heavy dose of PTSD.

“What’s scheduled for today?” I do my best to disguise my limp, careful not to move my body too much to prevent my ribs from screaming at the abuse they took last night. The injuries will heal soon, anyway, and it wouldn’t do for Dallas to look into the issue. He would either be fired or targeted on my behalf. While we aren’t technically friends, I don’t want to lose the one person who actually gives a shit about his job.

Not that most psychiatric wards are bad. Unfortunately, my father would never risk sending me to a reputable hospital. How could he control me otherwise? No, he’s paying good money to keep me hidden and quiet. We couldn’t have pesky doctors actually doing their jobs. Not only would I be released—probably, anyway, I have my doubts these days—but my father would be the one behind bars.

“Breakfast first, then you have a session with Dr. Hershamn.” Dallas reaches forward with his ginormous arms and scans his badge against the black scanner near the wall. When it beeps, he pulls the door open.

“Doctor Hershamn?” I smile my thanks and duck inside the cafeteria.

“He’s the head of the hospital,” Dallas says, then he rolls his lips and glances over my head with narrowed eyes as he surveys the room for any threats. Honestly, if he weren’t an orderly, I would take him for a bodyguard. When I told him that, he laughed his ass off, claiming he loved his fried chicken too much and wasn’t nearly in shape enough to protect anyone.

As he follows me into the room, he whispers in my ear, “Just be careful. The doctor… He’s not a good man.”

I barely resist rolling my eyes.

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