Page 6 of Revenant

If only that was one of my abilities.

My father would’ve been my first victim.

If I could send the ghosts after him, I would do it in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, my reach is only so far. Even if the ghosts could leave the grounds, they would fade from existence when they ran out of juice, eventually reappearing back at the hospital in a few days.

My plastic tray clatters in the bin when I drop it off, and I reluctantly join the line near the nurse’s station.

Drug time.

I grimace and scratch my scalp. My feet twitch with the need to shove to the head of the line to claim my next fix…or maybe run screaming from the room. I’m not sure which. I fought the nurses at the first hospital, which only gained me bruises and a shot full of sedatives strong enough to knock out a horse for my trouble, not to mention days of being a walking zombie.

Though the drugs are an escape from this hellish existence, the oblivion never lasts. Waking up over and over to this fresh hell is worse each time. My skin crawls at the thought of being so vulnerable again.

To top it off, being drugged effectively steals my ability to speak, leaving me unable to communicate with the ghosts. That doesn’t mean they leave me alone. Unable to ward myself, I shine like a beacon in the dark for them, and they swarm the hospital. The memory of waking up in the asylum for the first time still has me breaking out into a cold sweat.

As I shuffle along the line, I absently scratch at my arm, my skin irritated with all the various drugs they’ve been pumping into me. Maybe I should try harder to escape, but why? Though I’m locked away in my room for twenty-plus hours a day, I’m allowed more freedom here than when I was growing up. I’m fed regularly. The beatings are mild in comparison to my father’s wrath. And even better, my father has limited access to me.

Sure, there are drawbacks, such as no computers, no school, no contact with the outside world, but maybe that’s not a bad thing. Neither people nor the outside world have been particularly kind to me. Besides the few short weeks I spent with my nan, I’m doing better here than when I was growing up under my father’s thumb.

I purposely don’t think about the guys, their absence like a gaping black hole in my soul as it tries to suck away my will to live. No, it’s better this way. Any connection with them was doomed from the start. I should’ve known better than to allow myself to become attached.

That doesn’t mean I don’t miss the assholes.

Their absence burrows deeper each day, leaving a cavernous ache in my chest that never seems to disappear, like I’m unable to fill my lungs with enough air.

“Next!” the nurse behind the counter barks, then visibly flinches when I step forward. Though we’re separated by a thick plastic barrier full of hundreds of scratches from years of abuse, she eyes me warily as she shoves a tiny paper condiment cup through the small slot.

I grab the pills, dump them into my palm, and my eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

Two aspirins.

No drugs.

I’m immediately suspicious and hesitate only briefly before tossing them back. I snatch up the small daisy cup of water fromthe tray next to the counter, swallow the contents in one gulp, then open my mouth for her to view.

She barely glances at me before looking over my shoulder and shrilly barks, “Next!”

They’ve been weaning me off the drugs for days now, and I’m not sure why.

It can’t mean anything good.

Then I remember Dallas telling me about my first appointment with the infamous doctor in charge, and a chill, much like death’s touch, slithers down my spine. I’ve been in enough hospitals now that I know it’s never a good thing when doctors take an interest. Feeling like I’m being led to the gallows, I drag my feet as I head toward the far door leading into the medical wing of the hospital. As I approach, the door releases an annoying prison screech as the locks disengage. I automatically reach for it and pull it open.

Then I pause when I’m greeted by an empty hallway.

Fuck.

Not good.

Patients aren’t allowed anywhere without supervision. I can only imagine my punishment if I’m caught. A sterile white hallway greets me, the music over the speakers almost soothing, if it wasn’t so annoying. The paintings on the walls are nailed down. The windows have bars over them and chicken wire embedded into the glass. There are three office doors on each side of the hallway before the passageway splits off in opposite directions.

It does not give off a welcoming vibe.

Trap!

I glance up at the camera in the corner. Someone must have unlocked the door for me, but the steady blinking red light offers no further instructions. Taking a deep breath, I step into the hallway. The door seals shut behind me with a heavy clank. Istartle, jumping a few inches off the ground, then shiver at the ominous sound. It feels like an omen, and I can’t dismiss the fear that I will never be leaving again.

Just as I step forward, a harried doctor turns the corner. His thin, light brown hair is meticulously groomed, the strands greasy where they sweep over his head. His skin is pale and blotchy, like he’s spent too much time out in the wind. He’s tall and painfully thin, his clothes hanging slack on his narrow frame. His jacket is open and flapping behind him. Though his khakis and shirt are nice, they are slightly askew, like he’s been wrestling with them.

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