Page 28 of Ethereally Tainted

The dream from the night before lingers in my mind, intensifying until I can feel the chill of the cold sweat on my forehead, making my brown hair stick to my face. In my dream, I watched as a nurse entered my room and heard the metallic clanking of the straps as they were tightly secured around me. I remember Emilio Ricci being in my dream too. The events of the night before seemed so vivid when I woke up this morning, yet reality met me with the cold truth. For many seconds, I am rooted in this spot, feeling the heat of Ray’s gaze on my fragile skin, a reminder that I am still that; a broken, fragile doll, even if I’m not at Grimhill Manor anymore.

I will never be free.

As I take in my surroundings, the walls appear to spin until I can make out a few dark, pinpoint shapes floating in my sight, pricking my eyeballs.

A woman.

Mr. Ricci.

Needles.

Screaming.

Panic swirls in my mind in an endless tornado, and I watch as Ray puts his hand above the holster, where handcuffs hang low. He is preparing himself to use them on me, and the thought of being trapped once again sets me on edge. I take a step back, and he takes a step forward, pinning me down with a gaze that sends razor blades slicing through me.

The master.

His knife is in his hand.

It’s dripping with blood.

My thigh is scarred.

Memories keep piling up in my mind, and all I want to do is sink down to the ground six feet below. Ray grabs the handcuffs and threatens to secure them around my wrists, though his face is full of concern as he looks at me. I take a deep breath, feeling claustrophobic as I remember the sensation of being strapped down.

The truth crashes down on me. It wasn’t a dream. It actually happened. I was immersed in something, something I could truly hear, see, and feel, and it was terrifying.

What the hell is this place?

While I desperately survey my surroundings, my eyes frantically move around the room in an attempt to absorb every detail. At the ceiling are two signs, one with the word “Cafeteria” and an arrow pointing in the direction you should go, and the other with “Reception” written in bold, dark letters. There’s no sign of the room they took me to during the night.

In the dream, I vividly remember how I sat in a chair, strapped to it while they collected blood from me and divided it into several different samples. It was an unknown room, but still a place that must have been inside the institute. But where is that room now?

I hesitate, wondering if I should tell Ray all that happened, but would he allow me to explain? He’ll likely laugh in my face and throw me into a padded room for being crazy. I tilt my head in Ray’s direction to let him know all is well before smiling faintly.

“I’m fine,” I mutter, watching his bushy eyebrows raise in suspicion, but he doesn’t comment on that and leads me down the hall.

We turn to the right before moving down the hallway of wing three, feeling the sound of our light footsteps as if they were a thunderous roar. In a few steps, we come across a sign that says “Wing 4,” guiding us until we reach a door. A sudden wave of people move through the corridor, and I hear the loud thud of doors being shut as they rush in and out of their rooms. There is a distant sound of someone screaming in agony, resonating through the air, but I do my best to keep it away, trying to save myself from being consumed by its frantic energy. Ray knocks three times on the wooden door we are standing in front of, and within seconds, the door glides open soundlessly.

As soon as I inhale, the pungent smell of burnt coffee assaults me, and I can’t help but scrunch my nose in revulsion. The pungent smell of coffee has always been too much for me. A hand is put on my back, gently shoving me inside before the door closes, and I stand like a deer on a highway before carefully looking around.

A woman in her forties is standing in front of me with a white shirt and collar open. Her back is in a straight posture and vibrates how professional she is–or at leasttriesto be. The smile she gives me is one I have not experienced in a long time, a warm smile that promises warmth and love. A smile that my grandparents used to give me every time they picked me up from school in greetings. Their smile was as warm as my father’s.

Oh, how I miss him.

Whenever he crosses my mind, it’s like a sharp, jagged blade is slowly and painfully turning in my chest. They say time heals all wounds, but that’s not true because the wound from losing him has been etched on me for thirteen years.

“Welcome,” she smiles, motioning me to an armchair angled in front of a large desk.

This room is different from Ricci’s, which contrasted starkly with this room’s comforting, homey atmosphere. It reminds me of days when I sat huddled on the couch, watching TV and embracing the comforting silence. I sink into the armchair, allowing my fingertips to feel the velvety, soft material under my thumbs like I’m petting a soft animal.

The sweet smell of lemon fills the room as I focus my attention on the woman in front of me, forgetting the nurse from my nightmare–or reality. Warm colors spread around the space, everything from green plants on the walls to the red patterned carpet in the middle of the room. When I gaze upon it, I am amazed by the vibrant, dazzling array of colors, something I haven’t seen in a long time.

I hear the creaking of springs beneath the woman’s weight as she settles into the armchair opposite me. She sits before me with a notepad in her hands, drumming a pen against her palm in a silent rhythm.

I hate meeting new people; even if she seems kind, no one ever is. Anyone can put up a good act, but everyone is just as corrupted beneath all the fake layers.

You need to smooth out the skin on your foot.A voice in my head tells me, the urge to rip off my socks fills me with a primal urge, yet I can’t when I see her staring intently at me.

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