Page 13 of Ethereally Tainted

Standing, every muscle in my body is too sore while my legs wobble underneath me. It takes me a while before I can walk around, and I feel along the walls, noticing that they are of a thicker and more bare material. Stonewall, I suppose.

As I cautiously step further, cobwebs cling to my skin, and I shudder at the thought of the number of spiders inhabiting this area.

The size of the room is easily discernible when I hear my footsteps echo off the walls in a matter of seconds. My fingers trace the last wall, and I stumble upon something out of the ordinary–a handle.

I move forward, feeling a surge of anticipation, only for it to be snuffed out when the door opens, and my delicate body slams against the rigid surface with a deafening clatter. As I lay on the ground with my mouth wide open, the first thing that catches my attention is the overwhelming brightness of the light coming through the open doorway. It’s a light so intense and dazzling that my eyes have no choice but to shut tight, as if my eyelids hurt from the strain.

With one of my senses turned off for a second, I can feel the antiseptic, bitter smell with the undertones of artificial fragrance contained in soaps and cleaners. I sigh, my chest heaving with the intensity of the memory flooding my mind.

“No! Don’t fucking leave me here!” I scream in pure terror, but the woman before me laughs in my face and walks off, leaving me with the sour smell of the hospital bed I am strapped to.

Please tell me I’m not back to that night.

But a dark voice brings me back to consciousness, a voice that sends signals to my brain that I must escape, but there is nowhere to go.

I am trapped.

Fucking trapped.

A feeling of anxiousness washes over me, and I swallow hard to take my mind off it.

“Nice to meet you, Lily Blight.”

I hear the two words that seal my fate forever, and there is a rhythmic thrumming inside my chest like a madman trying to escape, the sounds echoing throughout the room.

It feels like a prisoner is trying to run from within my body, trying everything to break free from the jail cage. With panic clogging my throat, I can’t breathe as I crawl back as far as I can until the stone wall resists, and I whimper in terror.

Memories from several months, years, I don’t fucking know, play out in my brain, but I have difficulty remembering anything. That name is all too familiar, and a headache takes over.

My mouth is wide open, yet no sound escapes me as I watch the man move closer to me, looking like a predator stalking its prey. I can barely distinguish my memories of the time before Grimhill Manor, the few fragments I can recall making my stomach turn.

“Lily Blight is hereby sentenced to one year in inpatient care without parole. After Ms. Blight spends one year in inpatient care, she will serve five years in prison without parole.”

I hear the man say that name like a taunt, but I can’t tell who he is talking to. No one is in here with me. Confusion strikes me as I stare at him, noticing how his black hair is slicked back with a few gray strands, showing his older age but not nearly as old as the master at Grimhill Manor.

When the room fills with light, I inspect it, and the cold emptiness makes me cringe; the lack of furniture and decorations mirrors my inner barrenness. There is nothing quite like this at Grimhill Manor.

The man steps closer, and someone in a black uniform with a holster around his waist stands with crossed arms in the corridor outside. I cannot help but stare at what looks like a bat in his hands, his knuckles white as if he holds it tightly, ready to use should the need arise.

As I watch them, the back of my throat tightens, and a lump collects there, drying my mouth. The man nearest me has ebony brown eyes, which are such an intense color that they pierce into mine, and as his gaze sharpens on mine, I feel as if I’m a fly caught in a spider’s web, waiting for my fate to come to fruition. He is more sharply dressed than the master, wearing a suit that gives off a distinct, masculine aroma, something the master would never use. It’s a pleasant smell that I would have enjoyed under other circumstances.

The man lowers himself in front of me, his knees almost brushing against the floor as he carefully avoids contact with it. When I feel his gaze slip toward my stomach, I instinctively pull up my bare legs. As soon as his eyes lock with mine, a sense of foreboding washes over me, as though this is just the beginning. His presence is commanding, with a deep voice and an intense gaze that belies more power than he realizes.

“I am Emilio Ricci. You shall refer to me by my last name. I’m the warden here. We will proceed to take you upstairs when we deem you no risk to the other patients.”

He speaks with an accent that is neither American nor British and sounds more like Italian. My heart rate increases as I frantically try to recall if I have ever heard his name before, my eyelids fluttering at a rapid pace.

My breathing becomes faster, but I try to tone it down by taking deeper breaths.

Do not let him see your weakness.

Mr. Ricci’s lips curl into a sneer that is anything but comforting or friendly.

“How–” I swallow several times to moisten my throat before speaking again. “How long have I been here?”

A wide smile spreads across the man’s lips, however, it twists into something vulgar at the same time. His eyes remain fixed in an expressionless gaze, yet the corners of his mouth are slightly lifted.

Without drawing attention to myself, I pick on the skin on my foot, desperately trying to calm my nerves as his eyes stare into mine.

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