You are a psychic. You are on the run. They must not catch you.
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Mr. Blue Sky
- Location
- boundless optimism
Each shuddering breath sends a fresh swirl of cold air through your lungs. The socks of the test suite onesie has been torn and ripped by branches and thorns, not even counting the spreading red stain on the side of the shirt and the flecks of the same down your nose all the way to the front. But you walk on. You walk on even as splinters hook into your feet, as you cough up red between breaths. Smoke clogs your nostrils, an acrid scent mixing in with fresh pine. You know that smell, it was the one used in the disinfectant when you had complained about the sharp alcohol smell. It's nothing compared to the real thing.
Subject Chi-1, recovered in Saint Louis Children's Hospital September 4th, 1970 at Preston, Maine. Subject demonstrates strong psionic ability independent of MKULTRA. Orphaned at birth. Permanently remanded to the Project.
You have to keep walking. If you don't, they'll catch you. "They must not catch you," you said out loud, stumbling through wormlike roots, leaning against trees in dim twilight. If they have dogs, they will find you in the trail of blood you leave, in the footprints in thick black dirt. They'll have men with flashlights and helicopters combing every single inch of this forest. Does it matter, really, if they catch you? You're half dead already. At least you'll die free. Suckers. Go find another kid to probe, space alien men.
"Hey, Doctor?" you said when you were younger, "why don't I have a mommy and a daddy?" The fifty something man, face lined with age, had gone down on one knee and looked at you sadly. What could he be sad about? You wished that you could take a look in his brain, scrape his neurons of the stuff you wanted to know.
"I don't know how to say this, sport…"
Ha, you're slipping. Maybe you could stop to catch a breather. You'll either bleed out in this forest, get caught by the creeps, or maybe angels would come out of Heaven and bear you up in their arms.
"Anything's possible, isn't it?"
You could stop here. Nothing wrong with it. In fact, you expected that your attempt to escape the lab would end when you stepped an inch outside the blast doors. You're what, a mile, two miles, away from that place? Heh.
What did you do, again?
[]- CONTROL- Subject Chi-1 exhibits strong telepathic prowess. Any longer and Chi-1 will be molding our brains like putty. The spooks like it. You reached in their minds. Broke them. Most suffered aneurysms, you didn't mean it! All you wanted to do was put them to sleep, maybe have one or two unlock a door, and yeah, okay, there was one man that you wouldn't have minded seeing dead. But not this much, honest! (+ Telepathy Cat-4, +Heat 4)
[]- POWER- Subject Chi-1 is exhibits incredible psychokinetic control and generation of energy. The boys at the military are impressed. You smashed their walls. Puny things. Why did you think they could hold you? You were like a spring, pushed too far in. An ocean of might in a little box. And when the walls broke, you burned a way out, a trail of carbonized bones and smoking rubble behind you. (+Psychokinesis Cat-4, +Heat 5)
[]- FREEDOM- Subject Chi-1… I don't know what's up with them. Keep testing, we'll figure out what the powers are. You just… slipped out. There was a crack between worlds. You opened the door and walked in a road made of memories and auroras, and when you stepped out into the forest in the Real, leaving the Dream in another forest with pine-trees with bullet-needle leaves. (+Multidimensional Cat-4, +Heat 2)
Oh, right. Did they… no, they definitely caught you. Otherwise you wouldn't have had this bullet in your gut. Couldn't everyone just get along? you think deliriously. They have their good things and you'll have yours. You take a look back. Yeah, they're not after you. Just a bit further, then you can collapse. You can hear cars zooming along the backstate. You really do need medical attention, and even if they can find one Doe amongst hundreds, well, you broke out once.
You can see the road now. World record for breaking out of laboratories, you suspect. You can see your name in flickering letters in an imaginary arcade machine scorecard. Your legs move faster. A stumble becomes a walk. A walk becomes a jog. Soon you're running, lungs burning with the stress, bones aching with each step, at the road. You manage to get to the low metal fence before you collapse, hearing cars screech to a stop as you face to a beautiful blue sky.
Subject Chi-1, recovered in Saint Louis Children's Hospital September 4th, 1970 at Preston, Maine. Subject demonstrates strong psionic ability independent of MKULTRA. Orphaned at birth. Permanently remanded to the Project.
You have to keep walking. If you don't, they'll catch you. "They must not catch you," you said out loud, stumbling through wormlike roots, leaning against trees in dim twilight. If they have dogs, they will find you in the trail of blood you leave, in the footprints in thick black dirt. They'll have men with flashlights and helicopters combing every single inch of this forest. Does it matter, really, if they catch you? You're half dead already. At least you'll die free. Suckers. Go find another kid to probe, space alien men.
"Hey, Doctor?" you said when you were younger, "why don't I have a mommy and a daddy?" The fifty something man, face lined with age, had gone down on one knee and looked at you sadly. What could he be sad about? You wished that you could take a look in his brain, scrape his neurons of the stuff you wanted to know.
"I don't know how to say this, sport…"
Ha, you're slipping. Maybe you could stop to catch a breather. You'll either bleed out in this forest, get caught by the creeps, or maybe angels would come out of Heaven and bear you up in their arms.
"Anything's possible, isn't it?"
You could stop here. Nothing wrong with it. In fact, you expected that your attempt to escape the lab would end when you stepped an inch outside the blast doors. You're what, a mile, two miles, away from that place? Heh.
What did you do, again?
[]- CONTROL- Subject Chi-1 exhibits strong telepathic prowess. Any longer and Chi-1 will be molding our brains like putty. The spooks like it. You reached in their minds. Broke them. Most suffered aneurysms, you didn't mean it! All you wanted to do was put them to sleep, maybe have one or two unlock a door, and yeah, okay, there was one man that you wouldn't have minded seeing dead. But not this much, honest! (+ Telepathy Cat-4, +Heat 4)
[]- POWER- Subject Chi-1 is exhibits incredible psychokinetic control and generation of energy. The boys at the military are impressed. You smashed their walls. Puny things. Why did you think they could hold you? You were like a spring, pushed too far in. An ocean of might in a little box. And when the walls broke, you burned a way out, a trail of carbonized bones and smoking rubble behind you. (+Psychokinesis Cat-4, +Heat 5)
[]- FREEDOM- Subject Chi-1… I don't know what's up with them. Keep testing, we'll figure out what the powers are. You just… slipped out. There was a crack between worlds. You opened the door and walked in a road made of memories and auroras, and when you stepped out into the forest in the Real, leaving the Dream in another forest with pine-trees with bullet-needle leaves. (+Multidimensional Cat-4, +Heat 2)
Oh, right. Did they… no, they definitely caught you. Otherwise you wouldn't have had this bullet in your gut. Couldn't everyone just get along? you think deliriously. They have their good things and you'll have yours. You take a look back. Yeah, they're not after you. Just a bit further, then you can collapse. You can hear cars zooming along the backstate. You really do need medical attention, and even if they can find one Doe amongst hundreds, well, you broke out once.
You can see the road now. World record for breaking out of laboratories, you suspect. You can see your name in flickering letters in an imaginary arcade machine scorecard. Your legs move faster. A stumble becomes a walk. A walk becomes a jog. Soon you're running, lungs burning with the stress, bones aching with each step, at the road. You manage to get to the low metal fence before you collapse, hearing cars screech to a stop as you face to a beautiful blue sky.
Please Tell Me Why
- Location
- boundless optimism
You can smell sharp antiseptic. You can feel the springs holding you up. You can see each fleck on the tiles on the ceiling. There's bandages covering your chest and arms, an IV tube leads into your arm, and one of your legs is in a splint. In the fuzzy moments between sleep and full conscience, there is a heart pounding fear that you are back in the lab, that the bandages are leather binds tying you down, that the IV tube is pumping sedatives instead of fluids. But it slips away like sand when you realize there's someone besides you, an old, wizened man with thin white hair sleeping sweetly. There's a stack of magazines and novels in a table besides you, too. And an open window looking out over a parking lot with pine trees lining the horizon letting in a gentle breeze. More than the Creeps ever afforded you.
You let out a shaking breath, letting your heart rate rest. Ha. You've beaten World 1. Ha. Chi-1 1, Creeps 0. You feel light, dizzy with exhilaration or blood loss. Maybe both! You can do anything from here! Hit up an arcade and play all you want instead of thirty minute breaks between testing. Food that doesn't come in meal bags and weren't spiked with suppressants! Ha! There's a smile tugging at your cheeks so hard it hurts.
Five minutes later, you're still giddy over your escape, mentally poring over every second of memory with relish.
You could do with a hot dog with relish.
Ten minutes later, you're coughing just to see if your ribs are not-broken enough so that you can hobble around. They are. You were just about to see if you could get up when a nurse bursts into the room, sees you and shouts, "hey, Doctor! The... Jane? Doe is up!"
Darn.
The nurse, a chunky woman with freckles on her face, roughly thirty to forty, bustles over to your bed, pressing a well meaning hand down on your shoulder to keep you from your rightfully earned right to sit up in bed. "Are you okay, dear?" she asks, with a tone of professional worry. "You were busted up real bad, I mean, gee! You looked like you stepped out of a warzone."
You blink at her. "This isn't 'nam?" you rasp out with more sandpaper than you actually feel. "Charlie was in the trees." Hey, you know what, Chi-1, Charlie, basically the same, right? You savor the momentary look of incomprehension on the nurse's face, letting out a weak chuckle. She blinks, and you take the opportunity to read her name tag- Mary. "Can I get something to eat?" You add, just to get it out while you can.
"Later, dear. Your gut is shot, so we don't want you eating something you can't process," Mary explains, writing down something on a clipboard by your bed. "The bullet doesn't look like it penatrated anything vital, but it's best to stay safe."
"Oh, okay," you say. Mary nods with a relaxed look. The next one punctures that quite well. "So that means I can take the risk, right?" In response, Mary just sighs. She was gathering a breath to unload some lecture on you about blah blah blah before a doctor strides in. You press yourself as far into the bed as you can.
"Hey, kid," he grins. "Good to see you're up."
"Yeah," you manage. Dimly, you realize that your heart is beating faster.
"Right, good, good. Now, you've been found by the Five, oh, yesterday, in a onsie. Blood loss, symptoms of a concussion, left leg broken, and a bullet in your gut, the works. Look, kid, are you alright? As in, is everything ok in your family?"
"I-" you hadn't prepared for this. You were hinging on benevolent neglect at best. Shit. Fuck. "They're okay," you flagrantly and weakly lie. Quite obviously, he doesn't look convinced. "Look, can I just get out of here when I'm good?"
"Hmm." No, he's still not convinced. "Well, just know that you can call 911 whenever." Ha. Funny joke. "Anyway, you'll be fit to walk in oh, let's call it a week. Meantime, just rest up, okay? Nurse Mary will handle the administrative stuff. Name, date of birth, all that." You nod, and the doctor spares one last glance before he stretches and left the room.
Nurse Mary takes the clipboard off the wall and into her hands. "Name?"
"Charlie… Therese," you make up.
"Date of birth?"
"September 12, 1974."
"Alright. Where you were born?"
You shrug at that. "Dunno," you say artlessly. "Preston?"
"Well, I'll just write that down, sweetie." You lie down in bed as she finishes writing. "You'll get a checkup tomorrow, okay?" You're tuning her out, electing to look out the window. There's a black van pulling up. Looks familiar, but from this far, you can't make out most of the features. Then it moved closer.
You sat bolt upright, breaking off what the nurse was saying with a 'hey!' You recognize that van. Why shouldn't you? In your sixteen or so years of life you have seen one set of cars- the Creep's. Of course they'd find you. You knew that. But seeing the Creepmobile up close has sent a shock of urgency though your spine. "What was that?" you snapped your head back at the very confused nurse.
"W-we can get you a wheelchair or crutches, but-"
"Get me one. Now."
Where to?
[]- The Roof- If you get caught again, you'd like to see the sky one last time.
[]- The Backyard- The Wood in the Dream helped you once. Maybe once again.
You let out a shaking breath, letting your heart rate rest. Ha. You've beaten World 1. Ha. Chi-1 1, Creeps 0. You feel light, dizzy with exhilaration or blood loss. Maybe both! You can do anything from here! Hit up an arcade and play all you want instead of thirty minute breaks between testing. Food that doesn't come in meal bags and weren't spiked with suppressants! Ha! There's a smile tugging at your cheeks so hard it hurts.
Five minutes later, you're still giddy over your escape, mentally poring over every second of memory with relish.
You could do with a hot dog with relish.
Ten minutes later, you're coughing just to see if your ribs are not-broken enough so that you can hobble around. They are. You were just about to see if you could get up when a nurse bursts into the room, sees you and shouts, "hey, Doctor! The... Jane? Doe is up!"
Darn.
The nurse, a chunky woman with freckles on her face, roughly thirty to forty, bustles over to your bed, pressing a well meaning hand down on your shoulder to keep you from your rightfully earned right to sit up in bed. "Are you okay, dear?" she asks, with a tone of professional worry. "You were busted up real bad, I mean, gee! You looked like you stepped out of a warzone."
You blink at her. "This isn't 'nam?" you rasp out with more sandpaper than you actually feel. "Charlie was in the trees." Hey, you know what, Chi-1, Charlie, basically the same, right? You savor the momentary look of incomprehension on the nurse's face, letting out a weak chuckle. She blinks, and you take the opportunity to read her name tag- Mary. "Can I get something to eat?" You add, just to get it out while you can.
"Later, dear. Your gut is shot, so we don't want you eating something you can't process," Mary explains, writing down something on a clipboard by your bed. "The bullet doesn't look like it penatrated anything vital, but it's best to stay safe."
"Oh, okay," you say. Mary nods with a relaxed look. The next one punctures that quite well. "So that means I can take the risk, right?" In response, Mary just sighs. She was gathering a breath to unload some lecture on you about blah blah blah before a doctor strides in. You press yourself as far into the bed as you can.
"Hey, kid," he grins. "Good to see you're up."
"Yeah," you manage. Dimly, you realize that your heart is beating faster.
"Right, good, good. Now, you've been found by the Five, oh, yesterday, in a onsie. Blood loss, symptoms of a concussion, left leg broken, and a bullet in your gut, the works. Look, kid, are you alright? As in, is everything ok in your family?"
"I-" you hadn't prepared for this. You were hinging on benevolent neglect at best. Shit. Fuck. "They're okay," you flagrantly and weakly lie. Quite obviously, he doesn't look convinced. "Look, can I just get out of here when I'm good?"
"Hmm." No, he's still not convinced. "Well, just know that you can call 911 whenever." Ha. Funny joke. "Anyway, you'll be fit to walk in oh, let's call it a week. Meantime, just rest up, okay? Nurse Mary will handle the administrative stuff. Name, date of birth, all that." You nod, and the doctor spares one last glance before he stretches and left the room.
Nurse Mary takes the clipboard off the wall and into her hands. "Name?"
"Charlie… Therese," you make up.
"Date of birth?"
"September 12, 1974."
"Alright. Where you were born?"
You shrug at that. "Dunno," you say artlessly. "Preston?"
"Well, I'll just write that down, sweetie." You lie down in bed as she finishes writing. "You'll get a checkup tomorrow, okay?" You're tuning her out, electing to look out the window. There's a black van pulling up. Looks familiar, but from this far, you can't make out most of the features. Then it moved closer.
You sat bolt upright, breaking off what the nurse was saying with a 'hey!' You recognize that van. Why shouldn't you? In your sixteen or so years of life you have seen one set of cars- the Creep's. Of course they'd find you. You knew that. But seeing the Creepmobile up close has sent a shock of urgency though your spine. "What was that?" you snapped your head back at the very confused nurse.
"W-we can get you a wheelchair or crutches, but-"
"Get me one. Now."
Where to?
[]- The Roof- If you get caught again, you'd like to see the sky one last time.
[]- The Backyard- The Wood in the Dream helped you once. Maybe once again.
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You've Had To Hide Away For So Long
- Location
- boundless optimism
The wheels squeak. Nurse Mary, in the edges of your cognition, feels worried and uncertain. You don't care. You have to be gone yesterday. Figuratively, not literally. If you could, you'd be having a coke in the Jurassic Age, watching T. Rexes in the plains. Or wherever they live. The nurse is pushing you too slowly, two, three minutes in and you still haven't left the building. Your fingers beat a rapid staccato beat on the armrests of the wheelchair as your eyes stare forward, nervously plucking out signs, checking the progress to the backyard. Every once in a while, you almost stand up, before that splint reminds you that no, you're not getting up without crutches.
"Sweetie? You alright?"
"Huh? Yeah. Can you go faster?" You said, snapping out of your reverie. Your bring up the map of the hospital you saw a couple halls back. There's a total of three stories, and you're in the third. Second floor is mostly administration and equipment storage, plus X-Rays and stuff. The lobby and the rooms where checkups happen are at the first floor. And shit, it seems like you have to thread through the lobby first. The nurse quickens her pace, wheels squeaking through the tiled floors.
"If you wanna call 911 I can get you to a phone, kid."
"Wouldn't work." Ha. They tracked you down to this hospital, why couldn't they track you down to wherever the police got you? With that, you roll into the small, cramped elevator in an awkward silence. The red numbers on top of the control panel tick down. A red three. You breathe in, smoothly, breathe out, smoothly. A red two. The breathing exercise isn't working. You're breathing faster and faster. By the time the elevator dings open at the first floor, you're nearly hyperventilating and your heart is filling your ears with the sound of rushing blood. Useless heart.
Nurse Mary rolls your wheelchair past another tangle of corridors, containing everyone from kids to old men going through routine checkups. She opens a frosted glass door leading out to the lobby.
They're here. One of them is talking to a receptionist at the front desk, this short, thin man with a dumb moustache and slicked back hair. The other is sitting at a chair against the windows opposite the front desk, flipping through a magazine. He's built like several bricks in a potato sack halfway to a steroid meltdown. Both of them are on the opposite end of the room from you, and both
...why did the Creeps decide to use these two? They're like, the opposite of subtle. Sex Moustache and Brick Sack are the precise opposite of subtle. You subtly lean forward, trying to catch snatches of conversation between Sex Moustache and the receptionist. "And I'm telling you, I need to see that kid. Is it this hospital's policy that you won't let a relative-"
"Well, seeing as how Doctor Sabose told me that Charlie's last name is Therese, and you're saying it's Wade, I can't really let you in. I can call the doctor-"
"-well, call him." Sex Moustache thumps a hand on the counter as Nurse Mary wheels you away from them. "Call him and we can sort this out." The rest of the conversation fades to silence as you are wheeled to the other end of the room, which opens up to a long, gently curving hallway.
"Who was that?" Nurse Mary asks.
"Creeps."
"Well, that's reassuring. Sweetie, do you mind if I radio hospital security just in case things get violent? Wow, and I thought Schwarzenegger was built. He makes him look like a twig." You nod. More warm bodies, right? And the Creeps wouldn't kick up that big of a fuss in public. Hopefully. Nurse Mary steps away to talk into a walkie-talkie. You turn to face the double doors where you came from. There's no one behind you, but that isn't saying much given the curve of the hallway. "Yeah, there's two men in the lobby, they're trying to see the new Doe- Charlie Therese? Anyway, get the police on the line, Charlie's exhibiting signs of what could be abuse." You can overhear what she's saying, even if she's trying to whisper. And the words kindle this little candle of fuzziness in your chest.
Except… it's not going to work. One second. Two seconds, a minute, max. That's all out can count on, before they break them in two. Shit, do they have a goon squad nearby? Fuuuuuck. The thought is on your mind like a spider, sinking its fangs into your squishy squishy brainmeats as Nurse Mary finishes up her call and resume your journey.
Outside is… nice. It's like the hour or so when you broke out of the labs sans vindictive joy and bullet in your gut. A nice, fresh breeze, the scent of pine and an undertone of gasoline on drifting winds, rustling the grass as you look up where the daggers of the pine trees meet up into a bright blue mid-morning sky. "Hey," you say as you look out aimlessly. "Leave me here." I'm going to be gone and I don't want you to know how. "I'll be here."
"Can you move around?" To demonstrate for her, you grab the rim of the wheels and do a little spin. Nurse Mary gives you an encouraging grin. "That's good! You wanna get lunch, the cafe's open at eleven thirty." Your face lights up in a grin. One that slowly fades when you see Brick Sack stomping up the hallways, hands out in plain view. He doesn't need a gun to threaten someone. Your fingers curl, knuckles whitening. Nurse Mary turns to follow your panicked stare, then immediately setting her face in a determined glare. Brick Sack stomps up to the door, slamming it open.
"What do you think you-" halfway through her first sentence, Brick Sack shoves Nurse Mary away, his meaty hand pushing her to the ground without a backwards glance as he steps one foot away from you. You can't help but scoot backwards, just an inch.
"It's time to go home, Chi-1." Man, this motherfucker is dumb, you can't help but feel.
"Are your steroids eating your brain, dude?" you cut back, "you…"
[]- "are nothing. I can break you and your dumb muscles." Chi-1 exhibits some psychokinetic capability. They're mild, but they exist. Keep working on them, maybe we can mass produce them. (Psychokinetic Cat-2)
[]- "can't even catch me. I'll be gone before you blink." We still don't know what Chi-1 does, but Chi-1 brought someone along their jaunts and we had to terminate them. (May bring others into the Dream)
[]- "weaker than me. Should've worked on those rubix cubes, lummox." Chi-1 exhibits enough telepathic control to read surface thoughts and mess around with base emotions. Nothing complicated. (Telepathic Cat-2)
"Sweetie? You alright?"
"Huh? Yeah. Can you go faster?" You said, snapping out of your reverie. Your bring up the map of the hospital you saw a couple halls back. There's a total of three stories, and you're in the third. Second floor is mostly administration and equipment storage, plus X-Rays and stuff. The lobby and the rooms where checkups happen are at the first floor. And shit, it seems like you have to thread through the lobby first. The nurse quickens her pace, wheels squeaking through the tiled floors.
"If you wanna call 911 I can get you to a phone, kid."
"Wouldn't work." Ha. They tracked you down to this hospital, why couldn't they track you down to wherever the police got you? With that, you roll into the small, cramped elevator in an awkward silence. The red numbers on top of the control panel tick down. A red three. You breathe in, smoothly, breathe out, smoothly. A red two. The breathing exercise isn't working. You're breathing faster and faster. By the time the elevator dings open at the first floor, you're nearly hyperventilating and your heart is filling your ears with the sound of rushing blood. Useless heart.
Nurse Mary rolls your wheelchair past another tangle of corridors, containing everyone from kids to old men going through routine checkups. She opens a frosted glass door leading out to the lobby.
They're here. One of them is talking to a receptionist at the front desk, this short, thin man with a dumb moustache and slicked back hair. The other is sitting at a chair against the windows opposite the front desk, flipping through a magazine. He's built like several bricks in a potato sack halfway to a steroid meltdown. Both of them are on the opposite end of the room from you, and both
...why did the Creeps decide to use these two? They're like, the opposite of subtle. Sex Moustache and Brick Sack are the precise opposite of subtle. You subtly lean forward, trying to catch snatches of conversation between Sex Moustache and the receptionist. "And I'm telling you, I need to see that kid. Is it this hospital's policy that you won't let a relative-"
"Well, seeing as how Doctor Sabose told me that Charlie's last name is Therese, and you're saying it's Wade, I can't really let you in. I can call the doctor-"
"-well, call him." Sex Moustache thumps a hand on the counter as Nurse Mary wheels you away from them. "Call him and we can sort this out." The rest of the conversation fades to silence as you are wheeled to the other end of the room, which opens up to a long, gently curving hallway.
"Who was that?" Nurse Mary asks.
"Creeps."
"Well, that's reassuring. Sweetie, do you mind if I radio hospital security just in case things get violent? Wow, and I thought Schwarzenegger was built. He makes him look like a twig." You nod. More warm bodies, right? And the Creeps wouldn't kick up that big of a fuss in public. Hopefully. Nurse Mary steps away to talk into a walkie-talkie. You turn to face the double doors where you came from. There's no one behind you, but that isn't saying much given the curve of the hallway. "Yeah, there's two men in the lobby, they're trying to see the new Doe- Charlie Therese? Anyway, get the police on the line, Charlie's exhibiting signs of what could be abuse." You can overhear what she's saying, even if she's trying to whisper. And the words kindle this little candle of fuzziness in your chest.
Except… it's not going to work. One second. Two seconds, a minute, max. That's all out can count on, before they break them in two. Shit, do they have a goon squad nearby? Fuuuuuck. The thought is on your mind like a spider, sinking its fangs into your squishy squishy brainmeats as Nurse Mary finishes up her call and resume your journey.
Outside is… nice. It's like the hour or so when you broke out of the labs sans vindictive joy and bullet in your gut. A nice, fresh breeze, the scent of pine and an undertone of gasoline on drifting winds, rustling the grass as you look up where the daggers of the pine trees meet up into a bright blue mid-morning sky. "Hey," you say as you look out aimlessly. "Leave me here." I'm going to be gone and I don't want you to know how. "I'll be here."
"Can you move around?" To demonstrate for her, you grab the rim of the wheels and do a little spin. Nurse Mary gives you an encouraging grin. "That's good! You wanna get lunch, the cafe's open at eleven thirty." Your face lights up in a grin. One that slowly fades when you see Brick Sack stomping up the hallways, hands out in plain view. He doesn't need a gun to threaten someone. Your fingers curl, knuckles whitening. Nurse Mary turns to follow your panicked stare, then immediately setting her face in a determined glare. Brick Sack stomps up to the door, slamming it open.
"What do you think you-" halfway through her first sentence, Brick Sack shoves Nurse Mary away, his meaty hand pushing her to the ground without a backwards glance as he steps one foot away from you. You can't help but scoot backwards, just an inch.
"It's time to go home, Chi-1." Man, this motherfucker is dumb, you can't help but feel.
"Are your steroids eating your brain, dude?" you cut back, "you…"
[]- "are nothing. I can break you and your dumb muscles." Chi-1 exhibits some psychokinetic capability. They're mild, but they exist. Keep working on them, maybe we can mass produce them. (Psychokinetic Cat-2)
[]- "can't even catch me. I'll be gone before you blink." We still don't know what Chi-1 does, but Chi-1 brought someone along their jaunts and we had to terminate them. (May bring others into the Dream)
[]- "weaker than me. Should've worked on those rubix cubes, lummox." Chi-1 exhibits enough telepathic control to read surface thoughts and mess around with base emotions. Nothing complicated. (Telepathic Cat-2)
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Hey You With The Pretty Face
- Location
- boundless optimism
"...can't even catch me," you say, adrenaline surging like waves, eyes digging into Brick Sack like daggers. "I'll be gone before you blink, and you know it. You couldn't catch me at the labs with all your soldiers. W-what makes you think you can catch me now?" Brick Sack is a man of elegant and threatening implications and therefore walks forward, eating up the distance in two steps. Instead of inching backwards, you start taking big, deep breaths. Like your preparing for a deep dive. And that's a pretty accurate description of entering the Dream, really. Diving. There's that initial shock, and that still, silent pressure that keeps with you until you surface into the Real to gasp for air. As you sink into the Dream, closing your eyes, you reach out for Nurse Mary, feeling for her thoughts- yes, shock, un-understanding, and fear- and grab it, a vise of thoughts clamping down on the fuzzy purple cloud-feeling in our mind.
There is a brief shock from her, that cloud spiking with electricity, before it fades away as you press into the Dream, light shining past your eyelids and feeling like you were suddenly dunked into a pool, the icy-hot air of the Dream filling your lungs. Open your eyes. The light is too bright, bleaching out all the colors of the earth, painting them with a brush of emerald green and amethyst purple. The forest behind you is a shade of monochrome dark green, without any shading or gradients. "Where am I?"
You wheel yourself over to where Nurse Mary is sprawling, offering up a hand. "Away," you said quietly. "It's not important right now-"
"-No, it is, Charlie!" she shouts as she picks herself up, back to the hospital. It's broken, the stones are rotting, flaking and crumbling away. Bright red veins snaked in and out of holes and windows, pumping with a fetid vitality. You can hear insects buzzing inside the hospital, too loud and distinct to be natural. And it's radiating humid heat, turning a brisk autumn Maine morning to what you imagine sunny Florida would feel like. "You were picked up in the Five, and I know you were at least fifty miles from any town! You had a bullet in your stomach, then when you wake up two goons swans in and one of them chases you! Are you Sarah Connor or something?" Clearly, she's built up a head of steam. You let her vent a bit, schooling a blank face. You're good at that. After a couple years of blank faced grunts of assent, the Creeps switched over to 'oh, I am so disappointed.' After a few seconds, Nurse Mary inhales, turning at the hospital.
"Were these IV tubes always here?" she asks, a thoroughly done with this shit look on her face, raising a thumb back at the thumping veins. You shrug and wonder if there's a heart in the hospital. It naturally follows, you think, that there ought to be a heart if there are veins.
"They look like IV tubes to you?"
"Gee, that's helpful." She heaves a great sigh, running a hand through her hair. "Alright, okay. Keep it together Mary, even though you just expected some Code Gray picking a fight, not stepping in a Stephen King novel."
"Who's Stephen King?" you ask. "Also, we really should go. Last time I brought someone with me, he kinda uh, went a bit crazy."
"What? I won't get any symptoms, right?" she asks anxiously as she grabs the handles on your wheelchair.
"Probably not, as long as we get out fast. C'mon, let's get to where the parking lot is. Somewhere public." Nurse Mary nods uncertainty and begins to push you down the circular path around the sides of the building to go back to the front. And you're moving pretty fast, to be told.
When you get to where the parking lot is- there is a coffin in each lot where a car is, and there's a half of a bright red heart embedded in the hospital roof- you surface from the Dream. This time, it's much less dramatic. You simply take in a breath and the unnatural light of the Dream disappears. "Whew," Nurse Mary lets out a breath. "Let's not do that again, okay?"
You look at her. "I make no promises," you say blandly.
"Don't drag me in whatever peyote dream you cooked up, then," she growls softly. "Is this why they're chasing you? Because you're a wizard, or…?"
"Yeah, that's most of it," you admit, looking around the parking lot. Green car, white car, red car The Creepmobile is still there, parked innocuously under a tree. "Shit, they're still in here? Fuck fuck fuck."
"We do have security, you know," Nurse Mary reassures, moving into the hospital door. "There's five or so on site, and one of them was a boxer."
"Was? That's reassuring," you cut back. "And Brick Sack can probably break him in two. Did you see his arms?"
"True, I suppose. Buut, hey also have tasers, so let's call it fifty fifty. Up you go." She lifts the wheelchair and you over the curb.
"Hm." You stay silent for a while. "I should leave, like, soon. They'll try for round two."
"On that broken leg? You'd last until the end of the block. Then they'll just shove you in a white van."
"The Creeps like black more than white, though," you say, chewing over the options. "Anyway, I can dip into the Dream whenever. And just use crutches."
"You don't have any money, you have a broken leg, which needs rest and recovery," the nurse snaps. "Don't be daft, Charlie. You need at least six to eight weeks of recovery and constant checkup otherwise it'll never heal right."
Think…
[]- Escape and take your chances. You can live in the Dream for most of the time, and live off of what you can steal, and hope that the Dream provides.
[]- Stay and heal. You need to be at 100% before you make your escape. And tip top shape, so you don't trip and get dogpiled by fifty Creeps.
There is a brief shock from her, that cloud spiking with electricity, before it fades away as you press into the Dream, light shining past your eyelids and feeling like you were suddenly dunked into a pool, the icy-hot air of the Dream filling your lungs. Open your eyes. The light is too bright, bleaching out all the colors of the earth, painting them with a brush of emerald green and amethyst purple. The forest behind you is a shade of monochrome dark green, without any shading or gradients. "Where am I?"
You wheel yourself over to where Nurse Mary is sprawling, offering up a hand. "Away," you said quietly. "It's not important right now-"
"-No, it is, Charlie!" she shouts as she picks herself up, back to the hospital. It's broken, the stones are rotting, flaking and crumbling away. Bright red veins snaked in and out of holes and windows, pumping with a fetid vitality. You can hear insects buzzing inside the hospital, too loud and distinct to be natural. And it's radiating humid heat, turning a brisk autumn Maine morning to what you imagine sunny Florida would feel like. "You were picked up in the Five, and I know you were at least fifty miles from any town! You had a bullet in your stomach, then when you wake up two goons swans in and one of them chases you! Are you Sarah Connor or something?" Clearly, she's built up a head of steam. You let her vent a bit, schooling a blank face. You're good at that. After a couple years of blank faced grunts of assent, the Creeps switched over to 'oh, I am so disappointed.' After a few seconds, Nurse Mary inhales, turning at the hospital.
"Were these IV tubes always here?" she asks, a thoroughly done with this shit look on her face, raising a thumb back at the thumping veins. You shrug and wonder if there's a heart in the hospital. It naturally follows, you think, that there ought to be a heart if there are veins.
"They look like IV tubes to you?"
"Gee, that's helpful." She heaves a great sigh, running a hand through her hair. "Alright, okay. Keep it together Mary, even though you just expected some Code Gray picking a fight, not stepping in a Stephen King novel."
"Who's Stephen King?" you ask. "Also, we really should go. Last time I brought someone with me, he kinda uh, went a bit crazy."
"What? I won't get any symptoms, right?" she asks anxiously as she grabs the handles on your wheelchair.
"Probably not, as long as we get out fast. C'mon, let's get to where the parking lot is. Somewhere public." Nurse Mary nods uncertainty and begins to push you down the circular path around the sides of the building to go back to the front. And you're moving pretty fast, to be told.
When you get to where the parking lot is- there is a coffin in each lot where a car is, and there's a half of a bright red heart embedded in the hospital roof- you surface from the Dream. This time, it's much less dramatic. You simply take in a breath and the unnatural light of the Dream disappears. "Whew," Nurse Mary lets out a breath. "Let's not do that again, okay?"
You look at her. "I make no promises," you say blandly.
"Don't drag me in whatever peyote dream you cooked up, then," she growls softly. "Is this why they're chasing you? Because you're a wizard, or…?"
"Yeah, that's most of it," you admit, looking around the parking lot. Green car, white car, red car The Creepmobile is still there, parked innocuously under a tree. "Shit, they're still in here? Fuck fuck fuck."
"We do have security, you know," Nurse Mary reassures, moving into the hospital door. "There's five or so on site, and one of them was a boxer."
"Was? That's reassuring," you cut back. "And Brick Sack can probably break him in two. Did you see his arms?"
"True, I suppose. Buut, hey also have tasers, so let's call it fifty fifty. Up you go." She lifts the wheelchair and you over the curb.
"Hm." You stay silent for a while. "I should leave, like, soon. They'll try for round two."
"On that broken leg? You'd last until the end of the block. Then they'll just shove you in a white van."
"The Creeps like black more than white, though," you say, chewing over the options. "Anyway, I can dip into the Dream whenever. And just use crutches."
"You don't have any money, you have a broken leg, which needs rest and recovery," the nurse snaps. "Don't be daft, Charlie. You need at least six to eight weeks of recovery and constant checkup otherwise it'll never heal right."
Think…
[]- Escape and take your chances. You can live in the Dream for most of the time, and live off of what you can steal, and hope that the Dream provides.
[]- Stay and heal. You need to be at 100% before you make your escape. And tip top shape, so you don't trip and get dogpiled by fifty Creeps.
A Celebration of the Human Race
- Location
- boundless optimism
She's right, you know. You groan softly, sinking into the chair as the automatic sliding doors open to admit the both of you into the building once more, scanning the room for- there he is, still arguing with the receptionist, who has a decently heavyset man- more fat than brick- backing her up in a navy blue security uniform. "What kind of hospital is this, man?" Sex Moustache snarls, clutching the rim of the front desk. "I wanna see my kid and-"
"Sir, we don't have any sign of parental relation on our database and you got your kid's name wrong, so frankly, I don't think you have their best interests in mind," the receptionist jabs back, the security guard stepping forward. "Please leave, or I will be forced to alert the police." Sex Moustache sighs, irritation written in every line, turning around to see you just walking in. Immediately, he plasters on a fake smile as he walks over. At the same time, the security guard follows, eyes narrowed in a fleshy face.
Square your shoulders and stare at him. He lost this round. "Who are you?" you ask him, voice quivering uncontrollably. You want to run. You want to stand up, broken legs be damned, and sprint out the door and down the roads. You want to sock him in the jaw and steal the keys and hop the border to Canada. But you can't. Mostly because of the broken leg, you swear.
"C'mon, stop kidding," Sex Moustache tries, his titular moustache twitching alarmingly. "Charlie, you know me." You inch backwards, as he heaves a sigh. "Fine," he says, "I know when I'm not wanted." He turns around to the security guard, who had stepped out from the counter. "Put the gun down. I'll leave by myself." He brushes past you, your eyes following him out of the hospital and into the parking lot, where Brick Sack is walking to meet Sex Moustache under a parking lot light. The two of them get in the van, the sound of the engine starting music to your ears. They'll probably be back, but hey, at least you've won this round again.
"Hey, Mary?" the receptionist calls. "Mr. Ulmer wants to see the kid up on his office."
You start. "What? Why?"
"Oh, he probably just want to meet you. You just showed out of nowhere, Charlie," Mary says as she wheels you into the internals of the hospital again. You're pretty sure there's a better word for that but for the life of you you just can't remember it. "See if you're free to meet with the police anytime soon, that kinda stuff. Don't sweat it, sweetie. We can't kick you out. Well, I wouldn't." You can feel her disgust just from her voice. "That man would if there weren't reporters after his ass after what happened last year."
You twist to look at Nurse Mary, asking, "what happened last year?" She keeps silent as she wheels you through the corridors again, to the inside of the elevator car, where she hits the button to the very top.
It's not until the doors close that she says, "well, Mr. Ulmer cut down on the budget so much that we couldn't keep life support on for this old man. And so, you know, he died. Only the man's family came in and raised holy hell. Made the papers and everything."
"Wow," you mutter. "He sounds like a real piece of work."
The red number changes. One to two. Two to three. "Yeah, and the man had the gall to dock our pay for it." Three to four. "Don't tell him I said that, or he'll put me on review." The doors slide open. Beige walls. Bronze plaques affixed to dark wood doors. As you pass them, you catch glimpses of what the plaques say- Professor of this, Doctor of that, and a few Mr's. At the very end of the room, Nurse Mary stops before the door and knocks.
"Come in," a soft voice says through the wood. She opens the door as you take a deep breath.
The first impression you get of the office is cluttered. The walls are filled end to end with bookcases stuffed with nothing but binders overflowing with paper. A long desk dominates the remaining space, an open window behind the desk letting in a light breeze. A little man- as in, you think you're taller than him- peers at you over the rim of his glasses, folding his hands over a leather folder on his desk. "Ah," he says. "Charlie Therese, yes? How are you holding up?"
"Fine," you say noncommittally.
"Good, good. I was made aware that two men came and attempted to meet you. One of them followed you into the backyard and assaulted Nurse Mary." He nods at the woman behind you. "I will have to alert the authorities because of that. You will, of course, be included in the inquiry."
"Do I haave to?" It comes out in a whine.
Mr. Ulmer is untouched by your plea. "By all likelihood, yes. I understand that it will be a difficult task, but once you stepped into my hospital, it becomes my business. I want to be reassured that I won't have thugs barging in my hospital and demanding to see you." He spreads out his hands and nails you with a Look.
You return one of your own. "Look, Mr. Ulmer, you know I can't do that."
He sighs. "Yes, I suppose it would be asking too much of you." The fat little man folds his hands over the papers again. "Still, I would like answers. Is your family abusive, for instance."
"Sure," you shrug.
That provokes a reaction. Mr. Ulmer blinks and looks down at his files. Which you personally think is bullshit. He's just covering his shock 'cause there's no way that he could have a file on you right now. "I suppose that does explain some things." He shuffles around some papers, before directing his gaze at you once more. "Very well then. I won't push any further, Charlie. You may leave, then. I will notify you when the police arrive."
That was your cue to leave, and you take the wheels in your own hands and begin to laboriously push your way out of the room. "He wasn't that bad," you frown. Nurse Mary follows you, snorting at your assessment of his character.
"He's not the one holding your paycheck," she says darkly. "Are you fine by yourself?"
"Yep. Fit as a fiddle. Where's the cafeteria?"
"Second floor, take a left. You can just follow the signs." She frowns. "You're not going to eat solids, are you? Soup and mashed potatoes, you can. Just not steak."
"I don't like steak anyway," you shrug. "Oh yeah, who's that Stephen King you mentioned?"
"Oh, I'll lend you a book. Carrie? You'll love it."
You'll Tell Them...
[X]- The Truth. The whole, unvarnished truth. Psychics, shady laboratories, the whole nine miles. (No holes, completely outlandish.)
[X]- A Bit of A Lie: They obviously won't believe you if you say you're psychic, but telling the police that you were abducted as a kid should probably work, right? (Only mildly implausible, but police can double check you easily.)
[X]- The Lie: You'll just tell them that you ran away from an abusive home. Should work. (Not at all implausible, but holes will come up very quickly.)
Nurse Mary left the elevator at the third floor, waving you goodbye. You continue to the second floor, sedately wheeling yourself into the cafeteria. It's a pretty utilitarian place. One wall is taken over by a food bar, part of another are several cabinets of plastic bottles. The rest of the space is covered in long tables with benches on both sides. Idly scanning the room, you head to the food bar. It's pretty empty, there's at most ten or so, gathered into little groups, each talking to each other in little groups. You wheel to the food bar, ordering a bowl of soup on a tray from the woman behind it. With a muted 'thanks,' you take a closer look at the room's occupants.
There's three nurses in white scrubs near the left wall, nervously muttering to each other over food trays, stealing glances at the rest of the room. By the back, is an African-American patient that looks about twenty or so, flexing an arm as she saws through a bowl of chili. Near the door is the security guard, the former boxer, staring into the ceiling with empty eyes. You wonder what each of them are talking about.
Sit next to…
[X]- The Nurses
[X]- The Girl
[X]- The Security Guard
"Sir, we don't have any sign of parental relation on our database and you got your kid's name wrong, so frankly, I don't think you have their best interests in mind," the receptionist jabs back, the security guard stepping forward. "Please leave, or I will be forced to alert the police." Sex Moustache sighs, irritation written in every line, turning around to see you just walking in. Immediately, he plasters on a fake smile as he walks over. At the same time, the security guard follows, eyes narrowed in a fleshy face.
Square your shoulders and stare at him. He lost this round. "Who are you?" you ask him, voice quivering uncontrollably. You want to run. You want to stand up, broken legs be damned, and sprint out the door and down the roads. You want to sock him in the jaw and steal the keys and hop the border to Canada. But you can't. Mostly because of the broken leg, you swear.
"C'mon, stop kidding," Sex Moustache tries, his titular moustache twitching alarmingly. "Charlie, you know me." You inch backwards, as he heaves a sigh. "Fine," he says, "I know when I'm not wanted." He turns around to the security guard, who had stepped out from the counter. "Put the gun down. I'll leave by myself." He brushes past you, your eyes following him out of the hospital and into the parking lot, where Brick Sack is walking to meet Sex Moustache under a parking lot light. The two of them get in the van, the sound of the engine starting music to your ears. They'll probably be back, but hey, at least you've won this round again.
"Hey, Mary?" the receptionist calls. "Mr. Ulmer wants to see the kid up on his office."
You start. "What? Why?"
"Oh, he probably just want to meet you. You just showed out of nowhere, Charlie," Mary says as she wheels you into the internals of the hospital again. You're pretty sure there's a better word for that but for the life of you you just can't remember it. "See if you're free to meet with the police anytime soon, that kinda stuff. Don't sweat it, sweetie. We can't kick you out. Well, I wouldn't." You can feel her disgust just from her voice. "That man would if there weren't reporters after his ass after what happened last year."
You twist to look at Nurse Mary, asking, "what happened last year?" She keeps silent as she wheels you through the corridors again, to the inside of the elevator car, where she hits the button to the very top.
It's not until the doors close that she says, "well, Mr. Ulmer cut down on the budget so much that we couldn't keep life support on for this old man. And so, you know, he died. Only the man's family came in and raised holy hell. Made the papers and everything."
"Wow," you mutter. "He sounds like a real piece of work."
The red number changes. One to two. Two to three. "Yeah, and the man had the gall to dock our pay for it." Three to four. "Don't tell him I said that, or he'll put me on review." The doors slide open. Beige walls. Bronze plaques affixed to dark wood doors. As you pass them, you catch glimpses of what the plaques say- Professor of this, Doctor of that, and a few Mr's. At the very end of the room, Nurse Mary stops before the door and knocks.
"Come in," a soft voice says through the wood. She opens the door as you take a deep breath.
The first impression you get of the office is cluttered. The walls are filled end to end with bookcases stuffed with nothing but binders overflowing with paper. A long desk dominates the remaining space, an open window behind the desk letting in a light breeze. A little man- as in, you think you're taller than him- peers at you over the rim of his glasses, folding his hands over a leather folder on his desk. "Ah," he says. "Charlie Therese, yes? How are you holding up?"
"Fine," you say noncommittally.
"Good, good. I was made aware that two men came and attempted to meet you. One of them followed you into the backyard and assaulted Nurse Mary." He nods at the woman behind you. "I will have to alert the authorities because of that. You will, of course, be included in the inquiry."
"Do I haave to?" It comes out in a whine.
Mr. Ulmer is untouched by your plea. "By all likelihood, yes. I understand that it will be a difficult task, but once you stepped into my hospital, it becomes my business. I want to be reassured that I won't have thugs barging in my hospital and demanding to see you." He spreads out his hands and nails you with a Look.
You return one of your own. "Look, Mr. Ulmer, you know I can't do that."
He sighs. "Yes, I suppose it would be asking too much of you." The fat little man folds his hands over the papers again. "Still, I would like answers. Is your family abusive, for instance."
"Sure," you shrug.
That provokes a reaction. Mr. Ulmer blinks and looks down at his files. Which you personally think is bullshit. He's just covering his shock 'cause there's no way that he could have a file on you right now. "I suppose that does explain some things." He shuffles around some papers, before directing his gaze at you once more. "Very well then. I won't push any further, Charlie. You may leave, then. I will notify you when the police arrive."
That was your cue to leave, and you take the wheels in your own hands and begin to laboriously push your way out of the room. "He wasn't that bad," you frown. Nurse Mary follows you, snorting at your assessment of his character.
"He's not the one holding your paycheck," she says darkly. "Are you fine by yourself?"
"Yep. Fit as a fiddle. Where's the cafeteria?"
"Second floor, take a left. You can just follow the signs." She frowns. "You're not going to eat solids, are you? Soup and mashed potatoes, you can. Just not steak."
"I don't like steak anyway," you shrug. "Oh yeah, who's that Stephen King you mentioned?"
"Oh, I'll lend you a book. Carrie? You'll love it."
You'll Tell Them...
[X]- The Truth. The whole, unvarnished truth. Psychics, shady laboratories, the whole nine miles. (No holes, completely outlandish.)
[X]- A Bit of A Lie: They obviously won't believe you if you say you're psychic, but telling the police that you were abducted as a kid should probably work, right? (Only mildly implausible, but police can double check you easily.)
[X]- The Lie: You'll just tell them that you ran away from an abusive home. Should work. (Not at all implausible, but holes will come up very quickly.)
Nurse Mary left the elevator at the third floor, waving you goodbye. You continue to the second floor, sedately wheeling yourself into the cafeteria. It's a pretty utilitarian place. One wall is taken over by a food bar, part of another are several cabinets of plastic bottles. The rest of the space is covered in long tables with benches on both sides. Idly scanning the room, you head to the food bar. It's pretty empty, there's at most ten or so, gathered into little groups, each talking to each other in little groups. You wheel to the food bar, ordering a bowl of soup on a tray from the woman behind it. With a muted 'thanks,' you take a closer look at the room's occupants.
There's three nurses in white scrubs near the left wall, nervously muttering to each other over food trays, stealing glances at the rest of the room. By the back, is an African-American patient that looks about twenty or so, flexing an arm as she saws through a bowl of chili. Near the door is the security guard, the former boxer, staring into the ceiling with empty eyes. You wonder what each of them are talking about.
Sit next to…
[X]- The Nurses
[X]- The Girl
[X]- The Security Guard
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Look Around See What You Do
- Location
- boundless optimism
Your plan to sit next to the girl without notice is sadly foiled when the sound of your wheels squeaking on the tiles alerted the woman. "Hey," she said, a bright smile on her face, standing to walk around the table to greet you. "New face? I think I saw you on the news."
"Wow," you replied, "famous already?"
She chuckled. "For this news cycle, definitely. C'mon, I need to talk to someone. I'm bored out of my skull." She turns and takes her original seat as you follow to sit at the side of the long table.
"Not a lot of people here?" you ask her curiously, ignoring the sinking feeling in your stomach as you are reminded that you had your face splashed over the TV.
"Not a lot of people our age-ish," she corrects. "Just old people. Not knocking them, but I can't talk about Seinfield with guys who could have fought in World War 2. Allie Walker. You?"
"Charlie Therese." You start drinking the soup, which is kinda meh, by all standards. "What's Seinfield?"
"Oh my god you poor child. You've never heard of Seinfield?" She laughs in what you imagine is probably pitying horror. "It's the best TV show in the world. Look, you gotta watch it, it's on TV here." She leans forward on her arms, eyes alight. "It's no fucking- do you swear?"
In honor of your newfound freedom? "Yeah."
"Oh, good. No fucking fun watching by yourself. You have a thing later today?"
"Maybe," you think over. "Ulmer says that the police are gonna have to ask me questions."
"Oh, yeah. Man, I don't think that's gonna be fun," she stretches until the bones in her back creak. "It was bullshit when it was just doctors, I can't imagine that the pigs are gonna be better."
"...pigs?" you wonder. Does she mean police? You mean, that's the only thing it could possibly imply.
"Yep. Hey, why're you eating the soup? It's crap. The chili's better. I should know, I've been eating more than you." The subject change comes fast as you jerk your head upwards.
"It's not that bad," you protest. "How long have you been here?" Ha! See, you can change the subject too.
"Eh, year or so?" She chews on another spoonful. "I've been here on and off, five years ever since I got sickle cell anemia."
A long moment of silence passes between the two of you, the click click click of cutlery filling the air. You find your eyes turning to the nurses again and again. To be entirely fair, they're the most interesting thing in this room. It's practically a painting.
"What?"
Ah shit. "Did I say that part out loud?" you asked, turning to look at Allie.
"Yeah, you did. Talking 'bout them?" She points at the muttering nurses, speaking in a muted tone. "They've been here ever since last year. I think all of them were supposed to take care of the guy who died- you know about that?"
"Yeah, someone filled me in."
"Oh, good. I dunno, they're just like that whenever they're on their break. Kinda creepy, frankly. They're gonna whip out a cauldron one of these days and nobody will notice."
You take another look. Sallow skin, and they look pretty boney, is the word. "Yeah, I can see that. I wonder what they're talking about."
"Same here, but they clam up real quick when I get close to them." The two of you ponder the mystery of the nurses. "You know, I bet it's just guilt," she says out of the blue, gesturing with her spoon. "I mean, they pulled the plug, didn't they?"
You stare at the creamy depths of your soup, suddenly losing all appetite. Your mind helpfully conjures images of the old man you woke up next to rotting, maggots eating at his flesh. "Hey, why were you doing this when I came in?" You mimicked the movement, a simple flex of the arm.
"I had uh, bone necrosis? Like, ever since I was fifteen. I had to stay in the wheelchair for years until like, last week. Medical miracle and all. Anyway, catch you later." She turns a wrist to point at a watch. "Gotta go for a checkup. Catch ya round, my ward's in the north side of the third floor, but I usually hang in the library, if you wanna see me."
"Alright."
-----------------------------------------------
"So let me get this straight. You were abducted as a kid from the Preston Hospital in Maine," the first cops says, sitting directly in front of you across a plain plastic table.
"Yep," you agree, fiddling with your thumbs. The clock in the brightly lit room reads out 3:40 PM. You've been here for about an hour, and you're pretty sure the cop thinks you're full of shit.
"You were then held for fifteen years. By the same people who kidnapped you. You effected-"
"-fancy word," you mumble.
"- I got a word a day calendar," he replies with a little testiness, "You escaped yesterday, trekking through the woods with a bullet in your gut." He nods at the little nugget of brass in a plastic bag.
"Yeah. Can I keep the bullet?"
He raises an eye and strokes a thin pencil moustache. "I'll have to check with the boys in forensics, but probably not. Why do you even want to keep it around?"
"Why do you?"
"Procedure," he replies promptly. "The labs are gonna take a look at it, try to identify it, then it's probably going straight into storage."
"Huh." You look at him looking at you. He doesn't look very interested in pushing the limits of your story.
"Okay, I think that's all I have on my end. I got some forms for you to fill out. By law, we have to get you registered as a ward once you're out. Can't just toss you on the street." To be quite honest, that's not a bad plan. "We're still figuring out if you have living relatives, but we can get that to you within a couple of days. You do, great, we'll send you to them. If not, we'll find a foster family or an orphanage."
"Oh, okay," you say. "Are we done?"
"Yeah, you can go." Immediately, you wheel your chair out of that little room. It was getting a little claustrophobic in there. Your head is buzzing. To be honest, you always thought that you were going to pull a runner as soon as you could run. The creeps were definitely going to catch up to the hospital sooner or later, but you never even thought about what would happen tomorrow, let alone two weeks.
You sigh. Time to sort through your feelings about this entire thing, you suppose. Out of the corner of your eye, you see another blue suited policeman enter the small room.
Wardship
[X]- Family: You never had a family. A mother. A father. You know, you'd really like to know what it's like.
[X]- Orphanage: It'd be pretty awkward to pop up on a family now, wouldn't it? But hanging with your peers sounds pretty cool.
[X]- Antipathic: You just want to leave. This all sounds tiring, and you want to move around. You didn't bust out of a lab to stay in one place forever.
What do you do after the interrogation? (Pick 2)
[X]- Listen in to the policemen.
[X]- Find Allie in the library.
[X]- Find one of the nurses.
[X]- Go to the backyard again.
"Wow," you replied, "famous already?"
She chuckled. "For this news cycle, definitely. C'mon, I need to talk to someone. I'm bored out of my skull." She turns and takes her original seat as you follow to sit at the side of the long table.
"Not a lot of people here?" you ask her curiously, ignoring the sinking feeling in your stomach as you are reminded that you had your face splashed over the TV.
"Not a lot of people our age-ish," she corrects. "Just old people. Not knocking them, but I can't talk about Seinfield with guys who could have fought in World War 2. Allie Walker. You?"
"Charlie Therese." You start drinking the soup, which is kinda meh, by all standards. "What's Seinfield?"
"Oh my god you poor child. You've never heard of Seinfield?" She laughs in what you imagine is probably pitying horror. "It's the best TV show in the world. Look, you gotta watch it, it's on TV here." She leans forward on her arms, eyes alight. "It's no fucking- do you swear?"
In honor of your newfound freedom? "Yeah."
"Oh, good. No fucking fun watching by yourself. You have a thing later today?"
"Maybe," you think over. "Ulmer says that the police are gonna have to ask me questions."
"Oh, yeah. Man, I don't think that's gonna be fun," she stretches until the bones in her back creak. "It was bullshit when it was just doctors, I can't imagine that the pigs are gonna be better."
"...pigs?" you wonder. Does she mean police? You mean, that's the only thing it could possibly imply.
"Yep. Hey, why're you eating the soup? It's crap. The chili's better. I should know, I've been eating more than you." The subject change comes fast as you jerk your head upwards.
"It's not that bad," you protest. "How long have you been here?" Ha! See, you can change the subject too.
"Eh, year or so?" She chews on another spoonful. "I've been here on and off, five years ever since I got sickle cell anemia."
A long moment of silence passes between the two of you, the click click click of cutlery filling the air. You find your eyes turning to the nurses again and again. To be entirely fair, they're the most interesting thing in this room. It's practically a painting.
"What?"
Ah shit. "Did I say that part out loud?" you asked, turning to look at Allie.
"Yeah, you did. Talking 'bout them?" She points at the muttering nurses, speaking in a muted tone. "They've been here ever since last year. I think all of them were supposed to take care of the guy who died- you know about that?"
"Yeah, someone filled me in."
"Oh, good. I dunno, they're just like that whenever they're on their break. Kinda creepy, frankly. They're gonna whip out a cauldron one of these days and nobody will notice."
You take another look. Sallow skin, and they look pretty boney, is the word. "Yeah, I can see that. I wonder what they're talking about."
"Same here, but they clam up real quick when I get close to them." The two of you ponder the mystery of the nurses. "You know, I bet it's just guilt," she says out of the blue, gesturing with her spoon. "I mean, they pulled the plug, didn't they?"
You stare at the creamy depths of your soup, suddenly losing all appetite. Your mind helpfully conjures images of the old man you woke up next to rotting, maggots eating at his flesh. "Hey, why were you doing this when I came in?" You mimicked the movement, a simple flex of the arm.
"I had uh, bone necrosis? Like, ever since I was fifteen. I had to stay in the wheelchair for years until like, last week. Medical miracle and all. Anyway, catch you later." She turns a wrist to point at a watch. "Gotta go for a checkup. Catch ya round, my ward's in the north side of the third floor, but I usually hang in the library, if you wanna see me."
"Alright."
-----------------------------------------------
"So let me get this straight. You were abducted as a kid from the Preston Hospital in Maine," the first cops says, sitting directly in front of you across a plain plastic table.
"Yep," you agree, fiddling with your thumbs. The clock in the brightly lit room reads out 3:40 PM. You've been here for about an hour, and you're pretty sure the cop thinks you're full of shit.
"You were then held for fifteen years. By the same people who kidnapped you. You effected-"
"-fancy word," you mumble.
"- I got a word a day calendar," he replies with a little testiness, "You escaped yesterday, trekking through the woods with a bullet in your gut." He nods at the little nugget of brass in a plastic bag.
"Yeah. Can I keep the bullet?"
He raises an eye and strokes a thin pencil moustache. "I'll have to check with the boys in forensics, but probably not. Why do you even want to keep it around?"
"Why do you?"
"Procedure," he replies promptly. "The labs are gonna take a look at it, try to identify it, then it's probably going straight into storage."
"Huh." You look at him looking at you. He doesn't look very interested in pushing the limits of your story.
"Okay, I think that's all I have on my end. I got some forms for you to fill out. By law, we have to get you registered as a ward once you're out. Can't just toss you on the street." To be quite honest, that's not a bad plan. "We're still figuring out if you have living relatives, but we can get that to you within a couple of days. You do, great, we'll send you to them. If not, we'll find a foster family or an orphanage."
"Oh, okay," you say. "Are we done?"
"Yeah, you can go." Immediately, you wheel your chair out of that little room. It was getting a little claustrophobic in there. Your head is buzzing. To be honest, you always thought that you were going to pull a runner as soon as you could run. The creeps were definitely going to catch up to the hospital sooner or later, but you never even thought about what would happen tomorrow, let alone two weeks.
You sigh. Time to sort through your feelings about this entire thing, you suppose. Out of the corner of your eye, you see another blue suited policeman enter the small room.
Wardship
[X]- Family: You never had a family. A mother. A father. You know, you'd really like to know what it's like.
[X]- Orphanage: It'd be pretty awkward to pop up on a family now, wouldn't it? But hanging with your peers sounds pretty cool.
[X]- Antipathic: You just want to leave. This all sounds tiring, and you want to move around. You didn't bust out of a lab to stay in one place forever.
What do you do after the interrogation? (Pick 2)
[X]- Listen in to the policemen.
[X]- Find Allie in the library.
[X]- Find one of the nurses.
[X]- Go to the backyard again.
We're So Pleased To Be With You
- Location
- boundless optimism
The wall of the door is thin, so you can hear each and every world clearly from the two cops. "Kid's lying so hard, I'm surprised their pants didn't catch fire," the pencil-moustache'd cop says. "Hell, it's a good story, at least. Maybe they'll publish it and rank in a couple grand."
"I'd buy a copy," the cop that just entered the room said. "Back on track. I'll bet you a dollar that it's a runaway case."
"Sure. I'll bet a buck on abduction and a vivid imagination."
"Good to know. You worked in child abductions before, right?"
The second cop sighs. "Yep. What're you leading into now?"
"See, I'm thinking that a child abduction case right out of a hospital would have drummed up some press, yeah? Thing is, I can't remember a single goddamned peep out of Preston, Maine."
There was a pause before the other voice said, "if you're trying to get me to pay up now, it's not gonna work."
"Dang. Can't fault a man for trying, at least. Wanna get a bite to eat?" You hear a chair scrape. Pencil Moustache is standing up. Crap, crap crap, you think as you wheel your chair backwards and around, away from the little room. You're halfway across the hallway before the door creaks open, so you turn your head and start looking at a diagram of the human body.
It's not really interesting. The door creeps open behind you, and you turn to look at the two policemen, ambling out of the room that was too small. The cop that was interrogating you squints at you suspiciously while the other just nods as they walk towards the stairwell. Phew. Lucky you.
be seeing you
What was that.
You didn't think that. So who the hell- okay, fine. You close your eyes and look into the Dream. You figured out that trick a long time ago. There's… some kind of purple snake. Or it's a trail of smoke. You turn around and- the second cop's there stretching. The snake-smoke is coming out from his mouth and nose. He grins at you, before coughing, the smoke coming out in short bursts.
"Hey, you alright?" the cop with the pencil moustache says from out of your sight.
"Yeah, just gimme a second. These smokes will kill a man, eventually." The guy breaks eye contact, walking down the stairs as the other cop says something about going somewhere with better food than here.
The smoke trail or whatever it is coils like a living thing, slinking down the stairs with the other cop, leaving a slowly curling residue in its wake. It's smooth and slightly slimy, or slippery. You wind it around your hand- it's almost weightless, like it's not actually something solid but like water that hasn't remembered to splash into a puddle. You open your eyes again. You're holding nothing but you can still feel it in your hands.
You'll figure out what to do with it later. Into a pocket of the hospital pyjamas it goes.
A couple of minutes later, you wheel yourself into the hospital library, looking around for Allie. The library seems pretty well stocked- there's white plastic bookshelves lining each wall, with a couple of standalone shelves in the middle of the room, wooden tables set around in a random manner. A thin, old woman is behind the counter. In fact, that describes most of the people in the room. Old men and women with hanging jowls and papery skin, flipping the pages of magazines and books with trembling fingers. So Allie was easy to find, her feet propped up on a chair across from her.
You roll yourself up to her. Before you manage to say hello, she said, "oh, hey it's you. How was the cops?"
"Nothing really happened," you said, resting your arms on the table. "What're reading?"
"Boring trash," Allie replies, shutting the book with a slam. Before she places it face down, you can see a muscle-bound man in small underwear brandishing an uncomfortable looking sword at what looks like a monkey with giant fangs. "There's nothing really fun in this place," she groans, slumping down. "God, the nearest good restaurant is like, thirty minutes by car, and the bus comes in once every two hours. How do people live like this?"
You shrug. Not like you know. "It's so empty, Charlie. I have to walk an hour just to get a burger that doesn't taste like crap," Allie continues, working herself up.
"The trees are nice?"
"It's borriiiiing," she jabs back expertly. "Yosemite? Now that's some good trees. It's a national treasure. It's just boring trees here. Trees trees trees." She does this for some time, more glad to have someone to rant to then really to listen to you. It fades into soothing background chatter. All you need to do is say stuff like, "oh really?" or "huh."
Eventually, she ran out of things to complain about. "How'd your date with the law go, by the way?" Allie leans forward to look at you. You edge backwards into your wheelchair to compensate.
"Nothing much. Why?"
"Oh, just curious. Did your folks come and pick you up?"
"You ask a lot of questions."
She laughs, a sharp ha that elicit glares and shushes from the geriatric people in the library. Allie rolls her eyes at them. "Yeah, I guess I do. Spill, though."
"Nope," you say, popping the p.
She squints at you. "The cops couldn't get anything, you're not either."
"So you are hiding something!" she whispers triumphantly at you. Suddenly you're not so interested in her company anymore. Her hand darts out and grabs the armbar of the wheelchair as you start to wheel yourself out. "Wait, no, don't leave, I'm sorry, okay? Look, I'll never bring it up again. We can talk about something else!"
You breathe in, considering. She's not a Creep, you remind yourself, and those cops weren't either except for maybe that smoke man. She wasn't that bad, you convince yourself. She liked talking and asking questions and that's it. And she's never going to do it again, and even if she did, what's the matter? You can leave whenever you want to. "Fine," you decide. "But don't ever bring it up ever again, okay?"
Ramble on…
[X]- The hospital, and the nurses and the old man.
[X]- Places nearby, and what you can do.
[X]- Write In
AN: yeah yeah it's been a while but i ran out of juice for the other quest.
"I'd buy a copy," the cop that just entered the room said. "Back on track. I'll bet you a dollar that it's a runaway case."
"Sure. I'll bet a buck on abduction and a vivid imagination."
"Good to know. You worked in child abductions before, right?"
The second cop sighs. "Yep. What're you leading into now?"
"See, I'm thinking that a child abduction case right out of a hospital would have drummed up some press, yeah? Thing is, I can't remember a single goddamned peep out of Preston, Maine."
There was a pause before the other voice said, "if you're trying to get me to pay up now, it's not gonna work."
"Dang. Can't fault a man for trying, at least. Wanna get a bite to eat?" You hear a chair scrape. Pencil Moustache is standing up. Crap, crap crap, you think as you wheel your chair backwards and around, away from the little room. You're halfway across the hallway before the door creaks open, so you turn your head and start looking at a diagram of the human body.
It's not really interesting. The door creeps open behind you, and you turn to look at the two policemen, ambling out of the room that was too small. The cop that was interrogating you squints at you suspiciously while the other just nods as they walk towards the stairwell. Phew. Lucky you.
be seeing you
What was that.
You didn't think that. So who the hell- okay, fine. You close your eyes and look into the Dream. You figured out that trick a long time ago. There's… some kind of purple snake. Or it's a trail of smoke. You turn around and- the second cop's there stretching. The snake-smoke is coming out from his mouth and nose. He grins at you, before coughing, the smoke coming out in short bursts.
"Hey, you alright?" the cop with the pencil moustache says from out of your sight.
"Yeah, just gimme a second. These smokes will kill a man, eventually." The guy breaks eye contact, walking down the stairs as the other cop says something about going somewhere with better food than here.
The smoke trail or whatever it is coils like a living thing, slinking down the stairs with the other cop, leaving a slowly curling residue in its wake. It's smooth and slightly slimy, or slippery. You wind it around your hand- it's almost weightless, like it's not actually something solid but like water that hasn't remembered to splash into a puddle. You open your eyes again. You're holding nothing but you can still feel it in your hands.
You'll figure out what to do with it later. Into a pocket of the hospital pyjamas it goes.
A couple of minutes later, you wheel yourself into the hospital library, looking around for Allie. The library seems pretty well stocked- there's white plastic bookshelves lining each wall, with a couple of standalone shelves in the middle of the room, wooden tables set around in a random manner. A thin, old woman is behind the counter. In fact, that describes most of the people in the room. Old men and women with hanging jowls and papery skin, flipping the pages of magazines and books with trembling fingers. So Allie was easy to find, her feet propped up on a chair across from her.
You roll yourself up to her. Before you manage to say hello, she said, "oh, hey it's you. How was the cops?"
"Nothing really happened," you said, resting your arms on the table. "What're reading?"
"Boring trash," Allie replies, shutting the book with a slam. Before she places it face down, you can see a muscle-bound man in small underwear brandishing an uncomfortable looking sword at what looks like a monkey with giant fangs. "There's nothing really fun in this place," she groans, slumping down. "God, the nearest good restaurant is like, thirty minutes by car, and the bus comes in once every two hours. How do people live like this?"
You shrug. Not like you know. "It's so empty, Charlie. I have to walk an hour just to get a burger that doesn't taste like crap," Allie continues, working herself up.
"The trees are nice?"
"It's borriiiiing," she jabs back expertly. "Yosemite? Now that's some good trees. It's a national treasure. It's just boring trees here. Trees trees trees." She does this for some time, more glad to have someone to rant to then really to listen to you. It fades into soothing background chatter. All you need to do is say stuff like, "oh really?" or "huh."
Eventually, she ran out of things to complain about. "How'd your date with the law go, by the way?" Allie leans forward to look at you. You edge backwards into your wheelchair to compensate.
"Nothing much. Why?"
"Oh, just curious. Did your folks come and pick you up?"
"You ask a lot of questions."
She laughs, a sharp ha that elicit glares and shushes from the geriatric people in the library. Allie rolls her eyes at them. "Yeah, I guess I do. Spill, though."
"Nope," you say, popping the p.
She squints at you. "The cops couldn't get anything, you're not either."
"So you are hiding something!" she whispers triumphantly at you. Suddenly you're not so interested in her company anymore. Her hand darts out and grabs the armbar of the wheelchair as you start to wheel yourself out. "Wait, no, don't leave, I'm sorry, okay? Look, I'll never bring it up again. We can talk about something else!"
You breathe in, considering. She's not a Creep, you remind yourself, and those cops weren't either except for maybe that smoke man. She wasn't that bad, you convince yourself. She liked talking and asking questions and that's it. And she's never going to do it again, and even if she did, what's the matter? You can leave whenever you want to. "Fine," you decide. "But don't ever bring it up ever again, okay?"
Ramble on…
[X]- The hospital, and the nurses and the old man.
[X]- Places nearby, and what you can do.
[X]- Write In
AN: yeah yeah it's been a while but i ran out of juice for the other quest.
There Ain't A Cloud In Sight
- Location
- boundless optimism
It passes like a cloud. It's like it never even happened to her, as she apologizes and awkwardly begins to whistle. The sound cuts through the silence- only it's not really a silence, there's the hum of machinery throughout the library anyway. You watch her mouth, curious as to how Allie's doing that. Some of the guards did, but you could never see them through the thick glass, and besides, the men in the black suits told off any whistlers they caught. And smilers. Come to think of it, the suits just liked to yell at you, at the guards, at pretty much everyone. Only the doctors in the white coats got a pass.
"Hey, Charlie?"
How do you whistle, anyway? It just looks like you pucker your lips and start blowing. You blow a breath out of your lips, but you don't make any sound. "Charlie, are you trying to whistle?" Allie interrupts you. She looks like she's holding back a chuckle.
"No." Your cheeks heat up.
"You totally were." She draws the last word out, a shit eating grin plastered all over her face. You glare at her. "But no, if you're just blowing air out, it's not gonna work. You have to get your lips wet and press your tongue up to your front teeth. Like this." She whistles out a tune, sharp and rising. It gets an old man the next table over to shush her. "Oops," she said sheepishly. "You wanna get some air?"
You're wheeling yourself out of the library, Allie walking by your side later. "Can we go up to the roof?"
"Eh, sure, why not," she replied. "I feel a bit hot, anyway."
You look at her. There were beads of sweat on her forehead. Weird. "It's like-" what was the month? The year? "-fifty degrees outside. How are you hot?"
"I've been working out," she shrugs. "My physical rehab is going well. In fact, I think I'm in better condition than I came in."
"Congratulations."
The elevator opens. She steps out in front of you, turning to face you as you go out of the box. "Sorry, am I talking too much for you?" You continue forward as she speaks. "It's like, wow, you're pretty silent for like a long time."
You proceed to demonstrate this for her. She zips her mouth, smiling as you… not open the door and see clear blue sky, because you're on wheels and there's a staircase that blocks your way to the roof. Stupid leg. You felt yourself tilt backwards, then up as Allie pushes you without even a grunt. "Told ya," she said as she opened the door.
"Cool," you repeated, wheeling yourself to the edge of the roof, covered by a chain link fence. Allie joins you. Red car. Blue car. White car. Black car. The lot under you looks like a broken up tile floor with the gray backing showing in each missing piece. You closed your eyes. The coffins are still there, sitting like they're waiting for something. Another coffin on squeaky wheels pulls into the lot. The veins are still there, slowly and placidly pumping blood, coiled like vines across the roof. And the heart has to be behind you.
You open your eyes. Nothing you want to see there.
"You know, Ulmer traded his beater for an actually good car- looked like a Plymouth? when he told the nurses to pull life support," Allie notes out of nowhere. She pointed at a ruby red muscle car.
The wind ruffles your hair, tossing your bangs into your eyes. "It feels like everyone's talking about him. What even was his name?"
"Pressley, I think," Allie replied, leaning against the railing until you worry that she might drop over the wall. Splat. "How's the leg, by the by?"
You look down and raise your left leg, wrapped in a navy blue cast. "Doesn't hurt. That's good, right?" It's the gut that ached. She nodded.
The wind curled through your hair.
You could get used to this. The silence, the openness, everything. "Whelp," Allie announced, glancing down at a watch, "Seinfeld is on air. You wanna come with?"
"It's that TV show, right?" She nods. You are torn between the open air and the promise of something new and tantalizing for a moment, before casting one last look over the horizon and down at the parking lot. "Yeah, I'm down. Can you give me a hand?" You, with Allie's help, roll down the staircase, feeling every jolt marching up your spine.
"Okay, I don't get it," you said as the TV belted out another can of fake studio laughter. One of the guards had mentioned to you that all that laughter came from one long-dead show- something about Lucy? That had rattled you. It was like listening to dead people, a legion of dusty skeletons hooting and cheering as they ate moldy popcorn full of roaches. "It's just jerks being jerks to another. It's not funny, it's uncomfortable."
Allie munched on a potato chip, offering you the bag. You wave her off. "You've never listened in on anyone?"
"No." Well, you did, but after a while they figured out that you were and then had everyone shut up when they were near your room.
"Well, that'd explain it. Half the fun," Allie explained as the final laugh track rolled and the credit theme began blaring, "is watching their lives." You stare at her. She blinks. "Okay, that was a little bit creepy," she admitted.
"Just a little bit, yeah," you agreed, looking out the window and into the setting sun. You supposed that it was similar to how you, when you thought that nobody was monitering you through the two-way-mirror, you crept up to the door and sometimes the windows to catch a snippit of something. Well, you chalked that up to boredom, not being creepy. "Right. I guess I'll be leaving, then." You start to wheel yourself out of the three bed room, the other inhabitants off… what were they doing? Question for another day.
"Good night. Don't let the ghost that lives in the hallway like, two doors down nibble your bones or something."
You stop and turn around to squint at Allie. "Are you messing with me?"
"Yeah, probably," she admitted. "Bit of a hospital legend- lotsa staff breaking down there."
[X]- Do the normal thing and go to sleep. Ghosts don't exist, or at least you haven't seen one. Yet. And fiddle with the weird smoke thing.
[X]- Hahaha who's gonna tell you not? Poke whatever that lives in that hallway if you can find it.
"Hey, Charlie?"
How do you whistle, anyway? It just looks like you pucker your lips and start blowing. You blow a breath out of your lips, but you don't make any sound. "Charlie, are you trying to whistle?" Allie interrupts you. She looks like she's holding back a chuckle.
"No." Your cheeks heat up.
"You totally were." She draws the last word out, a shit eating grin plastered all over her face. You glare at her. "But no, if you're just blowing air out, it's not gonna work. You have to get your lips wet and press your tongue up to your front teeth. Like this." She whistles out a tune, sharp and rising. It gets an old man the next table over to shush her. "Oops," she said sheepishly. "You wanna get some air?"
You're wheeling yourself out of the library, Allie walking by your side later. "Can we go up to the roof?"
"Eh, sure, why not," she replied. "I feel a bit hot, anyway."
You look at her. There were beads of sweat on her forehead. Weird. "It's like-" what was the month? The year? "-fifty degrees outside. How are you hot?"
"I've been working out," she shrugs. "My physical rehab is going well. In fact, I think I'm in better condition than I came in."
"Congratulations."
The elevator opens. She steps out in front of you, turning to face you as you go out of the box. "Sorry, am I talking too much for you?" You continue forward as she speaks. "It's like, wow, you're pretty silent for like a long time."
You proceed to demonstrate this for her. She zips her mouth, smiling as you… not open the door and see clear blue sky, because you're on wheels and there's a staircase that blocks your way to the roof. Stupid leg. You felt yourself tilt backwards, then up as Allie pushes you without even a grunt. "Told ya," she said as she opened the door.
"Cool," you repeated, wheeling yourself to the edge of the roof, covered by a chain link fence. Allie joins you. Red car. Blue car. White car. Black car. The lot under you looks like a broken up tile floor with the gray backing showing in each missing piece. You closed your eyes. The coffins are still there, sitting like they're waiting for something. Another coffin on squeaky wheels pulls into the lot. The veins are still there, slowly and placidly pumping blood, coiled like vines across the roof. And the heart has to be behind you.
You open your eyes. Nothing you want to see there.
"You know, Ulmer traded his beater for an actually good car- looked like a Plymouth? when he told the nurses to pull life support," Allie notes out of nowhere. She pointed at a ruby red muscle car.
The wind ruffles your hair, tossing your bangs into your eyes. "It feels like everyone's talking about him. What even was his name?"
"Pressley, I think," Allie replied, leaning against the railing until you worry that she might drop over the wall. Splat. "How's the leg, by the by?"
You look down and raise your left leg, wrapped in a navy blue cast. "Doesn't hurt. That's good, right?" It's the gut that ached. She nodded.
The wind curled through your hair.
You could get used to this. The silence, the openness, everything. "Whelp," Allie announced, glancing down at a watch, "Seinfeld is on air. You wanna come with?"
"It's that TV show, right?" She nods. You are torn between the open air and the promise of something new and tantalizing for a moment, before casting one last look over the horizon and down at the parking lot. "Yeah, I'm down. Can you give me a hand?" You, with Allie's help, roll down the staircase, feeling every jolt marching up your spine.
"Okay, I don't get it," you said as the TV belted out another can of fake studio laughter. One of the guards had mentioned to you that all that laughter came from one long-dead show- something about Lucy? That had rattled you. It was like listening to dead people, a legion of dusty skeletons hooting and cheering as they ate moldy popcorn full of roaches. "It's just jerks being jerks to another. It's not funny, it's uncomfortable."
Allie munched on a potato chip, offering you the bag. You wave her off. "You've never listened in on anyone?"
"No." Well, you did, but after a while they figured out that you were and then had everyone shut up when they were near your room.
"Well, that'd explain it. Half the fun," Allie explained as the final laugh track rolled and the credit theme began blaring, "is watching their lives." You stare at her. She blinks. "Okay, that was a little bit creepy," she admitted.
"Just a little bit, yeah," you agreed, looking out the window and into the setting sun. You supposed that it was similar to how you, when you thought that nobody was monitering you through the two-way-mirror, you crept up to the door and sometimes the windows to catch a snippit of something. Well, you chalked that up to boredom, not being creepy. "Right. I guess I'll be leaving, then." You start to wheel yourself out of the three bed room, the other inhabitants off… what were they doing? Question for another day.
"Good night. Don't let the ghost that lives in the hallway like, two doors down nibble your bones or something."
You stop and turn around to squint at Allie. "Are you messing with me?"
"Yeah, probably," she admitted. "Bit of a hospital legend- lotsa staff breaking down there."
[X]- Do the normal thing and go to sleep. Ghosts don't exist, or at least you haven't seen one. Yet. And fiddle with the weird smoke thing.
[X]- Hahaha who's gonna tell you not? Poke whatever that lives in that hallway if you can find it.
I'll Remember You This Way
- Location
- boundless optimism
You're about halfway to your room before you realize, hey, there's nothing stopping you from screwing off and doing whatever you want, right? You're free, baby! Welcome to America! Or something like that. Well, it's no hot dog, but you imagined that the thrill of doing whatever you want would outweigh the not-food nature of ghosts.
The wheelchair squeaked as you turned the wheelchair specifically left when it should have been right. Eyes, shut. The icy air of the Dream surrounds you once again, for the second time since you woke up this morning. Threading through the walls are red arteries as thick as your head. Your face was reflected off their shine. A finger goes into the wet thing- it's like water, just without a tube to carry it, a finger comes out clean. Oh, well. Another weird thing that happens. Maybe it's just a thing that happens in hospitals. Something to check on when you see another hospital.
The route takes you through the entire floor once. No ghost.
You go through the entire floor again. Still no ghost. You felt that your time had been wasted and your day ruined as the Dream retreated from your cognition. Still, you suppose, as you wheeled yourself back to your own room with the open window and nice breeze, it's nice to know Allie was just jerking you around. But still disappointing that there's no ghost.
The lights flicker once, plunging the hallways into darkness. "Huh?" you muttered. The lights came back on, one at a time. The darkness retreated step by step. "I'm watching you," you said on general principle to catch whatever's lurking in the darkness off guard.
It goes dark again at those words. "That was a joke," you said aloud in the dark.
The light comes back on again. There's no switch that you can see along the hallway. Granted, there might be a master switch, but there's also no microphones or anything. That you can see. But then again, you think to yourself, things might be different in the Dream.
Dip back in.
Yep, there's a ghost, you agree to yourself. It's a properly ghostly ghost, with black pits for eyes and a jagged gape for a mouth, monochrome and transparent. He looked like a bulldog, you supposed, what with the hooded brow and the thick-set jowls. At his left was a light switch, hooked to a spaghetti-mess of cables leading up to the windows. "Oh wow, hi!" you said, wheeling your chair forward with a hand extended. "You're Pressley, right? How's everything? Allie told me about you, and-" the lights go dark again, and when they flicker back on again, your hand stretches to thin air.
Tough crowd to please, you shrugged. There's no hint of the ghost- Pressley, now that you just said his name. Was that a bad? Oh, well. If you can track him down and talk it out with Pressley, maybe everything'll work out.
Now, where did he go? You knew nothing about ghosts, but wasn't a big thing of theirs being unable to leave a specific place? When you leaned in closer to where Pressley's ghost was, you could see a faint shimmer, a greasy streak hanging in thin air that went through the wall behind it.
Okay, so he could do that. You wish you could've done that. Maybe then you wouldn't have tripped face first into all those alarms and the break room. And then got shot in the gut.
You turned around the corner and tried the first door you see. You ignored the plaque saying DEADERS above you. Just words, you reminded yourself.
Just words, and also no ghost. The same for the next door. And the next one, and the next. You felt a bit silly, but hey, nobody's looking, except Pressley. "Hey, Pressley!" you shouted, "you out there? C'mon, I just want to talk!
"It's gotta be lonely. Can other people even see you? I'm pretty sure they can't. Hello? I don't bite.
"It's getting lonely talking to myself. Are you theeeree? No? Aw. Heck."
"If I talk to you, will you please shut up?" a peevish voice said behind your back as you began to turn away from the third room. You jumped in the wheelchair, but just a little, before you turned your neck. "Well, kid?"
"I think if you talk to me you've already gotten me talking by design," you noted as you turned to face Pressley. He still has the black pits for his eyes, but his mouth is firmly set in a tight scowl, looking for all the world as if he was two steps away from barking at you. "That's kind of a lose lose thing, isn't it?"
"No manners," the ghost growls, crossing muscled arms as he stalked closer to you. Despite yourself, you inch back just a bit. "Didn't yer mamma ever tell you to be respectful to yer elders?"
"Never had one, so here we are," the words fall out of your mouth before you can stop it. Before you and him could dwell on it any longer, you stick out your hand. "I'm Charlie. You're Pressley, right? Not another dead guy?"
"As I once lived and breathed," he confirmed, grabbing your hand in a vice like grip. "How the hell can you see me? I've been cooling my heels here for a year and all I got were some scared nurses. That little slime, Ulmer, can't see me and that pisses me off like no devil can describe." The grip grows tighter and tighter until you could swear that your bones creaked.
A cursory glance through your mental list of condolences leaves you short. "I'm… sorry?" you try awkwardly as you tried to wriggle your hand free.
"That motherfucker," he swore, the grip becoming tighter. Red and black tints his veins as he spoke, becoming more solid and concrete by the second. "I could have lived, you know? I was healthy, it was a goddamn heart attack, I had a dozen of those fuckers and I could have taken a dozen more, but apparently I was suffering. Suffering!" he spat, flecks of reddish spittle spraying out.
"Sir, could you-" you tried pulling your hand free from his grip. He's not letting go, you realize with a heart-beating thump. Until you do something, but what? Your hand's almost broken and if you piss him off any further he might just reach around your neck and snap it like a twig.
[X]- Drop out of the Dream. Hope you don't carry Pressley with you.
[X]- "Look, you want Ulmer, right? I'll get you him."
The wheelchair squeaked as you turned the wheelchair specifically left when it should have been right. Eyes, shut. The icy air of the Dream surrounds you once again, for the second time since you woke up this morning. Threading through the walls are red arteries as thick as your head. Your face was reflected off their shine. A finger goes into the wet thing- it's like water, just without a tube to carry it, a finger comes out clean. Oh, well. Another weird thing that happens. Maybe it's just a thing that happens in hospitals. Something to check on when you see another hospital.
The route takes you through the entire floor once. No ghost.
You go through the entire floor again. Still no ghost. You felt that your time had been wasted and your day ruined as the Dream retreated from your cognition. Still, you suppose, as you wheeled yourself back to your own room with the open window and nice breeze, it's nice to know Allie was just jerking you around. But still disappointing that there's no ghost.
The lights flicker once, plunging the hallways into darkness. "Huh?" you muttered. The lights came back on, one at a time. The darkness retreated step by step. "I'm watching you," you said on general principle to catch whatever's lurking in the darkness off guard.
It goes dark again at those words. "That was a joke," you said aloud in the dark.
The light comes back on again. There's no switch that you can see along the hallway. Granted, there might be a master switch, but there's also no microphones or anything. That you can see. But then again, you think to yourself, things might be different in the Dream.
Dip back in.
Yep, there's a ghost, you agree to yourself. It's a properly ghostly ghost, with black pits for eyes and a jagged gape for a mouth, monochrome and transparent. He looked like a bulldog, you supposed, what with the hooded brow and the thick-set jowls. At his left was a light switch, hooked to a spaghetti-mess of cables leading up to the windows. "Oh wow, hi!" you said, wheeling your chair forward with a hand extended. "You're Pressley, right? How's everything? Allie told me about you, and-" the lights go dark again, and when they flicker back on again, your hand stretches to thin air.
Tough crowd to please, you shrugged. There's no hint of the ghost- Pressley, now that you just said his name. Was that a bad? Oh, well. If you can track him down and talk it out with Pressley, maybe everything'll work out.
Now, where did he go? You knew nothing about ghosts, but wasn't a big thing of theirs being unable to leave a specific place? When you leaned in closer to where Pressley's ghost was, you could see a faint shimmer, a greasy streak hanging in thin air that went through the wall behind it.
Okay, so he could do that. You wish you could've done that. Maybe then you wouldn't have tripped face first into all those alarms and the break room. And then got shot in the gut.
You turned around the corner and tried the first door you see. You ignored the plaque saying DEADERS above you. Just words, you reminded yourself.
Just words, and also no ghost. The same for the next door. And the next one, and the next. You felt a bit silly, but hey, nobody's looking, except Pressley. "Hey, Pressley!" you shouted, "you out there? C'mon, I just want to talk!
"It's gotta be lonely. Can other people even see you? I'm pretty sure they can't. Hello? I don't bite.
"It's getting lonely talking to myself. Are you theeeree? No? Aw. Heck."
"If I talk to you, will you please shut up?" a peevish voice said behind your back as you began to turn away from the third room. You jumped in the wheelchair, but just a little, before you turned your neck. "Well, kid?"
"I think if you talk to me you've already gotten me talking by design," you noted as you turned to face Pressley. He still has the black pits for his eyes, but his mouth is firmly set in a tight scowl, looking for all the world as if he was two steps away from barking at you. "That's kind of a lose lose thing, isn't it?"
"No manners," the ghost growls, crossing muscled arms as he stalked closer to you. Despite yourself, you inch back just a bit. "Didn't yer mamma ever tell you to be respectful to yer elders?"
"Never had one, so here we are," the words fall out of your mouth before you can stop it. Before you and him could dwell on it any longer, you stick out your hand. "I'm Charlie. You're Pressley, right? Not another dead guy?"
"As I once lived and breathed," he confirmed, grabbing your hand in a vice like grip. "How the hell can you see me? I've been cooling my heels here for a year and all I got were some scared nurses. That little slime, Ulmer, can't see me and that pisses me off like no devil can describe." The grip grows tighter and tighter until you could swear that your bones creaked.
A cursory glance through your mental list of condolences leaves you short. "I'm… sorry?" you try awkwardly as you tried to wriggle your hand free.
"That motherfucker," he swore, the grip becoming tighter. Red and black tints his veins as he spoke, becoming more solid and concrete by the second. "I could have lived, you know? I was healthy, it was a goddamn heart attack, I had a dozen of those fuckers and I could have taken a dozen more, but apparently I was suffering. Suffering!" he spat, flecks of reddish spittle spraying out.
"Sir, could you-" you tried pulling your hand free from his grip. He's not letting go, you realize with a heart-beating thump. Until you do something, but what? Your hand's almost broken and if you piss him off any further he might just reach around your neck and snap it like a twig.
[X]- Drop out of the Dream. Hope you don't carry Pressley with you.
[X]- "Look, you want Ulmer, right? I'll get you him."
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Where Did We Go Wrong?
- Location
- boundless optimism
The creeps used to give you a swimming pool. It was a pretty small one, but when you were younger it seemed like the ocean to you. Where were you going with this? You thought deliriously as Pressely continued to pour out his bile. Oh. Right. Deep breaths. The Dream fades back out, and the only thing that remains of the ghost of Pressley are the angry red welts on your right hand and fingers.
The lights flickered again. Oh shit. Pressley was still here, beyond the veil of the Dream. And, judging by the frequency of the flickering light he's pissed. "Hey, uh-" the words seize up in your throat in a messy tangle. What do you say to a ghost that nearly broke your hand? Nothing. There are no possible words for you to calm him down, so you do the next best thing in that hallway of once human malignancy and…
Ran away.
The flickering lights follow you as you rush to your bed, throwing the covers over your head after you shut the door tight. He didn't follow you into the room.
When you woke up to the cold morning light, you ended up staying in bed for another hour or so because you really didn't want to step into the hallway again. After all, Pressley could still be there with his iron hand waiting for your neck.
Also the fact that the hospital bed was way softer than the Creep bed, and you didn't have anything to do so you know…
By noon, your back ached from lying in bed and you're pretty dang bored, what with having nothing to do in bed, so you grudgingly swung your legs onto the wheelchair, taking care not to place weight on your broken leg, and rolled into the cafeteria.
"Find the ghost?" Allie was sitting at the same table where you found her yesterday. "Where the heck did you get that?" she laughed, an awkward, aborted sound, when you showed her the bruised hand.
"It was the ghost," you replied. "Hey, are you going to eat those tots? No? Thanks." You take her silence as a yes, shoveling a handful in your mouth. She's still staring at the bruises. "What?" you swallowed the mouthful of potatoes.
She snapped out of it. "Bullshit," she said blankly and levelly.
"You said a bad-"
"You're, like, fourteen, you probably say those words on the way to school," she hissed impatiently. "There's no actual ghost, right? Like, no way."
You shrugged. "I mean, what're the other choices?"
Allie mussed her hair, face screwed in concentration. "I don't know," she said, "Uh, maybe you got it stuck in a drawer? Or a door?"
"Five times?"
"It could have been a very aggressive door," she ventured as she drained the last of a bottle of orange juice. "Or a drawer. Never trusted those things."
"They are pretty nippy," you continued. "Yes, Allie, you've caught me. There was never a ghost. Instead, a rabid drawer chased me down and tried to eat my hand. Luckily, I was fast enough to escape with only bruises to show."
"Ha," Allie replied, not laughing at all. "So you're not joking?"
"Well, I was-"
"No, I mean about the ghost."
"I was not joking about the ghost. He is Pressley, by the way."
"Huh." There was a pause. "How bad?"
"Pretty."
"Are we going to stop using these one line replies on each other?"
You considered this, and then shook your head. "Okay, but really, what happened?" Allie asked.
"I talked to him a bit, you know, said hi, how's being dead, and when I shook his hand he started screaming about Ulmer and, well, this." Your hand flopped once for emphasis.
"Huh," Allie leaned closer at your hand. "Jesus, guy's got a grip. Is it just bruises, or did something break?"
"Just bruises." A closer look reveals that the angry red flesh is subsiding into black splotches. "Ew. You think I should go to the nurses for this?"
"It's gonna be awkward, won't it? Hi, I met the ghost that lives on the third floor and he nearly broke my hand. Can I get a cold compress?"
A huffed laugh escaped your throat. "Yeah, fair enough. What do I do then?"
"Uh, keep it elevated, get ice on there, and-"
"About the ghost, Allie, but thanks for that anyway."
She shrugged. "De nada, boss. There's a chaplain here, but I think exorcism is a bit out of his wheelhouse."
"Then what the heck does he get paid for?" You looked around. "Does he at least have holy water?"
"That's for devils," Allie snapped her fingers. "I think it's a crucifix for ghosts."
"Why?" It doesn't sound right to you. What makes devils hate holy water and ghosts hate crosses? Maybe devils are cats. That might explain all the black cats next to the witches.
"I don't know, I study biology," Allie huffed impatiently. "I'm not a priest. I just watched some horror flicks time to time. Anyway, you think you can find him again?"
Thumbs twiddled. "I caan," you hazarded, "but I don't want to, that's the thing. He scares the shit out of me and I'm not going near him if I can help it. Do you still want those tots?"
Allie nodded. "Yeah, I get that. And nah, have'em. They're cold anyway." The food was gone in a second. "Anyway, see you around. I gotta finish some classwork. See ya 'round." You waved goodbye, more focused on the leftovers than Allie.
The next few days had their upsides and downsides. One- your leg got better. You got around to hobbling around like a maimed insect with three legs on crutches, but it was better than the wheelchair- you didn't have to worry about stairs. Once you figured out how to hop from one to the other, it was all peachy. Two- The doctor gave you the ok to eat solid foods, so you spent a disgustingly large amount of time pigging out on the cafeteria. And three- your leg got better. That beared repeating, because holy God did that chair bum you out after a couple of days.
The bad- the ghost, the creeping specter of the cops trying to find a home for you and by extension the creeps, and the ghost. It wasn't obvious at first, and mostly you kept out of the Dream because of Pressley, so you dismissed the occasional rattling thing behind you and the creaking doors and most recently, the flickering lights as coincidences. By now, you've gone and asked the chaplain- a nice guy, big and round like a cannonball with a white stubble for a beard- for a crucifix, one that he provided with no further questions.
It didn't help. Well, maybe it did for a while, but by now Pressley's- heh- pressing in again. You have to get help somewhere.
Find Help
[]- Nurse Mary: She helped you out before, and she can get the other nurses to help you. Hopefully.
[]- Ulmer: Pressley really wants to kill Ulmer, and the least you can do is give the guy a heads up.
[]- The Chaplain: Look, if he can't exorcise a ghost what is he here for?
The lights flickered again. Oh shit. Pressley was still here, beyond the veil of the Dream. And, judging by the frequency of the flickering light he's pissed. "Hey, uh-" the words seize up in your throat in a messy tangle. What do you say to a ghost that nearly broke your hand? Nothing. There are no possible words for you to calm him down, so you do the next best thing in that hallway of once human malignancy and…
Ran away.
The flickering lights follow you as you rush to your bed, throwing the covers over your head after you shut the door tight. He didn't follow you into the room.
When you woke up to the cold morning light, you ended up staying in bed for another hour or so because you really didn't want to step into the hallway again. After all, Pressley could still be there with his iron hand waiting for your neck.
Also the fact that the hospital bed was way softer than the Creep bed, and you didn't have anything to do so you know…
By noon, your back ached from lying in bed and you're pretty dang bored, what with having nothing to do in bed, so you grudgingly swung your legs onto the wheelchair, taking care not to place weight on your broken leg, and rolled into the cafeteria.
"Find the ghost?" Allie was sitting at the same table where you found her yesterday. "Where the heck did you get that?" she laughed, an awkward, aborted sound, when you showed her the bruised hand.
"It was the ghost," you replied. "Hey, are you going to eat those tots? No? Thanks." You take her silence as a yes, shoveling a handful in your mouth. She's still staring at the bruises. "What?" you swallowed the mouthful of potatoes.
She snapped out of it. "Bullshit," she said blankly and levelly.
"You said a bad-"
"You're, like, fourteen, you probably say those words on the way to school," she hissed impatiently. "There's no actual ghost, right? Like, no way."
You shrugged. "I mean, what're the other choices?"
Allie mussed her hair, face screwed in concentration. "I don't know," she said, "Uh, maybe you got it stuck in a drawer? Or a door?"
"Five times?"
"It could have been a very aggressive door," she ventured as she drained the last of a bottle of orange juice. "Or a drawer. Never trusted those things."
"They are pretty nippy," you continued. "Yes, Allie, you've caught me. There was never a ghost. Instead, a rabid drawer chased me down and tried to eat my hand. Luckily, I was fast enough to escape with only bruises to show."
"Ha," Allie replied, not laughing at all. "So you're not joking?"
"Well, I was-"
"No, I mean about the ghost."
"I was not joking about the ghost. He is Pressley, by the way."
"Huh." There was a pause. "How bad?"
"Pretty."
"Are we going to stop using these one line replies on each other?"
You considered this, and then shook your head. "Okay, but really, what happened?" Allie asked.
"I talked to him a bit, you know, said hi, how's being dead, and when I shook his hand he started screaming about Ulmer and, well, this." Your hand flopped once for emphasis.
"Huh," Allie leaned closer at your hand. "Jesus, guy's got a grip. Is it just bruises, or did something break?"
"Just bruises." A closer look reveals that the angry red flesh is subsiding into black splotches. "Ew. You think I should go to the nurses for this?"
"It's gonna be awkward, won't it? Hi, I met the ghost that lives on the third floor and he nearly broke my hand. Can I get a cold compress?"
A huffed laugh escaped your throat. "Yeah, fair enough. What do I do then?"
"Uh, keep it elevated, get ice on there, and-"
"About the ghost, Allie, but thanks for that anyway."
She shrugged. "De nada, boss. There's a chaplain here, but I think exorcism is a bit out of his wheelhouse."
"Then what the heck does he get paid for?" You looked around. "Does he at least have holy water?"
"That's for devils," Allie snapped her fingers. "I think it's a crucifix for ghosts."
"Why?" It doesn't sound right to you. What makes devils hate holy water and ghosts hate crosses? Maybe devils are cats. That might explain all the black cats next to the witches.
"I don't know, I study biology," Allie huffed impatiently. "I'm not a priest. I just watched some horror flicks time to time. Anyway, you think you can find him again?"
Thumbs twiddled. "I caan," you hazarded, "but I don't want to, that's the thing. He scares the shit out of me and I'm not going near him if I can help it. Do you still want those tots?"
Allie nodded. "Yeah, I get that. And nah, have'em. They're cold anyway." The food was gone in a second. "Anyway, see you around. I gotta finish some classwork. See ya 'round." You waved goodbye, more focused on the leftovers than Allie.
The next few days had their upsides and downsides. One- your leg got better. You got around to hobbling around like a maimed insect with three legs on crutches, but it was better than the wheelchair- you didn't have to worry about stairs. Once you figured out how to hop from one to the other, it was all peachy. Two- The doctor gave you the ok to eat solid foods, so you spent a disgustingly large amount of time pigging out on the cafeteria. And three- your leg got better. That beared repeating, because holy God did that chair bum you out after a couple of days.
The bad- the ghost, the creeping specter of the cops trying to find a home for you and by extension the creeps, and the ghost. It wasn't obvious at first, and mostly you kept out of the Dream because of Pressley, so you dismissed the occasional rattling thing behind you and the creaking doors and most recently, the flickering lights as coincidences. By now, you've gone and asked the chaplain- a nice guy, big and round like a cannonball with a white stubble for a beard- for a crucifix, one that he provided with no further questions.
It didn't help. Well, maybe it did for a while, but by now Pressley's- heh- pressing in again. You have to get help somewhere.
Find Help
[]- Nurse Mary: She helped you out before, and she can get the other nurses to help you. Hopefully.
[]- Ulmer: Pressley really wants to kill Ulmer, and the least you can do is give the guy a heads up.
[]- The Chaplain: Look, if he can't exorcise a ghost what is he here for?