Dark Season: The Complete Box Set (138 page)

"Excellent," he says, getting to his feet. "Eddie will take you back to your room, and we'll have another discussion tomorrow. Is that okay?"

I stand up. "Yeah," I say, still feeling a little uneasy.

"The effects of the initial medication will wear off," Dr. Campbell says, putting a hand on my shoulder and ushering me over to the door. "You'll still have to be on anti-psychotics, but as long as you behave yourself we can keep you off the Duodraxadine and the heavier stuff. The worst side-effect you'll have after a few days is a little constipation." The guard opens the door and we step out into the corridor. "Now, I must warn you, Annie," Dr. Campbell continues, "that we don't tolerate any bad behavior here. We have a strict system in place, for your benefit as well as ours. Violence is not tolerated, nor are insolence, pettiness and rudeness. Those who follow the rules are generally happy. Those who do not... well, they come around eventually. I'll see you tomorrow." He turns and walks away, leaving me standing in the corridor.

"Follow me," says the guard, stepping past me. He turns when he realizes I'm not following. "Follow me," he says again more firmly, but then he looks down at the floor and sighs.

I look down and see that I've wet myself. A trickle of dark orange urine is dripping down my leg. It's weird, but I didn't even feel it happen.

"Sorry," I whisper under my breath.

"Fucking animals," the guard mutters under his breath as he grabs me and pulls me along the corridor. "Clean-up!" he shouts at a nurse, who almost jumps out of her skin with shock.

When we get to 'my' room, the guard types in the access code, turns the bolt, opens the door and pushes me inside without saying a word. I turn to see the door being slammed shut, and then I look down at my leg. I'm still dirty. Why didn't he take me to get clean?

"Pissed yourself, huh?" says a familiar voice from behind me. I turn to find that the girl from before is now sitting on her bed. "Don't worry about it," she says, smiling. "That's the least of your problems now."

Chapter Three

"Kirsten," she says, smiling cautiously. "Great name, huh? I think it means 'Follower of Christ' or something like that, which is kind of inappropriate given my personality."

The first thing I notice about Kirsten, who's apparently my room-mate, is that she has large, dark, pretty eyes. The second thing I notice is that she's very thin, though she doesn't look particularly ill. And the third thing I notice is that she seems confident, as if she feels like she knows way more than I do - which, to be fair, is probably true. She sits on her bed and smiles as she watches me. I can't stop wondering how much she already knows about me.

"You got a name?" she asks.

"Annie," I say slowly, sitting on the edge my bed.

"That's better," she replies. "You couldn't even talk last time. Not your fault. That's what Duodraxadine does to you. It basically fizzes up your brain and sends everything haywire. Not good stuff. Not good stuff at all. And you know what else? It takes fucking days to get out of your system. You'll still be feeling a bit weird 'til Tuesday, Wednesday maybe..."

"What day is it today?" I ask.

She grins. "It's Saturday, Annie. But don't worry, days of the week don't matter here. Every day's like Sunday anyway."

I smile, because it seems like it's the polite thing to do, but the truth is: I don't feel too good. My stomach is heavy, like there's a brick in there, and my head is spinning. On top of that, I feel really hot, like I'm about to break out in a cold sweat, and I can smell my own urine. "Is there any way to open the window?" I ask, taking deep breaths to try and calm my stomach.

"Sorry," Kirsten says.

I keep on taking deep breaths, and it's helping a little.

"Don't be scared," Kirsten continues. "They gave you a lot of Duodraxadine. That stuff's pretty mean to your system. It'd be weirder if your body
wasn't
going crazy. It's healthy that you're reacting like this. It'll get better, slowly, and eventually you'll be just like the rest of us. Pacified into oblivion and completely free of aggression."

I nod. It feels like I'll vomit if I speak. Staring down at my feet, I realize I'm a little dizzy.

"I might as well ask you the three questions now," she says.

I look over at her.

"There are three questions that we like to ask all our new patients. It's a fun little process that we believe is very useful at this early stage. Don't worry, I'll pass your answers on to the others, so you won't have to do it over and over again." She grins. "I mean, the doctors have questions, so why shouldn't the patients also have a few for you, right?"

I nod.

"The good news is, I'll answer all the questions too. Okay? First off, I have to ask you why you're here."

I swallow. I was hoping she'd start with a slightly less difficult question. "I..." I start to say, still feeling really nauseous. "I killed someone," I say eventually. That's the first time I've ever said those words, in that order, and it feels really strange. "I killed my little brother."

"Huh," Kirsten says, as if she's not really bothered by my answer. "Well, I'm here because I killed lots of people. None of them were my brother, though. Anyway, moving on. Question two. Do you consider yourself to be a danger to those around you? I mean in general, not just in your current drugged-up, hyper-medicated state."

I pause. "I don't know," I say, taking deep, slow breaths. The nausea is getting worse, as if I might vomit at any moment.

"Good enough," Kirsten says. "Me, I consider myself a danger only to assholes. Third question. Do you believe in ghosts?"

"What?" I ask, staring at her.

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

I take a few more deep breaths. This is the second time someone's asked me about ghosts since I got here. "I don't know," I say.

"I do," she replies. "But I didn't when I got here."

I feel my stomach start to settle a little. "Are there ghosts here?" I ask.

"Hell yeah," she replies. "But don't worry, you won't see anything until the third night."

"The third night?"

"Yeah," she says. "It's the same for everyone when they arrive. The first two nights, they don't see or hear anything weird. Maybe it's the medication, maybe it's just the way things go. But then the third night, they always see something. It's the third night when it all begins."

I sigh. "Okay," I say, realizing that Kirsten is clearly insane. When I said I'm not sure if I believe in ghosts, I was being polite, and I was keeping my mind open. The truth is, I
don't
believe in ghosts. I used to live in a big old house in Maine, where the previous owner had died after putting a shotgun in his mouth and pulling the trigger; if I didn't see a ghost while we were living there, I'm pretty sure there are no ghosts to be seen anywhere. People just get impressionable, and they start to imagine things. There's nothing out there. When you're dead, you're dead. I hope so, anyway.

"You don't believe me," Kirsten says, "but that's okay. It doesn't matter a rat's ass whether you believe me or not. What happens, happens. Feel free to re-open this discussion again after your third night."

"Did you see anything?" I ask.

"I'm different," she says.

"Why are you different?"

"Just am. I'm Little Miss Different around here."

"Why?" I ask again.

There's silence for a moment. "You ask too many questions about things that are supposed to stay secret," she says eventually, a darker tone in her voice. "You want to be careful, or Nurse Winter might give you some special treatment."

"Who?" I ask.

"You'll find out. For now, just try to fit in."

"I'll try," I say, smiling, and then suddenly it feels as if my stomach does an entire flip in my stomach. I try to hold everything in, but there's no way I can avoid vomiting. My chest convulses, and I spew a load of gray water straight across the room. It's the most painful sensation I've ever felt, as if all my stomach acid is pouring through my throat. When it's done, I drop from the bed and land on my knees, my mouth hanging open with little drops of liquid dripping from my lips.

"Thanks," says Kirsten.

I look up and see she's still sitting there, with her feet covered in my vomit, which has also splashed onto her bed and down the side of the wall. "Sorry," I mutter, but that's all I can manage. My heart is racing and it still feels like I might vomit again.

I hear Kirsten shuffle over to the door. She presses a button on the intercom, waits for a moment, and then starts speaking. "I need to clean up," she says. "I got puked on, and you need to clean Annie too."

I feel myself starting to zone out. My mouth hurts, and my stomach hurts, and I'm feeling really hot. I should feel bad about vomiting over Kirsten, but the truth is I can only focus on how wretched my body is right now. I know they said the drugs would make me ill, but I can't help thinking this is something different. This isn't right. Maybe they gave me too many drugs, or maybe they combined things wrongly, but no-one's supposed to feel like this. And finally, just when I think it's getting better, my stomach does that flip thing again and I vomit all over the floor, only this time it's not gray, watery acid. This time it's blood.

Chapter Four

When I wake up, I'm flat on my back in a darkened room. I seem to be on some kind of trolley, parked in the middle of the room, and the only light comes from a distant window that opens into a nurses' station. On the other side of the glass, there's a nurse reading a newspaper. Everything seems so calm and relaxed, as if all order has been restored to the world.

I try to get up, but I find I'm strapped down to the trolley. Looking around, I see that there are other trolleys in the room but they're empty. It's then that I realize I'm hooked up to a drip, with some kind of clear liquid slowly being delivered via a vein in my right arm. I can't make out what the label on the bag says, but whatever it is, it seems to be working. My stomach feels a lot better. In fact, I feel better overall, and my head seems clearer. I guess they've given me more drugs, to counteract the effect of the first drugs.

"Hello," I say, though my voice isn't very loud and I sound really rough.

The nurse seems to hear me, and she stands up, entering the room via a small door at the side. She comes over to me, her shoes making a slapping sound with every step.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, smiling down at me with a kind face.

"Better," I say.

"I'm Nurse Perry," she says, using the back of her hand to check the temperature of my forehead. "You can call me Hazel."

"What happened?" I ask. "Am I okay?"

"You're doing a lot better," she says. "I think we can remove these soon," she says, tugging a little at the thick leather restraints that are keeping me tied down. "They're for your own good. You had a couple of seizures and I was worried you'd fall off and hurt yourself. We'll wait a couple more hours just to make sure you're done with all that, and then we'll untie you. It's a shame these trolleys are so high off the ground, but..." Her voice trails off. "Never mind," she says. "The important thing is that you're back with us now."

I look up at the bag that's attached to the drip. "What are you giving me?" I ask.

"We're just keeping you hydrated," she says. "It's a formula that contains lots of nutrients. You lost a lot of fluid when you were ill. You had a very bad reaction to the Duodraxadine, but it's all under control now. The drug's almost out of your system, and I'm pretty sure you won't have any more complications."

"I'm sorry," I say.

"Why?" she asks. "Don't be silly. You're ill. It's natural that things go a little haywire at first. Duodraxadine isn't exactly a walk in the park. Most people have a bad reaction to it at first, though you were a little more severe than usual. Don't worry, though. It's all good now. You're out of danger, so it's all uphill from here, okay? I promise you, it won't get as bad as that again."

"Thanks," I say. "I think I threw up all over my room-mate."

"Don't worry about things that have already happened," she says. "Focus on the future. You're here to look ahead, not to keep dwelling on the past, okay?"

"Okay," I say. I tug a little at the restraints. "So can I get up now?"

"Not quite yet," Nurse Perry says. "Like I said, I want to keep you strapped down a little longer, just in case you have another seizure. I don't think you will, but better safe than sorry, right? Just a couple more hours and then I promise you'll be up and about." She checks her watch. "It's gone midnight," she says. "If all goes well, you can be discharged from the sick-bay in the morning and we can get you back to your room on the main ward."

"How long have I been unconscious?" I ask.

"About thirty-six hours," Nurse Perry says.

"Seriously?" I say, shocked. I assumed it was just for a single day at most.

She nods. "You've had quite a time since you got here, haven't you? You spent your first night passed out on your bed, and then you spent your second night unconscious in here."

"So this is my third night?" I ask, thinking back to what Kirsten told me.

"Sure is," Nurse Perry says, "but don't worry, it's going to get better. I'll make sure of that personally. Now you need to rest, so I'll just be through in the next room, and you can call out if you need anything, okay?"

"Okay," I say.

"But not too loud," she adds. "Don't start screaming and yelling. That's the one thing that Nurse Winter hates more than anything, and you really don't want to piss her off, do you?" Suddenly, she leans down and kisses me on the cheek. "Keep quiet, follow the rules, and it'll all be okay," she says softly, keeping her face close to mine. "Okay?"

"Okay," I repeat.

There's a pause, and then she leans closer and kisses me fully on the lips. There's no tongue, but it's a slow, weird kiss that definitely doesn't feel like the kind of kiss a nurse should give a patient. All I can do is wait as her wet lips brush against mine, and then she moves a hand onto my body, gently squeezing the fabric of my night-shirt against my right breast. The kiss lasts for about a minute before she slowly pulls back. "Try to get some sleep," she says quietly, wiping her lips with her hand. "It's natural that you're going to feel very tired right now. And..." She pauses. "I don't know if you've heard any stupid stories about what happens on the third night here. Just ignore it. There's nothing. It's mind games, the kind of thing people do to try to psych you out when you arrive. You're perfectly safe with me here. I'll just be through in that little room over there, okay?"

As she turns and walks away, I take a deep breath. What the hell was that? Did my nurse just come on to me? I watch her disappear through the door, and moments later she takes up her position behind the glass again. I guess she was kind, to an extent, but there was also something kind of creepy about her. I pull at the restraints, but I'm tied down pretty firmly on this trolley. I guess I just have to wait out the night, and hope that Nurse Perry keeps her word and frees me in the morning.

I look up at the bag of fluid that's still hooked up to my arm. To be honest, I'm still feeling pretty drowsy, so I guess it wouldn't hurt to get some sleep. I glance across the darkened room, seeing all the empty trolleys. It's a good job I don't believe in ghosts, or I'd be pretty freaked out right now.