Amelia

“What can you remember?”

The doctor’s voice is soft, gentle, alluring. His blue-gray eyes are studying me through his wire, oval-shaped glasses. Lips pursed. Fingers fiddling with his ball-point pen. He looks expectant of me. Looks slightly disappointed when I open my mouth but close it, eyes clenching shut in pen.

“Amelia?”

The way my name rolls off his tongue so casually, so languidly makes me flinch again, and I part my lips as I look into his eyes.

“I-I… remember arguing with my mom about something…” I say quietly, my palms becoming clammy and lungs constricting and - ohgodohgodmomdad! - The doctor snaps his fingers in front of my face, jolting me back to Hell. I continue,” It was something stupid… like-like-like my clothes… I think. A-and then there was bright lights, the sound of a car tires screeching and –“ I gasp, clutching at my head, shutting my eyes painfully as if it would will the sharp pain in my head to go away.

When I look up at the doctor pleadingly, like a kicked puppy, and barely miss the flash of lust in his eyes, he nods curtly, scribbles something down onto the clipboard full of papers all for me, and meets my gaze again.

He smiles.

“Amelia, come to my office after your physical evaluation is done, alright?” He utters softly, under his breath, trying to be discreet so no one hears. “We’ll talk more then.”

Before I can say anything, the nurse walks in and guides me to the nursery. The nursery is white like a hospital, there are no windows, the ceiling is tall, making me feel as though I’m trapped, and there are only beds and nurse stations. It sends chills down my spine.

My nurse gently pushes me down onto the bed next to her desk and feels me up. I stiffen. The feeling of her hands groping my skin makes me feel vulnerable, open wide for her to pry me open and eat my heart. The nurse nods, mumbling something under her breath, smiles at me, and then continues her job.

I don’t know where I am, how old I am, why I am here, and I only know that my name is Amelia because the doctor calls me that. I don’t know anyone’s names. I feel like a walking zombie, trailing behind the doctor, nurse, and other occupants like a shadow.

I’m scared though, yet intrigued. I like to think myself as Alice, poor curious Alice, but then I worry that the Red Queen is going to behead me – “Off with her head,” she would cry as the guillotine falls, silver, metal teeth eagerly awaiting to eat through the skin, tissue, and arteries of my neck. She would cackle as she lifts my head to show her minions that their messiah, their Alice, is dead.

The nurse scares me when I’m shifted over onto my stomach, my daydream having consumed my mind. She’s finishing up, brushing me off, rearranging my clothes and making them neat. She smiles sweetly at me, her fingers tucking a wild strand of hair behind my ear.

“Let’s go, Emily,” she coos, taking my hands with hers and helping me stand.

I frown, furrowing my brow, and I feel confused, dizzy. She ignores me, humming a tune that seems to calm my skipping nerves, and I stare at her, my focus completely on her. My name isn’t Emily. It’s Amelia, isn’t it?

…isn’t it?

I feel lost as she guides me to my room where she takes in another lost soul like me. He’s tall, like gigantic, his hair is black and shaggy, covering his eyes from sight, and he’s thin, too thin. His head shifts over to my general direction, and for a brief, bone-chilling moment, I see blood-shot, icy blue eyes staring back at me through an overcast of blackness.

When I blink, he’s not looking at me, the nurse is through the door, and he is, too. I realize with some disappointment that I didn’t get his name. Time flies fast, you know? It never stops to tell you what time it is, if you’re early or late, and the receptionist left some time ago.

The nurses and patients are taking their leave, and I vaguely think to myself that I need to leave as well, escape before – “Amelia.”

His voice is different; it’s deeper, richer, and darker. I glance upwards blankly to see the doctor smiling at me, his usually slicked back hair no longer slicked back, but shaggy and messy, disheveled, his glasses are missing, and I feel my body tense and prepare itself as he grasps my bicep.

“It’s time for our secret meeting,” he croons, and I merely nod.

I want to cry.