Restless Soul

8

   At some point in Amanda's life, she asked herself what it'd be like to walk on clouds. Gazing up at the sky on a warm sunny day, the cotton-like vapor got into its cumulus formation. The first time she flew through clouds never felt right. As if watching the vapor part as the plane went through wasn't how it should've been. Now, however, the thickness in the air kept her lungs begging. As if a thin sheet had been placed on her face, she gasped, breathing in big breaths that somehow ended up less filling than the last.

   Maybe the water around her had a role to place. Submerged in it she laid, immobile, dry only from the cheekbones up. In the distance, the ripples continued, now accompanied by another sound. Shifting as little as her body would allow, Amanda looked towards the sobs. In this sea of infinite darkness, she managed to spot the white figure. Calling out for help was useless. Her vocal cords rang and her mouth opened and closed formulating the words she desperately wanted heard, only sound wasn't a part of the equation.

Her frustration was still just a thought when a white blur flashed past her. She snapped her head to the left, following after it.

"You can't be in here," she said, the whisper armed with a frosty breeze.

Amanda recognized the voice. The association had yet to be made however before she turned towards her.

   The girl was sprawled out next to her, drenched in her white dress. Her raven hair clung to her face, curtaining over the purple of her cheek. Her skin was pale, a blend that stood out beneath the bright red cuts peppered all over her face. Her eyes were the purest green, with dunes of jade and speak of gold dancing around her irises. A single teardrop glided down the side of her face. When it touched the water, it rose by a few inches.

"You can't be in here!"

   Her wail was as powerful as the cry of a banshee. In the blink of an eye, Amanda jerked awake. The skin of her throat nearly bled from her attempted scream, dry from the lack of moisture. Her restrains were as clear as the white sealing peering down at her. Gapping around the room, a single iron bed made for all the furniture the room had to offer.

   Through a window far above her bed, sunlight kept the room from darkness. The orange rays stopped above the door. Painted the same shade as was the rest of the room. A rectangular, barred glass was right above the knob.

Amanda fought against her restraints.

Ignoring the pain, she screamed at the top of her lunges, shaking with the need to be free. She flinched when a choir of desperate souls picked up her chorus, "Help me! Help me, please! I'm not supposed to be here! Help!"

   She shivered as the wailing prevailed. Sinking into the bed, her gaze was caught by movement at the door. The window a the door gave view on the hallway. People ran by in the form of hapless blurs until before it Dr. Zachariah Fletcher stood. There eyes met and Amanda tugged her hands again, jolting the cuffs against the metal post.

Without a care for the daggers she shot his way, he entered the room, "Good morning, Ms. Fulwood. I see you're getting well acquainted with your floormates."

   His words brought back the focus on the myriad of voices still chanting her words. There was agitation in the hall, then a few minutes later, the noise began to die down. Dr. Fletcher shut the door, muffling the bit of noise that remained. Leisurely, he walked towards her, and with each clack of the sole of his shoe against the ceramic, the memory grew more and more vivid. Taking her right back to her bedroom.

   For once her mind didn't shield the important details. From the fear of being dragged out of bed by strangers, to the emptiness in her brother's eyes as he watched them take her away, to the pinch in her neck when the needle went in. She could very easily retrace the steps that led her to plummet into the darkness because for once the souvenirs weren't hazy. They were clear as day, making the betrayal she felt all the more painful.

"Your mother will be pleased to know that you're awake. Last I heard from her, she was on her way here. You will be notified by a nurse and brought down to the common room. I can understand the confusion you must feel right now. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I am not allowed to share with you any further information, as your mother wished to be the one to do so."

   He paused and for the first time, he was actually looking at her, instead of through her. With clenched teeth, Amanda glared back at him. Dr. Fletcher had inherited the wellness center from his great grandfather. What'd started as a safe place for the mentally ill turned into the place where the rich would hide their rebel children or dying elders whose deaths meant early access to the will. None of it could be proven, but people talked, and there's a limit to how many events can be passed as coincidences.

   Amanda's presence between these walls only furthered the truth. She was the secret her family didn't want out. The realization dawned on her as she waited for her mother's arrival. Tied down, alone, surrounded by four plain walls that she will get to call home for however long it is that she'll be caged here for.

   Eventually, the high of her anger subsided, giving place to the crash of sadness. She was only able to breathe for a second when these men grabbed her, pulling her out of bed. She thrashed and wailed for help. When at the end of the tunnel she saw the light, its brightness faded faster than her optimism could rise. Because her mother wasn't there to help. She stood to make it clear that she was on her own, as she always had been.

"They'll take good care of you here."

"It's the only way to keep you safe."

"Dr. Fletcher will look after you."

Sheryl's voice was muffled by the buzzing in her ears. Thoughts shuffled around her brain, making her stare aimlessly at the floor. When the lines on the floor no longer held her interest, her words began to sink in.

    A hard shiver ran up her spine as she acknowledged the truth. Floating in nothingness, she was a prisoner, chained down to the bottom of rising waters. She stagered around for shelter, creating her own version of a fort to shield away from the voices. She was in a dungeon, with no way out, and now, she'd have no room to pretend.

The realization yanked her out of her daze.

For the first time since she got here, her face showed something other then anger. Sheryl sat back, the black shades hiding her eyes reflecting Amanda's movement as she rose from her chair.

"No," she spoke, still trying to register the meaning behind her mother's words.

"No. You won't lock me in here. You can't lock me in here."

   Sheryl didn't move or say a word. Amanda couldn't even tell if she was breathing. Stone was the state of her heart, and then the cold brought by her presence followed, burning her skin like frostbite.

"No no no no no!" Amanda shouted, grabbing the chair she was just sitting on and throwing it again the furthest wall.

The crash alarmed the nurses that stood by the door.

   She whimpered when her chest hit the ground, pinned firmly by a stack of bodies enabling her movement. She let out a strangled scream. By now Sheryl was halfway to the door, ignoring the calls of her daughter, "You can't do this to me! You can't do this to me! Mom!"

   Her throat tightened and her vision blurred. The pain in her chest wasn't from their weight on her body. It was the invisible wound left by her mother's withheld compassion. Dr. Fletcher pushed the needle into her neck and watched as her body began to relax. Her vision narrowed in. Her muscles relaxed. The sight of her mother exiting the room was already being framed in her brain. A center piece that she'll be forced to look at every time she closes her eyes. Then came the darkness, another hell that she got to call home.

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