The Girl in the Elevator (ONC 2022)

8. Hair of Gold

Sam's eyes snapped open. Brilliant white lights blinded him, and he had a dizzying sense of déjà vu. Raising a hand to shield his eyes, he took a moment to let his eyes adjust. It wasn't long before it all came rushing back.

Sam slowly sat up, wondering how he'd managed to fall asleep in the middle of his own therapy session. Hopefully, Dr Jenny hadn't been too upset over that. Sam rubbed at his eyes. A little twinge of pain came from his stomach at the movement.

He froze.

Cautiously, he laid a hand over his torso, right where he'd felt the odd pain. The pressure of his fingertips was enough to send a fresh twang of discomfort throughout the tender area. His forehead creased as his brows lifted in bafflement.

He didn't remember it being sore there before.

Sam lifted his pajama shirt. His eyes grew wide when he saw that a large bandage had been taped to his torso, right beneath his sternum. He stared at it like he'd just witnessed an alligator in a three-piece business suit drive off in a school bus full of kids. It didn't belong there. And neither did an alligator in a school bus.

Dazed, he eventually let his pajama shirt fall back into place. He looked around, searching for some kind of explanation. All he saw was the strange laboratory-looking décor beyond the glass walls of his little room. And the empty chair beside his bed.

Sam eyed it for a while, as if somehow, Dr Jenny would magically appear in it once more. Sadly, that didn't happen. 

Well, if the doctor wouldn't come to him, then there was only one thing to do. Sam swung his feet over the side of the bed, wincing as his strange injury complained. Carefully, he slid out of bed, his bare feet touching down on cold tile.

He shivered, and gingerly walked over to the door. When he got there, he realized there was a problem. There wasn't a door handle.

How was he supposed to open a door when there wasn't anything to grab on to?

"Look Sam. If you can't pull, you push. If you can't push, then you pull. And if still doesn't open, then it's locked and you're not allowed in. That means you wait your turn or go find another bathroom."

"If I can't pull, then push," Sam mumbled. Following his grandmother's advice, he placed both hands flat on the glass door and pushed. It didn't budge. Sam took a deep breath, and tried again, this time with all the strength he could muster. He even leaned into it with all his weight.

Nope. The door still refused to open.

Sam dropped his hands, staring at it. If it wouldn't open either way, then that meant it was locked. For some reason, he wasn't allowed into the other room.

Why couldn't he go in? His expression drooped, even as he laid a hand over the tender spot on his chest. For the first time since he'd arrived at this spa, he felt a bit uncertain.

Was it because he was sick? Was that why the door was locked?

"But I don't feel sick," Sam mumbled. Well, except for weird bandaged spot. Curious now, he lifted his pajama shirt once more. Maybe he'd missed something earlier. The bandage was nothing fancy – just a square piece of heavy gauze fastened down with white tape.

He peeled away a corner and took a peek, knowing full well that if Gran saw this, she'd be smacking him upside the head. Bandaids were there for a reason, she'd say. But he quickly forgot about all that when he saw gnarly black stitches holding together a reddened incision about an inch long. One glance and he immediately let go in alarm.

It looked like someone had cut him. And if someone had, wouldn't he have remembered? 

Nausea weakly poked at his innards. Sam leaned against the wall. It felt cool against his skin, almost soothing. He pressed his hands against his eyes. Remembering things wasn't his strength. Sam knew that well. He forgot more than he remembered, even at the best of times. But this - this was beyond strange, so why didn't he recall anything about it? People just didn't wake up with fresh stitches, did they?

Sam swallowed. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now. In situations like this, the first thing he'd do would call his Gran, but his phone had gone missing.

A hissing noise came from outside his little glass room.

Sam's head snapped up to see part of the outside lab wall split open like a creepy doorway. And through that doorway came a tall, stunning blonde woman. She wore an open lab coat over a pair of pink scrubs that most definitely did not fit like scrubs should. They clung to her so tightly that very little was left to the imagination.

But Sam barely noticed that detail because he was busy gawking at her hair. It draped around her face and down her shoulders like silk spun out of gold. It had an impossible shine, shimmering as if it were alive. It made the auburn waves from the girl in the elevator look like mud.

"There you are." The woman's pink lips moved around each syllable as if caressing each sound. She strode towards him like a model, each step perfectly placed before the last.

"Uh," Sam immediately snapped out of it. He backpedalled, alarm hammering up into his throat. The deadly combo of pretty lady and stunning hair only reminded him of the girl in the elevator, and that was all the reason he needed to be afraid. 

And if one weren't enough, a second woman came through the door. She would have been the first one's twin except for two details. Her equally strangely-fitted scrubs were purple. And her hair was black and cut into a chin-length bob that was so smooth it could have been a helmet.

"Greetings," she said curtly. "I am Sera." She patted her ample chest, and it took Sam a second to realize she had a nametag there. Both of them did, actually.

Black Bob was named Sera, and Goldspun Silk was Sandy. Sam blinked at the nametags, before returning his attention to their hair- er, their faces. Their names flew right out of his mind, like someone had left the window open and a breeze came in and carried them away, never to be seen again.

The pretty ladies stood side by side in front of the door to his room now.

"Um," Sam's mouth had gone awfully dry. For some reason, his heart beat quickened. "Are you – are you nurses?"

Goldspun Silk gave a slow, sensuous smile. "Of sorts."

"We're here to collect you," said Black Bob. Her eyes were as dark and cold as her hair. They even had a matching shimmer.

"Yes. So please cooperate." Goldspun Silk turned her head towards the other woman. "Did you find the passcode?"

"No."

"I see." Goldspun Silk's head smoothly turned to face Sam once more. Her pink lips still maintained their lovely curve. Without a single change in expression, she drove a fist right through the door.

Bam! Glass exploded into a shower of uneven shards.

Sam reflexively threw an arm in front of his face, even as he stumbled backwards. His legs hit the bed and he lost his balance, falling onto the bed. He watched with wide, horrified eyes as the woman withdrew her fist. There wasn't even a mark on her skin.

She observed the hole in the door, which was about the size of a basketball. It wasn't big enough, obviously. So she proceeded to punch out the rest of the glass. Bam! Bam! Bam! Each strike rang out like a gunshot, and Sam flinched and cringed at every one.

Who the heck were these people?!

Soon, most of the glass from the door frame had been scattered all over the floor. Goldspun Silk stepped through, her three-inch heeled boots crunching through the mess. She came to the bed and looked down at Sam.

Sam gulped. His heart raced, and his palms had gone clammy.

This close, even he could tell that this lady was the vision of perfection. There wasn't a single flaw to her smooth skin or a single hair sticking out of place. She was, he thought, even prettier than the girl in the elevator. And that terrified him.

Right now, Sam wanted nothing more than to hide under the covers of his bed. And he would have, too, if his entire body hadn't gone frozen in fear.

With a gentle smile, Goldspun Silk reached down. She placed her hands just beneath Sam's arms. And without a single sign of strain or effort, she lifted him clear off the bed as if he were a small child. His feet dangled in the air, several inches from the glass-strewn floor.

Sam made a small noise deep in the back of his throat. He hung limply in her grasp, eyes round as saucers.

"That's a good boy," the blonde lady cooed. Then she turned and carried him out of the room.