The Movement

Chapter Seven - Part 1

Chapter Seven

Troy waited in his cot, his head pounding with a rhythmic pain, each new jolt more agonizing than the last. He had been waiting for three hours already. Still, there was no sign of the elderly nurse. His head hurt too much to call for her. He could only wince out a faint moan of hope, to no avail. He needed the nurse. No, he needed that pill. He could not stand being awake. Reality was bitter. His cold sweat dabbled along his forehead. He could not muster the energy to wipe it dry. The slightest body movement, even a finger twitch, resulted in gut twisting and brain banging pain. Breathing was bad enough.

“Where is he?” shouted a concerned voice in between heavy breaths.

Troy recognized the voice, but he couldn’t distinguish it. It was comforting, yet nettlesome. It was a deep, elderly voice. He heard the curtain rings screech across the metal beam supporting it. His head was spinning in dizzying circles. He opened his eyes to the revolving kaleidoscope of nausea only to shut them immediately.

Suddenly, he sprung up from his cot. Agony tortured through his veins. His stiff body moved in quick convulsions, as if he were suffering from some sort of tenacious exorcism. After several spasms, his torso lunged itself over the edge of his cot, leaving his legs behind. His cold fingers gripped onto the aluminum railing with increasing might as he felt his stomach spraining for something to regurgitate. His body was trying as hard as it could to rid the evil sensation, dry heaving with force and shaking his cot.

Amid the tantrum, the voice was heard again.

“Troy!” screamed the voice.

The voice was not comforting anymore.

It was panic. Troy wanted to go back to his illusionary world. Reality sucked. It was sickening and painful.

Troy felt small, clammy hands cup around his chin. The sticky fingers squirmed their way into his cotton-dry mouth. He felt the desiccated pill paste onto his dehydrated tongue. The bony fingers remained in his mouth. A flush of cold pleasure rushed passed his tongue, hydrating his once-parched mouth.

Troy heard that voice again.

“Swallow it!” screamed the voice through a sharp whisper.

It sounded irritated now. Almost frightened. Troy did not care. His entire body felt clean and cured now. He went limp, falling back into his reclined position in his cot. The voice was calming now. It returned to comforting.

“That’s it Troy. That’s it,” solaced the voice softly.