Flight Through Darkness

Pay the Consequence

I talk with Rick some more every day. After each session I ask to call my friends, but nobody picks up and I never get any calls back. I'm not allowed to send messages, so all I can do is wonder and wait.

It's still dark when I hear the voice.

"Shh, she's sleeping. Don't wake her up. When did they say she will be discharged?" A harsh, croaking voice. Why does it sound so familiar? My eyelids feel as heavy as lead and I daren't open them for fear of whoever it is knowing I'm awake.

"31st December, 2048." Another voice, cool and more composed, but sounding no less threatening for its icy chill. The brief sound of paper being flipped. "She's to have the first day of school off. I understand that the first day is more...chaotic. No doubt they fear she cannot handle it, especially with the absence of her close friend." A light chuckle.

What time is it in the first place? I have no idea. But more importantly, who on earth are these people, and how did they get in my room? I risk a quick lift of my eyelids, just a tiny crack. My eyes swivel to the electric alarm clock that sits at my bedside, then to the people standing beside me.

"...!"

Before I can shut my eyes fully again, I hear a soft curse and a muttered question.

"Shit, she's awake, what do we do, Professor?"

Professor.

No use pretending I'm asleep now. I want to open my mouth, ask who the hell are they and why they're here, but my lips are just too dry and cracked to form coherent words, much less sentences. My eyes blink wide open, but I still can't see who they really are.. The room lights have been turned off, the only light I have is moonlight from the windows.. Two figures, shrouded in shadows. One taller, lean and built. It looks like he's wearing a suit, the only patch of white being at the collar. The other person is shorter, a little hunched, and in white. But I still am unable to remember who these people are. They seem so familiar.

The word 'professor' is pinging a signal in my brain. But then again, this is a hospital. This could be some medical professor from the higher echelons of hospital staff for all I know. My body is still tired, wanting to believe that everything is normal and then go back to sleep. But my mind is screaming "WAKE UP! THEY'RE DANGEROUS!" I'm so tempted to close my eyes again and drift off, let them do what they want so that they'll leave me alone quicker. I'm surprised I'm not even panicking. Whatever drug the hospital used really made me woozy.

I hear a brief tinkling sound of something being poured into something else and squint to see what it is. A syringe? Must be another dose of morphine to knock me out. I shrug and prepare to sink back into the foggy realm of sleep.

Except...

Except a professor wouldn't be injecting something that burns like fire into my bloodstream through my arm and clamping a hand over my mouth so that I can't scream. A professor wouldn't be drawing a bag over my head and shoving a ball gag through my numb lips. He wouldn't be cuffing my wrists together and forcing my knees up against my chest, making me curl up like a wounded animal. And a professor, at least, not a true hospital professor, would certainly not be saying,

"It's time you paid the consequences, little girl."