Mental (Complete)

Peephole Demons

Darkness quickly slips from the edges of my mind as consciousness takes hold again. It is now day four—or that's what I assume. There is really no way to keep track of time in this white-walled prison. After lunch the day before, I had passed out until now—whatever 'now' is.

I stretch my limbs before slowly sitting up from bed. If the claustrophobic room didn't drive patient's into madness, then boredom certainly would. I only just awakened and already I'm anxious for something to do.

Before I can even plant my feet on the floor, there's a knock on the door. It swings open seconds later to reveal the same nurse from yesterday.

"Morning, Johnny," she coos, shuffling in to set the tray of food at the end of the bed. "Nice to see you up already."

I don't respond, but instead just grab the plastic fork from the tray and begin poking at the eggs. It's obvious that whoever works the kitchen has been hired off the street. Nothing has flavor and I have to force the eggs down with a greedy gulp of water in order finish them off.

"M'am," I say when she turns to leave the room.

She stops, glancing back at me with a teasing scowl on her face. "Judith, remember? Call me Judith."

"Judith," I repeat. "Why do you keep calling me Johnny?"

For a moment shock flashes through her silver eyes, and then a knowing look falls across her features. She sends me an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Nate," she says with an almost embarrassed shrug. "I guess I get my patient's confused sometimes."

I visibly relax, but I know I shouldn't feel comforted by this fact. I should be hysterical and desperate for escape... because, I've never actually told her my name—not that I can remember anyway. Could it be possible that I'm suffering from some kind of memory loss? Am I in here temporarily until I regain my memory?

Questions flood my mind until I realize the room is empty. Judith had somehow slipped out without me noticing. And once again, I'm on my own.

I lay back on the bed, tapping my fingers against my forehead as I work to come up with some way to occupy my time. My eyes are nearly burning with the brilliance of being surrounded by nothing but white. The muffled silence that seems to scream through the tight quarters doesn't help either. If I started yelling right now, my voice would be sucked into the padded walls, never to be heard beyond this room.

With the lack of activity comes fatigue. I can feel it wrap its way around me, and I'm aware the only way to survive this kind of life is to sleep through it. I've just folded my hands behind my head and gotten comfortable on my mattress, when a realization hits me.

The peephole.

I'd never had a chance to look inside the oddly symmetrical hole yesterday. Flicking my eyes open, I pop up from my bed, hastily making my way towards the wall. My gaze finds it immediately, and I run my finger over it once before bending slighting to take a peek at what lay on the other side.

My breath catches in my chest. This isn't what I had expected at all. Though part of me had fantasized about there actually being something on the other side, the rational side had predicted that I'd be disappointed.

I am definitely not disappointed.

Because, as my eye scans the small room that sits on the opposite end of the hole, I spot a man. He is obviously unwell, leaned up against the far wall with his forehead resting against the cushioned material. It's as if all fight has been drained from his body. He looks aged and weary. All that can be seen from behind is his silver head of hair and a white psych ward uniform.