The Forest and the Savior--Tate Langdon (AHS) Fan-Fiction

Chapter 3

Clink, clank, clink, clank, clink, clank, clink, clank... That's all I hear before my eyes drift open, the feeling of little crusts on my inner eyelids, wiping them off slowly, as I sit up. Tiredly, looking around in my surrounding. Still here.. Shit. I thought it was a part of the nightmare.

Waking up, all I see is the white walls surrounding the room, while lay here in a long gown, with a weird blue and green pattern. Looking around the room, I see a man with glasses, a brown suit, dark brown, slicked back hair, red tie, black dress shoes, and a look that was almost comforting. I study him, and every aspect of the being in front of me. His hands settle in front of him, intertwined with each other, over his knees, while his forearms rest on his calves, his chocolate brown eyes looking into mine, my body tensing.

Turning my head more towards him, in a very weak, limp, and quiet breath, I ask, "W-Who are you..? What are you doing in my room?"

"Hello, Ms. Lillian. I am Dr. Oliver Thredson. I am the head doctor for this case and I have been told to watch over you.. I see you have been terribly injured as of recently and we have taken you here, and you have no signs of any recorded medical history, school records, anything, but one birth certificate with no last name.. Is there anyone we could contact to know of your location?"

My whole body shakes. In my lifetime, I have never had anyone, to be able to call, to help, to try to save me... And I never will. Why is he even asking? Why is he even here? He doesn't care... No one does. As I sit up, I shake my head, denying what he was saying. I see him write what I said down in a small, leather black journal, with a small, fine tip pen, and curiously look at him, with confusion written on my face.

His face falls, slightly, and I feel a spark dulling down. It felt like a punch in the chest, making my heart jump out of my throat. Not knowing why, I keep to myself, until he responds after his notes.

"You seem to be very lost.. Do you have any home of some sort? Or anywhere you must be?"

My body shakes with resentment. All I can feel is my body trembling, and my head pounding with many different, terrifying thoughts, not understanding why I was there, and why this man proceeded to ask me things, he already knew the answer to.

"Didn't I just answer that question, or are your ears broken? Or better yet, your brain." I snap back, feeling my muscles shake, and my breath escape me, in a sigh, crossing my arms over my chest, blocking myself out, from everyone, and everything surrounding me, in this new place, I call a white roomed prison.

I hear him go silent, as the flicks of the pen hit the thin paper, and he sits up to me, looking straight into my broke eyes, acting as if he knows everything about my past, and the events behind it. I look straight into his eyes, reading his every move.

"Well, I'm sorry for the need to repeat myself, young lady. Is there anything you would like me to know about what has recently happened to you?" He asks, softly, and quietly, attempting to touch my recently cleaned palm, before I slap it away, and spit on his newly shaven face, little water droplets appearing on the lenses of his fitted, brown rimmed glasses.

"Maybe to know that I don't need your questions and would like to be left alone. I don't need your help, I don't need your questions, and I certainly, most definitely, don't need you trying to know about me and my past. I'd like you to escort yourself and your snooty ass attitude out of my room. And don't bother to try to come back."

The brown eyes staring back at me start to go empty, as if he is used to this type of treatment, and stands up, setting his things aside in his dark brown, leather satchel, only leaving the room with a cell phone, his journal, and a pen. I lay back onto the bed, staring at the white ceiling fan above me, spinning at slow paces, making squeaking noises to the broken ceiling board, looking like it could fall at any second it wished.

The voices show up again. My room, in the clean and eery hospital, becomes silent. No noises filling it, except the machines that they imprison me onto, to some how "keep me alive". Really, I find it as my handcuffs to the hell I was brought upon in. Whenever they show up, they always find a way to scream louder and louder, at each visit they make, even if they never truly go away. Just lower in sound, from the dial I have made, for an attempt to permanently silence them.

The footsteps of the nurses become louder and louder as they step towards me, with concern in their eyes, onto why I was shaking. Tears were visibly running down my eyes, with no awareness myself of it. I take a little part of my gown, and wipe my eyes with it, and under the, lugging myself out of the IV's on the hospital bed, falling towards the bathroom. Slamming the door behind me, I block it, with the strangely assigned chair in the middle. My eyes wander the white walled room, as if it was exactly the same as the hospital room, just smaller, with bathroom appliances. Looking upwards, I see an air vent, contemplating if it's a potential exit. Locking the door, I release the chair underneath the door knob, and place it directly under it, ready for my escape.

Lillian, you got this.. You can survive.

Before being able to even take my first step onto the blue plastic chair, I hear the door slam open, the locks and hinges breaking, feeling the sudden restraint of a large man pull me out, as I scream, in rage, fear, and shock. Feeling shaking of myself being thrown onto the hospital bed, I also feel cold, shiny metal surround my wrists, and ankles, to keep me in place, tears and sweat staining every inch of my face. Then, I feel a numb feeling, breathing heavier, the IV's stuck into my arm again, with forced calming medicine shooting through my veins, seeing Dr. Thredson sit next to me. "Lillian, its okay. You're safe here."

"Safe? You call this safe? I'm never safe, and you can't make me!" I scream at him, spitting onto his face. Laying there, I look up, as hopeless as ever. Who would've thought that being helped feels worse than being alone, fending for yourself? The intrusive thoughts and endless sinking is all I think about, as I wait for myself, to finally escape.