Book.

Part One; Chapter Three

Huge glass automatic doors retreated into the walls as I approached them, giving me full view of the main level of Drafter House.

The inside was just as colorless and dull as the outside. Cold slate tiles covered the floor, sterile white plaster coated the walls, a multitude of chairs (the kind you would find in a doctor’s office) were lined up in symmetry against one long wall. It was depressingly simplistic. A round, red-headed woman in a gray nurses’ smock stood at some sort of oblong reception counter. She gave me one quick glance with her pair of unnerving pale brown eyes, and lazily ushered me to the desk.

“Papers.” the woman said in a habitual drone. Her face was nearly perfectly circular and childlike, except for the permanent frown. Now that I was closer, I could see I easily had four inches on her, height wise, which was definitely saying something.

I pushed my condemning slip of paper across the counter. The receptionist was the first person of the day to not physically flinch at the sight of my somehow-scandalous pedigree.

She quickly looked over the words once, animalistically hmphing in disappointment.

“Dax, we’ve got a new one!” she hollered over her thick shoulder.

All in one jarring moment, a sickly-figured man with patchy, unkempt facial hair in nurse’s clothes, Dax, came around the corner. A needle with a yellow liquid was held in his shaky hand. The room started to shift. This wasn’t a dream anymore, it was a nightmare. The blandness of the area began to become the scariest thing I’d ever experienced. Forget spirits and ghouls, this was real and vastly more sickening than your average unearthly tale. My vision stirred; the wallpapered walls turned inexplicably horrific, the potted foliage in the corner more terrifying than any ghost story.

I stumbled backwards instinctively, and--being the epitome of grace that I am--knocked over a plastic waiting room chair. It clattered on the icy floor and I jumped. It had made more noise than one might expect.

The woman at the desk rolled her eyes. “They’re all nervous when they come in.” She said this as if it was supposed to calm me down in some way. It didn’t. “Just get it over with.”

I shook my head insistently as Dax snatched my wrist with his free hand.

“No. Stop!” (I still can’t decide if I’d actually said anything, or if this was in my head. Pardon my memory in the next few paragraphs. My head got kind of screwy in this whole ordeal.)

The puncture of the needle turned my once pumping, fiery blood into frigid slush. I watched in near delirium as the thick liquid was injected into my forearm. Even though I was in the process of blacking out, I was still conscious enough to decide that it was one of the worst pains I had ever been made aware of. I felt myself falling, vaguely sensing someone catching me. Probably Dax.

Great. Stabs me, then saves me. Make up your mind, already.

These were my last, brilliant thoughts before I collapsed into total, mucky darkness.

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I recall waking up immersed in the scent of… what was that? Cigarettes?

What’s going on?

My wrist felt like it wasliterally on fire, and the rest of my body followed suit. My eyes opened slowly, a thunderous ache pulsing at the back of my neck. The soft pop of a distended light fixture swung above my head, lolling back and forth lightly. My lungs rose heavily and plummeted again, deflating as if there were weights attached to them. I felt my skin itch, and tried raising my hand to scratch the irritated spot. Nothing happened.