Captive

Chapter 11

The entire break from exiting to re-entering the viewing room lasted approximately eight minutes, leaving Bridget roughly two more to ponder Matthews's cryptic message. They won't even notice. She found this chilling. She sat down on the couch and considered her situation. Her family would not look for her; no one at work would miss her. What the hell was going on here? It was odd that no one wondered where Bridget Dunn had gone. Then again, she would not put it past Doctor Spencer to have completely removed her from existence. Perhaps he brainwashed her family and friends into thinking she was never born. Or maybe he faked her death and buried a body. Maybe her family and friends were grieving right now, burying a corpse similar to hers in a beautiful casket with all the different types of flowers to which she was allergic when she was alive.

Then again, she could actually be dead, and this place was purgatory or Hell. She settled on purgatory because she always believed Hell would not offer rewards for good behavior. Limbo was probably the best answer. She was awaiting judgment, and if she passed her tests or "sessions," she could cross over to the real afterlife. It was a strange concept for her because she was not Catholic. She was some variant of Protestant--something that did not believe in Limbo but believed in fainting and speaking in tongues. Bridget had not been to church since her grandmother died because the young woman refused to accept the idea that One-Day-a-Week Christians were better than those who failed to attend church at all. Why go to a house of worship to listen to the high and mighty talk about what people in town did with their week? In Bridget's eyes, this concept of judgment was entirely un-Christian. Furthermore, she had lots of gay friends, and she believed they should be allowed to marry. That was a concept with which members of her congregation disagreed. Maybe this was purgatory, and she was being tested for her support of homosexuality or her lack of faith. She really had no idea.

Matthews quietly stood by the closed door, watching the patient. Her dramatic eyes darted back and forth as they stared through nothingness, lost in thought. His gaze shifted to her blazing locks, which elegantly fell upon her bare shoulders. Her skin was a pure porcelain that reminded him of his mother's doll collection. Bridget's petite frame and angelic complexion were stunning, and in another world, Matthews would have allowed himself to fall for her at first sight. He imagined seeing her in a bookstore with a specialty coffee in one hand and Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil in another. She would push her frames up her nose with her index finger before flipping the page and sipping her latte. Matthews, free of his work uniform, would sit in a chair across from her with his copy of The Metamorphosis. The young man would steal glances at her from behind his novel as he worked up the courage to speak to her. She would smile coyly when she caught him peeking, and when they finally made eye contact, he would strike up a conversation. Then he would take her to dinner, and everything else would fall into place.

Here in this facility, however, she was forbidden fruit from the Tree of Good and Evil. There were so many patients before her, and there would be so many to come after her. None of them ever made the young guard look twice, but when Matthews opened her file and saw her photograph, he was captivated. If he ever had a dream girl, she was most definitely it, and he cursed the gods that she was a patient in this facility. She was now a part of his job, which meant she was off-limits. Maintaining professionalism was typically an easy task for him, but with Bridget, he desperately worked to keep their conversation and interaction as appropriate as possible. He barely knew her, but he feared that over the course of her stay, he would find himself completely smitten and jeopardize his career (and any chance with her on the outside, for that matter). He did not want to imagine what she looked like without her clothes, he did not want to think about joining her in the shower, and he most certainly did not want to think about pulling her into a closet for a sexier version of the pat down. No, he did not want to think about these things, but every once in a while, really late at night when he was at home in bed alone, these sinful thoughts crept into his mind and invaded his dreams.