Depth of Belief

Short Story

     Cold metal forced itself through the pasty white skin at the crease of my elbow. I always hated getting blood drawn, but the process is necessary. Mom said I can come home today after this final evaluation. All I can think of is leaving. I played the doctors' game, let him believe he fixed me, told them all what they wanted to hear. They'll believe me when it's too late. There will be no escape then.
  
The nurse pulled the blood-filled needle out of my arm and all I could do is watch as the red liquid pooled, vision blurring into dissociation. A familiar heat creeped up my spine, dragging intrusive ideas filled of fear and hatred. He's close. He fills every empty space of my mind, crawling through the cracks and tipping over the barriers. A deep, breathy laugh wraps its hand around my throat, taunting and teasing with deadly intentions. You're mine, he breathed. I can't move, can't see.

Alcohol stings the small hole in my skin and brings me back to the present. The nurse stares, judging, eyes misunderstanding and self-absorbed. I clear my throat and avert my gaze away from the scrutiny, hoping she won't care enough to document my behavior. Just have to lay low. Packaged needles lay next to me on the metal surface, I just need an opportunity. Making sure not to make my intentions known, my elbow moves slightly to hide two of them. They're only 21 gauge needles but in a pinch I have to work with what I have. Her chair swivels quickly to dispose of the used equipment. Easy.

"All done. Matt will take you back to your room while we wait for the lab." Her blank eyes give no warmth to her words or tight smile as she turns around. She motions towards the door with her eyes and looks annoyed after the second I didn't immediately get up. "He's waiting just outside."

The packaging scrapes against the skin on my hip, having hidden the two in my waistband, when I get up. Luxury of an institution that insists on clothing with no pockets. My hand grasps the cold handle of the door and pulls; there are no locks on the offices from the inside. As she said, Matt stands a head taller, blonde shag and navy scrubs waiting for me to exit. I let him lead, the grip pads on my socks shuffling in pace right behind him.

Blank, white walls outline the corridor, only interrupted by metal handles. For a year I've counted the knobs from one destination to the next: 12 from the nurse office to my room. Doctor Paddon, Executive Director, Medical Records, Library, Dining Hall, Kitchen, and then the long-term resident unit starting with Gary's room 134. The right side of the hall has even numbers ascending: Heather 136, Julian 138, Patty 140, empty 142, and finally my room 144. Empty. Where is Lucille?

Matt promptly opens my door for me, hand shoving at my back to get in. The lock whirs signifying no escape. Locks on prisoner rooms. Despite my mom paying an incredible fee for a private room, the sight is not much: a full-sized bed with white sheets, one nightstand with no handles, and a desk with no purpose. One small window framed the empty wall at the back of the room, even though it's just a pane of thick glass unable to be opened. Last day. I can't even say that I've hated it here. These walls have kept me safe until today. The thought of leaving is anxiety-inducing. Streets, dark alleys, the open world is all an invitation for him to hide and catch me off guard.

After a year, he still hunts me. Stay calm. I can only hope they let me out of those doors before this becomes a trap. Ending it myself would've been easier, better. These people don't know what's coming. The horror that searches for me and will not stop until I am suffocating between those long claws. A welcome chill raises bumps on my skin, better than the searing heat he brings. I sense the hesitation, the inclination to not believe what I know is a reality. Every time I tell my story I'm met with wide-eyes, medication and institution by my own mother. Knowing they will see the reality is haunting; blood will flow, fear will take over. He is coming.

Rest is needed. They will come when the lab work comes back. I reveal my stolen weapons, opening the paper carefully and neatly place them under the plastic pillow. I lay my head down and pray dreams don't come.

4:45 p.m. 2 hours have disappeared and I wake with the sound of voices echoing, a constant murmur of unedited thoughts spilling through the hallways, screams broken and cut sharply. Dust cascades down from the ceiling followed by a loud screeching that sounds too close. He's here.

     I don't know if he can read, but I reach my arm through the tiny slot in the door, stretching for the name tag. The plastic barely brushes my fingertips. With my arm bent upwards, I shove further, scratching the skin of my upper arm until the edge of the name tag is in reach. Small victory. Slipping from the hospital socks, I bear weight on the balls of my feet and silently creep back to my hidden needles. Crouched down and as ready as possible, I wait for anyone or thing to come.

     The commotion continues down the hall, slowly becoming hushed whispers. Noise won't matter, he has tricks and mental games to lure you out or hunt you down. He is a predator. They don't know how to deal with it, they wouldn't listen. Now he will destroy everything in his way to get to me.

     A hot tingle lingers at the base of my neck causing sweat to bead at my hairline. He's trying to get in again, but I'm not distracted. It won't be that easy. My heart races knowing there will be no one left to help. Silence. Blood pumps through my body loudly, I know he can hear it. I'm not ready to give in without a fight.

     The breaker kicks followed by a moment of absolute dark. Sounds of our heavy doors hitting the wall ring at the end of the hall, moving closer and closer until mine opens with the same bang. A red light flashes on and off again, illuminating the space for only a second. The hallway entrance looms. Red light again, I count the intervals. Five seconds between the flashes.

     Tap. One, two, three, tap. Four, five, flash, tap. The noise is like heels clicking. Tap. I know it well. Pin point claws sprouting like ribs to support this creatures body. Tap. He knows where I am. Temperature rises in degrees the closer he gets. Tap. Sweat now makes a trail down the side of my face, dripping from my chin in puddles. Flash. Indentions form on my palms from squeezing the base of my makeshift weapons. Still as ever, I can do nothing but wait. This is a terror no one can be prepared to face. Flash. I'm frozen.

     Breath like rotting flesh caresses my cheek. Tap. Directly to my right. Tap. And to the left. The red light rests on the spindly legs towering over me. His voice roars inside my mind, branding the last of my resolve. There you are, my love. Come with me. His tone is demanding and comforting. He's not asking. A claw lifts from the ground in the quick glow, scraping the flesh under my chin. An opportunity to make my move.

     Without thinking much about my plan, I lift the needle overhead and come down hard, hitting the bone. Ultimately only breaking the end, my only defense. I've lost. Looking up, I watch his skeletal expression change from hunger to sorrow with each glare of crimson. My hands unclench from around the plastic tubing, feeling a liquid pool around me. I can't look away. The deep dejection slumped his body over me, wrapping his claws around me in a searing embrace, burning my flesh. Darkness began to consume the edges of my vision. Focus. One last look.

     Shaggy, blonde hair leaned over me, muffled shouts erupted in the silence. A bright light flashed in my right eye and quickly to my left. Let me rest. Dull pain and pressure on my arms, I can't move. I don't want to move. Eyes close and welcome the familiar heat.