Our Manufactured Reality

Chapter 14: Prisoner 121

[Harper's POV]

My legs stung.  I could barely move.  As soon as I opened my eyes, my entire body ached with pain.

I tried to recall everything that had happened recently.  1)  Charlie was shot.  2)  He might be dead.  3)  I was hit over the head and I blacked out.  4)  I was presumably dragged through the wilderness after that- which is probably why my legs stung.

I wished I'd been able to save myself.  If only I'd fought harder or run faster.  As least then I wouldn't have been dragged here.  Where exactly is here, anyway?  I asked myself, craning my neck.

My eyes fell upon a small, dark room with cement walls.  They looked surprisingly sturdy for surviving 200 years, but dusty all the same.  The rest of the room contained nothing but a dirty rag, and a door on the far wall.

I knew I had to deal with my pain eventually, so I mustered the strength in my aching frame to stand up and approach the door.  I pushed on the door as much as I could, but it was obviously locked from the outside.

With having no other options, I decided to examine my wounds.  I knelt down against a wall, and rolled up my pant legs to expose them.  Beneath the layer of jeans I found numerous scrapes with dried blood.  One was still bleeding, so I grabbed the cloth rag from the ground and wrapped it around the cut.  I could tell this one was deep, and needed attention.

But with no water source to clean them up, and frankly no supplies at all, I might as well be doomed to die in this tiny room.

The room was very small and had no windows at all.  There was a single sliver of light from beneath the door, but now that I'd handled the immediate tasks and found no way out, panic was starting to set in.

I tried taking deep breaths.  You're going to get out of this...  You're going to be fine.  It's just a room.  Nothing's happening...

I shook my head.  Oh goodness, what do I do?  I'll just think about something else.  Uh...  Charlie!  Oh goodness, Charlie.

My stomach sank.

He's dead.  He might be dead.  He was shot and I can't do anything.  My heart rate quickened.  No.  No.  No.  No.  He can't be dead...  He can't be.  A.I.M. wouldn't do that, right?  He needs him for...  for...  Oh what was it?  Why does he need us?  Why does he even need me?

"Ughh!"  I yelled in anger.  There was nothing I could do, I had no answers to any of my questions, and I was stuck in a small, sealed-off room.

What's he gonna do to me?  I squeezed my eyes shut.  What's A.I.M. gonna do?  How do I escape?  What do I do?

At that point the only thing my brain could revert to was the last time I was in this situation.  In the compound I woke up in.

I was trapped, pounding on the door for my life.  In a room much like this one, I had cried out for help.  I had yelled until my voice cracked and became hoarse.  And then, Charlie opened the door.  He was Charles then, but not for long.  It only took a conversation and a hug to realize that he would be a very good friend.

Yet in the days since then, I'd realized that maybe he was something more.  Something more than a close friend.  I couldn't pinpoint the exact moment I felt it, but I knew Charlie was different around me.  And I was different around him.

To put my feelings into words, I just wanted to be with him.  All the time.  I wanted to laugh with him, and share more dreams from our past.  I wanted to keep talking and keep the conversation flowing at all times.  And that day in the snow, I think I wanted something more than conversations.  I wanted a best friend, but I wanted him to be my best friend.  It's not that I was jealous -who could I be jealous of?-  It's just that I wanted to get to know him deeper.

I wanted time to do all of that.  Time to talk and laugh and walk together.  I wanted to see his beaming smile more, and I wanted to have more inside jokes.  I could feel my breathing slowing and my muscles relaxing as I thought about these things.

Charlie was someone I didn't want to leave.  He was someone I wanted to have by my side.  I wanted him to protect me and I wanted to see his caring nature come out more.

Still, I had let that slip away.

He was gone now, and I'd let it happen.  I'd watched him try to get away, and fail.  And I'd watched him get shot.

Right then, I could only hope that he was still alive and looking for me.

"Find me, Charlie,"  I whispered to the walls, "Open the door again."