Hospital For Souls

Chapter One

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

It's a rhythmic beep going next to me on a monitor. My arms hurt with a very dull pain, almost completely suppressed. I feel something poking in my left arm and something pushing into my veins. Over the beeping are sounds of phones ringing, people talking, a kid crying. I feel a thin cloth covering me, followed by the warmth of a rough blanket. A familiar male voice talks to an unfamiliar female one. My mouth feels dry. I slowly open my eyes.

Bright light greets me from above on a tiled ceiling. I wince and close my eyes again. I reopen them and my eyes water from the sudden light, but I force myself to keep them open. I turn my head to my left.

An IV bag hangs on a stand next to me, a vitals monitor behind it. Numbers and peaking lines that mean nothing to me go up and down randomly, or at least, randomly to me. Metal bars line the side of my bed. I shift my head to the right.

A door is cut into the far right of that wall. Next to the door is a woman in a white doctor's outfit. I can't see her face, but I can see her shoulder length blonde hair. Facing her is a man I know very well. One I had hoped to never see again.

He seemed a normal man. He had the average brown hair, with the average brown eyes framed in black square glasses. He was an average height. He had a week's worth of stubble on his face and was free of tattoos and piercings. His blue collared shirt was just barely wrinkled, probably from wearing it for more than a day, and his khaki pants were creased from sitting for long periods of time.

The man's eyes catch a hold of mine and I avert my gaze, turning my head to look back at the ceiling. Staring at the bright light above me hurts, but I'd rather lose my sight than see him again. Which is strange, considering he's my father. I should be happy to see him. Shouldn't I?

"Oh, she's awake," my father says, and I automatically cringe at the sound of his voice, even though he'd said it kindly enough. I turn to look at him and the lady.

Her kind blue look at me with a sympathetic look. I decide I hate her, although I know she hasn't done anything wrong yet. That look on her face just looks so patronizing.

"Hello dear. Can you tell me your name?" She asks, stepping close to my bed. She pulls up a control pad and my bed starts to rise up slowly until I'm sitting upright. I try to shift to get comfortable, but right hand is cuffed to the bed with police cuffs. I stare at them. Did I commit a crime? What happened? How did I get here? The questions just start rushing into my head.

"Miss?" The doctor questions, concern filling her voice. I look up at her.

"Your name please," she says, watching me.

I look at my father for permission to speak. He nods very slightly, almost imperceptible, but I'd learn to read subtle hints from him. I open my mouth to speak, but the words catch in my throat. I close my mouth and clear my throat. Then I try again.

"J-Jessica," I get out, my voice very quiet. I immediately look away, catching sight of my arms.

Though I can't see much of them because they're wrapped in white bandages, I can see the stitches poking through the top, in the center of my wrist. And based on the pull I feel when I move my arms, they go all the way down to my elbow. What happened? Did I go too deep? What's today?

"Jessica, can you tell me your last name?" The doctor asks me. Can you just go away? Go away please. I don't want to see anyone. Especially not him. Anybody but him.

"Jessica?" The doctor asks. I swallow, then look back up at my father. He nods imperceptibly again.

"Scottsfield," I say quietly, looking down again. The doctor shifts and I hear a pencil on paper. I don't look up, afraid to lock eyes with my father again. What happened to me? Can anybody tell me? And what will happen to me when I get home? What will my father do to me? What's today? How long was I gone? Please don't send me home again.