Freaks

37 • casualties

❝we are masters of unsaid words, but slaves of those we let slip out❞
ｗｉｎｓｔｏｎ ｃｈｕｒｃｈｉｌｌ

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   ＢＥＥＰ... beep... beep...!

This... is familiar.

Beep... beep... beep!

It has been months since I last fell into a coma, yet the memory still remains: the dull noise from the ECG monitor beeping rhythmically in sync with my heartbeat. The dull ache in my bones as my limbs try to regain back control. The dull voices that gradually become clearer as the fog over my mind lifts.

Once the dullness dissipates I am left with a sharp, acute pain. When I open my eyes, all I see is darkness.

This is not familiar.

Beep... beep... beep!

The beeping is a steady constant; a tether that keeps me grounded to reality as I try to find my bearings.

I am not in a hospital room. My location is lacking that distinct smell of disinfectant and death that I've grown accustomed to waking up to. It's a mix of dust and dampness with a hint of an earthy undertone, perhaps somewhere underground?

My second realisation comes when I try to move: I am not in a bed. I am strapped vertically to a platform tilted at a steep 60 degree angle with the floor. A tube runs through my arm and another through my neck, feeding into the machine beside me. I groan.

How did I end up here?

My reply comes the moment the voices cease. At the sound of footsteps, the room floods with light, revealing the face of my captor.

"You woke up earlier than expected." His voice is void of emotion. A shadow casts over his face, yet there is no brightness in his eyes, only a sad, empty expression swirling around in his once vibrant blue orbs.

Andrew.

I close my eyes shut and I remember; the ball, the drink... everything. I should've known better, I let my guard down and this is the consequence.

"You drugged me," I murmur. My voice is weak and crackly, barely above a whisper, yet I know, from the brief flicker of emotion on his face that he heard me.

Andrew looks away. He walks over to the machine connected me, focusing his attention on tapping on the adjoining screen. "You wouldn't have been very cooperative otherwise, would you?"

"Why?" I croak.

For a moment, Andrew looks confused by my question. "Why? Like you don't know."

"I don't."

Suddenly, he becomes angry. "Like hell you don't know! This is all your fault. You and your family! You took her away. They took her away! And then they tried to cover it up with you."

My head aches. "Who... Who is she? I don't understand."

"My mother, of course. It wasn't just your parents that died that night, you know. They discovered three bodies. Who do you think the third casualty was?"