The Psychic Next Door

[First Draft] Chapter 6: Followed

Polly's mood didn't improve as we sped home. She kept throwing furious glances at me in the rear view mirror, muttering to herself about how I was just the same, cursing that she had to go through this again... go through what again?  

When we got to the house, Polly dragged be out of the car and didn't let me go until we were in the house. She kept so close to me that she was like my shadow. I wanted to snap, to tell her to get away from me, but I couldn't. Even if being treated like this didn't improve my mood, I was still too freaked out and scared to be alone.  

Polly led me down the hall, back into my room. She pushed me to sit onto the bed and went to the dresser, pulling open the top drawer and rifling through the contents. She emerged with a handful of papery packets, cotton pads and gauze. I found it strange that she kept it on hand in the room.   

That's when I noticed the room's details. This was a hospital room, not a guest bedroom. The bed and tables were all bolted to the floor. The dresser was secured to the wall. The windows had bars on them, and Polly kept drawers full of medical supplies on hand. Whose room was this? Why did this place exist? 

Polly kneeled down in front of me, avoiding my gaze, her brow twisted in her fury. Taking my arm forcefully, she pulled up my stained sweater sleeves without care, painfully separating the fabric and my skin which had been stuck together with dried blood. I just wept silently, not eager to exacerbate the situation by making any noise. She tore open two of the paper packets, pulling out what looked like a wet naps, their stinging alcohol scent invading my nostrils. She unfolded it and then callously placed them on my wounds, rubbing them down, washing away the dried and crusted blood.  

I winced and clenched my teeth. The alcohol stung and burned my arms. At least I knew that some good would come from this kind of pain. After Polly was satisfied with her cleaning job, she placed think cotton pads along my gashes and wrapped an entire roll gauze around them. My arms were now thick and padded with a white mass of fabric.  

She didn't linger after the job was done. She stood up and glared at me, before simply walking out of the room. As Polly swung the door shut, she met my shining, wet eyes with her cold, distant ones once more.  

"Try and stay out of trouble," Polly commanded, and then slammed the door followed by the now familiar thunk of her locking me in for the night.

* * * 

The next day, I could tell Polly was feeling a little guilty. She left me in my room until mid-afternoon when a small, meek rap came at my door.   

"Are you hungry? I made some dinner."  

"Some dinner would be nice."  

I had forgiven her for her behaviour last night. I understood how it must've looked, and her reluctance to believe me. After all, until that moment, I too believed that there had to be some logical explanation for these events, even if that logical explanation meant that I had lost my mind. Why shouldn't Polly reach the same conclusion? She took me in and attempted to help me... she had obviously been through something similar before, and I could understand her frustration when someone followed down the same path despite her best efforts otherwise.  

I had forgiven her, but I understood that she wasn't my friend anymore. She had become my nurse.  

Polly smiled, and opened the door wider, stepping aside to allow me to pass by her. I crawled off the bed, and walked past her, slowly, afraid that if I made any sudden movements she'd slam the door and lock me in again.  

We headed down the narrow passage, towards the room directly across from the hallway; a large room, that also was open to the foyer by archway. That was the dining room, with a long antique dining table and pretty cushioned chairs. There was a delicate table setting already laid out.