A Message to Scott Cawthon: Reimagined

Chapter Twenty-One

Doctor Mac rushed into the room early the next morning, slamming the doors open to let a wave of air push against the ward's curtains. Rhys woke with a start, but Ryan was already awake. "You two need to come with me, right now!" he called, "It's an emergency!"

"What? What's wrong?"

"Just get up and put shirts on! I'll explain, come on!" he ordered as he took out the tubes from the men's arms. The two friends practically fell out of bed and scavenged for fresh clothing. "Your friend, Lewis, is in desperate need of surgery but we can't keep him in the right position long enough to give him a sedative. We need you two to try and calm him down and keep him still while we do it." Ryan stopped rushing.

"Keep him still?" said the Scotsman.

"Yes, he's broken his restrains, so you'll need to hold him down," Mac replied, completely oblivious to how bad that sounded. The Scotsman looked at his younger friend as he pushed his head through a fresh t-shirt. He seemed pretty impassive about what he was hearing.

"What restraints?" Rhys questioned suspiciously.

Mac shook his head and beckoned to the two men to follow him. He took them down the corridor to the first of the rooms labelled "Secure Holding Unit" and fiddled around with the number pad and key card reader on the outside of the door. There was an approving beep from the device and the door opened to reveal a tight and cramped room with another door at the end. He pushed both men into it. "Once you're inside, listen and do whatever the doctors tell you to."

"Wait, you're not coming with us?"

"No, I'm not allowed in this area."

"And we somehow are!?"

Mac sighed. "There's no time!"

"What surgery does he even need?" Ryan asked dully.

"If you must know his appendix, which an organ around here-ish," he pointed to the bottom right of his stomach, "has burst. And an infected appendix holds highly toxic fluids which will kill someone if not removed in time. So, do you now understand why we need to do this quickly!?"

The two friends nodded. Mac nodded back and shut the door behind them, sending the room into darkness. Just as Ryan's claustrophobia was about to kick in, the door in front of them opened. You could instantly hear noises of distress. Rhys stepped out first, into the unfamiliar room.

It was nothing like their part of the ward. The floor was a stone grey but for some reason felt bouncy to walk on; the ceiling seemed to be made out of the same material. The walls were white with soft padding that looked a little like sound-dampeners but bigger. Where each wall met the ceiling were what looked like rods of white light. There didn't seem to be an off switch of any sort and even having been here for less than a minute, the two friends were already getting headaches. A gurney was lined against the right wall with a multitude of IV bags hanging above it, the tubes they were connected to were laying limply over the bed. Gurneys have metal railings that can be put either side of the bed so the patient wouldn't fall out. At the moment, some of the rails on each side were bent inwards with half of a handcuff attached to each side. There were no windows, vents or visible ventilation systems like air-cons or radiators, but the air somehow felt cool despite the amount of people were in the room. It also smelt... unnatural. Like a sickly-sweet pharmaceutical smell that was sometimes hard to notice but still pretty prominent.

The strange, older looking man from yesterday stood behind the gurney in the corner of the room. He had another tailored suit on; black vest jacket, black trousers, and a grey and white striped, long sleeved shirt. He stood with his arms crossed, looking at the two new commers in the room with a dominating presence. His metal briefcase lay closed at his feet like an obedient guard dog. His face was lined with marks of age around his eyes, nose, forehead and mouth, which was bordered by a well-groomed, grey beard. He had thick, grey eyebrows and sideburns, although there was no hair on his head. The thickness of his eyebrows cast shadows over his brown eyes that seemed to glint amber in the shade; a strange, entrancing look to them as if they were bottomless pools of oil. He forced a smile as he made eye contact; the action looked like it made him uncomfortable.