Dark Museum

Josh | Forty minutes earlier...

He'd known they were waiting, but Josh told the doctor he wasn't up for any visitors that morning.

Lying in the hospital bed, floating on pain medication, he clicked through the TV channels. Though he figured he should linger on the news stations to educate himself on his new reality, he took the opportunity his injuries gave him and lay like a disinterested lump. Since MTV playing music some hair-pulling documentary instead of music, he landed on a sitcom about scientists which made him giggle enough to drop the remote.

The door opened and a doctor entered, smiling. "How are we doing this morning?"

"Okay," he managed.

"Good to hear." He pulled a chair next to the bed and sat with an open folder, made notes from the monitors, took Josh's blood pressure.

"How long will I be here?"

"Not too long. You're recovering nicely, but you've got a nasty concussion we'd like to keep an eye on to be safe." He paused. "Any nausea? Dizziness?"

"None of that."

The doctor nodded. "Are you in any pain?"

He shook his head.

"Good. We've given you something to help with that. If you feel like you need more, ring for the nurse. She'll be here in another hour for another dose anyway." The doctor closed the folder. "Due to the nature of your injuries, there are some officers who'd like to ask you some questions. Would you be up for that?"

"I... I don't know."

"It's okay. You don't have to talk about it now." He paused. "You've got friends that have been waiting to see you. Would you like me to send them in?"

Josh tried to quiet the tremors in his chest and legs by taking deeper breaths, but the moment he stopped concentrating on staying still, the shaking began again. "In a little while. I just want to go home."

The doctor nodded and stood. "We'll have you out of here real soon. You're doing good." He left the room, pulling the door behind him, leaving everything silent.

Josh closed his eyes, got control of his breathing and told himself there was nothing to be afraid of. He wasn't in pain; he was far away from the people who attacked him.

But where was home? Landing thirty years in the future was the same as showing up in a foreign country: his apartment and everything he owned would be gone, and his friends and family might not still be around.

Once the thoughts started, he couldn't concentrate on the socially awkward characters on TV.

Moments later, a new doctor entered the room. She wore a surgical cap hiding a bulk of hair, and a paper mask. Without a word, she shut the door behind her and approached the bed.

"Josh, I need you to listen to me," she said, and pulled the mask down.

It was Erica.

Josh shook his head. "I can't do this right now. I told them I wasn't ready to see anyone."

She approached the bed with a syringe.

He sat up, tangling in wires. "Get away from me."

The nurse button — where...?

Erica held out her hands. "Shh! I'm trying to help, but you need to trust me."

Josh thrashed his arms, desperate to sound some kind of alarm. The heart monitor beside him spiked. Erica lunged forward, pressed him to the bed. His arms trembled, all his energy bent on keeping her off him.

"No! Help!" Josh tried to scream, but his vision became fuzzy when she stuck him, and his arms dropped beside him.

"Shh," Erica whispered. "Everything will be fine."

The needle came out and Josh made a futile swipe at Erica's sleeve. Then the sheet went over his face.