The Psychic Next Door

Chapter 6: Followed

Polly's mood didn't improve as we sped home. She had made me sit in the back seat again, and she kept throwing furious glances at me in the rearview mirror, muttering to herself about how I was the same, exactly the same, cursing that she had to go through this again...

Go through what again?

This time I was sure she'd take me straight to some kind of mental hospital, so sure that I was genuinely surprised when we arrived back at her magnificent house. Polly barely slowed as she turned into the curved driveway, skidding to a halt when we were right in front of the door.

As soon as the car came to a stop, Polly leapt out. She opened the door for me, then dragged me out, holding onto me with a tight, steely grip. She didn't let go until we were in the house and the door locked behind us.

Part of me wanted to shout at her to get away from me, but I couldn't bring myself to. I was still too freaked out by what happened to be alone.

Without uttering a word, Polly led me down the hall, back into the room. She pushed me to sit onto the bed then went to the dresser, opening the top drawer and rifling through the contents. She began pulling out various items, tossing them beside me on the bed. Cotton pads. Gauze. Medical tape. Individually wrapped disinfectant wipes.

I stared at them with curiosity. What strange things to keep in a guest bedroom...

It dawned on me then. This wasn't a guest bedroom. Last night I had been too distracted by the message to notice, but I could see it all clearly now.

The bed and side tables were 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. It was almost like she had been ready for this, waiting for this exact sort of thing to happen.

Why did this place exist?

Polly knelt in front of me, avoiding my gaze, her brow twisted inwards, knotted in fury. Taking my arm forcefully, she pulled up my stained sweater sleeves, painfully ripping back the fabric that had been stuck to my skin with drying blood. I chewed my lip to stifle my cries, not eager to exacerbate the situation by making any noise.

Tearing open two of the packets, Polly pulled out what looked like wet naps, their stinging alcohol scent invading my nostrils. She unfolded one and then callously placed it on my wounds, rubbing them down, washing away the crusted blood. I winced and clenched my teeth; the alcohol stung, but at least I knew that some good would come from this kind of pain.

After Polly was satisfied with her cleaning job, she placed thin cotton pads along my gashes and wrapped an entire roll of gauze around them, holding it in place with tape. Each of my arms was now a thick and padded mass of white fabric.

When she was done, Polly gathered up the discarded wrappers and simply walked out of the room. She began to close the door but paused for a moment, peering through the gap.

She met my shining, wet eyes with her cold, distant ones once more. "Try to stay out of trouble," she commanded, then slammed the door shut. A familiar thunk followed, the sound of her locking me in.

Unable to hold myself up any longer, I fell backwards on the bed, pulling my knees in close. For the first few hours, I was in too much shock to really do anything except hold myself and tremble there. Processing the incomprehensible turn my life had taken was difficult. There was something—and this was difficult to admit to myself—unnatural in my apartment, and now I was being held captive by someone I thought was my friend.

Though I already feared it, actually knowing that it, whatever it was, could touch me destroyed what was left of my logical foundations.

As I finally began to relax, I tried my very hardest to sort out my thoughts, no matter how impossible they seemed. The growling thing in my apartment wanted me gone. Fine, I would leave. My stomach twisted at the thought of finding a new place, packing, moving... all over again. The money I had gotten from selling my old things was pretty much gone, so I'd probably have to live in some rundown place, but that was better than what I feared would happen to me if I chose to stay where I was. At least I would be able to leave that jerk of a neighbour behind as well.