They shake their heads and go back to speaking their gibberish.
I wrack my brain, peeling through the haze of agony as I do my best to remember the few languages I can speak. French, Japanese, and Brazilian all roll through my lips with barely a stutter, but still they don’t stop their cleaning, not even so much as to look at me.
“Please.” The word hangs on my lips in English as I slump forward as blessed unconsciousness overtakes me.
CHAPTER TWO
ETHAN
Light slides between my eyelids as I flutter them open. No longer am I stuck in some underground basement like earlier. Bright lights assault my eyes as I look around, taking in the metallic chrome and sterile room. Above me, a huge, round light fixture catches my gaze.
Am I in an operating room?
I go to move my arm, but it doesn’t budge. Nothing moves. I’m stuck there, immobile, barely breathing. Do they think I’m dead? Thankfully, I can roll my head to either side and see that I’m alone. Strange machines beep along the walls as strange symbols run along the screens.
None of this makes any sense. I long to cry out, to seek help in any way I can, but my much cooler mind prevails and urges me to stay silent. Maybe I’m in a detox center. That honestly makes better sense than anything else my brain is conjuring up right now.
You’ll never be clean.
Don’t trust city folks. They aren’t like us.
The conflicting voices coalesce in my mind until I cannot tell one voice from the other. It’s madness. The feelings of dreadand hopelessness continue to pound into me, weighing me down until I worry I cannot catch a breath. All I want is that blessed relief only Jeffery can provide.
You’ll never get clean.
“Yes I can, damn it. Just fucking watch me,” I hiss through tight lips.
At my pronouncement, a soft whoosh greets my ears. Two more of the blue fuckers stride in, but these aren’t the same ones from before. These are someone else. I make my living based on looks and can tell the most minute differences even in identical twins.
Their suits mold to their bodies, leaving very little to the imagination. Man, if Jeffery were here right now, he’d try to recruit them. They seem more like models than serial killers or medical personnel. Well, that’s a thought. Could I be on the set of some experimental show?
One of them hunches down in front of me and shines a light into my eyes. Again, pain blossoms into my skull, making me wince and pull back, but there’s nowhere to go. Hard metal arrests every possible movement I might make to escape this right now.
For a moment, that strange buzz erupts around me, making me feel dizzy and nauseated all at once. It soon passes, but it’s yet one more thing to puzzle over later. One of the blue fuckers leans in and speaks to me. His mouth is certainly moving, and sounds are certainly coming out.
Why can’t I understand what he’s saying? Though I can hear his speech a bit better, I still can’t place that accent. It’s odd to me that I can’t seem to even get a read on where they’re from or even where I am. Once more, I go through my limited international lexicon with no change between us.
Even if they can’t understand me, it’s like they don’t even want to try. Despite me nearly yelling at the top of my lungs, theydon’t even look me in the face. Instead, they continue to look at their monitors and talk to themselves in that odd language of theirs.
“Hey,” I cry out. “Fuck face. Why don’t you tell me where I am?” With a grunt, I tug at my restraints as anger swirls in my gut. “If you’re gonna kill me, at least give me a fighting chance.”
One of the duo turns to me, and I swear he rolls his eyes. As if all of this is so ridiculous. But then, of course, it would be ridiculous to this ginormous lout. He’s not the one facing his own mortality.
With large strides that quickly eat up the distance between us, he crosses the room and brandishes what looks like a scalpel. This is it then. He’s going to cut me up and make me some decorative item.
Drawing in a deep breath, I let out a blood-curdling scream, hoping to attract some attention. All it does is bring several more of those blue fuckers into the room. I thought there were only three men in that group. Did I already die and wake up in some weird dimension where there are hundreds?
A few of them circle the bed and hold me down. Why? I have no clue. Whatever they’ve strapped me down with is doing an adequate job. As it is, their touch is superfluous. All it does is reveal something I’ve not realized until just now.
I’m naked.
Glancing down in horror, I stare at my nude body. The men seem unaffected, which is good considering the one with the scalpel looms even closer. They’re at least not going to defile me before detaching my skin from my bones.
My fingers grip into tight fists as I tug and pull, putting up at least a token bit of resistance as he brings the metal close to my face. Other hands reach out and wrench my head to the side and pin it down, holding me still as he comes ever closer. I can’t see him at least. That’s a small blessing.
Instead, I’m face to face with a table so shiny, it might as well be a mirror. My breath fogs the surface as I put up a token resistance. Each puff obscures my view and draws my gaze upward at an equally shiny suit. It’s a material unlike any I’ve seen before.
Clothing has always been a safe choice for me to disassociate into. There are no wrong answers there, only fashion catastrophes. Which, let’s face it, is far less dire than having my face peeled away while I can feel everything. Wincing, I bear down, waiting for the pain I know is coming.
