Horrified, he held his wounded finger and watched as the plant soaked in every drop.
Bythetimehewas escorted back to his room, the sun had wilted from the sky and the memories of the day blurred with all of the others. Recreational time had been extra exhausting. He and several other patients had been forced to take up an easel and paint before the great wall of windows that faced the greenhouse. Brooks wasn’t sure how well the therapy would work if the scenery never changed but had long since stopped questioning it.
He worked on painting the same tree as all the times before when the blank faced woman beside him dropped her brush. Paint splattered all over Brooks and his canvas. He took a steadying breath before looking to the woman to ask her what her fucking problem was.
Her name was Ariadne, and he knew that because she made a point to speak to him every session. She was bubbly and always had an annoying pep to her step. They spoke about nothing in particular. She would tell stories based on Greek myths about the great creator of the universe and how the Titans fell before the Olympians.
It was all bullshit, but he supposed it gave her mind something to focus on other than their bleak situation.
She was different today, though, like the flip of a coin. Her eyes were blank and unseeing as they stared out the window. Her hands hadn’t reached for the paints she normally adored and no stories of great Grecian heroes spewed from her lips.
He hadn’t even been fully seated before the brush placed in her hand fell to the floor and paint splattered over everything.
Rage was his first reaction, but as he studied her empty face a sense of wrongness fell over him. When the orderlies had turned their backs and he was sure no one was looking, Brooks retrieved her brush, dipped it into a muted purple and placed it in her hand. He didn’t try to speak to Ariadne, and she never moved during therapy.
She was wheeled away in silence and Brooks followed her shape with curious eyes until the chair turned the corner.
It was odd, but he decided brushing it off was the best course of action.
As he lay in that same metal bed, staring at the same shit-stained ceiling tiles, Brooks knew he should fight. He should do something more than just roll over and take this life that was handed to him. But that spark of defiance had never caught, and the flame of life within him had died long ago.
Restlessness fought with hopelessness and he reached out to his drug of choice on impulse. “You’re awfully quiet tonight, Siren,” he spoke into the darkness. “No uplifting advice or smartass remarks?”
He was met with silence. Of course, trust his fucking mind to leave him alone when he needed the company of his hallucinations the most.
With a defeated sigh, Brooks rolled off the bed, knelt and retrieved the wristwatch from the tear in the mattress once more.
He stood at the side of his door so that the moonlight beaming in from his barred window wouldn’t stretch his shadow beneath the door. He didn’t want to betray his position to any passing orderlies. It had happened once before, and the outcome was not in his favor.
He pressed his ear to the cold metal door and held his breath..
Silence.
His heartbeat roared in his ears as he tested the door. Sometimes, if he were lucky, it was unlocked. Whether it was a forgetful orderly, a broken door, or the luck of the draw, the door would swing inward with the twist of its handle.
Brooks sent a silent prayer to the gods as he twisted the knob.
Click.
If he weren’t trying to be silent he would have celebrated.
Brooks peeked cautiously around the edge of the door. Nothing but shadows gathered and he didn’t waste any time escaping.
His room was one of the dorms closer to the employee halls. If he was fast he could make it without being caught.
A stray thought made his steps falter as he padded on silent feet through the halls. His passenger liked to lurk in silent corners where shadows gathered so darkly they seemed to eat the light from existence.
Hair prickled on his neck. He didn’t dare look back as he fled to the employees’ exit. It was just one stretch of hallway, a quick turn and a door away. The familiar sense of being watched set his nerves on edge, but it was too late to turn around.
The kitchen door was nestled in a dead-end hallway and, if he could make it there, he was in the clear. Brooks knew by now that no one was in the kitchen at night.
When he turned the corner this time, however, he stopped dead. Muffled voices sounded behind the thick swinging door, and they were growing louder. Closer.
Brooks held his breath in a desperate attempt to stay quiet and searched frantically for an escape. He could go back the way he came but stealth would be near impossible. Besides the outside exit, the only way to leave the kitchen was through the hallway he had just come. They would, at the very least, hear him run.
At the very worst? They would catch him. He shivered at the thought of solitary or, even worse, the door at the end of the therapy hall.
He couldn’t move. Panic seized his chest as indecision clouded his thoughts. The voices drew nearer, shadows stretching into the hall from beneath the door.
