𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬

𝐓𝐖𝐎.

𝑺𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝑨 𝑷𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏
____________

These few days had been peaceful, for now. You did a wonderful job and got along well enough with your coworkers –not that you had many, especially ones that were willing to make contact with you or anyone–.

Days were dull as the place itself. Inside, freezing metal walls, empty and devoid of any sign of human interaction, a workplace suitable for a horror movie or a nightmare. Outside, long hallways and flickering lights out of a liminal dream in the back of your mind, walls covered with an off-white wallpaper, put up in a failed attempt to seem homely. You found solace in playing music, peaceful yet loud enough to drown the chaos upstairs, and talking mindlessly to the dead body in your metal table as you drained its blood and replaced it with strong chemicals, so they could be pretty one last time.

Your research had to wait a longer time.

That was your job, but not exactly the reason why you were here for.

In your breaks you spent your time in the mess hall, laying low yet gaining the trust of those around you. The nurses and other staff seemed to like you well enough now and you started to feel part of their group.

So when you had gained some of their trust, you struck.

"Hey, Mila! Hi. Could you do me uh... a favor?" You said, catching up to her in the middle of a hallway, where she was pushing an empty wheelchair.

Hermila Leyton was a beautiful, heavy set nurse, middle aged and with plenty of experience you dreamed to have one day, who worked with the patients in the west wing. She was kind yet confident and teasing, the closest thing you had to a friend in this place.

She smiled at you yet raised an eyebrow, "I don't have any money if that's what you want"

"No!" You exclaimed as she laughed, got her keys out and opened a metal gate that led to one of the wards. "I actually wanted to know about a patient that was here years ago."

"Huh? The fuck you want a patient for?" Her eyes scrutinized you, questioning and more serious now. You both walked to the very end of the hallway, right next to a tall, barred window that gazed upon the yard. "Wait, lemme get this kid real quick. Be careful, he's scared of new people"

You nodded and waited outside, giving your coffee a last sip and gazing out; the close but inaccessible greens appearing idyllic compared to the cold metal and cement around you. It was you and your thoughts for a second, dwelling on a past you weren't sure even happened. You turned to see the other doors, closed shut almost hermetically, some being pounded from the inside by a confused, desperate patient. A dark, cold hand clenched your heart, the scenario way too familiar. Was it in this floor? Or up above?...

"Alright, ███████, what kinda thing are you trying to make me babble about?" Mila said, leading out a pale, white haired young man in the wheelchair. He was frail looking and obviously sleep deprived, and he didn't dare look you in the eye, instead focusing on a point past his bruised, pale hands and whispering little nothings into the air.

You looked at him and nodded. "Hello", a small whisper to acknowledge his presence, and you thought you saw a small smile on his face when he repeated «hello, hello, hello...».

Turning towards her again and resuming your walk, you spoke again. "Nothing you'd get in trouble for, I assure you" or at least you'd hope, "I just want, uh. Need to know what happened to an old friend of mine. She was transferred here years ago."