After being ordered by the State to undergo Deep Sleep, a treatment for troubled teens, Jo awakens in the hospital with sporadic and unexplained memories. Upon celebrating her rebirthday, she recalls strange past events that makes her question reali...
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I snapped my eyes open and sat upright in bed, blinded by the stark white. "What's going on?"
Mom twisted her face in worry as she rushed to my side. "You've had an episode and passed out in bed. How do you feel?"
I glared, not hesitating to show my doubt. "Don't tell me that was a dream." I shot my sights to the monitor, which continued its rhythmic beeps and projecting its glowing green lines on the screen. "That thing grabbed me. I know it did." I could still feel the remnants of its cold, steel fingers around my wrists and lifted them, expecting to showcase a bruise but only seeing even lightly bronzed skin tone stare back at me.
She patted my head. "Relax, Jo—"
"Stop telling me to relax." I jerked away from her comforting palm. My glare was vicious, I felt the tension in every muscle. "Where did you go, huh? How did you get out of here?"
She nodded; a streak of guilt flashed across her face. "While you were sleeping, I went to talk to Ian to convince him to come and see you."
"And?" I twisted in bed to stare at the door, anticipating someone standing there.
"And ..." She shook her head, sadness and defeat made up her facial features. "I'm sorry."
I tossed the sheet aside and threw my legs over the edge of the bed. "I'm getting out of here now."
"Jo, wait." She went to the table where the cake should have been, but instead a small, thin, rectangular black tablet was in its place. "Look. I brought this back for you. It's your diary."
I stood and my legs carried my body weight effortlessly as I grabbed the pocket-sized tablet from her hand. While staring down at it, the screen lit up. And the words, "Hello, Jovial!" Appeared onscreen as if awakening upon recognizing my face. I prompted it to open my diary with a click of my forefinger and swiped through the pages until the name Ian in a fancy font stopped me.
"Today's the day me and Ian will go through with it. We can't sit around waiting for someone to stop us, because I know they will. We have to make a move and do this now. Hopefully, it all goes as planned and we could be free of the hellhole."
After reading the passage, I looked up into her wide, round eyes and instinct made it clear that she was not to be trusted. Something about the diary threw me off. I held the tablet in my palms and examined it, front and back, hoping it would settle into my grip the way it had when I last used it and spark a memory of Ian, our motive, or provide some details I was lacking. The diary only proved to be another source of frustration and anger. Yet I slipped it into the breast pocket of my hospital gown, pleased to have the physical representation of me and my memories back in my possession.
The beeping from the machine increased, stealing my attention. The only thing running through my mind as a memory was that machine transforming and gripping my wrists. Somehow that computer was linked to the lock on the door. And by the way Mom was watching me, standing guard over me like a vulture, I knew she wouldn't willingly be of help.
