Behold the Scalded

Chapter Fourteen

The red consumed me, and the harsh stench of burnt toffee assaulted my nostrils, burning and itching the delicate inner lining of my nose. It was pungent and nearly unbearable, like breathing in pure smoke of a sweet-scented candle.

I looked around the room. Although I had fallen asleep in Hermit's tree hut, I was now surrounded by red in the reception area of the asylum. The familiar horseshoe shaped desk with and the broken computer monitor nearby. I thought of Nurse Jane briefly, and the way she tended to me during my time in her care. Her gentle voice, her funny jokes, her sense of nurturing.

She had been the closest thing to a mother I had.

When one of the girls made fun of me for not taking interest in writing anymore and because I wasn't able to find entertainment in TV shows or movies, Nurse Jane told me to stand up for myself. To speak my voice and stand my ground. She had always encouraged me to express my thoughts, to voice my opinions, but unbeknownst to her I never had the energy to.

Looking back in hindsight, maybe it was the medicine they gave me. Maybe they suppressed more than my imagination, they kept me docile emotionally. They kept me just as much of a prisoner as my imaginings.

The result or side effect was depleting me of my power, keeping me the endangered damsel in distress I despised so much. It was always others in control of me and my life. Even now, my fate lay in the hands of the city, the authorities, the military, the scientist and researchers, and in some ways the media.

I didn't have a chance to go deeper in my thought as I wanted to, because the trail of black sludge took my interest when contrasting the bright red in the room. The trail followed the same path as before, traveling along the broken and chipped tiles to disappear into the doctor's quarters.

The double doors were closed but the large print of black ink still covered them. Splatters of ink were on the adjacent walls where the Scorcher had burst through leaving its evidence.

My heart raced as I approached the doors, but I reminded myself that here in my imagination I was safe. Although the Scorchers were big and fierce and their goo burned like the boiling pits of Hell, I would survive here.

The realization fueled me with a bit more courage as I pushed the doors open and peeked through the sliver. Thankfully, to my relief, nothing was on the other side but more trails of goop. I stepped inside and carefully followed the path.

Looking at the desk and the tossed and mucky furniture gave me a visual of the chaos that happened in the space a while ago.

I imagined Dr. Johnson in his white lab coat and a formal black tie behind the desk, assisting nurses with their questions, writing prescriptions, making diagnosis, and so on.

I continued through the space and followed the ink trail through another set of doors, aware that the black ink on the doors was dried and cool to the touch. I stepped through the door and its slanted doorframe to see one of the creatures ahead.