Ch 2: Sleepwalker

This is the next chapter to the story that has no name. The first chapter is here, if you'd like a refresher.



I want to get out of here.

I linger in the doorway for a minute or two, disoriented, trying to think. The hallway is so inscrutably black that it seems the same whether my eyes are open or closed.

How am I going to get out of here?

Now that I have begun to think about that, I cannot get it out of my mind. But I can't think of a decent answer to the question. There is no evidence of an exit, no bizarre green glow around a corner. I have no idea just where I am in the hospital. And I have no idea what I will do or where I will go if I find a way out. So I focus on a problem that seems more manageable.

My throat and mouth are so parched that my tongue sticks to them. My head is pounding. Despite the nauseating smell of the hospital, I am becoming increasingly preoccupied with the idea of getting something to drink.

I step over the threshold on bare feet. Nothing significant changes. The tile is stickier, probably recently mopped with too strong a solution.

With a clear and crazy-making image of a drinking fountain in my mind, I turn to the right and begin to walk, sliding my hand along the wallpaper for a sense of orientation. I imagine cold city water in my mouth and I feel better. Feverish anticipation distracts from the weight of anxiety in my stomach. I am noticing that my palm has become slightly numb from friction with the wall when my chest collides with a shoulder. My hands fly outward.

At first it seems that a siren has gone off between my ears. My own scream ends with an awkward gasp for air. The other person quiets down much more quickly and I lose track of him. He could be right in front of me. He could be running away, and I'm not sure I would hear it over the adrenaline thumping through my body.

What if I die in here?

Oh, for heaven's sake, I'm in a hospital and it's the middle of the night. I've probably just run into a sleepwalker.

Or something.

I wait a few more seconds and take a deep breath.

“Hello?” My voice surprises me. If a voice could be pale, thin, sickly and out of shape, that is how mine would sound. Instead of echoing from the walls, my question seems to disappear into a cardboard box.

My own heartbeat floods my ears as I wait. Then a warm, foul breath clouds my face and someone whispers loudly, “What are you doing in the hallway?”

Deirdre!

———————

The button was stuck. I pushed it again, watching the TV expectantly. When that didn't work, I inspected the remote control closely and tried dislodging the power button with my fingernail. The problem was, I'd bitten all my nails down to the quick. Using them was painful. And pointless.

As a final effort, I tried pushing the button as hard as I could.

“You have never been satisfied with anything I do!” a soap opera character told her mother. I would have to be content with switching to one of the other three channels. I sighed with great irritation, searching the remote for the appropriate buttons.

“What are you doing?”

I startled and looked to my left. A wide-eyed girl was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

“Trying to turn off the TV,” I explained. “Who are you?”

“She told you to stop watching it?”

“No one told me to. I want it off, but the button is stuck. I can't get it out from under the edge. I don't know, maybe I... maybe I pushed it too hard when I turned it on.” I faked a little chuckle. “Are you gonna tell me who you are, or...?”

For a moment she stood there, squinting at me, then she shifted to the other side of the door frame and glanced around the room. “Deirdre. I live down the hall in one thirty-eight. On my break I noticed they'd started—”

“Your break? Aren't you a patient here?” I interrupted, hoping my question didn't sound too insensitive.

“Yeah. I leave my bed when the nurse is on her lunch break. I noticed yesterday that they'd opened this room, but there was nobody in it yet.”

“Opened it?” I asked.

“They opened the door and put the sheets on, and set up the TV and basically everything you've been enjoying this morning. They even gave you a plant, in case you hadn't noticed.”

I hadn't noticed. A catcus occupied a pot in the corner to my right. It resembled a very large and prickly watermelon; some of its spines were glowing with cold light from the window. “Wow. That's... weird,” I said, “It's cool, I guess, but I have to be honest... I didn't even know I was gonna be getting my own room until last night.”

“It's called hospitality,” came a response from the hallway. Deirdre's eyes became comically round, then she slid away, probably toward her room.

The nurse was a fifty-something woman of immaculate posture, wearing white scrubs and the smallest of smiles. She crossed her arms and watched me calmly, unblinkingly, and I wondered whether she was aware that she'd frightened Deirdre away— whether she'd noticed Deirdre at all.

“Do you know how lucky you are?” she asked. I welcomed the question because it broke the silence and freed me of the obligation to greet her. But I had no idea how to answer. Lucky? Sure, it was nice to have a place to stay, but I sensed that wasn't what she meant.

“Uh, yeah, I... sure. Well, no, not always, but... yeah,” I tried, hoping she would fill in the blanks for me. I wondered whether she'd overheard when I criticized the cactus.

She raised her eyebrows at me. I noticed for the first time that her eyes were a vivid pale blue.

“Careless, but lucky. You sustained a head injury last night, fell right into the coffee table. How fortunate that you happened to be in a hospital waiting room at the time.”

The nurse continued to stare, and though her face had not changed at all, I guessed she could see my surprise and embarrassment. My face burned. Oh well, I said to myself. At least she didn't know what I was thinking about her patronizing tone.