z2012themissingpersons



When I wake up, the sun is shining directly into my small bedroom. The red curtains flow with the light breeze coming through my halfway open window. It feels like a perfect day and I know it will be. I had been counting down to this day for weeks, my birthday. I didn’t expect any gifts, though. Because of high taxes, we only had enough money for the necessities. No one really knew why the taxes had increased so greatly, all my family knew was that it was going to government programs and funds for the navy base we lived on. I didn’t mind that I wouldn’t get gifts, really. As long as my family was here to celebrate, I would be the happiest person in the whole entire world. I get out of bed and already smell something delicious coming from the kitchen. This was definitely a surprise for me. Whatever it was, it would probably be better than my daily cup of brown sugar oatmeal, if I was lucky, topped with strawberries. My excitement about this mysterious breakfast grows as I walk down our narrow hallway connecting the bedrooms to the kitchen and living area. Our house isn’t significantly large by any means. It had two bedrooms, one tiny bathroom I could barely fit it, a small kitchen and dining area, and some living space. But I liked it. Even though my bed took up the majority of my room, it was perfect to me. Our house was pretty small, but it was enough for my mother, father, and I, and also it was all they could afford. “Happy birthday, Tom!” my mother chimes excitedly as she hands me a tray of strawberry pastries. Pastries are a very special treat. The amount of ingredients it takes and the effort and time put into them makes them very expensive. We use to have them every Sunday, but that was before the taxes were raised. Now, we have to be extra careful with how we spend our money. Father gets paid only one hundred dollars a month for helping to build the ships at the navy base. Mother only gets fifty dollars for helping at a local preschool. But it’s enough for food if we’re careful and I’m not a very greedy or needy person, so that helps. “I thought you would like those!” my mother says and smiles at me. “Thanks! It was such a wonderful surprise,” I tell her. Just then, my father walks in holding his freshly made tea. “The surprises don’t end at breakfast, Tom,” Father says. “Here. Happy birthday.” He hands me a small little cardboard box. “Father, Mother, you didn’t have to get me anything. You know that I’m happy just having you,” I say. “We wanted to get you something!” says Mother. “It didn’t cost us too much,” Mother promised. I was relieved to hear that. I didn’t want them spending our little amount of money on me. I was very careful with our money. But if it wasn’t too much, maybe only a dollar, that should be alright. I look at the small little cardboard box, just a little bit bigger than my hand. I shake it a little and hear a rattling sound inside. I run my hand along the rough cardboard. “Well, go ahead. Open it up!” Father says. “You’re torturing us!” Mother says. I smile and decide to open it up. I work my nail under the packing tape and pull it off. Carefully, I rip off the flaps of the box. When I see what’s inside, I smile a huge, true happy smile. “Thank you,” I tell my parents. “It’s the best. This has been a great birthday.” The present is a flat round rock that was found by my father on his way home from work one day. He smoothed it down and shaped it perfectly for me. My mother also used her own scrabble pieces to glue my name on top. “It’s not just any rock, Tom,” Father explains. “It’s a protection rock. As long as you have it with you, it will keep evil spirits away.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“And also,” Mother says. “Since we made it together for you, when you have it with you, our love will also be with you.” I can’t help but think how special this rock is; even though I don’t believe it has powers or anything. It’s the thought the counts. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“It’s wonderful,” I whisper. “I’m the luckiest most happiest person out there,” I tell my parents. I feel the smooth rock in my hands. It’s just so perfect. I slip it in my pocket so it will always be with me. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Mother suggests that we go down to the field at the end of the base for a birthday picnic lunch. It is such perfect fall weather, I can’t help but agree. My parents have made my birthday just so special it is probably the best birthday I’ve had for a long time. Father goes to grab a few fishing rods he recently got so we can try them out at the river. I’m helping Mother clean the dishes. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Tom! Come help me get the picnic basket ready!” Mother calls. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I go in, eager to see the rolls and blackberry jam out. Another food for a special occasion. Mother grabs the basket and sets it on the counter. She turns around, and my eyes meet her’s. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Mother?” I asked. “Why are your eyes yellow?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“What are you talking about, Tom? They weren’t yellow this morning!” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Go look in the mirror. They’re still brown, but the white space around it is now yellow.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Mother walks over to the mirror in the hallway. “My God...” she mumbles. “Tom, you were right. Finish packing the picnic basket. I’m going to tell your father.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I finish placing the food inside and pick up a few words they say. “Yellow….sick….fine…..not good….” Both my parents come back to the kitchen. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Is Mother ok?” I asked. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I’m fine,” Mother says. “I don’t feel any different.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“We don’t think it’s anything major. It will probably disappear any ways,” explains Father. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Just then, there is a sharp knock at the door. I go over to open it. As soon as I open it, four men in white coats storm in. One grabs me tightly by the neck and uses a shiny tool to pry both of my eyelids open. It hurts and I’m filled with terror. He puts his face really close to mine and stares at my eye. Then, he does to same to my other eye. Afterwards, the official looks me straight in the eyes, but doesn’t let go of my neck. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“What’s your full name?” he says sharply. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Thomas Chance Bentley.” I whisper. He looks on his list and puts marks by my name. Then he simply walks away. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I hear the officials say Mother tested positive for Fri Fever. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“We need to take her away,” they say. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Why?” my father shouts. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“The yellowing of eyes is the first sign of Fri Fever. After that, it just gets worse. We’re lucky we found it this early. We need to take her to the infirmary immediately for treatment. Come one, Mrs. Bentley.” Mother comes to say good bye. “No time for goodbyes.” The officials say. One grasps Mother’s wrist and pulls her out the door. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Cassandra!” Father shouts. But it’s too late. She’s already gone. And I never even got to say goodbye. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Father, should we still go on the picnic?” I question. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I guess we still can. Mother would have wanted us to go. Here, take the basket,” says Father. “We might as well enjoy ourselves. It is still your birthday.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">We walk down to the big, open, grassy field. It’s one of my favorite places on the entire base. It’s just such a great place. The field sits right along the Muskogean River. No matter how bad a day it’s been, this place can make it better. There is almost always a nice breeze. Now that Father has fishing rods, he’s been coming down here quite often. He’s taught me to fish a little, but it’s great. We keep the amount of fish we need and sell the others. Maybe that’s how my mother was able to get the pastries this morning. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Let’s sit right next to the water. The weather is just so nice for Fall,” I say. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">We set up the faded red checkered blanket and start to smear the blackberry jam on Mother’s delicious homemade rolls. If there was one thing Mother could do best, it was cook. I know she loved baking and used to own a bakery before I was born. It was the best place for blueberry muffins, I heard. It closed down after I was born. The expense of having a baby to care for and monthly rent to pay was just too much. But when Mother actually got to make something from scratch, it was like heaven. Usually it was just rolls, which were good on their own, but combined with the freshly made jam with blackberries just picked from our garden, it was easy to see why it was my favorite. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Do you think Mother will be ok?” I ask Father. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Of course, why are you worried? All the officials did was take her to the infirmary. It was good, really, that they came. We wouldn’t want Mother to get even sicker,” replies Father. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“But, I don’t know, it just seems strange.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Don’t worry, Tom. As soon as they give her some medicine, she will start to get better. And then she will be released and come home,” reassures Father. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“How long do you think it will take?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I’m not sure, but if I had to guess, I would say anywhere from one to two weeks. That’s not too long now. So don’t worry. Mother will be fine. The doctors are good and will get rid of her sickness.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">After a week, Mother is still not back and I start to worry. Father tells me it’s fine, anything could have happened. Maybe she needs more medicine than expected. I relax a little, but still, the house is much more lonely without Mother. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Tom! Come here please! Now! This is important!” Father shouts. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I run in to his bedroom where he’s staring into his mirror. He turns and faces me. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“You too,” he says. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“What is it Father?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Tom,” he says. “Take a look in this mirror.” I peer at my reflection. Suddenly, it all makes sense to me. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Our eyes are yellow. How did this happen?” I ask. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“We must have gotten it from Mother. But remember, it’s in its earliest stage. Come on, we’re going to the infirmary,” says Father. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“But I’m fine!” I protest. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“No, Tom. I’m not risking your health. Let’s go.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">We walk down Marriott Street to the Infirmary. The glass doors are tightly shut. As we walk up the stairs, I start to hesitate. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Father, I don’t want to go. I don’t have a good feeling about this.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Tom, you’re sick. You have to go. And I’m coming too so it’s not like you’ll be alone or anything.” Father opens the tall door and we walk inside to an empty white room. Father goes up to the desk. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“My son and I have been infected with that fever. Our eyes are yellow,” says Father. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Oh, yes, Fri Fever. That’s very serious. We will need to get medicine for you two immediately,” answers a nurse in a monotone voice, whose nametag says Katie. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“And my wife, Cassandra Bentley, was brought here about a week ago with the fever also. Is there any way that I could—’’ <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“No,” snaps the Katie. “Sick cannot visit the sick. She’s doing well, but you can’t visit her. Not yet. This way. Let me take you to your rooms.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“By any chance could you let my son and I share a room? I would like to be with him,” Father asks, and I’m glad he did. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Sure, whatever,” says the nurse, rolling her eyes. “I need your names,” she says, somewhat annoyed with us. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I’m Tristan Bentley and this is my son, Thomas Bentley.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">The nurse prints up our names on a label and then puts them inside weird plastic bracelets. She tightly secures them around our wrists and snaps them in place. When I try to pull it off, it doesn’t budge it’s that tight. The nurse leads us down a long hallway to our room. She pushes an extra bed in. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“There you go. Doctors will bring your medicine soon,” Katie tells us. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Father, how long do you think we’ll be here? I want to go home.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Probably no more than a week. We’ll get better once they give us the medicine,” Father assures. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">The room is dark and the blinds are pulled tightly over the window. The walls are empty and solid white. It’s quiet at all times that if a single needle fell to the ground, it would sound like the loudest clap of thunder during a summer’s storm. It’s so different from home. Father sleeps most of the day, but I try to stay awake. I don’t know why, but I feel like I need to watch over Father while he sleeps to make sure absolutely nothing bad happens to him. I don’t trust this place at all. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Each day, the doctors came in with a skinny clear tube with two pale green pills inside. In the beginning, they would stay and make sure we took them. But now, they just leave us the pills. Father takes his pills every single time they bring them. But I don’t. The pills don’t make me feel any better. When I took them, I got a horrible headache and felt very fatigued. Now when the doctors bring my daily pills, I usually hide them under the pillow or mattress of my bed. Father always falls asleep after taking his. Sometimes he takes them immediately, other times he waits a few hours and we talk a little about how we’re feeling. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Tom, did you take your medicine?” asks Father. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">He asks me this every day, but I’ve been lying and saying I have been. But I’ve had enough. I’m not the kind of person to lie to people, especially my father. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“No, I didn’t take my medicine and I’m not going to,” I tell him. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Why not? You need to, it’s the only way you’ll get better!” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“They don’t do anything for me! They make me feel worse, not better! I could probably get better fine without the help of these stupid pills!” I shout at him. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Thomas!” he shouts back. “Take the pills. Now. I know you don’t like them, do you think I do too? I don’t feel better instantly and they aren’t the best tasting, but change only happens gradually. I’m sure the doctors know what they’re doing. We’ll get better soon. Now, will you just take your pills and go to sleep for a while? When you wake up, I promise you, you’ll feel better.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Ok,” I say. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I debate whether or not I should take them, even though Father wants me too. It would be nice to sleep a little. I haven’t slept for a full night since we got here. I decide I should take them, just this once, because Father wants me to. As I swallow the second green disk, my eyes become heavy and my world turns to darkness.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Father! Mother! No!” I wake up screaming. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Tom, hush, its ok. I’m right here. Is everything alright?” asks Father. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Yes, I’m fine. Just a nightmare.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">In my dream, the fever killed my mother and father. I was left all alone and I kept trying to save them and bring them back to life. But no matter what I did, it was useless. So, I took four pills instead of my usual two. The nightmare ended with the pills killing me and I fell down a long, endless, dark hole screaming for my parents. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">My palms are still sweaty from the horrible dream. Mother used to say dreams come true. I’m hoping that means only the good dreams and the ones you want to come true. I hope I can just forget about all of this. Maybe if all dreams come true, this is all a bad dream and I just need to wake up from it all. As soon as I wake up, I’ll be back home and Mother and Father will be there too. But after pinching myself a couple times, I know this is reality. I’m truly stuck here in the infirmary with Father, and who knows where Mother is? I’m getting real tired of being here. It’s been a week already and neither Father nor I feel any better. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Father, when can we go home? It’s been a week, I want to leave!” But Father doesn’t answer. “Father?” I say. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I look over at him. He’s asleep. That won’t worry me, really, but Father has always been a light sleeper. I could call his name at any hour of the night and he would instantly wake up. I can tell Father has gotten worse. He hasn’t been much like himself. Even I feel like I’ve changed. I feel tired much more often and I’m rarely hungry. I’m not too worried about Father, though. He probably needs his sleep anyways. But I still get out of bed just to listen for his heart beat and to make sure he’s still breathing. It all sounds normal. I get back in bed. There is nothing really to do. I feel so bored the majority of the day. I feel so claustrophobic in this plain dark room. I even feel claustrophobic in my own skin. It’s like I want to escape my own body and let my soul travel to a place where everyone is healthy. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">When Father wakes up, I can tell he isn’t doing as well. His skin is starting to turn a pale yellow. Not all of it, but his face and arms are yellow. His eyes are a darker yellow and have a layer of crust around the eyelids that I peel off for him. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Stop taking the pills. It’s what’s making you even sicker. Do you still actually believe that they’re going to make us better?” I ask him. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">He nods. “I don’t know. They haven’t been doing much good for me recently. I’ve only been taking one a day now instead of two.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Father, that’s good, but you really need to stop now. Before you get sicker and…” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">He coughs and nods. “I’ll try. I promise you. I’ll never leave your side.” He stares of into space for a while and I wonder what he’s thinking. Is he thinking about Mother or the pills or himself? He shakes out of it. “How long have we been here, Tom, do you know?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Almost three weeks.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Father sighs. “Not good,” he whispers. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">At 2:00 A.M., I begin to walk out of the room to try to escape the infirmary. I take nothing with me. With quiet footsteps, I tiptoe out of the room. Father is asleep. If my plan works out, I will come back for Father and save him. The halls are dark and I feel like they are never ending. With each step I take, I feel like I’m stomping even though I’m really not. My vision turns a little blurry and I have to stop and sit down on the cold tiled floor. I’m so close to the main entrance to the infirmary, if I just can build up enough energy to walk the rest of the way. I looked down the hallway. //There’s no way this is going to work!// I think as I see what I most dreaded. These nurses are like night owls. There is a group of them at the main desk, including Katie, talking in hushed voices. Why would they still be up at such an hour? I try to hear what they’re saying, but their voices are too soft to understand. It must be something no one else is to hear. My original plan was to leave through the main entrance. I quickly try to think of something better to do. I could try to outrun the nurses, but I doubt that would successfully work. I look around, surveying my options. I remember seeing a slightly open window with a hole in it at the end of the hall. Suddenly, I’m on my feet running as fast as I ever have. I try to stop, but my feet won’t let me. It’s almost like they are controlling themselves. I halt at the small window. I think, do I really want to do this? But then I convince myself it’s for the best. Father and I will be safe. Then we can go find Mother and we can all escape together. I lift open the heavy window and I’m greeted with a strong Autumn wind chill. I take a deep breath, and put my right leg through the open window. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">As I heave the rest of my body through and jump out, and loud alarm beeps. I look back through the window and see an army of nurse, led by Katie, running, like soldiers in an important battle. They’re coming for me. Without a second glance back, I know I need to run. My bare feet fly off the ground and pound back down with each stride I take. I know my way around town like the back of my hand. The admiral’s isn’t too far from here. But it feels like I’m running in place for eternity. I feel like I’m in slow motion. The tall grass rubs on my exposed legs and they begin to itch. Thorns pierce my skin, jabbing into the bottom of my heels like a million needles at once. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I peer over my shoulder briefly and see the nurses are close. Very close. I’m so tired and have so little energy, but I just need get to the mansion and everything will be alright. I push myself to go hard. I feel a ton of mini spears drive into my legs and look down to see little red ants anxiously climbing up my legs. I let out a scream, knowing as soon as it came out that it was a bad idea. The pain is just too much for me to handle. I see the light of thr house in the distant. I’m so close, I can do it. Keep running, keep going. I can make it. I duck as I run under a branch. I push through trees, twigs scraping against my face. The light gets closer. “Help!” I shout. I hear footsteps behind me getting even closer. Fear runs through my body, I can almost feel it laughing at me and mocking my attempts to run away. I’m so close to the mansion now. Just a few more paces. But I know there will be absolutely no way I can go through the main door. It would take too much time and Admiral Solomon doesn’t welcome visitors. I run towards the back of the mansion. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Help!” I scream with the little energy I have left in me. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I start to climb up the back porch. Maybe I can reach the window. I see Katie and the other nurses standing below me, ready to climb if they have too. My eyes go completely blurry. I can’t see a thing, but I continue to climb. I’ll keep climbing no matter what condition I’m in. My life solely depends on this moment and so does Father’s. I lift my hand to grab the next wooden section of the house. But there’s nothing there. I feel myself float in midair and then I have no idea what happens next. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">When I wake up, I’m back in the infirmary. I realize the horrible condition I’m in. My head is pounding, my arms are black and blue with bruise, and my feet are pained from the thorns. And not to mention the thousands of ant bites covering my skinny legs. I try to lift my hand up to touch my head to see if it has a bump on it or if it’s swollen. But I can’t. I look down and see my hands have brass locks around them and are secured tightly to the bed. I try to kick my feet and find they are in the same dilemma. Great. A nurse walks in with my daily medicine. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“You thought you really could escape. You really thought you were smart enough to get away from us. You stupid, stupid boy,” she laughs a little and puts the pills in my mouth and forces me to swallow. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I had been trying to hold back my anger, but it fights its way out. “I hate you!” I scream as loud as I can. “Go away! Get out of my life!” I cry. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">The nurse just laughs as she walks out of the room, locking the door behind her. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Father is much worse now. His whole body is yellow and he is rarely awake. The times that he is up, he doesn’t say much. He stares off into space or mumble words I can’t understand. I talk to him, though. I tell him everything that happened last night and how I feel. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I feel like the infirmary is a prison, and after what happened last night, I’m never getting out. Neither Father nor I are any better than when we first came here and that was weeks ago. It’s hard now to even remember what home was like, even what my own life was like before this strange world turn itself upside down. I now spend my days banging my fists trying to break out of the strong shackles. One day I’ll break free and get these horrid things off. I try to explain it to Father. I ask him for help or how to get out. He doesn’t answer me of course. He nods, which is something. I wish there was someone still here I could fall to, someone who would always have my back no matter what. My parents were like that, but now, they are no help. I know now what it’s like to feel depressed. It feels terrible. If I could have one wish, it would be that none of this had ever happened. If I could just go back in time and relive all those happy times that are just memories and pictures in my head. But wishing will do me no good now, and I know that. I’m not thinking sensibly. Thinking of another escape plan would be ridiculous. I come to the realization that I’m stuck here and there is nothing, absolutely nothing, I can do to make it better. If I just accept that, maybe if I can find a way to be just a little bit happy, though happiness seems too far away to grasp. But it works. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I look over at Father. I wonder if I’ll ever hear him speak a full sentence again. I wonder if I’ll ever see him act like the man I once knew. I wonder where Mother is. Is she very close or far away? Really, it has been less than a month, I think. I’m not sure where the days go anymore and I really don’t care to count them. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">A nurse walks into the room who I recognize as Katie, the nurse who tried to chase me down when I attempted escape. I don’t even flinch. What more can they do to me? They already have me in a position where I can’t even move so I wouldn’t be able to fight back. Why should they even bother to think of me as a threat anymore? But the nurse has a strange smile on her face. But I don’t buy it. Her smile is like a bunch of knives, her words ready to attack. I don’t say anything. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Another one enters, followed by more as they form their little army squad. One of them walks over to my father and begins to examine his current condition. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“We need to move him to a different wing,” she says. “One where the very sick go for, um, better medical treatment. He will be healed faster,” she tells me and the other nurses in a monotone voice. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">The other nurses come over and look and they all sharply nod. No one tells what exactly is going on. The next thing I see is a nurse pushing my father’s bed out of the room. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“No!” I scream with all my might. “Please! Don’t take him away! He’s my father! He’s all I have left!” Despite my protest, nothing changes. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Quiet!” says a nurse. They push him out and take him to a different wing far from me. It was the last I saw of his face. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">The room is so lonely now. I feel like a single tear that has been dropped into the giant river of sorrows. I try to call out for him, but no one ever acknowledges my cries. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Father!” I shout. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I don’t have anything left to care about. I don’t know where my parents are. They could be dead now for all I know. No one would really care if I died now. Katie would be pleased, I guess. Her opinion of my death doesn’t matter though. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I curl my legs up to my chest and try to fall asleep. Rest is the best thing for my body right now. I’m just beginning to dose off when a nurse comes in. It’s not Katie, but I’ve seen her before. “We need to move you to a different wing for treatment. Your eyes, they’re starting to yellow a bit more,” she tells me. I don’t move or say a word. I don’t care what they do to me. At this point, I will probably stay in the infirmary until I die. The nurse pushes my bed down a long hallway. When we arrive at the new room, it’s much different. The only window in the room is small, about the size of my hand. There is a new bed with crisp white sheets. It looks a lot plusher than my current bed. The door has a number keypad that is opened with a secret combination I do not know. We enter the room and the nurse puts me in the new bed. She walks out, closing the door behind her and pushing my old bed out. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">The comforter on the bed seems to be filled with feathers and is very warm. I snuggle under the covers, finally feeling better than I have in days. I have been very cold the past few nights, but this is absolutely perfect. I don’t know why Katie would have had me moved, but I’m glad she did. Maybe she made a mistake and it was supposed to be someone other than me. Oh well. What’s the worst that can happen now? Probably nothing. I close my eyes and fall asleep. Only this time I feel happy. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I’m disrupted from my peaceful sleep by the sounds of screams. They are loud and don’t stop. There are screams and moans. I keep trying to go back to sleep, but I can’t. The sounds last all night long. I’m extremely tired in the morning. I nap during the day to catch up on sleep. Tonight will be better. But at night, the same thing happens. And the next night it continues. I haven’t slept for a week. The screams and moans keep me awake. I pat my pocket to make sure my rock is still there. It is. I’ll be safe then, everything will be alright. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">One night, I’m just lying in bed, trying to wait until it is morning so the screams will stop. I look over at the clock on the bedside table. 3:42 A.M. I turn my head back around. Two nurse barge into my room. Because of the darkness, I can’t tell if one of them is Katie. One is holding a silver tray. They walk up to my bed and fiddle around with the tray. The other nurse holds a long sharp needle with a mysterious blue liquid inside. Before I can protest and try to get away, she ejects it into the side of my neck. I scream from the immense pain that follows before my neck goes numb. My body shakes and falls numb as my eyes slam shut, drawing me into a deep and endless sleep. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I don’t know how many days have gone by when I wake up. My head fells like it is spinning. Maybe it really is, I’m not sure. But as my senses start to kick in, I notice I’m not in the same place I was before. In fact, it doesn’t resemble the infirmary at all. The room is bigger with higher ceilings. And I’m not in a bed anymore. I’m lying on an old red plaid sofa with a fuzzy white blanket that is fraying at the ends. Where am I? I’m not at home and I doubt I’m at the infirmary anymore. Perhaps I’m dreaming again. I don’t ever remember leaving the infirmary. I try to move my head to get a better look at my surroundings. It won’t move. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I have no control of my body. It sits straight as a stick, as tough as a chain of metal. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Out of the corner of my eye, I see a man in a white coat come towards me. Probably a doctor. There is no way I trust any doctors or nurses. I try to hide under the blanket, but no matter how hard I try, I have no energy to do so. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“It’s ok,” the man says in a surprisingly calm voice. “I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t have to hide.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I just look at him. What can I say? The man kneels down next to the sofa. He has brown hair that covers all but the top part of his head. He has small little round glasses that sit towards the end of his nose. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“What’s your name?” he asks me. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“T-Tom,” I answer, realizing how long and hard it was to speak that one word. The letters seem to stick to the top of my mouth like peanut butter. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I’m Dr. Nines.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I want to ask him why I’m here, but no matter how hard I try, the words won’t come. I don’t trust him. I don’t know anything about him. He could be Katie’s husband, or brother, or cousin. Katie could work for him and he is going to kill me here. It could all be an act that he is playing. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Dr. Nines reaches out and runs his hand on my neck. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“There is a bump on the left side of your neck,” he tells me. I wish I could explain to him how that happened. He scribbles something down on a notepad. He checks my feet and sees all the thorns and ant bites along my legs. He puts some thick pink cream on the bug bites. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“The thorns are infected,” he says. “This may hurt a little, but we have to get them out.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">He rubs a watery liquid on the bottoms of my feet along with some sugar scrub looking thing. He takes tweezers and pulls the thorns out one by one. I scream with every pinch at my skin. There are a total of eleven thorns that have to come. Dr. Nines applies some cream on them and wraps them up. It starts to feel better and soothes my stinging feet. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I watch him as he walks over to the corner of the room. He mixes up something quickly and comes back over. I look at him and force words out of my mouth. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“No,” is all I can mutter and it’s not much more than a whisper. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Ok, I need you to swallow this. I couldn’t get the taste right, so I’m sorry about the nastiness of it. But it isn’t all that much and it will make you feel better. This medicine will help you to fall asleep. And right now, sleep is one of the best medicines your body can have. When you wake up, I’ll better explain everything that has happened. I know you must have many questions, and this medicine should give you a bit more energy to speak.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I don’t open my mouth right away. He’s probably right, sleep is the best thing, but I’m not sure I want to go to sleep now. I feel extremely exhausted, but if he made this medicine himself, he could have put bad things in there. What if it’s a trick, like what Katie did to me? <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">But he’s patient. He sits there and waits for me to be ready, occasionally going and reheating the medicine. He doesn’t force it upon me or say anything. It makes me wonder about him. If he was Katie, I would have had the medicine forced down my throat hours ago, whether I liked it or not. Slowly, I open my mouth. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Dr. Nines smiles. “Good job. This medicine is pretty thin, so if you can’t swallow too well, it will just slide down your throat.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">He puts the spoon in my mouth and tilts it so the liquid goes it. I feel the hotness roll down my throat and into my body. It does taste pretty bad, but the taste doesn’t linger in my mouth for very long. The warmth makes my body fell gentle and at peace for the first time. I had forgotten what that felt like. Dr. Nines tucks the blanket around my shoulders and dims the light as my eyes happily close. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I wake up to the clicks of Dr. Nines’ typewriter. The first thing I do is try to move. It is a lot easier to sit up now. I pull myself up into a sitting position. I try to speak. The words don’t come easily like normal, but hardly struggle to call for Dr. Nines. He stops what he was doing completely and comes over to my side. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“How do you feel?” he asks. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Much better. Thanks.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">He nods. “Do you have any questions?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I think a little. “Where am I?” I ask. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">He sighs before answering my question. “This is called the machine shop. I work here and build small boats for the navy. I also produce and manage parts that I send to them.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Now I was completely confused. Why would I be in a machine shop? How is he a doctor when he works for the navy? How did I get here? <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Are you really a doctor?” I ask. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">He nods. “I used to work at the annex studying medicine and treatments for the ill. But, there was some trouble and something happened, so I’m here now.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">It doesn’t really make any sense to me. In fact, it only hurts my head more. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I don’t understand.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">He nods and adjusts his spectacles. “It’s confusing, I know. Basically, you’re still sick and I’m trying to heal you. But, I’m also studying your disease and trying to understand it to better create medicine,” he explains. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“And you’ll heal my father too? And find my mother?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">His eyes wonder around the room and he bites his bottom lip. “We’ll talk more once you’re well. I think this is a lot of information for your head to process for now.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“ “Anything I can do to make you feel better. I’m going to make some soup. Would you care for some? It would probably help you to feel better, but you don’t have to have any if don’t want to.” He says. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I guess I’ll have a bowl. What kind is it?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I don’t know. I was just going to throw in whatever vegetables I have. I grow them in my own garden in the back, you know.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">This kind of surprises me. “My father used to have a vegetable garden in our backyard, too.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Oh, how nice. So I guess you are used to the great freshness of home grown crops then?” I nod. “Well, I’ll get this soup started. It should be ready in about fifteen to twenty minutes.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">The aroma of a fresh meal soon fills the room. It reminds me of those days at home. Father and I would spend careful time selecting only the best of our vegetables and proudly bringing them back to Mother. She too would prepare them in a massive bowl. She made the best soup. No matter how good Dr. Nines’ will be, Mother’s will always be the best. Dr. Nines brings me my bowl. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” Dr. Nines asks me. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">The question actually makes me think. How long has it really been? “The nurses brought me crackers and bread and water daily, but I haven’t had a real meal since I was at home, I guess. They told me since I was sick; eating too much would be bad for my stomach.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Oh, no. That’s completely wrong. You need to eat this entire bowl of soup. Otherwise you’ll starve. I don’t want that to happen. Promise you’ll eat it all?” Dr. Nines asks. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I promise. I’ll try my best.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">It’s hard to force my body to eat the whole bowl of soup. It takes me awhile, but I manage to finish the bowl. It feels so strange to feel full again. I’m starting to think I’m actually getting better and this doctor really is healing me. Dr. Nines comes over. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“What did they do to your neck? Why is there a large bump there?” he asks. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I’m not completely sure. From what I remember, it was 3:42 A.M. The nurse ejected some long needle with blue liquid into my neck. That’s all I remember. I guess I blacked out right after, so they could have done more to me that I just don’t remember.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I can see this isn’t good. Dr. Nines writes down everything I said in his little notepad. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I need to get you a new medicine fast. I’ve heard strange symptoms follow the injection, but I have never seen that happen, so I, uh, why don’t you rest up a little?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I’m not really that tired. I just woke up not too long ago.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Dr. Nines looks at my face. “Your eyes are still yellow. That’s not a good sign either.” He writes that, too, and his fingers race on the typewriter keys. “Go to sleep, Tom.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I pretend to sleep, but I guess Dr. Nines believes it. I listen to him talk to himself and mix things up. He is probably making a new medicine for me because apparently I’m still sick. I don’t feel sick. In fact, I almost feel like myself again. I’m not sure why Dr. Nines is so concerned. After what seems like forever, I decide to pretend to wake up. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“How do you feel? Better? Worse?” he asks. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Better. I don’t need any more medicine.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“You do. You might feel better, but you’re only going to get worse.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“No, I’m fine! How would I get worse if I feel better?” My anger is starting to build up inside me. How would he know? He might not even be a real doctor. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“This medicine is different. It tastes better,” he says, trying to convince me to swallow the smooth purple liquid. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I’m not taking. You can’t force me to,” I say. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Ok then. Whenever you’re ready, just let me know.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I’m not taking it, did you not hear me? I’m never going to!” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I realize just how mean I must sound. I’ve never spoken like this to my parents, friends, anyone. But these doctors and nurses, I don’t really care. I don’t trust them one bit. The mysterious purple liquid could be just like the blue one. How do I know it’s going to make me feel better? I don’t. I absolutely don’t know. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Anger boils at the bottom of my stomach. I never get this angry. Never. I don’t even know why I’m mad, but I’m screaming now and throwing things all over. I can’t see anything. I try to stop, but I can’t. I rip something to shreds with my bare hands. I don’t know where I am or where I’m going. I feel my head hit something hard and fall to the ground. The last thing I feel is the cold tiles against my skin. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I wake up back on the sofa. My head feels numb. I touch it. There is a plastic bag fill with ice sitting on top of it. I throw it on the ground. I don’t want ice on my head! I don’t even need it. Why would it be there? Dr. Nines picks it up and puts it back on my head. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Get it off please. I don’t want it,” I say. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“You need it. You almost broke your skull yesterday.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Yesterday? No I didn’t. All I did was lay around on this sofa, how is that possible?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“You don’t remember do you?” he writes that down. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“What are you talking about? You’re confusing me!” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Tom, calm down. Don’t get angry again. You just had a…moment.” I look up and see a pile of feathers, all that remains from my pillow and ripped wallpaper. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I did that?” I ask. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Well, yes. I couldn’t stop you, no matter how hard I tried too. You scratched me.” He shows me the finger nailed cut running down his arm. “You ran into a wall, knocking yourself out. Your head fell and hit the floor, but I don’t think you broke it. It’s defiantly fractured, though.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“How can this be true? I never did any of that, you liar!” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Tom, you have to believe me. Why would I lie to you?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Because you’re a doctor! All doctors and nurses are mean and want to kill me!” I shout at him. His face looks hurt. I don’t care. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Tom.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Just take me home! I don’t want to be here! I don’t know who you are, why you are here, and what you are doing to me! Just get out of my life!” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Tom,” he says. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Stop! Go away!” he walks back over to his desk and continues what he was doing on his typewriter. Good. I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I feel a sudden urge to do something about this blanket. The frays on the end are driving me crazy. I start to pull at the careful stitches and weaving probably done by hand. I unravel one of the soft white pieces of yarn. And the next and the next. I yank them and pull them and next thing I know I’m biting them. Within an hour, I suppose, I’m holding a pile of yarn in my hands. I knot all the pieces together, forming one long string. Suddenly, I have no idea what I’m doing and why my blanket has turned into string. I ball it up and try to use it to keep me warm. It’s no use. I try to grab something, anything to keep my shivering body warm. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Dr. Nines notices my predicament and comes back over. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“What did you do to the blanket?” he asks, startled. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I-I- I don’t know.” I hand him the ball of nothingness. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Would you like a new one?” he asks me. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I guess so. I have no idea what just happened,” I tell him. “I’m sorry,” I mutter and I’m not sure if he hears me or not. He goes to throw away the yarn. “No. I want to keep it,” I say, but I’m not sure why. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Very well then. If it pleases you.” He gives me the yarn back. He walks over to a big trunk and opens it up. I can’t tell what’s inside, because he quickly closes it, returning with a new blanket. This one is a deep indigo color and very soft. It must have been very expensive since it has such a valuable dye in it. I like it much better than the other one. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Don’t mess this one up.” Dr. Nines says, laughing kindly. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I don’t know what I think of him. Some days I like him and think he’s ok, other times I hate him and don’t give him an ounce of trust. I’m still not sure how I got here or why. Now is not the time to ask. I’ll probably forget whatever Dr. Nines tells me by morning. But that doesn’t stop him from asking questions. He asks me about my life before the infirmary incident. At first, I only tell him the basics, but the thought of my old life stirs up memories. I end up telling him a lot more than I had planned on. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“My father had a brother and a sister,” I recall. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Oh, is that true? I bet he was the best father.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Yes, I loved him dearly. I loved my mother a lot, also. You’re still trying to find them, right?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I’m doing my best, but Tom….,” he sighs. “I’m trying my hardest.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Good. I’m glad. Did you have any siblings?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Well, yes, like your father, I too had a sister and a brother. It was fun.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Are you married?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Tom, now is not the time to being talking about my life. I need to know about you and your life. I know may feel well, but you still have an underlying sickness that is going to pop out any day now, I know it. So, basically, anything I tell you now would be irrelavent information that you would soon forget. So, once you get better, I’ll explain everything that happened, I promise you,” Dr. Nines says. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I still don’t understand. I’m still confused. But I want to know.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I understand. But honestly, I think the truth would just confuse you more right now. Do you understand that?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Yes.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Ok. So, once you’re well, we will talk. But for now, we can talk a <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">about other things. Conversations that don’t matter if you remember them or not, but just a better way for me to get to know you.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“What’s going to happen after the sickness comes back, do you know?” I ask.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I have been studying it a lot recently, but I can’t tell you for sure. I don’t think it can be anything too serious. It’s just side effects of the blue liquid. I think as long as you continue to take my medicines I give you, it shouldn’t be too bad.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Alright,” I say. I sigh and think for a little bit.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Well,” says Dr. Nines. “You’re feeling better, yes?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I nod my head.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Is it ok with you if I leave for about 20 minutes? I have to deliver this box of parts to the main navy shipyard.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Yes, I’ll be fine. I don’t feel sick or anything.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Ok,” Dr. Nines sighs. “Or do you want to come? I’m just worried something will happen while I’m gone.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“No, I’ll stay. I’ll be fine, don’t worry. What could happen?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“A lot of things,” says Dr. Nines under his breath. “I’ll be back soon. Stay in bed the whole time, alright?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Ok.” Dr. Nines walks out with the cardboard box, locking the machine shop door behind him.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">The minute he’s gone, I throw the blanket off the bed and get out. I haven’t really gotten to explore this place since I got here, and now is the best time. I walk around, but there is nothing really interesting. The typewriter is alright, but I saw one once at school. I notice the large, rounded, blue wooden chest against the wall. I do want to know what’s inside there. Maybe just a peek will be ok. It can’t do that much, can it? Slowly, I lift the lid of the chest. No, I can’t do it. I’m not supposed to be looking in here. //Do it//, a strange voice in my head says. //Open it, Tom. See what’s inside. Don’t you want to know? We do,// it taunts me. I don’t know what this voice is inside my head. I try to refuse it, but it urges me, threatening me that I must open it. I feel my hands commanded by the voices. I can almost feel my organs trying to push my body in the opposite direction, but my hands don’t obey. They grasp the trunk and the lid flies open. I try not to look inside, but I’m forced to by some unknown force. I see what’s inside and fall back on the floor. I slam the lid shut, promising never to look in there again. I rummage through all of Dr. Nines’ things on and inside his mahogany desk. I find a golden key and lock the chest shut, tossing the key as far away from me as possible. Trembling, I run back over to the sofa and lie down. I’m practically out of breath.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I’m so sorry! I opened it!” I shout as so as Dr. Nines returns.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“You opened the chest?” Dr. Nines’ face is shocked.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I didn’t mean to! I mean, I did, but I didn’t! I opened it! No, not me, my hands did. I couldn’t stop them and the voices in my head. Open it, they said. I tried to stop but I couldn’t and I looked inside. I lost the key! I did it! It’s all my fault!” I’m screaming and crying and confusing myself at the same time. “What have I done?” I shout.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Tom, I need you to stay calm. It’s not all your fault. What I mean is, well it’s, umm, I’m not really sure. But it was more than just you. Just promise that you’ll never go near the chest again, do you understand?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I couldn’t control myself. It was like, I don’t know, something else was controlling me.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Something controlling you,” repeats Dr. Nines. He writes things on his notepad again. I never know what he’s writing. I look over his shoulder and I see the strange list for the first time.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Tom Bentley


 * 1) <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Son of Tristan and Cassandra
 * 2) <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Eyes remain yellow
 * 3) <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Sleeps for long periods of time
 * 4) <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Ripped things, went crazy

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I watch as he writes number six on the list, surprised at what I see:


 * 1) <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Heard voices in head, going mentally insane

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">That can’t be true. Or can it? If I am going insane, I don’t feel like I am. It was probably just a guess. An uneducated guess. I can’t be making that up those voices. Or am I? I feel confused now. How did they just stop as soon as Dr. Nines came back in? I don’t know.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I don’t think it’s in my head, the voices are real. If it was in my head, I could just make it stop on my own, right?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“It’s not that easy. I’ll explain, but listen carefully. I’ve come to the conclusion that the blue medicine given to you at the infirmary was bad, not helpful like it looked. I think it only made your conditions worse. The purple medicine that I gave you is good and made you feel better, remember? But, the blue medicine was still inside your system in your body. What I think was the blue and purple clashed. I think the side effects of the blue medicine combined with the good side effects of the purple medicine, creating what is happening now: hallcinations. That might be all that happens, it could go downhill or this might be the worst of it. But know it’s not real, ok? You’re safe here, you don’t need to worry,” explains Dr. Nines.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I try to wrap my head around all this new information Dr. Nines has just given me.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“So you’re basically saying I’m going mentally insane?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Well, you could say that. I don’t know for sure. But, I wouldn’t say you’ve gone completely mad. It could be worse. At least you don’t stay in your insane periods for very long. It really only lasts about ten minutes at the most before you snap out of it and return to your normal self. So I would say that you’re only a little bit insane. We’ll see what happens.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Am I still going to take the purple medicine, or am I waiting until I get better to continue taking it?” I ask.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“My theory is that if you take the purple medicine every day, it will eventually overpower the blue medicine and you will be cured. The main thing that worries me is your eyes. I would have thought that by now they would have returned to their normal color. The yellowing of the eyes is a side effect of the blue medicine, but I don’t know, that really doesn’t make any sense to why they haven’t change to their original state,” says Dr. Nines.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Go to sleep now. It is late.” He looks over at the wall clock. “It’s already almost 4:30, Tom! You need your sleep, and don’t just pretend to sleep this time. I’m on to you. Have the voices stopped in your head now?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Yes, I don’t hear them anymore. It’s so strange and confusing, I can’t understand it,” I say.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Don’t try to,” answers Dr. Nines. “If you put too much thought into it, it will only make your head spin. Go to sleep. We’ll see how you are in the morning.” He turns the lamp off and puts the indigo blanket back over my shoulders.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I try to go back to sleep, but it’s hard. Every time I close my eyes, my mind is filled with images of the blue chest, it’s contents, and what I think it all means. I whisper out loud to myself. Sometimes that’s all I need to help myself along. //Ok, Tom. You’re tired and you need sleep. Forget about the chest. If you just close your eyes and sleep, it will leave your mind until morning. It’s not bad, remember? It’s all your imagination, Tom, like what Dr. Nines was saying. I know you didn’t understand all that, but I did. Trust him and do what he says. He does know what he’s doing, I promise.// What am I saying to myself? It’s like another person is talking to me. Oh well. It helps me, and that’s all that matters. I force the courage to come, and I close my eyes and fall asleep.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I wake up, and the first thing I notice is the chest is gone. As much as I despise it, it bothers me even more that it is gone.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“What did you do with the chest?” I ask Dr. Nines. “You didn’t get rid of it, did you?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“But, Tom, I thought you didn’t like!”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I didn’t, but I did, no I didn’t! I don’t know, I’m confusing myself again. I don’t know! But I want it back!”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Dr. Nines sighs. “It’s hidden.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Where is it? Tell me. I need to be able to see it.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Dr. Nines shakes his head. “You can’t. I have to keep it hidden. I can’t tell you where it is, for your own protection.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Why not?!”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Tom, there are people out there who would like to have what’s inside that chest. By hiding it, no one can steal it. That way no one will know we have and they won’t know you’re here either.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“My existence is bad?” I question.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“No, Tom, it’s just…you won’t understand. You’re not ready to hear the truth. Trust me, I’ll tell you all the details when I think the right time has come.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I don’t completely understand. “But the chest. Why would anyone want to steal it?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Dr. Nines’s face seems to be searching for the right thing to tell me that is a complete lie, but isn’t the full truth “Because it has…information that some people might find very valuable,” Dr. Nines finally answers.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I nod. “Ok. But I want answers. Explain to me what exactly is going on.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Where do I begin? Well, I’m trying to find a way for us to escape the navy base. I’m working on an escape plan. Once I figure out our route, I will begin building a boat for us to sail away on. The reason for our escape is kind of complicated, but I’ll break it down for you. So, basically, the infirmary isn’t really curing people. Instead, they are experimenting on them with the blue medicine. That’s why that bump on your neck hasn’t disappeared yet. You see, I was the one who saved you from the infirmary. I disguised myself as a doctor in order to save you. That’s when I saw everything bad the doctors were doing.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I knew they were bad! I knew all along! But why me? Why did you want to save me of all people?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Well, I knew your father. I knew him very well. He wanted me to save you…”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“You saw him? You could have saved him!”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Tom, it wasn’t as easy as it sounds. He was in horrible condition. He wanted you to be saved before him.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I take this all in. I don’t say anything. I just get up and walk back over to the sofa and pick up a piece of vine charcoal lying on the bedside table and look at it. It’s quite interesting that it’s basically just burnt wood. I draw with it a little on a nearby piece of paper. Next thing I know it, I’m up on my feet. I don’t know what’s happening, everything seems to be moving too fast and out of my control. I know it’s another one of those periods of insanity, but there is nothing I can do to stop it. I just have to wait until it passes. I think in my head what I know for sure is going on. My hand is moving out of my control. I’m facing a wall. I have a piece of vine charcoal in my right hand. I’m acting insane. I feel like this is lasting a whole lot longer than my previous periods. I know Dr. Nines won’t come and try to stop me because he knows, too, that he just has to wait it out. I won’t be surprised if he’s watching me right now. I’m ready for this to stop. I don’t like how I feel when I’m insane. Everything is blurry, in fast-forward, and my head hurts extremely bad. I shout something and collapse to the floor.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I expect to wake up back on the couch, but instead I’m sitting in a wooden chair as Dr. Nines makes a fire in the fireplace.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“What do you think?” he asks me, pointing over to a new mural on the wall near the door.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">It’s very strange. It shows sharks and helicopters. But the helicopters almost look like the outline of a shark’s body with propellers on top. I don’t know if I like it or not.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“It’s…interesting. Did you draw it while I was sleeping?” I question him.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“No, this is your artwork. I know you don’t remember drawing it, but this is what you were doing during your insanity period. It’s a very detailed and accurate sketch. I didn’t know you were good at drawing, too.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">That puzzles me even more. “That’s the weird thing. I’ve never really been good at art. If I were to try to draw that now, it would look nothing like that. You wouldn’t be able to tell the drawings were of sharks and helicopters,” I explain.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“That is very interesting. I’ll keep that in mind. I was going to clean off the wall, but this drawing is sort of starting to grow on me. I like it. You did a nice job on it, whether you remember doing it or not. So I’ll keep it up here. But if anyone asks about it, you didn’t draw it. Just say it was like that when you got here and you know nothing about it whatsoever,” says Dr. Nines. “In fact, if anyone asks, you’ve lived here all your life and I’m your father, alright? Just go with that story.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Who would be coming to the machine shop and asking if I’ve lived here my whole life?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“People do, Tom. It’s happened to me already and it could happen again at any time. I just want to be ready and prepared. Our government right now is kind of messed up, and everything happening at the infirmary is just adding to the problem. I bet any day now, it’s going to come out that they are experimenting on people. We’ll see how the United States government takes that.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“They don’t know about the infirmary?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Not at all. That’s all top secret information. The U.S. government and navy officials just think everything is fine at our base. We are providing them with ships and ‘curing’ the sick. So everything sounds fine and happy here so the government isn’t worried too much about us.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“There is one problem, though. I know officials are on the lookout for victims of Fri Fever. This is spotted from yellowed eyes, and your eyes are still yellow.” Dr. Nines lifts up the rug that is partly under the sofa. “If we hear the officials coming, I want you to go down to this secret room.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">He opens the little trap door under the rug. I look inside. It’s a small underground room with dirt walls.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I put a few candles and a rug down there for you. It is the best way for you to stay safe. They’re looking for you, Tom.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I don’t understand why they want me so bad.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Tom, think about it. You tried to escape the infirmary. Say you successfully escaped and told someone what happened in the infirmary. The doctors’ secret would be out. Their whole studies and experiments would be shut down and the government would surely find out. And now, somehow, you’ve vanished from the infirmary and they have no idea where you are. They hate you. They hate you for being the one who tried to stay strong, the one who had hope in the worst situation possible. You made them see how bad they are, how messed up their lives are. And they hate for that. They are trying to find you, to kill you, to finally get rid of you. To kill all the hope that’s left. Tom, no one survives the infirmary. But you did.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“So, my father?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“He’s not at the infirmary. I know that. But I don’t know where. I think he is in the same place as your mother, but she never went to the infirmary. They could both be dead, but I like to believe they are still out there somewhere. We just have to find them once the times are safer. Things are bad. More and more of the population have been taken to the infirmary. Many are pronounced dead daily. The doctors are trying to rise up, I think, and create a new, mutated species of human. I believe they take the bodies of the dead and insert a new, lab made, DNA. The mutates look and act like normal humans, but they aren’t. They could be living around us right now.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Doctor, we have to do something to stop this. My friends and family, they may have changed, they might never be the people I once knew again,” I replied.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I know. But I can’t risk your life. You are important to me. Too important for me to lose,” says Dr. Nines.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">We hear a rustling outside. “Tom, I don’t know if that is officials or not, but go in the secret room. Quickly.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I jump into the small hole and the door closes above me and it gets dark. I find a pack of matches on the ground and light the candles. It’s small, but it’s not too bad. I kind of like this secret little place. Above me, I hear officials questioning Dr. Nines.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Are you the only one who lives here? Explain this strange painting,” they say.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I lean back on the wall, but bump into something. The chest. That’s where it is. I don’t know what’s in there. No one will know if I open it. It’s probably locked. I try to open it. The lid flies open. I feel a little nervous to look inside, but I force my eyes to look. The results surprise me.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">A map, audio tape, headphones, envelope, dominos, 3 seashells, a Swiss Army knife, and a ripped newspaper article are inside the chest. They’re all strange things. Why would Dr. Nines be hiding all this from me. It doesn’t seem all that important. I don’t see how any of this could be useful information for the infirmary doctors and officials. I pick up the envelope addressed to the machine shop. It has already been ripped open. I pull the letter out and read it.

Dearest Bryce,

I know it has been years since we have spoken. My apologies for our absences in our lives. We live so close, but so far away. How is your family doing? Have you heard from Sarah recently? Such a pity Tom doesn’t remember them. I would love to meet up with your family, but things are not good in our lives right now. Cassandra has been taken away by officials and I don’t know where she is. Tom and I are at the infirmary because we, too, became infected by the Fri Fever. However, we are getting worse, not better. The doctors are on to something. I think they are doing things to us, I’m not sure. Some days I wake up so confused and this never happened before. If there is any way you could come and rescue us from this place; that would be the best thing you could do. I wouldn’t know how to repay you. I’m so sorry for the distances in our lives. I hope to see you soon and we can catch up than. I look forward to seeing you and the family and introducing you and Tom. Thank you in advance.

Sincerely,

Tristan

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">This letter is the strangest thing that has happened to me. Tristan? Cassandra? Tom? It sounds like my father wrote this letter. It’s about me, too. And it is addressed to the machine shop for a Bryce? Dr. Nines is the only person who lives at the machine shop and he said he knew my father very well. His name is probably Bryce. But the rest of it makes no sense at all. I’ll ask Dr. Nines once the officials leave.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I go to the newspaper article. It is very old and the color has faded. There is a small black and white picture of two boys and a girl. They all look to be no older than ten. They are sitting on a beach, the little girl holding a shell in her hand. The title reads Winter Island 1942 Summer Kick Off Festival. The article is about a big summer party on Winter Island. It sounds like it was really fun. There was a volleyball tournament, sand castle building contest, hot dogs and hamburgers, and beach games. I read the caption under the photo. ‘The winners of the sand castle contest! Yearly summer vacationers, the Bentley family wins again! Pictured are Bryce, Tristan, and Sarah.’

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Bryce Bentley. Tristan Bentley. Sarah Bentley. These are my father’s siblings that I never knew anything about. And if Bryce Bentley is really Dr. Nines than…he’s my uncle. Can this all be true? It would explain the seashells; Dr. Nines probably has them from Winter Island if that’s really him. I have so many unanswered questions like the dominos, the map, the audio tape, the knife. Why is it all here? What secrets have my family, even, been keeping from me?

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">The trap door is opened. “They’re gone now. We’re safe,” says Dr. Nines.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I climb out with the newspaper article and letter in hand.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“What’s all this about, Dr. Nines? Or should I say…Bryce?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Tom, now’s not the time.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I want answers Bryce.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">He sighs. “It was for your safety. It was better you didn’t know in the beginning. I’m your uncle. I used Dr. Nines as a cover up. I’m not even a doctor. I disguised myself as one so I could come into the infirmary. That’s how I was able to rescue you.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Explain this letter to me. When did my father send it and how? And how come I’ve never met you or Aunt Sarah?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“One night, your father snuck out the window of the infirmary and placed the letter in the postbox. After that, the doctors gave him more medicine to make him sicker since I guess they found out he escaped. They didn’t, however, find out about the letter, which was a good thing. We all lived on the navy base. We used to do things together a lot. But once we all had kids and families of our own, we started to grow apart and lost contact since we got so caught up in our own lives. The last time I saw you, you were very young. Because of my job, I was busy working a lot. Your parents were busy too, trying to get all the money they could. Sarah moved away after getting married. We wrote letters and sent pictures in the beginning, maybe an occasional phone call. Now I wish more than anything we could all just come back together and be a part of each other’s lives.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Bryce pulls out a map. “We need to start deciding on an escape route. I thinking of maybe leaving by the fishing docks near the mansion. I’ve got some wood, so I just need to start working on the boat. Then we can leave.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“But we’ll find my parents first, right?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Yes, about that. I don’t know where to even begin to look. I heard rumors about the brick shed near the mansion being a key point in all this infirmary business. We can go check there once it is dark. Maybe your parents are there, maybe they aren’t. But we need to be open to all ideas. We also have to monitor how the sickness affects you. Your insanity periods are completely unpredictable. I think these are all the side effects I’ve noticed in you: schizophrenia, dizziness, loss of balance, yellowed skin, hallucinations, fainting, and noises in your head. All of those side effects can be dangerous, especially if they all happen at once. I haven’t noticed that they are severe in you, but it could get worse and I have no way of predicting it. We will just have to go with our instincts,” says Bryce.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Alright, I believe you. But explain everything else in the chest. I want the truth.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Bryce picks up the knife first. “This was your father’s. I gave it to him one Christmas years ago. Your father and I loved the woods. They were right in our backyard. We spent weekends camping and exploring them. Your father always made sure he had the knife with him, to scrap wood, start fires, and protect us. Here, you can have it.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I take the Swiss army knife and slip it in my pocket.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“The audio tape is actually a book on tape. I think it is Charlotte’s Web, Sarah’s favorite book. She was a big reader. She would listen to books on tape on the way down to Winter Island, then go to the library there and check out more books. She loved just to be able to sit out on the back porch with her book and a glass of homemade lemonade, listening to the waves on the beach.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“What about the dominos?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Bryce takes them out of the chest. There are only five of them. “Tristan, Sarah, and I used to play dominoes on the beach. It was one game that we all liked and could all agree on. I don’t know what happened to the rest. I know we lost a few over time. Some got buried, some washed away to sea, some we probably left at the beach house and forgot where we put them.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">He picks up the three shells. “The seashells are from Winter Island. We all picked one to take home, that’s why there are three.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“But why can’t we just go now?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I have to look over the map and find a good route. My family had trouble getting out. I need to do a lot more studying of the officials and find the best place to sneak out. I’m also going to look through the building plans of various boats. I want one I can build in the fastest amount of time, but it also needs to be strong and sturdy. We need to find wood to build it, too, and I don’t know where we can get enough even for the smallest boat.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I try to think of ideas. “I don’t know,” I say. “Oh, wait. I remember the mansion was getting renovated due to wood rot. If they are still working on it, there would be new boards of wood there. Maybe if we took a few pieces they wouldn’t notice.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“That is actually a really good idea. We can take just a few, and then at night go and cut down one or two trees. I’m sure no one will notice if we cut small ones down. ”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Bryce leaves at dark to go cut down a tree. I wanted to come with him, but he told me it is way too dangerous. Officials are looking for me at all times and it is best I stay at the machine shop in the underground room. That is where I wait. It gets boring down here very fast. Something to entertain me for the next hour. I decide to climb out and look for a ball or something.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I open the lid of the trap door and climb out. I go over to Bryce’s desk and rummage through the drawers. I find a rubber band and a tennis ball. That will work. I look for anything else. Nothing. I turn to go back to the underground room. I hear a loud noise. I look up and there are five officials, all with guns pointed at me. For a minute, we all just stare at each other, not saying a word. Then, one very muscular guy comes up to me.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“You’re under arrest for going against federal law.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">He handcuffs me and takes me towards the door. I don’t say a word. I know anything I say could cause my life to end in a matter of seconds. I don’t know what is going to happen now. I don’t know where they are taking me. But I know Bryce will be so confused when he gets back.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">In the darkness, I walk with these unfamiliar men. We walk past the infirmary, and I’m sure they are going to take me back there so Katie can finish me off. But instead, we go across the street, further down the road to the Annex. Why here? The Annex is a big white building full of offices, where my father worked. Next store is a small apartment complex. The officials open the gate of the apartments and type a series of numbers on the keypad of an apartment. They take the handcuffs off and push me inside, closing the door behind me. When I try to open it, it’s locked.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I walk in and take in my new prison. It’s actually not too bad since it is about the size of my house. The only strange thing about the place is the floor is cover in papers and documents, some in perfect condition, others ripped and shredded. The lights are busted and hang from the ceiling by one thick wire. The beds and sofa are ripped and filled with holes. The mirror in the bathroom is shattered, glass pieces cover the floor. The wooden kitchen table is cracked.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">This makes no sense. The Annex apartments used to be a luxury place to live. I don’t believe that the inside ever looked like this. And what happened to all the residences? They couldn’t have just packed up and left. Or maybe they did. Maybe they had some clue about the infirmary and the countless experiments. But the papers and broken furniture don’t add any clues. I pick up the closest document. An electricity bill. Well that doesn’t help much. I rummage through the papers and there isn’t much that interests me. Most are bills, thank you letters, and overdue library book notices. It doesn’t make any sense.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I go over to the kitchen to see if there is any food. I open up the refrigerator. Nothing. The pantry. Empty. I try to turn the sink on, but no water comes out. So this is how they are going to do it to me. Make me suffer and die the long way. I would have rather had them shoot me and get it over with. I sit down on the sofa and bury my face in my hands. What a horrible way for it all to end. So many questions still left unanswered. But then I remember what Bryce had said. I am the small amount of hope left in the dark situation. I’m not going down without a fight.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I look through all the closets, cupboards, and bedrooms for anything I can use to try to escape. I can’t give up. I can’t give in to these officials. But I find nothing. I dig through the papers, ripping them up to take out my anger. I stuff the ripped pieces in my mouth, forcing myself to swallow. It taste horrible, but paper is edible, I think? It will have to work. If I eat enough, it should fill me up until morning. Hopefully. I swish the saliva around in my mouth and swallow that, convincing myself it is water. I’m starting to feel stressed, frustrated, and confused. I cough and vomit out blood. I don’t bother cleaning it up. I just throw a couple bills on top of it.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I walk into the bathroom and vomit into the sink. What is this horrible feeling? I look in the cracked mirror on the wall. I’m a wreck. I’ve got a black eye; my hair is all over there place, blood staining my skin. My eyes are a horrible yellow color.. These past couple of days I have become a different person. A madman. That’s not like me at all. That’s some person I never knew. I sit on the couch, which has blood smeared on the side. How many times have I vomited and not even know? What did I do during times I don’t remember? How in the world did I even give myself a black eye?

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I need to stop. I have been acting insane for the past few days. I need to start thinking seriously. How am I going to get out? I try to throw things at the windows, but they don’t even crack. It must be incredibly thick glass. What will I do? I sit on the floor and look up at the ceiling, trying to think. I take the knife out and throw it. Nothing. Well, this is it. I hear a banging on the window. I don’t look up. Probably just another official. But it doesn’t stop. I look up.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Uncle Bryce!” I shout with joy. I rush over to the window.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I’m trying to get you out of here,” he says through the glass. “Step back. Go back far.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I walk down the hallway towards the bedrooms. Bryce takes a long silver pole and runs toward the window. The glass shatters around him. I start to come towards him.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Stay back Tom,” he says.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Are you ok?’ I ask him.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I’m good. I only have a few pieces of glass in my hand. I’ll be ok. I can get it out.” He comes over to me.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Listen, we need to get out of here fast. We’re going back to the machine shop. I have it all locked up. We should be safe there. The guards don’t usually come and check the Annex. They probably assume you are going to be dead in a week. We are talking when we get back.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I try to run back to the machine shop with Bryce, but I can’t manage to go straight and my balance is off. He ends up having to carry me the rest of the way. We get back and it almost feels like home. He locks at least five locks on the front door. He sits down on the sofa beside me.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“What happened,” he demands.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I was bored so I came out of the secret room to look for something to entertain me and then the officials burst through the door.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Then they took you to the Annex and what happened next?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Bryce looks at me for a second. He sighs.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“How did you even manage to find me? I figured I was just going to be locked up in there to die a long painful death. I had basically given up on all hope left,” I say.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I stopped everything I was doing, looked at all my sources. I went crazy trying to find you. I almost got myself killed trying to sneak back in the infirmary to find you. I wasn’t going to give up because you mean the world to me. I don’t think you realize how much I care about you,” Bryce replied. “We are in a lot of trouble. The officials would love to see both of us dead.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Were you still able to cut down a tree?” I ask.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I got one small one cut down. I was going to go back for another, but I realized you were gone. I knew right away you were in trouble when I saw the trap door and my desk drawer open. I called your name, but you didn’t reply. That’s when I knew something had happened.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I’m just so thankful for your presence in my life. Thank you for everything you have done for me,” I tell him.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">As Bryce makes lunch for us, I notice my left hand is covered in dried blood. The whole thing My right hand is in perfect condition. This is so weird. I pull the blanket off of my, expecting to find some sort of clue. Nothing. I fold the blanket up and drape it over the side of the sofa.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I don’t tell Bryce. I don’t want him to think I’m even more of a psycho. But surely he will soon notice the blood covered hand. I have to hide it from him, without making it obvious. Which is pretty much impossible. I walk over to the bucket of left over water and dip my hand inside. I use my right hand to rub the blood off. It slides of, dyeing the water a slight red color. I’ll worry about coming up with an explanation for that later. I expected to see many cut marks or scratches which caused the excessive bleeding. The only thing there a diagonal cut on the top of my Nothing else. Why would one cut all of the sudden start to bleed a lot? It wouldn’t. Not unless I cut it open again, which I didn’t. It hasn’t changed at all. It looks exactly the same as last night and the night before. Even weirder.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I shouldn’t be worried about it, but I am. I’m deeply concerned. Why? Why would this have happened to me? I want answers. I know Bryce would be able to answer my questions, but there is no way I’m going to tell him. But why? Why won’t I tell him? I don’t know. I really have no idea. I look at my hand, so perfectly cleaned now, except for the already existing cut. I go back over to the bucket of water. It’s empty. There is no water in there. None. It’s in the exact same place and I remember that exact detail. It hasn’t moved a millimeter.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“What did you do to the water that was in this bucket?” I demand at Bryce.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">He looks up from the map. “What water? There was never in there. Remember, it was in the silver tin and I emptied in out yesterday,” he says.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Oh, okay. Just checking,” I say.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">My palms are sweaty now. This makes no sense. There was never any water in there. Which means the water never turned red. So I never rinsed the blood off my hands. Meaning… there never was any blood on my hands.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I try to piece everything together. Nothing happening. It was all my imagination, just another hallucination.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Hey, I’m feeling a little tired and dizzy. I think I’ll go lay down for a bit.” I say.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Are you okay? You were fine just a minute ago.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Yeah, I’m fine.” I relax on the sofa and fall asleep.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I’m in the Annex. But I remember what I was seeing. I’m throwing papers in the air, ripping them up and laughing. I shift through the papers. One catches my eye. It reads “Certificate of Death.” I toss it to the side. But it the blurred screen of my memory, I can clearly read the name printed on it. Thomas Chance Bentley.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I wake up around dinner time. “We need to go back there,” I tell Bryce frantically.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Where?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“The Annex,” I say out of breathe.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“And why would that be?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Okay, I’m going to sound so crazy saying this but you need to listen to me. I was dreaming or maybe I wasn’t. I’m not quite sure. But I had a memory of when I was crazy and all. And in the background I saw a death certificate with my name on it.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“And you are absolutely positive you weren’t making this up? You know for a fact your name was there?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I’m one hundred percent sure. I want to go back there and find it. What if there is a document about my mother or father? If mine was there wouldn’t the rest of the Bentley family be there?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“That could be true. But I don’t know if we can return there.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Why does it matter?” I say smirking. “I’m already dead, aren’t I?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">We return to the Annex at sunset. “Okay, where was it?” Bryce asks. He is not acting very patient.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I don’t know, my dream didn’t tell me every little detail,” I snap back at him.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Oh, so you’re admitting it’s a dream now. So this could be an entire waste of time,” Bryce says, shuffling through the papers. “It is going to take forever to find this. It was probably just another hallucination.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“No. It is real. I promise. Believe me.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Bryce lets out a long sigh. “Okay, I’ll do the family room, you do the kitchen.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Yeah, sure,” I say and begin to shift through the papers, making little stacks on the wooden table.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Bryce is right; this is going to take forever. But I am absolutely determined to find my paper, no matter how long it takes. It takes a good hour or two before Bryce finds it. “Here it is.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">We read it together. Apparently, I died on the same day that Bryce rescued me. Weird. It also says that my mother and father died on the same day. That is not true and I know that for a fact. I know they were still alive when I left. I tried to piece it together. I’m dead, but I’m still alive. Only I’m not at the infirmary. That means…

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“They’re not there! Somehow, Mother and Father either escaped the infirmary or were taken somewhere else. It all makes sense!” I explain my theory to Bryce.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">He nods, trying to understand me. After a minute has passed, he turns to me. “You just might be right,” he says.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“We need to find them. Now,” I say to Bryce.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I don’t even know where to start to look. Maybe there is a clue here. Maybe we just need to go through the rest of these papers. There could be a document here about them,” Bryce suggests.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">We search the Annex some more. Later, I find a death certificate with my father’s name on it. I don’t believe it’s real, since I found mine, but I’m still alive. He’s still out there somewhere. We return to the machine shop and while Bryce tries to figure out the death certificates, I guess I fall asleep. I don’t remember.

<span style="font-family: 'times new roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">When I wake up, I’m screaming. I don’t know what or why. Then I stop myself. I’m screaming a series of numbers “4829!” I continually shout.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“What does that mean, Tom?” Bryce softly asks.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“4829!” I scream back. “It’s…numbers and…uh, my father. MY FATHER? Him, it’s him! Those…those are his numbers! Believe me! It’s true!”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I don’t understand. Can you maybe telling me more? Think really hard, Tom. Close your eyes and imagine you are shifting through your mind. Tell me what you find,” Bryce says quietly.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Slowly, I shut the lids of my eyes. I take a deep breath and think of the number 4829. I only see them, white numbers against a black backdrop. I press my thoughts to go deeper.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“It’s on something. Something hard and tall.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I keep my eyes shut and continue to search. “It’s only a foot or so taller than me, and…”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">In my mind I reach out and touch it. “It’s cold, very cold. And rough. Almost like cement. No, it is cement. It’s round at the top. Narrow, tall, round, yes.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I think harder, I almost have it. My brain starts to hurt. “There are rows of these weird cement things. They all have numbers on them, and that only. The second row, third on down says 4829 on it! That one belongs to my father.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">My eyes shoot open.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I’m going there,” I demand.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Tom, you don’t know where that is!”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Shut up,” I mutter. “You’re not stopping me.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Hang on, I know this place. This all makes sense. Those numbers were on your father’s death certificate. The place is called the markers. It’s filled with graves. Tom, are you sure this is the right place?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Absolutely positive.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Bryce pulls out the map. “Okay, this is where we are. The markers are about a mile from here to the west.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Okay, thanks. I’m going now.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Hold on, now. There is a slight problem. No one is allowed to enter. There is a guard house in front of the markers. If they see you, or anyone for that matter, entering they will surely chase you down and kill you on the spot. I’ve studied the place before. The guards switch for night duty at 11:30. The switch takes seven minutes, exactly. No more, no less.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“So I have until 11:37 to find the correct marker, visit it, and leave the markers before 11:38?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Correct. Do you think you can do it?” Bryce asks.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“I think so. But I’m going alone.” I see the look in his eyes and know he is about to object. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“You’re not going to have another insanity period, are you? That’s what worries me most,” Bryce says. “Set the alarm on your watch, alright?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I do everything I can to prepare for tonight. I find the knife and slip it back in my pocket. I feeling of nervousness and excitement combined rushes through my body. I could easily solve the mystery of my father’s disappearance, or my life could end. Two completely different options. I was going for number one. As long as I came out alive, everything would be alright. I set my watch alarm for 11:36, to allow one minute of escape time. Hopefully it would work out.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">At 11:20, I set out to go to the markers. There is a steady rain falling, making it even colder. I take small steps, careful not to crunch the leaves too hard. If any officials were out, of course they would question me. Why would a young boy be out alone at dark? I zip my jacket up all the ways as the crisp wind blows my neck. I approach the markers and duck behind a tree. 11:29. I count down the seconds until 11:30. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two. One. The three guards step out of the guard house in perfect step, not saying a single word to each other. I make my move once they are out of sight, running through the rows and rows of markers. I need to find it. The numbers are in order, which helps. I think back to the memory. Second row, third one down. Sure enough, one minute later I’m standing in front of the grave/marker with the number 4829 sloppily engraved in the middle.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I sit down on the dirt and look at the marker that is supposedly my father’s. How am I to know if that is true or not? I can either sit here and assume he is dead and buried here or I can see for myself. A smirk forms across my face as my hands start to dig. And once they start, they don’t stop. I can’t control them now. My hands are moving extremely fast and out of my control. I try to check the watch to see how I am doing on time, but I can barely see my hands as the rapidly move. Not good. Not good at all.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Stop digging!” I whisper to my hands. “Stop it now!” They obey, and I feel my body roll into the hole. Great. I’d rather not be this close to my father’s corpse.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I wipe the dirt from my eyes. I feel around before I start to look. There is no body here. The hole is completely empty. My hand trembles. I don’t even want to see how much time I have left. I almost faint when I see the time. 11:39.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Why hadn’t the alarm gone off? It doesn’t matter now, I need to get out of here before… The flashlight shines directly on my face. I get up and run. I look behind my shoulder and see a guard chasing after me. Only one. Well nice to meet you, too. I run, but I don’t know where I’m running to. I hear Bryce’s voice in the far distance calling me. I can’t make out what he is saying. In a panic, I reach into my pocket. The rock. I stop and turn around facing the guard. Without really thinking, I throw the rock at him, aiming for his temple. He collapses to the ground. I’m not done. I extract the Swiss army knife and stab him right in the stomach. The rain mixes with the blood and soon I’m sitting beside a dead body and a pool of blood. How guilty I must look, my hands drenched in blood and it smeared on my face. I’ve got to get out of here before more guards come and Bryce. He can’t see this. I take off running.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">Bryce catches up too quickly. “They are sending more guards. You need to go.” He hands me two boards of wood.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“But what about you? And the boat?”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“It’s not finished. It won’t be done in time. You take the wood and go in the river. Find an island and stay there. I’ll keep back the upcoming guards. I’ll catch up to you later.”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Bryce! You can’t just do this!”

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">“Trust me! Run!”

<span style="font-family: 'times new roman','serif'; font-size: 16px;">I run to the river and jump in. I try to use the wooden board as a flotation device. Bryce stays, and I see him fighting off the guards so he too and escape with me. I look out to the islands in the distant that I’m heading for. I see my father standing on one, waving to me and inviting me to come join him. But I’m not sure if this is reality or just another one of my hallucinations.