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This is a poor choice on her part.
The next morning when I wake up, Melanie is gone.
Chapter Eleven
Melanie
I had been dreaming about flirting with danger when my eyes flutter open. It’s a rush, teetering on the edge like I have these past few days, and this has a way of making dreams feel more real. As I slip further from sleep, as I try to recall what the dream was all about, it dawns on me how bright the room seems. I shield my face and then twist in an attempt to pull the covers free of whatever is holding them back so I can cover my head. They refuse to budge.
I sigh at how a pleasant dream can so easily slip from your grasp, how quickly real life can thrust you head first into annoyance. It’s just like Tom to open all the draperies in order to coerce me from sleep. I rub at my eyes, and then as my vision comes into focus, I shift slightly. Suddenly, I realize nothing about where I am is familiar.
A small moan forces itself from my lips as I sit up in bed with a start. I wince. My body aches. I feel it before I see it, and when I look down, there is an icepack shoved between my thighs. This is all wrong. I force myself out of bed. It isn’t pleasant to move, but the adrenaline pulsing through my veins sees me through. I cradle my abdomen, an instinctive measure, made before it slowly dawns on me I no longer have to lie. The pretend baby has left the building. The secret remains safe with me.
“We all have our terrors, I suppose,” a small voice says. Still shielding my eyes, I survey the room. Once my vision steadies enough, I settle in on the woman. I wait for her to say something further, I wait for her to explain who she is. I wait for her to tell me why I’m here. She doesn’t. She stares back at me, curiously.
Edging my legs over the side of the bed, I scoot slowly until my feet reach the floor. Everything is happening so fast and so slow all the same. I tell myself it’s possible I’m still dreaming.
The woman, who looks more like a girl, closes the book in her lap. She uses her fingertips to smooth her long, chestnut hair. “I’m Vanessa.”
“Mel,” I say, noting our surroundings. Two metal-framed twin-sized beds are situated adjacently to one another. I occupy one. Vanessa is perched on the bed opposite me. The walls are white. Bare. Florescent lights hang overhead. Other than the beds, the room is empty, save for a pair of matching nightstands. The top of mine is empty. On hers rests a stack of books.
Carefully, I push myself upward to a standing position. I waddle toward the door. Twelve steps, I count. Each one jabs worse than the one prior. When I reach the door, I desperately jiggle the handle, only to find it’s locked from the outside.
I glance over my shoulder at Vanessa. She watches me carefully at first, but when I look back again in search of answers, her eyes have glazed over. It’s as though I’ve vanished all together. I press my face against the small windowpane until I feel the cool of the glass on the tip of my nose. My knees could buckle at any moment. “Hello?” I call out. I feel eyes on me.
I clear my throat. “Hello,” I call again, my voice louder this time.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Vanessa says. “Screaming doesn’t bring help. Quite the opposite actually.”
I turn to her. “The door is locked.”
She smiles wickedly. Her round, cherub-like face, her large eyes and her perfect nose, don’t fit the expression she wears. Her eyes are on her book, which gives me a chance to properly study her. She’s young. Maybe my age, maybe slightly younger. It’s hard to say.
“Why is the door locked?”
Her eyes meet mine like a challenge she refuses to answer. I notice her eyes match her hair.
I scream this time. I scream out, asking if anyone can hear me. I pound on the door with my fists. If a challenge is what Vanessa wants, fine. You have to be good at manipulation to manipulate. You have to be meticulous in your
planning and diabolical in your execution to pull it off. Judging by her simple, perfect face, I don’t think she has it in her. But I plan to find out. She can either give me the answers I seek, or we can go about this the hard way. It’s her call.
Nothing happens. No one comes.
“I really wish you wouldn’t do that,” Vanessa chides. I open my mouth to give it another go. My eyes are on her. Her voice lowers to a whisper. “We’re the lucky ones.”
I lean against the wall for balance. It freaks me out when strangers speak with this kind of honesty, even if I’ve asked for it.
“Right now, they are out of rooms,” she offers. Her expression has turned serious. “That’s why we’re together.” Finally, I think we’re getting somewhere. “This never happens,” she assures me, shaking her head. “You’re going to ruin it.”
I can’t help but stare when she speaks. She’s gorgeous, stunningly so, or rather she could be in another circumstance. Most people aren’t beauty queens in hospital gowns. “What kind of hospital is this?”
Vanessa doesn’t immediately answer, so I turn my attention back to the small window. I can see a long hallway, which is empty. “Hello?” I say to her and to anyone who will listen. I don’t want to repeat the question. I realize I’m afraid of what she might say.
“Oh,” she murmurs, and when I turn back, she laughs, the corners of her mouth edging more deeply as she does. “This is no hospital.”
I look on as Vanessa motions grandly around the room. “This is a center for healing.”
I turn the word over in my head. “Healing,” I repeat aloud.
