by Alice Reeds
Something clattered onto the floor, the sound echoing through the hallways.
“What was that?” Fiona asked as we both came to a halt, looking back and forth. The hallways were empty at either end. “I thought they were all gone?”
“Same,” I agreed, lowering my voice as I did. A shiver ran down my spine, worry clawed its way up my neck with sharp nails. “We should go.”
But where?
The answer came seconds later, the same clattering noise from somewhere behind us, louder this time, and closer. Without another word, we moved, first at a jog and then at a full run down the hallway, but it was as though the sound followed us. Whoever was there with us must have figured out exactly where we were and now pursued us like bloodhounds on a scent.
“This way,” Fiona said, and pulled me down a different hallway to our right.
A figure appeared at the end of the hallway we’d run down before—solid black like before but in a way no human was, no matter how little sense it made. And in that moment, I didn’t care about the schematics of realism. My fear took control, my pulse beating loudly in my ears…though not enough to drown out the clattering, hammering, and scraping.
Taking random stairs we came across, we went farther up and along another hallway that was a little wider than the ones on the floor below.
We crashed against the wall as a door was slammed shut somewhere far too close to us, the sound even louder, more frightening and menacing. Was there more than one person here? Were they playing games with us as some sick form of entertainment?
A shadow came around the corner and then down the hallway toward us, slowly but unmistakably, in a way a shadow simply couldn’t. My heart nearly ripped out of my chest. What kind of nightmare was this, and why couldn’t we wake up from it?
“Go!” I shouted.
No matter where we ran, it felt as though we made no progress, the occasional clatter or hammering coming again, something crashing against a wall or falling onto the floor, the two of us mere pawns in someone else’s game. I wasn’t even sure if there was a point in hiding. Most of the rooms we passed were missing their doors.
“There,” I said breathlessly, pointing to a set of double doors ahead of us. The words officer’s mess were just legible above it. “Maybe we can hide in there.”
“Worth a try.”
Aside from the relative darkness, I barely paid attention to what the room looked like as we moved through it then hid under a table. Arguably the most cliché place we could’ve chosen, but the bench next to it was tipped over, closing in the space like a bunker. Sitting there huddled together, we waited. The hammering sounded twice more, each one farther away. A shadow moved past the portholes of the mess doors, yet it didn’t stop or come inside.
“What the actual fuck,” Fiona said some time later.
My heart had mostly calmed down now, the roaring in my ears had subsided, and my hands stopped trembling.
“I don’t know,” I said, “and in a way, I’m not sure if I want to know.”
I’d seen lots of horror movies, and based on those, chances were we wouldn’t make it out of this alive. Whoever had chased us would be waiting just behind those doors. Quickly, I pushed those thoughts aside.
Clear mind, calming thoughts, something, anything. Deep breaths.
“Should we check?” I asked, wanting to curse myself out for making such a suggestion. I didn’t want to check, but in a way, I knew we had to.
Fiona nodded. “Yes.”
Nothing. Silence and empty hallways, no traces of anyone having been there, of whatever had made those noises against the floor. I could understand the bear on the island, but this? What was this and why? Why was someone toying with us?
After waiting a little longer, the air remained just as clear and quiet, so eventually, we turned and went back into the mess. Perhaps there would be something useful there, like supplies? Or food…
Though, we’d been here for who-knew-how-long, and I wasn’t hungry. Strange.
The mess was relatively big and filled with smaller and bigger rectangular tables with benches running along them, all made of nice-looking wood with some kind of cushioning. The laminate flooring pretended to be wood but looked cheap and not nearly clear enough to trick anyone, and the ceiling lamps were crooked with most of the bulbs busted. Light came in through two bigger portholes on the right side, though they didn’t necessarily do much to illuminate the room.
The mess itself reminded me of…
“The villa,” Fiona said, finishing my thought without having heard it.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
The memory was blurry, though less so than the previous ones, the room—dining hall—grander than this, filled with people around our age, the feeling of unease and nervousness that I’d never really felt in that way before, and two people—girls, perhaps—their voices friendly although their words weren’t more than sounds, their faces out of focus, distorted. It also reminded me of our school in Florida, but maybe those were one and the same and I was just getting them confused? Except Fiona also placed the room in a villa.
“Let’s check the kitchen,” she said.
We climbed into the kitchen through a window I was sure the kitchen staff had once used to hand out the meals, the ache in my arm momentarily worsening as I put more weight onto that arm. Crashing into that wall earlier hadn’t done much in terms of lessening the ache, either. The kitchen was in a very different state than the mess; the tiled floor dirty, as were most of the metal appliances; smashed mugs, plates, and bowls dotted the floor; some of the fridges were wide open, others were missing their doors entirely. How many people used to work here?
Moving through the room, the nagging feeling started again, something about all of this being wrong—the freighter as well as our memories—but what was it? I expected to feel hungry or thirsty, especially with how much we’d run and how warm it was, yet I didn’t. That, too, made no sense. But at the same time, it gave me this odd déjà vu sensation again, like I’d felt this way before.
On the island.
No water and no food, nothing but more smashed plates, spiderwebs, dust, and dirty cutlery. The kitchen and mess were a waste of our time, except for a half-empty bottle of something that might’ve once been red wine but smelled rancid. In all of this I couldn’t shake the feeling of how useless I was—none of my skills had helped us so far, and if we’d run into the pirates face-to-face, I wouldn’t even have been able to defend myself. Or buy our freedom.
Worthless.
Whatever caused the nagging, I needed to figure it out. What was the one obvious thing I couldn’t see? What? What?
Chapter Sixteen
The Villa
Since walking into the medical bunker through the actual entrance wasn’t an option—too guarded by CCTV—our only option was to go through the alternative route Ivy and Wakaba had told us about. It was risky and dangerous, regardless of which way we’d go, but we needed to know what those files said.
Hopefully we’d manage to get everything done in thirty minutes and also not get caught along the way.
Following Fiona’s sense of direction, we went down to floor minus two and down a series of hallways that eventually connected to the medical bunker. Of course we knew that once we entered, we’d show up on the CCTV footage, but chances were it would take them a while to notice. Surely even their staff number had a limit, and watching the main part of the Villa had priority over the med bunker, right? Or perhaps we’d be lucky and they wouldn’t notice at all. I wasn’t sure if I believed in either of us having that much luck left, if any at all, but I refused to think about the less pleasant alternatives.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Fiona had asked the previous night.
“It’s either this or just not knowing,” I’d said. “I don’t like it much, either, believe me, but we have
to know what’s in our files, what’s going on, and what they’re actually doing to us.”
“How will we even find his office? And how will we get in?”
That was something we’d have to figure out as we went. We’d seen only a portion of the medical bunker, enough to find Doc Bowie’s office and the patient rooms the nurses had taken us to, and the room in which they’d shown us the videos.
“As long as no one notices us, we’ll be fine,” I said, though it wasn’t necessarily the reply she wanted, but it was late at night and I was too tired. And really, I didn’t have a solid answer anyway. “We’ll find it, somehow.”
“If only you could share some of that optimism with me,” Fiona said thoughtfully and squeezed my hand, her eyes looking anywhere but at me, “because all I can think about is what if they catch us, if they hurt you again?”
Smiling fondly, I pulled her closer against me. Hearing her speak this way, care so much, it still caught me off guard at times, this side of her so different from the ones I knew from school. It made my heart soar, but that quiet voice at the back of my mind occasionally perked up as well, whispered about it being odd, like the two of us sharing a room, like Wakaba’s comment, but again I pushed it away. Just because she was different now, it didn’t have to mean a thing, or nothing bad at least.
“Are you ready?” Fiona asked once we reached the final door, and the memory of the previous night faded as quickly as it appeared. Just on the other side was the medical bunker, our goal so much closer. “There’s no turning back once we go through.”
“There always is, but we’ll be okay.” I wasn’t sure if I was trying to assure her or myself, perhaps both of us. We had to do this, face whatever it was they had on us.
“Are you sure?”
“Are you?” Answering a question with a question was unfair, but I needed to know if she was sure, if she really wanted to go through with this. “If you’ve changed your mind, it’s okay. I wouldn’t blame you or be mad. I can go alone if you’d prefer that.”
She shook her head. “We’re in this together, so we’ll do this together or not at all.”
Leaning in, I kissed her while a voice in my head reminded me that this could possibly be our last one. “It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. Twenty-five minutes.”
We were hit with the hospital-like smell, the sting of cleaning supplies and disinfectant, and bright white light. Pushing the door open a little, we peeked into the hallway, checked left and right—nothing to either side, the hallway deserted. Fiona and I looked at each other, the moment taking up less than a second or two, yet it felt like hours before we nodded and stepped through the door.
Fiona crouched down and put a bobby pin between the door and the frame to prevent it from closing, just in case it could be opened from only one side. From a distance it would look like the door was closed.
We crept down the hallway, trying to tread as lightly as possible to avoid making any kind of noise. We’d even dressed in lighter-colored clothing to attempt blending in with our surroundings, like some knockoff version of camouflage. Fiona looked surprisingly good in light blue jeans and a white shirt.
Focus!
At the end of the hallway we took a left, farther and farther, all of it looking just the same, light linoleum floors, white walls and doors. It was so quiet, like no one was even there, which couldn’t possibly be the case.
With our backs against the wall, we stood there as motionlessly as possible while footsteps came down another hallway. My heart was beating hard in my throat, and I begged every deity I could think of to not let us get caught. The footsteps grew louder, closer, someone hurrying along. Please let them not go down this hallway.
A scream—loud, panicked, terrified—ripped through the air. Fiona flinched, her hand wrapping around my wrist, while my heart nearly jumped out of my chest. What was that? Or, more importantly, who? What was going on?
The footsteps picked up pace, a hurried walk turning into running, a nurse soon rushing past us, her eyes looking ahead and missing us. That was good; we were still good. But my feeling of victory lasted only a few seconds. The person screamed again, even louder this time, the sound freezing me to my bones, fear rushing in like an icy tsunami.
“We have to see what’s happening,” Fiona said, her voice a whisper, her eyes meeting mine. There was curiosity and determination in them. She really did want to know, and while I did as well, I was also scared of what we’d find.
“Okay,” I said, then swallowed hard.
Every part of me protested as we followed the screaming. It happened more frequently, loud but also quieter, some of it so high-pitched it left a ringing in my ears, others wet like the person was crying. What were these monsters doing? If Briola wasn’t above psychological torture, why would they shy away from physical?
A door stood ajar, the gap just enough to let us peek in. Inside was what looked like a hospital room, white walls and floors, a hospital bed, and beeping machinery. On the bed was a girl, her hair wild and messy, her face red, puffy, and twisted in agony, her eyes opening so wide it looked like they might fall out of her skull. Next to her stood a guy, his hands on her arm and shoulder, tears on his face but a dazed look in his eyes, his body swaying.
“Make it stop!” the girl screamed. “Please, make it stop, take it out. I can’t take this any longer!”
“Just a little more, you can do it,” Doc Bowie said and stepped into our view, his hand on her wrist while he looked at something in his other hand. A small tablet or phone perhaps. Another woman appeared next to him, one I was sure I’d seen somewhere before, but I lacked the time to figure out where, or who she was.
The girl screamed again, and the boy flinched, his eyes clearing just long enough for him to look at her, tears streaming down his face, before going back to that absent expression. Haunting, twisted, and terrifying. Was this what hell looked like?
Nurses walked in and out of view while saying something too quietly for me to hear, especially when the girl screamed again. Whatever they were doing to her, I would rather let them kill me than allow them to do it to Fiona, or myself. My hands shook, and my knees turned weak, my heart beating so incredibly fast. I wanted to run, hide, dissolve, anything to not be here anymore, to erase ever having seen this or heard those screams.
Fiona snaked her arms around my middle, her chest against my back, and pulled me away from that room and whatever horror was happening to that poor girl. I hated that we couldn’t do anything to help her and couldn’t stop them. At least not yet. Even if I were brave enough to try, once they knew we were there, chances were the same thing would happen to us. That wasn’t an option.
“Are you okay?” I asked Fiona once we put some distance between the room and us down another empty hallway. She shook her head and met my eyes, hers glassy and her cheeks a little wet. I hadn’t realized she’d been crying.
“I will be once we get out of this place,” she said. “Let’s find this asshole’s office. How much time is left?”
“Eighteen minutes.”
The screaming turned quieter the farther we went, and then it finally ceased completely. Not because we got out of earshot, but because she stopped screaming. Had they killed her? Finished whatever they were doing? How could they treat her this way in the first place, just stand and watch as she writhed in pain?
Finally, we found the right door.
Unlocked.
Perhaps luck was on our side after all, at least a little?
Quickly we crossed the room and rounded Doc Bowie’s desk, Fiona going for one filing cabinet and I for the other. Whenever we came in, our files were already on Doc Bowie’s desk, so we had no idea where they were stored. One drawer after the other, I leafed through files and papers, books and small boxes, but none of it held what we were looking for.
“Got it,” Fiona said suddenly, holding two folders,
victory written across her face.
Thank fuck. But we were far from being done.
“Fourteen minutes,” I reminded her.
Turning back to the desk, she put both folders down. I looked around the tabletop, noticing how everything on Doc Bowie’s desk was perfectly organized, placed at all the right angles to each other, just like all the other pieces of furniture in the room. I had to resist the urge to turn it all into a mess, but that would mean leaving behind evidence someone was here who shouldn’t have been.
The folders looked pretty standard, like any medical folders or those they kept on us at school, a boring beige color. Their size, though, was astounding and strange, too thick to possibly be only about us. I’d barely ever even gotten sick, never much beyond the flu, so what was on those pages? Fiona might’ve been a different story, the nature of kickboxing certainly putting her more at risk of sustaining some kind of injury that’d land her in the hospital, but even still, it wouldn’t explain that size.
Neither folder had a name on it, nothing that indicated to which of us it belonged, there were just two numbers written by hand—34 and 35—though they were filed with a name tag. Did that mean we were the seventeenth pair to go through this hell? Thirty-three others who had to suffer this fate, bought and ripped away from their families and lives, used by a company that had no regard for their actual well-being.
Fiona and I exchanged a look, a silent understanding of shared wondering and concern, before we each took one of the folders. Last night we’d agreed that no matter what we found, nothing would change between us. Both our minds had gone off in all sorts of directions. It wouldn’t matter. We knew who we were and what we thought of and felt for each other—stupid files with possibly made-up data wouldn’t change any of it. And yet, with those very files right before us, I was still nervous, afraid even.
Opening the one marked as 34, of course it was mine. The first page looked pretty basic, like an overview of dates and data.