The Awakening Box Set

by Michael Timmins

  Chapter 4

  In a small white room, outside of Arlington, Virginia, Shae sat on her bunk and wondered again what she did to deserve this. The room was sterile as sterile could be, white walls and white tiled floor. The steel-gray barred bed frame was the only color deviation, if you could even call it that, in the room. White walls, white sheets, white toilet and sink.

  Her white hospital gown, unadorned, had been her only clothes for the past year and a half. Her red hair was stringy and faded from lack of sunlight and proper care, and her pale completion became paler the more she stayed here. Even her freckles, the most noticeable feature of her face, were faded.

  A year and a half of no sunlight will do that, she thought. At least, she believed it was a year and a half. She had no real way of telling how long, but she tried to find out whenever the doctors came to her. She honestly thought she might be going insane.

  She knew they thought that when they first brought her into the hospital, after she had tried to take her own life, but she wasn’t. This room was making her insane now, though. She thought her life was bad when she tried to commit suicide, but she knew now it was a delusion. Where she was now was a lot worse than where she had been.

  She remembered the day her parents left her. She was only eight and they took her to the neighbor’s house, Ms. Cooper, and asked if she would watch Shae for a few hours while they went and ran some errands. It wasn’t the first time they had left her there, so Ms. Cooper thought nothing of it, at the time. 8 P.M. came and Ms. Cooper got worried and tried her mom’s cell, only to be notified it was no longer in service. Ms. Cooper waited till the next morning to call the police. They came and took Shae to Child Services to wait for her parents to show up. They never did.

  It was another year before a “suitable” home was found for her in upper New York. Unfortunately, this suitable home was anything but.

  It wasn’t bad at first, but it was obvious the father didn’t want a girl and resented the fact Shae was there. Even at ten years of age, she could pick up on that. She wasn’t sure if her being there is what led to the divorce, but she was sure it played a part, since her foster father wanted nothing to do with her. He didn’t fight for any rights and she stayed with her foster mother.

  Anne was a wonderful foster mother. She was caring and fun to be with. It was the best time she could remember that year. It was just her and her foster mom. It was the arrival of George that changed everything. He was nice and sweet to her the entire time he was dating Anne. Never did he give any indication of the monster he would become when he finally moved in with them.

  George was a big guy, six-foot two and at least two-eighty. Anne was barely five feet tall, though a bit thick, she was no match for George when the beatings started. Shae remembered hiding in her room those nights when he beat Anne. She tried to stop him once, ran out into the living room, yelling at him to stop.

  He backhanded her so hard, she landed several feet away. She barely remained conscious as he loomed over her and told her to mind her own fucking business or she would get worse the next time. She crawled back to her room, the inside of her mouth bleeding from where her cheek busted open from the impact with her teeth. She listened to the blows rain down on Anne from George.

  Anne came to her room the next day, her face a mask of bruises and busted skin. Anne asked her to never try to stop George again, because she couldn’t bear it if anything happened to Shae. Shae pleaded with Anne to leave with her. Her foster-mom then said something Shae would never, ever forget. Anne told her quite calmly she loved George, and George loved her. It was then Shae told herself she would never fall in love.

  The beatings went in spurts. There were times when Shae could almost pretend they were a happy family, for it would be months since the last beating and everyone got along. Then George would go out drinking with his buddies and come home drunk. The beatings would start again. Except one time he came home later than usual, and Anne had already gone to sleep.

  Shae was never sure if George meant to come into her room, or if he was too drunk to know he wasn’t in his own bed. Much of that night she couldn’t remember. She did remember the stink of alcohol as he breathed on her face, and the weight of his body on top of hers. She pleaded with him to stop. She cried. She yelled for him to get off her, but he didn’t stop. She was sure Anne heard her cry out, but she never came to help. At age thirteen, George raped her, and she decided to take her own life.

  Shae remembered the day like it was yesterday, even now, almost two years later. She lay in her bed for hours after George finished. He snored loudly while sprawled out, naked beside her. Her body hurt all over from the rough treatment by George, but it passed quickly.

  She also bled from her private area as well, but surprisingly, the pain and bleeding stopped shortly after the assault. She crawled out of the bed and went to the bathroom. She remembered vividly opening the medicine cabinet and finding a razor blade. She looked at herself once in the mirror and then ran the blade across her left wrist. Then the right one.

  She wanted this over quickly. She watched the blood run out of her, amazed at the flow. The door behind her opened and Anne stood there. She must have heard her get up and come into the bathroom. Anne took one look at her and all the blood. She screamed. George didn’t even wake up.

  She couldn’t recall the ride to the hospital. She only felt warmth and very little pain. Anne wrapped two bathroom towels around Shae’s wrists and they were already soaked in blood. Her memory started to get stronger the closer they got to the hospital.

  Shae remembered her foster-mother speeding into the emergency drive-thru and getting out, getting her out, and carrying her into the ER yelling the entire time for help. The nurses came running and put her on a gurney. They hooked her up to an IV for a transfusion. Anne was ushered out of the room and the nurses started running tests.

  They seemed confused by how responsive Shae was to their questions. She vividly remembered the look on their faces when they removed the towels from around her wrists. The initial look was one of shock, followed by confusion, and finally by anger.

  She remembered them yelling at Anne, asking if she thought it was funny to waste their time and resources helping someone who didn’t need help. Anne yelled back at them she had no idea what they were talking about. She had walked into the bathroom and saw Shae with a razor blade in her hand and two slashes on her wrists. There was blood everywhere.

  What the nurses told Anne next shocked Shae, probably even more so than it shocked Anne. They told her that her daughter had no visible wounds on her wrists and as far as they could tell she was perfectly fine and healthy.

  Shae lifted her arms off the gurney so she could get a good look at her wrists. They were right. There was nothing there. There was dried and crusted blood, but no cuts. She didn’t understand. She knew she had cut herself. The evidence was there in the amount of blood, and yet, she was not cut. She wanted to cry. She wanted to die.

  Whatever happened to cause her to still be alive she cursed. It was unfair and cruel. Anne always told her God looked out for those in need. If God was responsible for this, she hated him. The nurse outside told Anne she was going to get the doctor and to not move.

  Shae felt she had little time. She looked around for something to cut herself with again but could find nothing. She started to cry. Moments later the curtain was pulled aside, and the doctor came in with a clipboard and a mug of coffee.

  “Good morning…Shae,” he said after a moment of checking the clipboard. “It seems we have been playing a bit of a prank on your mother…”

  “Foster-mother,” Shae corrected him.

  “Ahh. I see. Yes, foster-mother. Well, are you aware your foster-mother was in such a panic, we had to give her some tranquilizers so she would calm down over what you did?”

  Shae looked away. She really didn’t care what they did to Anne. Anne let George rape her, and Anne could die for all she cared.

  “Well. Do you
care to tell me why you decided to play this prank on your foster-mother?”

  “I didn’t play any prank. I tried to kill myself. Are you happy? Is that what you wanted me to say?” She bit off each word.

  “Right. Well. The problem is, Shae, you didn’t try to commit suicide. Otherwise, there would be cuts on your arms. What did you use? Ketchup? Grenadine and cornstarch? What did you use to fake the blood?” The doctor picked up the towels and showed them to her. Shae was about to answer when he brought them up to his nose and sniffed. His eyes widened.

  “Nurse!” he shouted.

  The nurse came through the curtain quickly at his call.

  “Yes, Doctor?”

  “Run these towels down to the lab. They’re covered in blood. I want to know whose.”

  It was the same nurse who removed the towels in the first place. She looked from the doctor to Shae before leaving quickly with them.

  The doctor turned back to her, much more serious now.

  “Shae. Whose blood is on those towels? Did you hurt someone?”

  Shae looked him right in the eyes.

  “It’s my blood. My mom put those towels around my wrists after I cut them. You can ask her if you want.”

  The doctor searched her eyes to see if she was lying. He nodded and left. She could hear him outside the curtain talking with Anne. Shae was angry right now. Why didn’t they believe her? Where else would all that blood come from? She shook her head at the whole situation.

  She noticed the coffee mug still sitting on the table. She glanced once at the curtain to see if anyone could see inside, but it was closed well. The doctor and Anne were still talking. Slipping out of the gurney she went to the table with the mug. It was porcelain, which is what she wanted. She took one more look at the curtain then threw the mug at the floor, where it shattered.

  She knew she only had moments before the doctor and others would be in here. Kneeling, she grabbed a jagged piece of porcelain, and slashed it across her wrist. A ragged, messy cut that quickly bled. The curtain was thrown aside, and the doctor looked at the gurney once then his eyes found Shae standing there with a bloody piece of porcelain in one hand and a freshly cut wrist spewing blood at the other side.

  Shae thrust her wrist out at the doctor.

  “SEE!” she screamed at him.

  The doctor and several nurses quickly grabbed her. One nurse ripped the piece of porcelain from her hand. Shae fought hard, kicking, screaming, and biting as much as she could. The doctor applied pressure to her wrist to stop the bleeding, but she kept wrenching it out of his grasp, painting all of them red.

  Eventually they restrained her and put her on the gurney. They bandaged her wrist. She was hooked up for a blood transfusion. During the fight, she caught a glimpse of Anne watching from outside the curtain. Shae yelled at her.

  “This is all your fault! You caused this! I begged you to save me! You did nothing! NOTHING!”

  Her foster-mom fled.

  Shae awoke sometime later. She was sure they sedated her, because she had not been tired. She was strapped to the bed, unable to move her arms or legs. The room was devoid of anything except the bed she was on. No tables or chairs. Not even a TV. She flexed her neck up to examine her bindings. There were leather straps running across her body at chest, hip and shin level.

  She flexed her arms to see if she could get a little movement out of them, but it was to no avail. She realized she felt no pain, either. She glanced down at her wrist. It had been cleaned, and there was no bandage on it anymore.

  Once more, there was no sign of where she had cut herself. What was going on? She had no idea as to how long she had been out, but she knew she couldn’t have been out long enough for the cut to heal already.

  Several days passed. At least from what she could tell. The room did not have a window, but a nurse brought in food three times and fed her, then later would turn off the lights. That happened three times so far, so she figured that was her days. On the fourth day, a man in a suit came to her room. He was well-dressed and tall. The man was medium build with a close-cut beard. He watched her from the doorway for a long while before coming closer. He had beady eyes, and a hawkish nose. He did not exude trust in any shape or form.

  “Shae Wellington?” the man asked.

  “Wellington is my foster name. I don’t use it anymore.”

  He smiled. “What should I call you then?”

  “Shae. Just Shae.”

  “Very well, Shae. I know this has been difficult for you, but it has been for your protection. We can’t have you hurting yourself, can we?”

  “Well, I can’t seem to be able to do that anyways.”

  “Yes.” He paused and then leaned forward. “Why is that?”

  Shae snorted. “I’m thirteen years old. How would I know? If I knew I couldn’t do it, why would I try?”

  The man thought this over for a moment.

  “Fair enough. I guess you wouldn’t. Well, we are going to take you somewhere to find out.”

  “Are you a psychologist?” Shae asked.

  “No.”

  “What are you then?”

  He didn’t answer right away, but watched her, deciding what answer to give.

  “Let’s say I am a scientist. A scientist who is very interested in why you seem to heal so quickly.”

  “I want to go home.” It wasn’t true, but she didn’t want to be here, either.

  “I’m afraid that is not possible. You see, your foster-mother has signed over custodial rights to me. So now, you are under my authority.”

  “I would like to speak to the cops.”

  “Also, not possible. Sorry.”

  Now Shae was worried. This was not going the way she hoped. She didn’t know what the man wanted, but she was sure she wasn’t going to like it.

  “So, what am I? A prisoner?” she asked, sarcastically.

  “More or less,” the man answered. He turned to the door and called. “Nurse.”

  “What do you mean more or less? You can’t take me prisoner,” she shouted. “I have rights. I don’t have to go with you!”

  A nurse walked in and crossed the room. She held a needle in one hand. Shae attempted to move, but her bindings were too tight. She felt the prick of the needle as it entered her arm. Blackness closed in.

  That was a year and a half ago. The beginning of the nightmare. She had been poked and prodded. She had given more blood than most Red Crosses collect at blood drives all year. They cut her, stabbed her, shot her. They even cut off a finger. All of which she recovered from. They burned her flesh. First a small part of her body, then most of it. She suffered so much. She still felt pain, but that didn’t seem to hamper their tests.

  The man came to talk to her a few times. She now knew his name was Daniel Mathias and he worked for some branch of the government. He always apologized for hurting her, but he still did it.

  He was always present for the tests, and she could see the excitement on his face. No matter how many times he apologized to her, she knew he enjoyed causing her pain. Dr. Mathias told her she had a rare condition giving her an abnormally large number of pluripotent cells, or stem cells as they are more commonly called. The cells within her body, when she received an injury, would rapidly become whatever cell was damaged in order to replace it.

  Apparently, it was quite remarkable. She hated it. It was the reason she was here, and it wasn’t a blessing, it was a curse. She wanted Dr. Mathias dead. She wanted her foster-mother dead, but most of all, she wanted George dead. He was the start of this. It was because of him she tried to kill herself.

  She never would have ended in the hospital, and never ended here. She made a promise; she would kill George if she ever got out of here. But that was the problem. How would she get out of here? She didn’t even know where she was. No one was looking for her, no one cared she was there. For all she knew, she would grow old and die here.

  Daniel Mathias wondered, as he descended the stairs to the holding
cells, if the girl in room 12 would ever grow old and die. It was an interesting hypothesis, for death was just the irreversible damage of cells. If those cells healed, then it was very possible the person would never die. He was disappointed he ran out of tests to put patient 12 through.

  Daniel knew the girl’s name of course, but it was easier on his conscious to call her patient 12. It was an elaborate trick he played on his own psyche. He really didn’t have much of a conscious, just a black hole that enjoyed his job, liked experimenting and hurting.

  Truth was, the girl fascinated him. He had never seen anything like it. Except maybe a mutant from comic books, but that was just it, none of that was real. This was. He had done serious research when this girl was brought here and had found references to others who had this ability, but they always disappeared and there had never been any follow ups.

  Well, this time, there was no disappearing. This girl wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon. Daniel was free to experiment until he grew bored of it, which he didn’t see happening anytime soon. He knew any doctor would kill to have a chance to study this. The girl’s ability to repair tissue damage was phenomenal. The applications were endless. If they could find some way to transfer it from the girl to, a victim of a bad fire, or a hurt soldier, that person could be healed.

  The problem was, all attempts to transfer were met with the death of the patient. After any transfer, the subject would show no signs of abnormality, sometimes a slightly quicker healing before going into cardiac arrest, then dying. Every single patient, over ten so far, died. He would have some explaining to do to his superiors about having to clean up after these deceased people.

  Daniel approached the security station on his way to see patient 12. The guard was watching the news as he approached.

  “Hey doc. Did you see the news?”

  “No, Jimmy, what’s up?”