by Bella Street
He studied her for several moments, obviously not expecting the question. “At this point the only option really open to me is a holistic therapy. Mostly a special diet and supplements.”
“What about pain management?”
He shrugged. “Massage, acupuncture, breathing techniques.”
“No meds?”
He looked away briefly. “I think it's obvious that with my history it should be avoided.”
“You can't tell me creative breathing helps with your pain.”
“I'm doing what I can,” he said, his eyes flaring.
“What about methadone? You could use it occasionally when your other techniques fail. Of course you can't use it long-term but it's an option.” As she spoke, she watched his expression for changes.
Fenn remained stoic. “I no longer have the methadone you and Trent brought back. It's been sent off site.”
“Along with the heroin?”
He frowned. “That was destroyed.”
“How did you get it in the first place? A far flung compound isn't the usual hangout for dealers.”
His face flushed. “I didn't obtain my supply from dealers, Seffy. Regardless, I no longer have access to it.”
“So you didn't pass it off to any...say, compound residents?”
He leaned forward. “What's this about?”
It was Seffy's turn to blush. “Trent has been exhibiting some disturbing behaviors and I wondered if he had access to heroin or other drugs.”
“Trent would never go back to drugs.”
She remembered the newspaper article about Trent's death in the tangent universe where it was reported he'd returned to heroin use after the death of his girlfriend—Seffy in another reality. “It's always a possibility, as you well know.”
Fenn's lips formed a thin line, then he leaned back against the couch. “He wouldn't go back to drugs because he has you.”
“That's a romantic and unrealistic notion.”
“Maybe,” he conceded after a moment. “By the way, I didn't get to tell you how beautiful you looked at your wedding.”
Seffy's blush deepened. What was this guy's angle? “Thank you,” she said stiffly. “So, who have you told about Trent's past addiction.”
“I would never reveal such personal information to anyone, naturally.”
“Naturally,” she mocked. “And yet somehow Gareth knows. Addison knows. Jared knows. Care to expound on your secret-keeping abilities?”
“Since it was in my best interest to keep that information private, I don't understand what you're accusing me of.”
So it was the little tramp Fiona, probably snooping in everyone's medical files, looking for dirt to exploit. She should've realized it sooner.
Fenn sighed. “Tell me about these behaviors you say Trent is exhibiting.”
She tried to control her breathing. These two were a real pair. “There are several, the main one being that he's gone.”
Fenn's face twitched.
Seffy scrutinized his strange expression, suddenly suspicious. She stood up. “You know where he is!”
He regarded her with infuriating calm. “No, I don't know where he is.”
“Semantics. You knew he left. You must know why.”
“I think you're jumping to conclusions.”
Seffy balled her fists, stifling the urge to kick him in the shin. “Tell me everything you know!”
He lifted his chin. “What I can tell you is that...he'll be back.”
She glared at him, wishing he was on his feet so she could shove him onto the couch, leukemia notwithstanding. “So he's off the compound property?”
Fenn considered the question, then nodded.
Seffy swallowed back a lump in her throat. “Then that means you can't guarantee he'll come back—not with whatever your guards have been hunting out there—not with the pink net thing!”
“I know he'll make every effort to return to you.”
His maddening calm caused her to gape. “You bastard, his leaving was your idea!”
Fenn's face hardened. “No, it wasn't. He came to me and I helped him as much as I could. Beyond that, he'll be back as soon as he can.”
Seffy knew it would be pointless to ask where he was or why he left. She angled her face away, not wanting Fenn to see her tears.
How could the man sit there bloodless, cold, remote...having all the answers, but revealing nothing?
When she was more composed, she turned back to him. “Will you ever let us go?” Her voice betrayed her, which increased her ire all the more.
“It's not up to me.”
“Why don't you just come clean? Oh wait, I forgot, that's not in your DNA, what with you being a junkie and all.”
“Ex-junkie, Seffy, with your help.”
She spun on her heel and stormed from the room. Why do I ever bother coming here? Talking to Fenn was like being on a roller coaster of prevarication, complete with friggin' loop-de-loops.
On the way to her room, she made a detour down a different hallway, toward the room where they held the medical records.
She didn't have a key, but she had angst. She grabbed a screwdriver from a supply closet. It would have to be enough. After several wrong turns, and diving behind corners to avoid being seen by stray compound residents, she finally found the right door.
Seffy rattled the handle, hoping it would miraculously be unlocked, like the stupid psycho ward often was. It wasn't. Kicking in the door wasn't an option since it opened out. She looked at the small glass window in the door and considered her options. She didn't know any kung-fu moves, so she'd have to do it the unglamorous way—Seffy took off her shoe and bashed in the window. Glass tinkled onto the floor.
Peeking over her shoulder, she didn't see anyone, so she reached through the window and unlocked the door from the inside.
I'm in.
She flicked on the overhead light. Two walls were covered by banks of waist-high metal filing cabinets. Aside from that, the only other furniture was a table and chair, presumably for note-taking. She made a beeline for the drawer holding E files.
Using the screwdriver, she jimmied the flimsy lock. When she found Trent's file, she hesitated. Setting it aside, Seffy went through other drawers and found her friends' files. Quick perusals showed nothing significant health-wise for Gareth, Lani, and Addison. She couldn't remember the last names of Eva, Cynthia, and Jared, but she doubted they had anything interesting in their files either.
Seffy returned the files and glanced back at Trent's. Swallowing, she pulled another drawer open, looking for her own. Except it was no longer there.
Holy crap, what does that mean? Maybe they'd ceased keeping records of her...anomalies. But that wasn't probable. Maybe it was horrendous enough they'd decided to tuck it away on the down low. That was the most likely option.
Still, the notion filled her with dread.
Next she looked for Malone's file, assuming Malone was his last name. It was, unless there was another resident with the same last name who was listed as being in security. Clarence was his first name. No wonder he went by Malone. She idly wondered what kind of couple name Lani would come up with combined with his. Clani? Lanence? Ugh. Better stick with Malone.
And aside from high cholesterol, the worst thing in his file was his name. Seffy slowly returned the folder. On impulse, she checked for Fenn and Fiona's, but didn't find them—possibly because she didn't know their full names or because their files were probably kept elsewhere.
But that meant she had no one else to look up.
Her attention returned to Trent's file. Last time she'd had access to the information, he hadn't allowed her to look at his. Was he hiding something?
Olga had implied he was embarrassed about his past heroin habit. Or was there more? How often was he examined? When was the last time he'd had blood drawn? Was any of this germane? He was her husband for better or for worse and all that.
Right?
Seffy flipped the file to
the last few pages and scanned the notes. They had been checking his blood for opiates. And the results had all been negative. Thank God.
She released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Her relief dissipated before an incoming wave of guilt. Why didn't she trust him? When had he had time to shoot up? He'd been by her side for the last several weeks. She would've noticed needle tracks. This was all so stupid. She was grasping at straws.
Before closing the folder, Seffy scanned the last bit of information. Still negative for STD's. Geez, how often did they test for that? His other vitals seemed normal aside from some slight anemia. Could that be why he craved red meat?
Seffy flipped the folder back and looked at some of the earliest records. As she went through several pages, she realized his findings showed traces of opiates in his blood.
Memories of him sweaty and wild-eyed came to the fore. He'd been yanked out of his methadone treatment early by the apocalyptic blast.
Blowing out a disgusted breath, she slapped the folder closed and returned it to the file cabinet. This had been a waste of time. What did any of it matter? Trent was clean now. Clean and coming back soon. And now she had to worry about the broken window being discovered.
Suddenly paranoid, Seffy eased out the door after locking it behind her and hurried back to her room.
Their rooms were empty—empty of her husband's presence, empty of any sign of life. Just cement block, windowless walls, painted beige...no place to hang pictures, no way to see the sun in the sky...no way to even pretend that this farce was normal. I can't bear it. I can't bear being here alone, worrying, wondering. Her stomach twisted in agreement. I need something to keep me occupied. I can't help with computers and time-travel stuff, I've already alphabetized the cassettes and books in the Commons room. God, I'm going to lose what's left of my mind.
Clenching her hands, she returned to the hallway, wondering if she should go see Lani, or try to talk to Addison. Gareth was out of the question for the time being.
Maybe she could shake down Cynthia and Eva and Jared for info. Finding out the two girls had been her tormentors in middle school had been a shock, but maybe there was more to their story. Maybe—
A sudden movement out of the corner of her eye caused her to freeze. Flashes of movement were usually a bad sign, especially in the psychiatric section.
But frustration at her inability to affect change in her life made her take the bait.
Seffy pivoted and headed toward the corner that led to Trent's room.
Trent! Could he be back? But when she turned the corner, she stopped cold.
The polka dot dress.
Oh, no. Not today. She twisted around to head back into her room, but her feet didn't want to comply. Fine. She'd peek. But she would not be led outside like last time.
Except I couldn't seem to stop myself then.
Trent's room was the last door before the locked corridor. What were the odds he chose that room? Was he the second to the last stop before the end of the line on the crazy train that was her life?
Or did he represent the last stopgap, holding her back from whatever lay down that corridor?
Despondency and worry ground together in her gut as she peered down the hallway. A flicker of brown fabric with pink polka dots disappeared down the locked corridor. Except it wasn't locked.
Again.
Seffy approached the pile of chains on the floor, noting the unlocked padlock. She picked it up and attempted to lock it. But it seemed jammed. So maybe when the door looked like it was locked, it really wasn't. At least that made more sense than some specter haunting the halls with a key, unlocking it on a whim.
Or whenever she was nearby and alone.
Dropping the lock onto the pile, she glanced at the section of wall near the right side of the heavy double doors. At one time, the word pyschonautics was there. The next time she'd looked, the word had been painted over. Now, some of the paint had flaked away as if someone had picked at the fresh paint job.
What the hell was pyschonautics anyway? Did they send crazy people to space?
An echo of girlish laughter sounded from behind the door. Seffy pulled on the handle and looked down the hall.
Last stop to crazy town it is.
And why not? This was the place they'd strapped her down to a table and experimented on her post-zombie infected body.
This was where she imagined herself to be disemboweled by Gareth—before he dug out her heart as well.
And this was the place where she'd managed to crawl into a hole and disappeared for three days.
What could be worse than all that?
The green exit sign—the only illumination—flickered from dull to bright green. She looked around for a light switch of some kind but saw none. Where the hell did the girl go?
The first room on her right held filing cabinets. She paused. Maybe this was where they kept her file now.
Seffy went inside and found it locked, naturally. She dug through the upper cabinets and drawers under the counter space, pushing past paper and plastic wrapped medical supplies. But no files. In one cupboard, she found metal picks and rubber mallets.
She stared at the instruments for several moments, then slammed the doors shut.
Seffy searched through the next four rooms, despite the lack of adequate lighting, finding only generic medical equipment and supplies. Why did this place freak me out so bad? It's just a collection of rooms...at the end of a dark hallway...
One room remained. The one where all the bad stuff happened. But that was all in the past. Today was a new day, and she could be strong without Trent, and go all She-rah on her fears.
Nooo problem.
Seffy peered into the room, seeing more shadow than substance. A faint orange light reflected on the metal exam table. The leather straps swayed lightly in the lack of breeze.
Holy hell, why am I down here by myself?
A movement in the darkest part of the room arrested her attention and made her heart pound—so loud it drowned out rational thought.
After a moment of gripping the door jamb, she realized she'd seen movement, revealed by orange light coming from under a wall panel.
Seffy was forcefully reminded of the time she and Trent approached a door to the sub-basement where they discovered the zombie factory. No reason to think the light streaming from under the wall panel was any more uplifting and cheerful.
And therefore it was best to be avoided.
The adrenaline surging through her veins and the hairs standing on the back of her neck agreed.
But there was that strange compulsion to see what lay behind the wall...
The sound of metal on metal jerked her to awareness of her surroundings.
Seffy knew that sound. It was the chains on the double doors. She gasped.
Someone was locking her in.
Seffy tore from the room and sprinted down the hall...and heard the chains sliding with efficient finality.
“Don't lock the door!” she screamed. The metallic grating stopped suddenly.
Seffy arrived at the door out of breath. She smashed her nose up against the window, expecting to see someone preparing to open the door, but the outer hall was empty.
She pushed on the door. The chains rattled, but held fast.
Her skin felt electrified with dread and something worse.
Something was behind her.
She could sense it.
Sweat poured off her in waves as hysteria took hold.
She slammed her body into the door and screamed for help, knowing at any moment she'd feel the touch of whatever was behind her.
Gulping back sobs, Seffy threw all her weight against the door and it started to give.
She pushed harder. Through a gap between the doors, saw the chain loosening.
“Sarah.”
Gritting her teeth, she ignored the sexless voice behind her.
With an almighty shove the doors parted enough for her to
writhe her way through.
The chains cut into her stomach as she flopped over them and onto the tiles of the hallway.
As soon as she lunged to her feet, she raced down the hall to Trent's room.
Seffy burst through his door, twisted around and locked it.
Panting, she stared at the handle, expecting it to turn under her gaze.
When it remained still, she backed up and sank onto Trent's bed.
Facing one's fear...what a load of crap.
Chapter Fourteen
Seffy sat up quickly and looked at the other side of the bed.
Empty.
She glanced at the clock. Could it be the next day? She stared at a blank wall with dull eyes.
Her body ached from taking on a pair of padlocked double doors. She didn't want to look and see the bruises that no doubt had developed from that little episode.
What had happened exactly? The details shifted in her mind. The only clear idea was one of abject terror. Something had been after her. But what?
Seffy tried to be logical. What scared her? The average stuff, right? Spiders, snakes, bad dye jobs. What could be in a mostly locked room? Trolls? Demons? A little girl in a polka dot dress?
Maybe she was back on the juice. Maybe the compound had figured out some new way to fill her up with more freak science and she was tripping bad, getting paranoid, and all that stuff.
She closed her eyes. I need you, Trent. Where are you?
God, the dreams she'd had of him. She was still shaken and weak from the long night and disturbing images that had seared her retinas—primal, feral images that both beckoned and repulsed.
Waking up had almost been a relief, except for the being alone and stuck in the compound part.
No word from the others or Malone or Fenn meant no Trent.
He would return. Of course he would. There was no other option to consider—and stay sane.
Seffy's stomach reminded her that it had been some time since she'd eaten. With a soul-deep sigh, she hauled her weary body off the bed and sorted through the leftover cans for her dinner.
She'd burned through two days waiting for Trent—and had nothing to show for it.