DEMENTIUM: THE WARD
A Fan-Fiction by Corax2009
Chapter 1: Introduction
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William's only clear memory was the sound of the double doors when they flew open like hungry jaws. A terrible clack that yanked him up from his twilight consciousness. His eyes felt stitched shut with phantom twine and they refused to open more than a crack through which a hurricane of dark stimuli tried to flood. He saw his wrists wrapped in restraints. The tiled floor glided underneath his wheelchair in river strength. And the royal red welcome carpet of blood that reeked of iron. Narrow enough just to accommodate the distance between his wheels. The ends of the phantom twine pulled and his eyes zipped shut. The sounds began to register in his throbbing brain as voices. A white noise of layered staccato mutterings. One last image bled through: A doctor. Full surgical dress, only black. Implements hanging from him, spattered with recent use. The image was more of the ancient and the arcane than of the modern and the professional. And then there was a bottomless hole at the doctor's feet that the bloody trail ran into. The wheelchair dove into it.
The sound of the wheelchair shattering against the bottom of the abyss turned out to be thunder. William woke with a start and gasped for air. No lights. Not that the incessant lightning counted. It shattered his eyes like machine-gun rounds and the piston in his skull punished him. He tried to sit up. He was punished even more. So he lay back down. Thinking was no use. It hurt, too. Involuntary thoughts seeped in, mostly fractured images and sounds. Red. Gold. No, blonde. Pink. Laughter. Crying. The sobbing of a child. It set off an electric current that flew a word to his lips.
"Amanda!"
Who? You said it, so you should know. It sounded so important that he insisted on thinking despite the punishment for it. His heart rate stirred and he sat up. The painful lightning revealed that he was in the hospital. The pervasive whiteness of the small room was unmistakable. He let out a breath with the sudden feeling of safety.
Safety.
Safe.
Another word came out of him autonomically.
"Elizabeth?"
This time with a note of doubt. Doubting what? That he knew an Elizabeth? A thought streaked across his brain like the lightning forking the sky. That he was in the psych ward again. Now that, he could remember. How many years had it been? Didn't matter. Something like that didn't fade away with time. Not for him. The staff that would strap you down just because they were in a bad mood. The way all the other patients seemed crazier than him. The choice between bingo and painting birdhouses. Then he froze.
What was his name?
It certainly wasn't Amanda or Elizabeth. The piston was softening, but there was no name for him to be found in his head. Sam? Todd? Floyd? Frikkin'... Aloysius? Nothing. A total blank.
His first effort at standing ended with him falling back on the bed. His second effort was a success when his right hand found a white wooden chair in the dark. In the brief spaces between lightning flashes, he noted just how dark it truly was. There were no blinds over the windows. No artificial light penetrated the storm. Perfect pitch. So the violent storm's candle was his only hope of seeing. There was something unsettling in the snapshots he was putting together. The chair that helped him up was shedding it's white paint like a birch. Water stains streaked the walls. The ancient radiators were stone cold. The picture that was coming together was one of age. Unconcealed age.
And neglect.
A small (white, of course) dresser stood guard on the opposite side of the bed. William supported himself with the bed as he walked around to the dresser. It's paint was as bad as the chair's. A drawer was open slightly. More lightning. A glint inside the drawer. There was a bible broken into two halves that could crumble into sawdust at the very thought of mistreatment. Next to it was a lighter. William took the lighter like it would run away if given the chance. He held it to the window, mocking the lightning, and with three flicks he had his own light. The amber glow came back to him from something in a dark doorway. A mirror. He found it was part of a very small and very hateful bathroom. He also found that the silvering had been scraped off the the back of the mirror and its surface looked like it had been abused with steel wool. He couldn't see the slightest ghost of his reflection. His heartbeat came into his head and it tried to fire the piston. With the adrenaline came an announcement from all his senses: Bed. Now.
He reached the bed just in time for the darkness to pull his equilibrium out from under him. His thoughts became perceptions for a few seconds. He thought of two nurses, Amanda and Elizabeth, bringing him breakfast. Apologizing for throwing him in this dirt hole. Overcrowding forced them to resort to a room in the old ward or something like that. They would reassure him that he was just admitted for some mild amnesia, nothing more. After some kind observation – just to be sure – he would be sent on his way. By the way, the hospital food here is the best in town. Especially breakfast. Eat up. Enjoy. Nothing to worry about.
Nothing at all.
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