Michael was standing in a pitch-black, narrow corridor. Its walls were coloured with bleak shades of gray and green; floor was covered with black and yellow tiles. There was an unnerving smell in the air – something stale mixed with scent of chlorine. Right in front of Michael was some sort of reception: a small room with worn computer, shelves filled with books and medicine plus a locked door. Michael looked around for a while, until spotting a folded paper in the bookshelf. Turned out it was the hospital's map: three floors with somewhat identical layout. Michael didn't really know what he was looking for, yet he had some distant ideas.
There were several doors along the rectangular corridor, yet most of them were locked. However, one of them did open – it led to a small room with wooden table, two chairs around it plus a large ornamental plant in the corner. In general, the whole place seemed meaningless, until Michael spotted a red object left on the table – another cassette; this time nothing was written on its label. Michael took out the player and set the cartridge inside. A man started talking – his voice was somewhat familiar:
"I am sorry. She is gone."
Short pause – then, the man continued:
"There was nothing left to do."
The recorder clicked and went quiet. Eventually, someone asked:
"So how is she?"
This voice too was familiar to Michael. So was the next one, as it was his own:
"...not well. She just walks around without...I don't know. Sometimes she just sits down and...stares at the wall like a..."
"The medicine is strong. It can cause such behaviour, but she will make it" the man said.
"And how are you doing?" he continued.
"I...couldn't be doing well? Last week, when I woke up, she wasn't there...she was looking through the window. I don't know how long she had been there, just..."
"Mr. Kane, I'm sorry. It takes time..."
No more words; Michael heard nothing but faint crackling. The tape kept running for a minute or so until Michael turned the player off. He swiped his eyes and stared at the floor, thinking about nothing. His phone rang; name Beth was written on the screen – despite the fact that Michael's contact list was empty. He answered, since he had no idea what he was supposed to do.
"Mike, I'm in the hospital. I saw her, but she ran off..."
"...I'm here" Michael said bluntly.
"You...are in the hospital too? I...thought you wouldn't come..."
"Where are you?" Michael asked, yet got no answer – caller disconnected. Even if Beth was alive – as absurd as that would have been – Michael wasn't sure about wanting to meet her. He stood up slowly, returned the cassette on the table and left the room.
Michael wandered along the dark corridors, checking every door he found. Eventually he entered a lounge, presumably used by doctors. There were some armchairs set around a glass table in the middle of the room, with documents and papers piled everywhere (even on the floor). A small wooden table was standing in the corner, filled with colourful office supplies and a small ornamental model of Christmas tree. Michael inspected the glass table and picked up a faintly yellow document sheet. Some text was written on it:
Patient: Lorentz, Jessica
Age: 23
Last piece of shrapnel was removed over two months ago. I am getting worried about the sensations of pain Miss Lorentz is still experiencing – according to her own phrasing, she feels "ache and sudden, sharp pain; sometimes even burning". This is due to the state of her cranial nerves: damage to the ophthalmic and zygomaticotemporal branches is extensive (to my amazement, one fragment went deep enough to cut temporal fascia, yet it didn't harm muscle tissue). Right eye, with corresponding malar bone, got practically cut in half. Considering the nature of her pain (both localized and delocalized), it is interesting how it activated only after removing the shrapnel. According to the paramedics, Lorentz was walking on two feet as they arrived, seemingly unable to even realize she was injured.
Michael tried to think, which had become somewhat difficult and seemingly useless. He felt sorry for Jess – and almost happy for being able to help her. Michael left the document alone and inspected a small fridge on his left. Some colourful post-it notes were slapped on it, mostly containing comments about proper lounge etiquette. Since the fridge itself was empty, Michael picked up one of the notes – a red square with weird text:
all above the room of sleep
the dreamless rest
only ideas remain
only fundamental order
below nothing
Michael had no time for cryptic references, so he returned the note on the door and left the room. He continued checking doors, until finding another unlocked one: Michael entered a cafeteria. It was a rather large room with two rectangular pillars controlling the space. Some dusty, orange tables and chairs were standing here and there, yet most of the furniture was stacked in the corners, forming tidy piles.
Michael walked around a counter with several glass-covered displays – all of them empty. Behind the counter, there was a tall door left partially open; a warm ray of orange light squeezed through it. So did Michael, and thus he arrived in a kitchen. Only one of the ceiling lamps was working (the one right above the door), so most of the kitchen was left in shadows. A wall divided the room into two parts: a storage section with shelves, and another area with several metal-covered tables for preparing food. Michael took a look at the shelves first, but found no use for canned food and moldy vegetables.
Michael started inspecting the other half. There was an oven placed in the very corner of the room, and for whatever reason, it was stained by something dark and gritty – like mud. In the middle of the room was a long table with kitchen knives hanging above it. On the table, there were several metallic kettles left in disorder, yet their appearance was confusing: some of them had very small diameter, yet absurd length – Michael realized his whole forearm could have fit inside them.
Among the knives, a smaller object was left hanging from the stand – a silver key. It had text Stairwell embedded on it, which seemed to be what Michael was supposed to find. He left the kitchen, and returned to the corridor. There was a door leading to stairs at the opposite end of the hallway – indeed, the silver key fit in the lock. However, the building had four floors, so Michael had to make a choice. Even though Michael hadn't understood the note on the fridge, it seemed to be his only lead: there was, presumably, something important downstairs. Therefore, he started descending.
The cellar contained a short corridor with some (locked) storages. At the opposite end, there was an elevator, which easily caught Michael's attention: word DOWN was written on the doors with orange spray paint. Michael got worried, yet followed the obvious guidance: he pressed the call button, and stepped inside. Weirdly enough, there was only one button on the interior panel, which had no symbol written on it. Michael pushed it; doors closed and the elevator started moving downwards.
Michael's phone rang – he answered, but heard only static noise. His head was aching; air became warm. The elevator stopped, started moving, and stopped once more – only to start moving again. Eventually the doors opened; muddy water pushed itself inside, covering the floor. Michael stared at the dark space in front of him, realizing that he was still holding the phone against his ear.
Michael stepped in the corridor – it was as dark as before, but other things had changed: water, mud and dried leaves had appeared everywhere. Walls were dirty and broken; eaten by moisture. In the ceiling, roots of trees were slithering; small insects hovered around Michael's flashlight. Michael did remember the apartment building and most of his experiences there – it seemed something similar was happening. He returned to the staircase, and ascended to the first floor – its door was locked. Michael sighed, rubbed his forehead and proceeded to the second floor, which was accessible. He entered, took a step along the water-covered corridor, then another – that's when he froze in place. His flashlight's beam hit the walls, yet something was wrong: walls were bumpy and uneven somehow.
Michael welcomed a mild shock, as he realized what he was looking at: walls were covered by insects. Large, mosquito-like creatures created dense blankets around him. Every now and then a single bug flew across the corridor, but otherwise they remained still – as if they were waiting for something. Michael backtracked to the staircase's door, yet it wouldn't open anymore. It did give in couple of inches, but something was jamming it from the other side. Two types of panic fought against each other, as Michael tried to push the door open without upsetting his environment.
Michael gave up and started looking for other ways out. The closest door was, of course, locked. However, there was a small keypad next to it, so entering seemed to require a pass code. Michael turned left from a crossroads and started walking along the corridor, wondering why the bugs still didn't care about him. He checked couple of doors, and entered a narrow locker room. To his relief, there were no mosquitoes inside – just two rows of lockers and a wooden table. One locker was left open, yet it seemed to contain nothing but useless junk.
Among said junk was a photograph of three smiling women. The picture itself had no importance to Michael, yet some text was written on the backside, with a drawing of heart next to it:
Liz,
guy in 6 can't even move
you can do whatever you want
code is 1520
Michael realized that the code could have been for the locked door. He stepped back into the bug-filled corridor, moving as slowly as possible. As he got close to the crossroads, a sound emerged – footsteps and faint splashes of water. Michael stopped moving, as a small humanoid walked in front of him. It had gray, pale skin and thin limbs – in many ways, it resembled a child. However, it had no hands: instead, both of its forearms had deformed into needle-esque claws, with slightly curved tips. Creature's head was covered with shiny, strikingly green piece of plastic; it was stretched tightly over its face, ears and forehead, leaving only chin visible.
Michael stared at the humanoid, as it pressed its face and claws on the wall, and started rubbing it with extremely lazy movements – as if it was too cold to move faster. Michael stepped backwards, about to realize what was going to happen: he glared at the mosquitoes while preparing to run. Suddenly, the humanoid turned at him without making a sound. It started walking, wobbling its head from side to side. Michael raised his gun, as the creature swung one of its claws and hit the revolver. Michael pulled the trigger; bullet carved a red groove on the green plastic. Second bullet punctured the head; the creature fell on its back.
Michael held his ringing ear, as a mosquito landed on the bloody wound – and started drinking. Now the preparations for running really paid off: Michael made his frantic way to the locked door, as hellish, organic whining filled the hallway. Walls shifted, as every mosquito flew towards the fresh cadaver. A few of them surrounded Michael, who was operating the keypad while flailing his other arm. The lock opened; Michael threw himself behind the door and slammed it shut – squeezing few bugs in the process.
Michael fell on his knees, coughing violently. Disgusting smell entered his nose – it felt too familiar. He stood up and stared at the dark linear hallway in front of him. It was covered in black, shiny plastic – just like in the apartment building. Only one door was left without wrapping: that of another staircase. Michael entered and tried reaching the cellar this way – yet a piece of mesh fence prevented his progress. He checked the closest door (that of first floor patient wing) which wasn't locked. The area behind it resembled the second floor: just a one long hallway with many doors along it. However, there were no mosquitoes nor plastic.
A distant light source was shining in the southern end – highly unusual, so Michael approached it. He arrived at a large, yellow door, with two opaque windows. White light pushed itself through them, and revealed someone moving in the room. Michael opened the door, prepared to use his gun. A middle-aged man was standing in front of a desk, holding a book in his hands.
"Michael..." Brian said. He seemed a bit surprised, yet his voice was tired – actually, this could have been said about his whole appearance.
"We meet for the third time...how come you are here?"
Brian hadn't lost the precision of his speech – in contrast to his looks, it felt like an act.
"Someone...called me, and I followed them. Or at least I followed something...but there is no one here. And if I had to guess..."
Michael took a short pause until finishing:
"...did you follow someone too?"
Brian put the book down.
"Makes me miss work" he said, and continued with his answer:
"I did, actually – not that it really matters. This place is...in bad shape. Your shoes are wet, so you were upstairs, right? You saw those things – those kids? They are rotten...their bodies break like mud. No idea how many I killed – ten? Maybe more."
Michael got a bit worried, as Brian's tone had changed: it was notably more frantic and careless. He sat on the closest chair and rubbed his forehead. Michael realized something, so he asked:
"Who did you lose?"
Brian stared at a bookshelf next to the table – his head was slightly tilted. Eventually he turned towards Michael for answering:
"...Marcus and Leo. My sons."
Michael said nothing – however, now everything made much more sense to him. It wasn't reassuring at all, but better than complete ambiguity. Michael pulled out his wallet.
"I found this from the diner...is it yours?" Michael asked while showing the photograph to Brian.
"...yes, that's...Leo. But I don't need the picture...so I threw it away. I don't need it."
Brian's tone was puzzling – for whatever reason, the photo seemed to distress him. Michael placed it back inside the wallet.
"What about you, Michael?"
No response – still, Brian wouldn't give up:
"Your wife?"
Michael nodded. Brian continued:
"Missing someone is...elusive? Am I right? Human can adjust to anything...even losing someone they really care about. One can overcome even such experience."
"Did you?" Michael asked – had the situation been different, there would have been spite in his tone.
"I did...but I never gave up hope. Had I done so, I would have never found Leo. Once I find Marcus, we can finally leave."
Brian's sight was moving around the walls, while Michael stared at him in confusion. Eventually he asked:
"...wait, you found your son?"
"Yes, I found Leo. But I don't know where Marcus is...he must be getting hungry."
Michael didn't know what to say – based on his and Jessica's experiences, Brian was going through something very similar. Because of this, Michael couldn't regard his words really trustworthy.
"...Brian, I have to do something. I hope you find Marcus."
Brian nodded. As Michael opened the door, he said:
"I'm sorry about your wife."
Michael said nothing – he closed the door and returned to the hallway, whose darkness felt weird for a moment. Michael sighed and checked some of the patient room doors. One of them was left unlocked – behind it was nothing but a large, empty room. Michael walked across it, staring at the small circular holes in the walls – their mouths were surrounded by metallic rings. Suddenly, he heard a bright sound – apparently, he had kicked a small object left on the floor. Turned out it was another silver key, this time with imprint 3F. Michael accepted the guidance and returned to the staircase. He ascended to a door with symbol 3F written on it. Using strong deduction, Michael was able to unlock the door with the key, and enter the third floor patient wing.
Another long, pitch-black corridor with even more doors this time. Michael tried out some door handles, and entered a small patient room. Ceiling lamp was functional; its white shine created an unnerving atmosphere. There was a bed (with filthy mattress) and a small nightstand with some colourful objects left on it – crayons. It seemed they were recently used, as the wall on Michael's left had some rather crude pictures drawn on it: some kind of dog-related creature, palm trees (presumably) and a snowy mountain (maybe). Michael turned around, and noticed another drawing next to the door: two black, vertical lines, plus blue colouring at their lower ends – a well, perhaps? Some yellow stars and moon were drawn above it, yet Michael had no idea about the meaning of such pictures. As the room contained nothing useful, he returned to the corridor.
Michael proceeded to the far end of the hallway, and entered the very last room. He got startled, as he spotted someone sitting on the floor, next to another filthy bed – it was Jessica. Her arms were wrapped around her legs, as if she was trying to hide. Numerous small, white candles were stacked next to the walls – most of them lighted. Tiny fluttering flames created warm, orange glow, and filled the air with a heavy, sweet scent. Michael took a step towards Jessica – he heard a sound, which was quite impossible to describe.
Michael stared at the walls, utterly confused: they were filled with smooth, needle-esque protrusions, with length varying from a few to twenty centimeters. Original wall wasn't visible anymore; there had to be thousands of needles packed densely together. They swung around slowly, like a bed of reeds, pointing towards Jessica. Flames of the candles got brighter; some of them coughed black smoke – it carried painful, burning smell.
"Don't...move the candles...don't move..." Jess uttered. Her voice was filled with tension; her eyes were reddish.
"Jess, you...you are in pain?" Michael asked, and regretted such question in the next moment. The needles turned around, as if faint wind was moving them.
"You have pills?" Jess asked.
"I'm sorry...but this is a hospital, right? Shouldn't be too hard to find them."
Michael heard the sound again – needles got pulled back into the walls. His shocked sight followed them, as they took the form of dirty glazed tiles.
"Jess...I think there's a pharmacy in the first floor. The door was locked, but I'll try to get in there."
Jess said nothing – and Michael didn't know what to say. Eventually, he continued:
"Just wait for me, okay? I'll be back soon."
Jess nodded; the walls pulsated by pushing out short needles and pulling them instantly back. Michael turned around slowly, took another look at Jessica's collapsed figure, and left the room.
Michael stood in the dark hallway, realizing what the town was doing to him – and Jess and Brian as well. He returned to the middle point of the corridor, looking for the staircase's door – it wasn't there; nothing but a concrete wall. Michael looked around, wondering if his memories had become completely useless. There was an elevator next to him, yet it didn't work at all. Michael walked to the hallway's opposite end, running into a large padlocked door – rather crude method of preventing access. The bulky lock was gray, yet something was imprinted on it in beautiful golden cursive:
Day room
Michael did get interested, yet without a key he couldn't do more than that. He turned towards another similar (and open) door, and entered the other half of the third floor. According to logic, there should have been another access to a staircase, yet there wasn't. However, Michael found another elevator – the same one which he had used once before. And just like before, its control panel contained only one button. Michael pushed it rather reluctantly.
Michael's phone rang – he answered, but heard only static noise. His head started aching again; air became warm. The elevator stopped, started moving, and stopped once more – only to start moving again. Eventually the doors opened; muddy water pushed itself inside, covering the floor. Michael stared at the dark space in front of him, realizing that he was still holding the phone against his ear.