Lost in the Shadows

Laura

Rating: Just barely makes it in at PG-13, in my opinion. I'm keeping it as clean as I can, Mrs. Wells, but the whole darn premise is pretty dark. But hey, 28 Days is rated PG-13.

A/N: This picks up at the ending of Flatliners and continues onward. If you haven't seen Flatliners, I highly recommend it. Good movie, though earns its R rating.

This is from Nelson's (Kiefer Sutherland) point of view, at least most of the time.

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When I came back that last time, they were so happy. I heard a lot of prayers, and laughter, and crying. Me, I just was glad I didn't choose that day to die. Not a good day...not a good day to die. They stood me up, and checked all the vital signs. I felt happy, I felt exhausted. Then I saw Rachel pick up the phone and dial a number. Before I could tell her to put down the goddamn phone, the police were there, the ambulances were there, and I was being hauled off on a stretcher by some kiddie amateur EMTs. Hell, I probably knew more about emergency first aid than them. I know I knew more about how to handle a person come back to life than them. I chuckled at the thought, and they started hooking me up to all these drugs and I felt my brain start to loosen up. I know I told them everything. About the flatlining, the crossing over, the visions. They looked at me like I was crazy. But I'm not crazy! I've been there, I've died, I've seen the other side! I've been stalked by the kid I killed when I was nine! I didn't hit myself and get these cuts! Someone hit me! That little bastard hit me with a screwdriver, a pipe and his bare fists. I tried to tell them, but they put me on more drugs.

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I woke up in a white room. Everything was perfectly white. The bunk bed was painted white, the sheets were white, the walls were white and the little plastic chair was white. There was a little (white) plastic table of drawers next to the bed where I was laying. I was in a mental institution for lunatics. I jerked up in horror and held my hands to my throbbing head. They'd bandaged up all my scratches, I felt that. I looked down at myself. I was wearing some sort of thin white T-shirt and baggy white pants. Catching sight of the dark bruise on the inside of my elbow, I felt the world sway around me like I was seasick. They'd left me my glasses, but they'd altered something about the frames. They couldn't pop out, I could see that easily. I tapped my fingernail against the lens and heard the sharp sound of plastic. I chuckled again. So they didn't even trust me with my glasses. That was great. Jesus Christ, I'm not suicidal, I'm just curious. Nothing's wrong with curiosity, right? It killed the cat, it killed me, but I'm not a cat and I didn't stay dead. There's no scars on these wrists, buddy. They're all baby soft. I don't want to die, I want to come back.

Thinking about this for so long made me lose track of the time, and before I knew it someone was knocking on the door. I jumped sharply, and before I could realize what I was saying, I answered like I would at home.

"Come in, nothing to steal," I snapped irritably. Then I smacked my forehead as I realized how psycho and paranoid I must have sounded. The door clicked open and a pink-clad orderly stepped in. She had long pretty blond hair tied back in a ponytail and looked like she thought I was going to eat her. She did look like cotton candy.

At that thought I started laughing quietly, and finally gave in to the hysterical laughter I'd been holding in so long. I fell back on the thin mattress with my arms wrapped around my middle, laughing like I was some freak pot-head instead of a medical student with the keys to light. Suddenly as I was laughing I felt a lurch in my stomach. Someone was laughing with me. That little voice of the boy I killed. I knew it wasn't really him. In my heart I knew he wasn't there. But I knew I would probably dream about the little snot for the rest of my eternally damned life. Something leaped into my throat and I pitched off the bed, seeing as I fell the terrified face of the little orderly. I smacked into the linoleum like a ton of bricks and split open my lip again. Before I could even curse at that little thing, I threw up. With barely any warning, all past lunches were sitting on the floor in front of me and I felt like I was about to cry. The orderly – I didn't even know her name – let out this strangled cry and leaped backwards. I scooted back away from the pool of vomit until I couldn't accidentally brush into it, and as she called for someone to help her, I laid my cheek on the cold floor and started to cry. As I closed my eyes I heard a loud scream echoing down the corridor.

I never actually passed out. I just wish I had. They picked me up, cleaned me off. I have now decided that one of the most embarrassing things in the world is a sponge bath. Then they took me to the psych office. This had color. The walls were actually beige. I never thought I'd be so happy to see the color beige. The man sitting across from me was old, wrinkly and had droopy eyebrows. He reminded me of those old Sad Sam stuffed dogs I had when I was a kid.

"Nelson Wright," he said slowly, deliberately, and knitted his fingers together. "You were brought here for...hallucinations, attempted suicide, drug use and self-injurous behavior."

"Oh, come on!" I snapped, losing my patience. "That's just a load of bullshit. I just tried to step over into someone else's territory. I got punished. You people just can't comprehend what I was doing! I was crossing the bridge! There is another side!"

I started to stand up, but a stern look from the good shrink stopped me and made me sit back down. Yeah, yeah. I learned my lesson. No more God-playing for old Nelson. But come on! It was an amazing discovery!

I'm ashamed to say that I was so busy reassuring myself that I had, in fact, done something amazing and not something simply stupid, that I missed the next few things the old guy said to me. What I did hear, however, made me extremely pissed off, to say the least.

"...checked in by a Rachel Mannus and a David Labraccio."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I said in shock. "Mannus and Labraccio?" I ran my hands through my blond hair in shock, and winced when my fingers came in contact with a patented Billy-bruise. "You must have that wrong. Those are my friends. They wouldn't send me off to the looney bin."

"This is not a 'looney bin,' Mr. Wright. This is an institution for the mentally unstable. And that, I'm afraid, perfectly describes you at this present moment in time."

I groaned and sat back in my chair, mentally preparing the names I would call them when I was back in the privacy of my own little cotton ball. I shut my eyes and then opened them again. I knew I looked like hell. I could feel the little gauze squares on my face and I remembered from that last night that there was a dark circle around my eye. It didn't look particularly attractive when placed against the whites of my eyes. In fact, Rachel had plain out told me I looked deranged. This was, or course, before she found out about my "withholding of information which is the same as lying." I sighed wearily. "Can I have a smoke?" I asked raggedly, feeling like everything would feel better if I was exhaling smoke through my nose like a cartoon bull. The good shrink raised his eyebrows at me.

"There will be no addictive drugs used at this facility, Mr. Wright." He paused. "You're very young, Mr. Wright. Please try to detach yourself from such addictions. You are only twenty-five. It is far too young for you to be so attached to a habit like that."

I shot him a glare. What crap. Anyway, I knew what I was. I was a smoker. I was a shit. I played with my friend's lives. I made fun of people. I was a smartass. I'm psychotic. I'm the mad doctor with too much of a taste for death and curiosity. I'm ruthless. I creep people out. I killed an eight year-old boy when I was nine. But I'm not a crackpot. I'm not insane.

After about five more minutes of stupid questions, in which I'm sure I convinced them I was completely insane, they let me out into the hall, and down towards my room. As they ushered me down the white tunnel of doom, I saw a barred door open and an orderly started to back out, rear first. Ah, maximum security. As we drew nearer, the orderly (This one in a nice mint green. They seemed to like pastels here. Must be some calming thing to make us all think about candy and Easter. Ah, resurrection.) turned and dragged someone out with her. This person, this girl she dragged out, was possibly the most screwed-up looking person I had ever seen. And yes, I had looked in a mirror recently. Still, she was one screwed up little puppy. She seemed thin, almost to the point of anorexia, and her eyes were too big for her face. They were bloodshot. I suppose if she had eaten something in the last year, she might be pretty. Her bones were good, and I could see them perfectly, thanks to her emaciated state. Her hair was pitifully short and her long dark eyelashes only made her look more deranged. Her hair was dark, but the most striking thing about her was the way her eyes looked. Haunted and empty, like there was nothing left. I could see there were dark purple bruises around her neck, like fingermarks. She looked at me with the most terrified deer-in-the-headlights gaze I had ever seen, and then the orderly dragged her down the hall. Her fingers trailed along the wall, and as she touched a door, suddenly a keening wail escaped her lips. My jaw had dropped to the floor. Figuratively, of course. I stared after her and watched as she abruptly dragged her feet like they were pulling her along to the electric chair.

"Here you are, Mr. Wright," said the skittish orderly who had both seen my throw up all over the floor and given me a sponge bath. "Your room."

I nodded vaguely and let her nudge me into the room and shut the door. It clicked shut and locked with a clank. I heard the orderly's feet thumping down the hall, getting fainter and fainter. Then I let myself loose with the longest stream of curse words I'd ever spoken in my whole life. That's saying a lot. I cursed at Labraccio, I cursed at Rachel for turning me in and sleeping with Labraccio, I cursed Steckle for not stopping them getting me sectioned, I cursed Joe and his video library, I cursed little Billy Mahoney for being dead, and I cursed myself for everything. Finally I curled up on the little white bunk and pulled the sheets over my head. When I was sure Billy Mahoney wouldn't pop out and clock me over the head, I let myself sleep.

Thou shalt not kill.

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Please review. For the benefit of Mrs. Wells, this is 1,924 words long. More chapters are soon to come.