White, all he saw was white as he opened his eyes. Sitting up he found himself in a small room, four white walls surrounding him with a single metal door. He sat in a bed with white sheets, the floor a white tile. Even his shirt and pants were white. On his wrist was a medical bracelet with the words Gate Haven written across. He remembered the name, Wade's uncle worked there. It was a mental institution.
The only other thing in the room besides his slightly uncomfortable bed was the overly bright overhead lighting. He was quick to his feet, rushing to the door to try and open it. As he found it wouldn't budge he looked through the doors thick glass window, seeing a hallway of doors similar to his own. Next to each room was a small nameplate with the words ward written on them, followed by a number.
Why was he in this mental hospital? How the hell did he end up here?!
The last thing Rembrandt remembered was sliding with his friends, but everything went blank after entering the vortex. It almost felt like waking up from a dream. He began to bang on the door, his patience all but spent as the bright lights of the room began to hurt his eyes.
"Hello, is anyone out there? Where am I, why am I here?! Someone open the door, please!"
As he yelled he began to hear laughter coming from the other rooms, the other inmates beginning to bang on their doors too, the sounds echoing throughout the hall. Despite how loud it all sounded even after several minutes nobody came to see what was going on. Pacing in the small confined quarters Rembrandt began to panic, trying to steady his breathing.
He couldn't remember anything past the slide. Were Wade, Q-ball, and the professor okay? Were they trapped in rooms like the one he was in? Were they alive, did they know he was here? He had too many questions and too few answers. This entire situation made no sense to him, how did he even get here? Was he perhaps confused for his double? His friends wouldn't leave without him, bringing his double along and not realizing it? What if they were separated, or even worse on a completely different Earth?
He closed his eyes and brought his trembling hands to them, rubbing at them. He needed to calm down. If Q-ball and the others were out there they were surely doing everything in their power to break him out. He would just have to give them time. He only hoped it wouldn't take too long.
After an unknown amount of time passed, perhaps three hours, though he wasn't entirely sure, Rembrandt was startled by the door opening. Quickly standing from his bed he saw three men enter the room, the center dressed as a doctor. With a surprised look, the doctor raised his clipboard, flipping through a few pages before smiling up at him.
"You don't normally react to our presence when we enter the room. Just as I expected, the new medicine must be working" the doctor said proudly.
Medicine? Did they put something in him while he was asleep? That idea alone brought a shiver down his spine. His mind hearkened back to the world of the unnatural smiles. How that world's government didn't hesitate to force drugs on its citizens. While he never had to take that drug himself he couldn't help but imagine those citizens must have felt as violated as he did now.
"Look man there must be some mistake, I don't belong here. What did you make me take?" Rembrandt asked, looking nervously between the three men.
The doctor shook his head, looking back down at the clipboard as he replied, reading off some of the details written on the page.
"Your name is Rembrandt Lee Brown, also known as the Cryin Man. Born March 4th, 1955. On September 27, 1994, you were going to sing the national anthem at a San Francisco Giants baseball game. Prior to this, you were part of the Spinning Tops for some time before going solo. You have an older brother named Cezanne. Need I go on?"
As the doctor looked back up at him Rembrandt felt sick, knowing this complete stranger practically knew his entire life and yet he didn't even know why he was here, or what they made him take. Was his double crazy, or were these people looking to exploit him for whatever reason? Was this man really a doctor, or was something far more nefarious going on?
"Look, I don't know what the hell is going on here. Would you mind filling me in, starting with the drug you made me take?" Rembrandt asked, voice cold and harsh.
The doctor only sighed, once again looking to the clipboard and reading through the notes.
"Let me guess, the last thing you remember is sliding with Wade Welles, Maximilian Arturo, and Quinn Mallory?"
That made the blood in Rembrandt's veins frost over. What did this guy do to his friends? As he was about to voice his concerns he spotted a fourth figure in the hall behind the three men, one he immediately recognized as Quinn. Soon Arturo and Wade approached Quinn from out of sight, the three looking at him in confusion.
"Rembrandt, what are you doing over there? Come on, you're going to miss the slide!"
"Indeed, Mr. Brown. Now is not the time for lollygagging"
"Come on Rembrandt, let's go!"
The three laughed, walking out of sight, almost as if they couldn't see the three men blocking the doorway. Likewise, the three men didn't seem to notice his sliding friends either. He stepped forward, wanting to rush after them, but the two men beside the doctor immediately rushed at him, grabbing his arms. He struggled, breathing labored as he tried to break free and follow his friends.
"Professor! Wade! Q-ball! Help me!" Rembrandt yelled, looking to the two asylum guards clinging to his arms. The Doctor approached him, a look of concern on his face.
"You can see them, Rembrandt? These friends of yours, even though you escaped the delusions?" he asked.
"Delusions, what do you mean delusions?" Rembrandt replied with a bite in his tone.
The doctor's face shifted to a look of pity, nodding to the two guards who finally released Rembrandt as he did so. Stepping out of the room and gesturing for him to follow, Rembrandt slowly exited the room, only to see an empty hallway, his friends nowhere in sight.
"Rembrandt this may come as a shock to you, but I feel you should know the truth, regardless of what Dr. Ford thinks. I am Dr. Henry Smith and I am fairly new to your case. My main goal was to help you break free of these sliding delusions. You see, on September 27, 1994, you never made it to the Giants game." Dr. Henry said with compassion.
"Well, yeah. I didn't make it because I drove into a wormhole" Rembrandt replied, eyeing the doctor with heavy suspicion.
Shaking his head, Dr. Henry sighed.
"No, Rembrandt, you didn't. That day something went wrong and you crashed, the accident causing serious brain damage. You survived but began to live inside these delusions of sliding, a feat that couldn't possibly come to pass in reality. These wormholes, your friends, everything you believe you've experienced for the last three years? They never happened, Rembrandt. There is no Quinn Mallory, Wade Welles, or Maximilian Arturo anywhere in the public records. They, much like sliding, were all in your head"