Chapter 2: Not That Easy To Escape

Wednesday, October 9th, 1991 : 77 days until Christmas

Something cool and wet moves across my forehead. A sensation passes against my neck and I shift away.

"No, please. . ." I hear myself say.

Once my eyes open I'm met with a blurry figure. It reminds me of when I stare at something for too long and everything begins melting into each other, except this time my normal vision is like that. I blink a few times to no avail. My heart begins racing, banging against my rib cage to break free. I feel heavy, like I can't move, and I'm frightened.

A hand runs through my hair, "I'm not going to hurt you, it's going to be okay," a voice says to me.

"No. I don't trust you." I say while trying to turn away.

"Is it any better?" A feminine voice asks.

"No, I just checked and he's at 40 (104) degrees."

"We might have to take him to the hospital."

I look to where the feminine voice is coming from and see a green blob. It reminds me of a bush. But with a voice as delicate as that, perhaps it is a little forest fairy hiding in the bush that is speaking.

"It might be wiser to make a house call. I don't want to move him." The oppressive blob says.

"Okay, I'll call the doctor." Says the fairy before disappearing from view.

Something grabs my hand and I pull away.

"You can't make up for what you have done." I say to the blob.

"What have I done?" He asks. My mind swirls and spins, splashing like the waves of the ocean against a pier. I lose my consciousness before I can tell him.

October 10th, 1991

A weird sensation at my ribs makes me flinch. I didn't much like that, but I'm too tired to open my eyes to see what could have caused it. The sound of clothes moving against clothes and footsteps tells me people are in here. Again, I'm too tired to open my eyes to see who.

Something brushes against my forehead and my left eye is forced open and a blast of light thrown in. Before I can react my right eye gets the same treatment and then I'm thrown back into darkness.

"That's a good sign. Felicia, if you don't mind, could you get the cold packs from the freezer and some washcloths?" A masculine, but delicate, voice says. I really want to open my eyes now, but find I can't.

"Of course." That must be Felicia.

"What do you think?" That voice was deep and harsh. Germany.

"Well he's very sick, that much is obvious. The question that remains is why. If it is purely physical then I can treat him like a normal human and he would likely get better with time. However, if this is political, there is nothing I can do to help him." That angelic voice says. Who is that? A human?

"I'm guessing we won't be able to tell." Germany says softly.

"Correct. Only time will give us the answer, so, I will treat him as if it is purely physical and see if he gets better. That is our best bet."

With a lot of effort I move my arm to reach out to where I hear the smooth voice coming from. My hand lands on something warm and I squeeze it.

"Huh. Another good sign."

October 11th, 1991

The room is pitch black when my eyes open. I stretch a bit and sit up slowly. No one else is in here. Just me.

Swinging my legs to the side of the bed, I get up and take a deep breath. My mouth and throat are painfully dry, so I make my way upstairs to the kitchen. The house is dark, illuminated only slightly by the streetlights and the moon.

The glasses are exactly where I remember them being so I easily grab one and fill it with water. After downing the whole thing I do it one more time before deciding I should stop drinking so much.

On my way back to the basement I hear something in the living room. Cautiously, I walk over and freeze in the center of the room. My eyes met the cold lavender ones of the man sitting before me on the couch. I'm paralyzed with fear.

"You didn't think it would be that easy to escape from me, did you?" He asks.

"H-how did you get here?" I manage in a high and shaky voice.

"That doesn't matter, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that." I say while backing up. He stands and I hit the wall behind me.

"I really hope that you're not trying to give me commands." He says, taking a slow step toward me.

"I'm not alone here. . . Y-you can't hurt me they'd hear me scream."

He takes another step toward me, smiling lightly.

"Perhaps. . . But you aren't going to do that, are you?"

My heart is beating like a rabbit's before a fox. I'm petrified as he comes close enough to touch me if he wanted. My body is shaking, teeth chattering.

His gloved hand hooks itself under my chin, making me look up at him.

"It's going to take a lot more than this to escape from me, fascist whore."

"Please . . ."

"Who are you talking to?"

I blink a few times and look to my left. I'm looking into another set of lavender eyes but these ones are softer.

"Him." I say, gesturing in front of me before noticing no one there. Canada gives me a concerned look before walking to me and putting the back of his hand on my forehead.

"You still have a fever. Come on, I'll walk you back to bed." He offers, voice smooth and accented like England's. Confused, I make my way back down to the basement.

He follows me down and I sit on the side of the bed.

"Why are you here?" I ask.

"Germany and Italy asked me to care for you. I am a doctor, you know." He answers while opening the lid to a small white bottle.

"I know. . . You cared for me once after the war." I remember. He was a military doctor.

"That is correct." He says while handing me two little orange pills. I study him as he gets me a glass of water. He's older than the last time I saw him too. He looks about. . . twenty, twenty-one now. His hair is a dirty blonde color, falling to his shoulders in soft curls. He looks a lot like France.

His paleness and lavender eyes set him apart from his mother though. He kind of looks like a mix between her and. . . Russia.

"Here. You don't have to drink all of it, but make sure you take those." He says while handing me the glass and gesturing to the pills. I nod and take the pills easily.

October 12th, 1991

When my eyes open again, I see Canada standing near the nightstand, reading the side of a pill bottle.

"You're awfully quiet." I comment. He looks at me and a chill runs through my body. Those lavender eyes look into my soul just as Russia's did.

"Good. I would hate to disturb your sleep." He answers before taking a thermometer off the top of the stand. "Since you are awake, I'm going to take your temperature."

He hands it to me and I put it in my mouth.

A minute later it begins to beep and I take it out and hand it back to him.

". . . 36.5 (97.8) not bad." He says before placing it back down on the stand. "How do you feel?"

"Uh. . . Tired?"

"Are you asking me?" He says with an eyebrow lifted.

"No, uh, I am tired. And a little confused."

"Hmm." He comments while picking up another pill bottle and reading the label.

Some silence passes before he looks at me again.

"Do you ever hear things that other people don't hear?" He asks. I give him a confused look.

"How would I know that?"

"Well, if you heard something like someone talking, and no one else reacted. Or if you asked if someone heard the voice or sound and they said no."

"I don't think so, no."

"Do you remember last night?" He asks.

I look down and try to run through last night's events. I got up, got some water, went into the living room, saw Russia. . . Wait. My eyes widen and I look around the room, heart speeding up.

"Where did he go?" I ask. Canada tilts his head to the left.

"Who?"

"Russia."

"Russia was never here."

"I saw him. I talked to him. He touched me."

Canada shakes his head.

"He was never here."

I look down at my hands.

"You can't escape from me that easily."

"Hm?" I ask.

"I didn't say anything." Canada answers.