19. Thea
Chapter 19
Thea
“ W elcome back to the land of the living,” a gentle voice coos. My eyelids feel heavy, but I open them enough to squint, while waiting for my vision to sharpen. The first thing I see is the ceiling. Clinical white with recessed lighting. It’s nothing like my cell, or that damn room Dr. Quack likes to treat me in.
I try to calm my breathing and take in my surroundings. There’s just two of us in the room. Me and the person scribbling on a clipboard, which she hangs on the foot of the bed.
“We have you cathed, but if you think you can use a bedpan or make it to the restroom, I’ll take it out.”
My bladder feels full, and being on my feet is always preferable to lying on my back. But why is she giving me a choice, and why am I not restrained? Has Dr. Quack already started pushing the drugs through my system, so that now I’m waking up in a hallucination?
“Thea?” My gaze snaps to hers. “Did you want the pan, or shall I help you to the bathroom?”
If this is a hallucination, it won’t matter which option I choose. I’ll be pissing on myself either way. But if this is real, and this new guard forgot to lock me down, I won’t waste this opportunity. I have to try to get out of here.
“Bathroom.” My throat is dry, my voice hoarse from disuse. Had there been a tube down my throat too? She nods her head, coming closer to the bed.
“Just take a deep breath and I’ll pull the catheter out.” I hate the idea of her hands on me, but once again, if this is a hallucination, it won’t matter. She moves quickly, and I barely feel it release.
“There. Now let’s get you upright.” She pushes a button on the remote, looped around the bedrail, maneuvering the bed into a sitting position. “Let’s go slow and lean on me as much as you need to.”
I swing my legs over the side, gripping the mattress and rails as I straighten. I’m light headed but I’ll be damned if I let her think I’m helpless. On second thought, maybe I should. That way, I’ll catch her off guard when I make my move. Just the thought of being touched makes me nauseous, so I lean on the bed, the side table, the chair and the wall as I make my way to the bathroom. She’s still next to me, arms out as if she’s prepared to catch me if I fall.
She waits outside the door while I take care of my business. I consider my options while washing my hands. It hurts to admit that I’m too weak to fight my way out of here right now. Wherever here is. It’s best if I get some answers first.
I exit the bathroom and come to a screeching halt. The nurse is still in the same spot, but there’s a doctor in the room now. I shuffle to my right, pressing my back against the wall.
The doctor notices me and says, “I’m glad to see you’re up. Although you really should have someone help you move around.”
I rasp out, “I had plenty of help from the furniture in the room.”
He gestures towards the bed. “It’s best not to overexert yourself. Back in bed you go.”
I lock my knees, using the wall at my back for extra support, and say, “I’d rather not.”
He scribbles something on the same clipboard the nurse was using earlier. “It really will be easier to do my assessment with you sitting.”
There’s no way I’m willingly sitting on the bed that I know has restraints tied to it. “Then I suggest you learn to work through difficult circumstances.” He takes a step towards me. “From there.”
He stops in his tracks. “Fair enough.” Looking at the chart, he says, “Your labs look good, so whatever narcotics were in your system are out, but I still want you to take it easy for the next few days. When they brought you in, your electrolytes and potassium levels were dangerously low, and you were severely dehydrated.” He looks up from the chart. “And malnourished.”
Of course I am. I’d expect nothing less, since I barely ate or drank anything the guards gave me. They forced what little food I had in my stomach into me through an IV. Just enough to keep me alive. Nobody cared if I was actually healthy. A lot of the people bidding on me had a thing for heroin chic. The doctor launches into a series of questions.
“Any headaches?”
“No.”
“Dizziness.”
“Some.”
“Shakes or tremors? Nausea. Sweating. Irritability and agitation? Confusion?”
Is he spouting withdrawal symptoms? I suspected that there were more than medicinal grade drugs in those cocktails Dr. Quack was cooking up. How much street level bullshit did he pump into my veins? “I feel plenty confused.”
The doctor arches a brow and asks, “How so?”
“You haven’t bothered to introduce yourself, or explain where the hell I am before getting all up in my business. See. Confused.”
Something that sounds like a snicker covered by a cough draws my attention to my left, where the nurse is standing.
“Ah, yes. Forgive me. I would have thought Nurse Snyder would have covered that already.”
I swallow, trying to wet my throat. “All she did was unstop my piss tube so I could use the bathroom.”
Nurse Snyder says, “I didn’t have time for anything else, doctor. You weren’t supposed to be here yet.”
“I was actually just walking by when I saw the bed was empty. You know how important this case is.”
Important? Sounds like he’s another doctor who’s eager to practice his Dr. Jekyll routine on me. I take a sliding step towards the bathroom. There’s a mirror in there. If I break the glass, I’ll have a weapon at my disposal.
They still haven’t said where I am, but wherever it is and whoever they are doesn’t matter. They’ve made a grave error by not tying me up.
“Whatever you’re thinking…” Nurse Snyder starts.
We were both looking at the doctor, but I guess she was also watching me. That means she’s the biggest threat. I take another step towards the bathroom. She shifts her position too, but her actions move her away from me.
“I guess I’d better get the introductions going now, before you…” Her gaze sweeps across my face. “Break the mirror, is it?” She nods, answering her own question. “Solid plan. It’s definitely the smarter choice than going for the hallway.” She takes another step away from me. “By now, you’ve probably decided that I’m the bigger threat. So you’ll take me out first.” She smirks at me. “But that assumption would be very wrong.”
I look to my right to make sure no one has come in from the hall. She continues talking. “Dr. Newkirk here is just as formidable as I am.”
“I know all about how formidable doctors can be.” I reassess my strategy. Maybe I should take out the doctor first. That way, he won’t have a chance to shoot more drugs into my veins.
Before I can follow that thought thread, I remind myself that this might all be just another hallucination. A phone chirps on Nurse Snyder’s hip. It distracts her just long enough for me to lunge for her. I ignore the roiling feeling in my stomach and the sudden compulsion to vomit. I have her stethoscope in both hands, pulling it tightly around her neck before she can fight back.
She doesn’t bother fighting back, and I know it’s not because I’m overpowering her. I don’t have enough strength to maintain the amount of tension I need to choke her out. The doctor hasn’t moved from his spot either. Hallucination. It has to be a hallucination. That’s the reason they’re not fighting back.
I’ve said that last part aloud, and the nurse responds, “You’re not hallucinating, Thea. We’re not fighting back because we’re not a threat to you.”
“Where am I?” I give the plastic device a tug.
“You’re at our compound. You’re safe.”
“Compound? Is this some kind of league building?” That doesn’t make me safe. Rockridge was a league hospital and the staff there were happy to hurt me.
“No. We’re not affiliated with The League of the Daggered Raven.”
“Then where am I, and who the hell are you?”
“I’m Trista Snyder. He’s Paul Newkirk.” She says, repeating the names they’ve already called themselves.
“Why are you dressed up like medical people?”
“We really are medical people. We’ve been treating you. You’ve been here for a week. It’s like Dr. Newkirk said. You were in pretty bad shape when we brought you in. We’ve been detoxing you, trying to mitigate withdrawal symptoms.”
I don’t remember any of that. What I do remember are the yells and screams from staff running down the halls in the middle of an earthquake. I also remember getting shot. I tighten my grip on the stethoscope. “Somebody shot me.”
“We needed you cooperative.” A man says, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. His black t-shirt hugs his frame. His multi pocket pants are the perfect size and position to hide blades in. He crosses his burly arms across his chest, appearing unbothered by the scene in front of him. “I thought I told you not to spook her.”
The nurse scoffs, “Spooked seems to be her default setting.” If she can talk, I’m not squeezing hard enough. That’s how I know she’s letting me hold her in this position.
The guy gestures towards my hands. “Mind putting your strangulation plans on hold so we can talk?”
“I’m not strangling you , so talking should be easy enough for you. Now let’s see if you can explain things faster than she did. Who the hell are you people?”
“I’m Travis Hart. I ran the retrieval team that rescued you from that hell hole masquerading as a hospital.”
“Only to bring me to fancier hell hole masquerading as a hospital.”
“You’re in the hospital wing for monitoring. But as soon as the doctor clears you, we’ll move you to a room.”
“Cell.”
“Room.” He repeats. “You’re not a prisoner, Thea. You’re our guest.”
“Is that what you tell your inmates and patients to make them more compliant?”
“We keep detainees in a separate facility.” He says matter-of-factly. His demeanor is calm. The doctor is too. Shouldn’t he at least be freaking out a little, considering I’ve got a garrote around his colleague’s neck? I shift, keeping them both in sight.
“You say I’m not a prisoner, but how many people are waiting to restrain me when I step foot outside this room?”
The team leader, Hart, if that’s really his name, pulls the handle, and holds the door open with his foot. “You’re free to leave this room and go anywhere in the compound you want.”
I’m leaning forward, barely holding the stethoscope now. My body sags against Nurse Snyder’s, sweat beads between my brows. I’ve exerted what little strength I had following several days of sleep.
She holds my weight without complaint and says, “How about we give Thea some space? We can come back later, after she’s gotten some more rest.”
Hart nods his assent. The doctor leaves first. Then Hart. I release my hold of the plastic tubing and back away from Nurse Snyder, bracing myself against the bed.
She puts more space between us, and orders, “In bed, Thea.” I try to straighten, fighting back against her demand. “Nobody’s doubting how strong you are. But you’re still recovering and if I wanted to force you, I could.” She steps around to the other side of the bed. “You need more sleep.” Pulling a five by seven card from her pocket, she says, “This is the food menu for today. You can leave it on the table when you’re done, and I’ll come back to collect it later.”
Food? The thought makes me ill. Lucid dream or not, I won’t be eating anything she brings unless it’s pre-wrapped.