'Hellfire' Chapter Four

'Hellfire'

Chapter Four

In the privacy of my bedroom I dialled Riley's number that he had left in my phone only a few hours ago, "Where can I meet you?"

"You spoke with your Guild?" his deep and rugged voice responded.

"Yes, they're willing to back me on one condition." I lied.

"I'm listening . . ."

I took a deep breath, knowing that I was risking a lot already. I hadn't talked to Andy or Wyatt yet but the demon blood had made me jumpy, panicky. I could not let this opportunity slip through my fingers, "I take you to them. You have no ulterior motive right?"

"None that will be of consequence to your little rebel cause, where's my guarantee that I'm not walking into a Bounty Hunter fiesta?"

"You have my word and my protection. I'm the best." I said, running my hand over the smooth and dark glass of the window in my room. It was always night in the Imperium, even in this hidden corner. It was frustrating, having to trust this demon that probably had access to information that I didn't want anyone else to know. Like why I needed to get back to the Guild 8 so badly. The rubble from the fire had been long since cleared away but the secrets? They still remained behind the walls of the Imperium, calling to me.

"Counting on you freckles." Riley rumbled.

"Gilbert Historical Museum at nine tomorrow, if you bring a horde of your fiery little followers the deals off, Pandora still stands." I flipped my phone shut and tossed it aside. Sighing in exhaustion, I stripped off my clothes until I was comfortable and sunk into the couch in the corner of my bedroom. Spinning the cylinder of Chaos, hearing the click of the catches always calmed me. A killer's remedy. I needed a drink. My eyes flicked to the unopened bottle of vodka on the table by the armrest of the suede couch, temptation in a bottle. I reached out for it hesitantly. I could do what I always did every night when the shadows of memories past crept up on me. I could drink myself into oblivion and forget or simply just dwell in my guilt and grief. Tonight I refused to do either. I spun the catchment of my gun once more, released the safety and squeezed the trigger ever so slightly, feeling a jolt of adrenaline like always. I lifted my weapon as if I was about to put it to my head and squeeze that extra millimetre more. I caught my reflection in the darkened glass of the window. My breath caught in my throat un-expectantly at the prospect of pulling the trigger on myself. That's never happened before, I mused. Then I put the safety back on like always and resumed spinning the catchment, hearing its clicks.  I shook my head slowly and took a trip down memory lane once more . . .

It was still dark when I woke up. The room I was in had no windows. I felt the crackle of the hospital mattress underneath me as I shifted. I heard the hum of a machine I couldn't see to the side of my head. I couldn't move my head. It hurt too much. I tried to remember what happened but summoning up memories proved difficult. Like trying to hold water in your hands, it slips away through the cracks, leaving you frustrated and thirsty. Assessing my body, I learnt my limbs were sore and I had a headache and there was this dizzying drowsiness washing over me. It was a struggle to keep my eyelids open. They felt like hot led, burning my eyes. I'd ask them to decrease the dosage of whatever they were pumping me with. I tried to reach for the call-button which should have been by the side of my bed, hanging on a wire. But it wasn't. There was, however tubes in my arm. They felt strange and wrong under my skin, I wanted to rip them out and fling them across the room. Maybe stomp on them for good measure. But I slipped under, too sleepy to pay attention to the door opening or the scuffing of shoes on linoleum.

Days later I would hug my legs close to me as I watched small flecks of the plastered wall peel off and then float to the ground. It was almost like white snow. I'd never seen snow for real. Maybe I would never see it. There are a lot of things I haven't seen in this world yet. I was eighteen, the whole world waiting to be touched, Paris, London, mountains, beaches and Rome! I wanted to see Rome but not as much as I wanted to see my mother again. I even wanted to see that annoying pre-teen girl next door that blasted stupid mainstream music at two in the morning. If I was strong enough, or had the balls to do it, I'd just walk on right out of here, maybe take a couple hostages and only set them free when I was close enough to clear the entrance hall. I amused myself with possible escape plans. I could, snatch a needle out of the nurses hand, stab them with it and then knock them unconscious. Then I'd have to switch clothes with them, get the hell out of this paper hospital gown. Then I'd walk right out of the room. I'd have to check her ID, maybe search her pockets for a cell phone, I'd call . . . who would I call? The police? Mom? She would be so, so mad at me for disappearing for this long. I had no idea when I'd be set free. I hate hospitals. Is that what this place even is? I banged my forehead against my knees. I felt like I was in a psych ward and wondered when they'd bring out the straightjackets. I smiled in dark humour. How fitting. There were no windows. No escape. With sickening despair, I wondered what they'd do to me. I already knew they'd taken some of my blood, for tests. And they'd pumped me with drugs that made me in-cohesive and more than a little stoned.
Eight days. Hmm, I'm pretty sure it's been something like that. There was no concept of time during my waking hours and sleep. There was no routine and no visiting hours, no phone call, no TV, no nothing. All I could do was stare at the dodgy plastered wall. Oh look another bit fell off.

I had to get out of here.

Two loud raps on the door reverberated in the small room. I scrambled to appear comfortable, not weak. My heart was thudding when the door opened. A doctor, or marshal, however you wanted to think of him held it open for a skinny blonde haired girl. She wore the same white T-shirt as the rest of us, the same dull teal coloured scrubs.
"New roommate for you here Alison," Doctor Markus said happily, giving me what he probably thought was a friendly smile. I only glared at him, "You two girls get to know each other, swap stories, and you can even do each other's hair. Make sure you show Jadey around. You're such a good girl Alison. We're all very proud of you."

Internally I rolled my eyes. He was really laying it on thick. Just great, now this girl would view me as a goody two shoes and as a lunatic.

He made a show of smiling till the very last gap of the door was pulled closed.
The girl looked around the room with bored eyes. Hazel and coffee coloured eyes framed with black eye lashes. Her long blonde hair was swept into a high pony tail at the back of her head. The girl, Jadey, I think, I had pretty skin with a light tan, making me feel especially pasty when she came closer to my bed. The colour of my legs stretched out on my bed was at least several shades lighter than her warm arms.

"So you're Alison." She said, hooking a thumb under the waist band of her scrubs. She shifted her weight to her left foot and looked me up and down.

"And you're Jadey." I countered, holding her gaze.

"Just Jade. What's your subject number?" she asked, her head nodded in the direction of my wrist which I had draped across my stomach, the numbering on my bracelet had been turned to face towards me. I knew it off my heart.

"117. You?"

Jade grinned, showing her white teeth and decided I was harmless enough so that she could sit on the foot of my bed and curl one of her legs underneath her, "118. You got a problem with us being roomies"

I blinked at her straight forwardness. She didn't ask questions, only made judgements.

"No." I said.

She shrugged, the movement making her long blonde pony tail flick to the other side of her head, "My mistake."

"I guess it is." I fiddled with my bracelet. I knew its texture and weight. Smooth plastic, thin plastic that changed temperature according to my skin.

"You don't look like an Alison. You should be a Lana." Jade said it in such an offhand way that I had to turn her words over in my head three times before it even comprehended.

"Lana?"

She popped each of her fingers, a habit that I also condoned when I was searching for something to do. Most people found it disgusting or annoying, like my mom. She would stare me down at the dinner table or whenever she saw me doing it. "You're going to give yourself arthritis." She said in a snappy tone. She would have said it now too.

"You haven't been at St. Ignotus that long." She said.

It wasn't a question either but I answered it like one. "Just over a week, I think."

"They're going to drug me too. They'll do it when I'm sleeping."

"Why do you think that?"

Jade pulled herself onto the bed and closer to me. She looked at my face a bit longer than made me comfortable. I broke eye contact first, losing the battle.
"Because of you, the bags under your eyes . . . you're not letting yourself sleep."

"I don't like what I see when I'm asleep." I said in a low voice, making every effort to escape her eyes.

She drew closer, curious but fright had also touched her features. "What do you see?"

"Rooms," I answered, picturing them behind my eyelids, "Just rooms."

"Not just rooms." Jade said. Utter conviction making her voice like cold iron.

"They're always spattered with blood on the floor, the walls and the beds. Spattered with blood," I said slowly, swallowing hard to force some air down my throat, "Lots of blood."
Why I was telling her this, I didn't know. There was certain intensity to her, this girl. Test Subject 118. Her being this close, this familiar made me want to spill my guts onto the floor so she could scrutinize them at her will like the doctors, the scientists. Jade scared me. This place scared me. What they did scared me and what scared most of all was that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't wake up.

I wanted to be alone. Safe and alone. Those two states of being didn't exist here. They didn't until I found my store room. It was on the sixth floor and nestled away at the end of the hallway. There were few rooms up here and even less staff wandering around with their clipboards and stupid name tags. I almost dived into the small storeroom. It was quiet. It was more like a janitor's closet smelt like dust, cardboard and bandages. There were no medical supplies, only buckets of paint, mops, dust pans and brooms. But there was enough room for me to sit down and be somewhat comfortable. This little room provided the complete solitude that my own couldn't now that Jade had moved in. I fiddled with my bracelet again and began humming softly. It was a song I had forgotten until now. It was slow and if I remembered correctly it was sung accompanied by piano. I leaned my head against the only wall that wasn't shelving and closed my eyes. I had gotten half way through the second verse when I heard it. Crying, sobbing almost. It sounded like a child sobbing until I heard words accompany such sorrow. "Alone, they're gone, no one, no one. I can't, no one. Please, alone. No." The male voice continued to cry as I hummed.

I squeezed my eyes shut and said to the wall, "You're not alone because you're here with me."

"Where is here?" the voice asked and sniffled.

"Where ever you want it to be."

"You'll stay here?"

I pushed my hair back off my face and sighed, "For a while."

"Are you coming for me soon?" the voice asked.

The poor guy was broken, I realised. So broken and far gone that he believed an angel was coming to take him away. Take him to a safer place. I wondered if she could take me too. I clawed at my arms, needing to feel pain, to feel reality.

"Who are you?" I whispered, cleared my throat then asked again louder this time.

"It doesn't matter anymore."  

He was quiet for a moment. I thought he had slipped into unconsciousness like Jade sometimes did under all the pressure of the waking torments. His submission felt a brick pressed on my throat and holding my windpipe closed. I wondered how long he had been here, to delude himself into thinking that his name, who he was, his very essence didn't matter. Didn't exist. I was angry. "Listen to me, it does matter. You do matter. I'm going to get you out of here no matter what. I promise."

"They make me do things." I strained my ears to hear the tormented whispers of a man that had been crushed, beaten and moulded into a weapon, "They make me hurt people. They want to see if they can hurt me. They smile. They like seeing pain."

"I'll make the pain go away, I swear it." I said, pressing my hand to the wall, hoping to touch a piece of the poor man on the other side.

"It won't ever go away. I hear this. We'll want the pain again . . ."

A knock sounded at my door bringing me back to the present. Cole's head peaked around the corner. I almost cringed, remembering all the scars that used to mar his body. The memory lay fresh in my mind.  "Wyatt's workroom, everyone's waiting for you."

I nodded and rummaged through my cupboard to find something clean to put on. Hopefully my lie wouldn't remain one for long.