Earth: Criminal Rehab

Chapter Seventeen

Pete

When I woke up, everything was white. The paint on the four walls surrounding me was the purest white I've ever seen. I was laying on top of a bed that reminded me of the ones at a doctor's office. I squinted my eyes and held my hands to my head. I could almost feel my brain pulsing and pounding against my skull. My whole body ached. Even though I just woke up, I struggled to stay awake.

I tried to sit up. My muscles were weak and I could barely keep myself up. I pressed my bare feet onto the cold, hard floor and held onto the bed beside me. I could've sworn I had shoes on.

Where the hell am I? What happened? How did I get here?

Then it hit me.

I was with Patrick.

"Patrick?" I called out in a hoarse voice. My voice echoed and bounced off of the walls. There was no answer.

We were talking and I was stabbed. How could I forget something like that? As I began to remember, the pain in my side grew stronger. I clutched my side and winced. When I pulled my hand away, there was no blood. Someone had patched me up.

So they didn't want me dead... why not?

Other than the bed under me, the room was nearly empty. It felt like prison again. There was a sink, a counter, and a trash can. All in white color. Was this heaven? Am I dead?

I groaned as the pain started spreading throughout my body. I bit my lip and pushed myself forward, towards the door at the farthest wall. Every step was a struggle. I nearly tripped over my own legs trying to get there. If I didn't know any better, I would've thought I was drunk.

Halfway there, I felt that I might pass out again, so I collapsed against the counter. After catching my breath, I examined the contents on top. There was a white sheet of paper with my full name on it: Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III. They even had a picture of me with facts including my birthday, age, weight, and specifics that even I didn't know about myself.

I glanced towards the door again and the distance between myself and it. It seemed so far away. If I could just make it over there, maybe I could get out and get some answers.

With that knowledge, I stood up straight and used every bit of strength I had in me to walk towards the door. I grabbed the frame for support and peered through the small, glass window at the door's center. I could see myself in the reflection of the window. I was wearing a white gown. My face was clean shaven, smooth even, and pale.

I looked further. There was a narrow hallway between my room and another. The door was closed, but I could see through the window. It was a room seemingly identical to mine.

I clasped my hand around the doorknob and jiggled it. It was locked from the outside. I cursed under my breath and looked down the hall.

"Hello?" I shouted, "Is anyone there?"

But there was no answer.

I turned my head away for a moment and something in the corner of the ceiling caught my attention. It almost looked like a light, but the years of experience I had in the Legacy prison had taught me better. It was a camera. Someone was watching me. What do they want from me?

My skin crawled and I turned away from the camera. The faint, muffled sound of footsteps came from down the hall. I hugged the wall and hid myself from view. I could just barely see through the window.

A figure in a white hazmat suit appeared suddenly in front of my neighbor's door. I gasped in fear. There was a soft, high pitched beep before they entered and disappeared from my field of view. I moved closer to observe what was going on.

A rolling bed poked its way out of the room, pushed by the figure in the suit. I pulled my head away for just a minute, sure to keep my presence hidden. As soon as I thought it was safe enough, I looked again.

I got a glimpse of the bed. Someone was lying in it, covered by a white sheet. I looked harder. The figure in the suit bumped the bed against the wall, shifting the sheet from the top of the body. I could just barely see who was underneath the sheet.

My eyes widened and my heart sunk in my chest. In that moment, I wish I hadn't looked.

It was Patrick.

His face almost matched the color of this place: a sickly, ghostly white. His eyes were closed and there were dark circles over his eyelids, almost like they'd been bruised.

The bed under him was rolled into an elevator and the doors closed behind him.

I choked on each breath coming in and out of my body. I fell against the wall and felt myself trembling. Oh god, please don't tell me Patrick's dead. I couldn't live with myself. Please don't be dead.

Maybe I was sleeping. Maybe this was all a bad dream. I looked around the room. I stood up and stumbled to the sink. I grabbed the knob and twisted it towards hot and waited until I saw steam. Quickly, I stuck my hand underneath and desperately wanted to wake up from the pain. But I didn't. The water burned my skin and I recoiled.

"No!" I shouted loudly, "This can't be happening!"

I ran at the door with full force and pressed my whole body weight against it, hoping somehow it might bust open.

"Let me out of here!" I screamed, "Someone help me!"

I pounded my hand against the glass of the window as hard as I could. With the adrenaline and anger coursing through my veins, I managed to punch the glass hard enough to break it. It pierced the skin on my arm and tore it up pretty deep. I winced and cursed loudly. Avoiding as much glass as I could, I reached through the broken window and fiddled with the lock until the door opened with that beep noise. I grabbed a shard of glass from the floor and walked out into the hallway, pointing it at anything that stood in front of me. Small drops of blood dripped from my arm, leaving a trail of my travels.

The hallway was much longer than I expected and was filled with rooms like mine. I looked inside a few. For the most part, they were empty. I briefly stopped in front of a room that wasn't.

A younger woman was lying a bed. Same room, same clothes, same color. She had cords attached to her head and chest. Even though she was unconscious, it wasn't hard to tell she was in pain.

I shook my head and moved on. My heart was pounding in my ears and my vision began to blur, but I pushed on. I can't black out now. I trudged on towards the elevator doors where they brought Patrick.

Luckily for me, they opened as soon as I stepped in front of them. The figure in the hazmat suit appeared again. I ripped the mask off, revealing the person underneath.

It was a woman with long, dark hair. Her skin was very light, but not as ghostly as everyone else I'd seen. Clearly she'd been taken care of quite well. There was fear radiating from her dark brown eyes.

I wrapped my arm around her neck and pressed the glass shard to her skin, "What did you do to him?" I growled through gritted teeth.

She stammered, "M-M-Mr. Wentz, you don't understand..."

"Where did you take him?" I shouted louder and pressed closer.

Her breathing quickened and she closed her eyes tightly, "Okay! Okay! I-I'll take you to see him but please don't hurt me!"

I gulped and walked forward with her, into the elevator. She pressed one of the buttons inside and the doors closed. We started moving down.

"Mr. Wentz, please, you're bleeding. I can help-" she pleaded.

"You're not laying a finger on me unless I give you permission to do so. Do you understand?" I snarled.

She nodded quickly in response. I saw tears sliding down her cheeks. A small part of me felt guilty, but I remembered the look on Patrick's face and instantly knew better. The elevator slowed to a stop and dinged as the doors were about to open.

"You'd better hope he's not dead," I breathed out.