Patient A-3

Chapter 4: Secrets

Avalyn

Age 10

 I cling desperately to what I can; scratching, pulling, pleading.

 "I'll be good, please don't make me go down there! There are scary monsters down there!" I howl, dragging my nails down the wall as Dad yanks me by my feet.

 "I'll never, ever touch it again, I promise! Tell Mommy I promise!"

 He hoists me over his shoulder, ignoring my pleas as he makes his way down the basement steps. My struggle fades and I go limp in his arms, resigning to my fate.

 I shut my eyes tight, letting the tears flow down my cheeks as I hear the creak of the door opening and Dad's heavy footsteps. He takes me into another room, and as I dare to open my eyes, I'm surprised by what I see – a bright, pristine room that smells like the hospital. No monsters.

 Gently, he sets me down on a table, walking off to open the wide cabinets. I turn my head frantically, half-expecting the monsters I spoke of to jump out at me. But instead, I spot another door. My heart races, and I can't resist the urge to find out what's inside. I sit up on my knees, peeking through the little glass window.

 On the other side, there are strange machines and equipment that I don't understand. They look scary and fascinating all at once. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I lean forward, balancing myself on my little hands to try and see more. I squint, trying to expand my sight and discern what I'm looking at. It looks like a medical table, just like the one I'm on, but there's something on it that I can't quite make out. I push myself onto my feet and stand to get a better view.

 A person. There's a person on that table.

 All hooked up to those strange machines lays a man. His clothes are torn, and his skin is so pale, it almost looks like he's a ghost. His blonde hair is drenched in sweat, and little droplets fall onto his face. His eyes flutter as if he's experiencing a bad dream, just like I sometimes do. He opens them for a moment, but then quickly shuts them as he struggles to adjust to the bright light that hangs above him. Suddenly, he turns his head toward the door, and our eyes meet through the glass. My heart feels like a hammer, pounding in my chest as I stare into his eyes. They're red, just like his ragged shirt, but that's not what scares me the most– it's the blood. His shirt isn't red, his blood is red.

 A terrified shriek escapes my lips as I make the distinction. I take in his half-exposed chest, revealing deep wounds that make me feel sick. His skin is swollen and raised. The cuts are far from few, and disordered. Blood tumbles out of him and spills over the table's edges, out onto the floor in a massive puddle.

 "Sit down!" Dad hollers, not even sparing me a glance before continuing to fiddle with whatever is in his hands.

 I stumble backward, landing on my bottom. The fear inside me intensifies, and I can't help but tremble. I've never seen anything like this before, have I?

 Is he the monster?

 I want to run away and hide but fear paralyzes me, rendering my body immobile as I stare at Dad in shock. I pinch my arm, hoping this nightmare will disappear with a jolt of pain. But there's no awakening from this chilling reality; it's all too real. The horror of the scene keeps my body trapped in place.

 "Who is that person? Is he hurt? Is that why he's hooked up to all those machines? Are you helping him, Dad?" I shoot off questions, frantic for answers.

 Dad turns to me, his eyes distant, almost as if he's in a trance and it frightens me even more.

 "Please, Dad! What's going on?" I implore, my voice trembling with confusion. "Why did you bring me here? Who is that man? Can we help him?"
But Dad remains silent, his eyes fixating on what he holds in his hands. I feel an overwhelming sense of helplessness and vulnerability as I notice the long needle.