#8. Mental Institutions With Lax Security
by
, 06-14-2010 at 03:31 AM (524 Views)
Bare feet touch to the cold linoleum one after the other, as I creep up the back stairs to the second floor. Everything is white and open and contained, but the dark creeps along with me, and the world is cast in a cold, blue pallor.
The door opens before me, my feet touch scratchy carpet as I step into the bedroom. My nightgown whispers faintly in an absent breeze as I twist, taking in the contents of the room. It seems almost normal, a bed to the left of the door, foot facing me. There are stuffed animals everywhere, strewn across the room like they've been played with. They haven't been.
There's a window above the bed, and I can see the balconies a floor above the lobby.
I hear water running.
A half-open door lets light stream into the rest of the room, and I open it, squinting against the harsh yellow of the light, of the tiles, of the linoleum.
The tap is running cold water into the bathtub, and I can see my brother there, hands curled around his knees -
There have been rumours, faked suicides and murder
- the first thing I do is turn his wrists over to look for injuries. I sigh in relief when I see that he's fine, and I move to turn off the water.
I freeze. I can feel something, in the walls.
"Boom." I whisper. The boy looks up at me for the first time. I pull him up from the tub, grab a towel from above the toilet, wrap it around his shoulders.
"Go to bed." I say. "Stay there."
He walks toward his bed without another look back.
I press one hand to the ceramic tile in the shower (shh, calm), use the other hand to turn off the water and remove the drain from the tub, drenching my sleeves as I do. Tick, tick, tick but it won't hurt him if he stays in bed, and I need to make my escape.
I leave the room, taking stairs directly from the bathroom to the basement, to my own room, trekking barefoot over thin blue carpet to a room that resembles an office. I see my bed, empty, though the covers are strewn about.
"Hey," says a voice from behind me. I turn around, look up, hope that he won't notice the fact that my clothes are drenched from the water. He doesn't. "We were wondering where you've been all night."
I smile, and the guard moves on to continue his rounds, completely unconcerned about the little girl who was committed here long before he ever got the job.
After all, I never did mention who the murderer was.
Well meaning though I might have been.
Mental Institutions With Lax Security. Scare Factor: 2/10 for worrying over the girl's brother. I was never concerned for my own safety.
I wonder when that bomb is set to explode?