Part 1: Déjà Vu
Tick, tock.
It was the thirty-second time the clock had spoken.
The girl curled into herself, squeezed her eyes shut, and waited.
Tick, tock.
Her count began. 10, 9, 8 ...
Fear, or something deeper kept her face glued to her knees. But this was the thirty-second time. Shouldn’t she be able to break the cycle?
… 3, 2, 1.
The door creaked open.
The clock went silent.
The footsteps were soft, the sound of cloth sliding over wood, almost seductive in its gentleness. Almost. It just kept sliding, sliding, sliding ever closer. Warmth emanated from it, just subtle enough to raise goosebumps on her arms.
Its feet nudged her bare toes as it came to a stop. Her muscles clenched up, refusing to move.
... 3, 2, 1.
“Am I a monster?” The voice was soft, gentle, perfectly shaped. A gloved finger pressed into her hairline and warm breath clouded around her. She bit her lip to silence her whimpers, but all she wanted to do was scream, scream and change the cycle.
More fingers pressed into her jawline. “Hold still.”
Pain erupted in her skull and neck, just for a brief moment, before flickering away.
Her thoughts grew fuzzy. The floor tipped below her and she slumped down to greet it as the world faded.
It was time to dream.
[Darkness. I can’t see past it.]
Drip, drop.
It was the thirty-second time the faucet had sprung a leak.
The girl sat rigid and straight, unable to tear her gaze from that leak. A broken piece of imperfection in this perfect room of unblemished white walls and floors.
Drip, drop.
Her count began. 10, 9, 8 ...
Fear, or something deeper kept her staring, frozen in position. But this was the thirty-second time. Why couldn’t she break the cycle?
… 3, 2, 1.
The door creaked open.
The faucet went silent.
The footsteps were crisp, the sound of shoes clicking across the floor, almost hypnotic in its rhythmic pattern. Almost. They just kept clicking, clicking, clicking ever closer. The smell of sanitizer emanated from it, just subtle enough to make her grimace.
The shoes came to a stop in front of her, black and perfect and shiny beneath white pants and the hem of a white lab coat. Her muscles clenched up, refusing to move.
... 3, 2, 1.
“How are you today?” His voice was smooth, perfectly oiled to quiet any true emotions. A gloved finger pressed into her hairline, his warm breath buzzing around her. She bit her lip to silence her whimpers, but all she wanted to do was scream, scream and change the cycle.
More fingers pressed into her jawline. “This won’t hurt a bit.”
Pain erupted in her skull and neck, just for a brief moment, before flickering away.
Her thoughts grew fuzzy. The floor tipped below her and she slumped down to greet it as the world faded.
It was time to dream.
[Where am I?]
Click, clack.
It was the thirty-second time the alarm had broken.
The girl continued sitting on the bed, staring at the dusty and barren wall, painted a faded violet.
Click, clack.
Her count began. 10, 9, 8 ...
Fear, or something deeper prevented her from looking around, seeing where she was. But this was the thirty-second time. How could she break the cycle?
… 3, 2, 1.
The door creaked open.
The alarm went silent.
The footsteps were cautious, the sound of bare feet slapping across the floor, almost normal in its raw humanity. Almost. They just kept slapping, slapping, slapping ever closer. A shadow fell across the wall, just subtle enough to make her shudder.
The footsteps came to a stop behind her. Her muscles clenched up, refusing to move.
... 3, 2, 1.
“Come on!” His young voice was a soft hiss of perfect innocence. His breath was wet and sticky against her skin. A small finger reached around her and pressed into her hairline. She bit her lip to silence her whimpers, but all she wanted to do was scream, scream and change the cycle.
More fingers pressed into her jawline. “Come on, get up!”
Pain erupted in her skull and neck, just for a brief moment, before flickering away.
Her thoughts grew fuzzy. The floor tipped below her and she slumped down to greet it as the world faded.
It was time to dream.
[I can’t open my eyes. They’re glued shut.]
Tick, tock.
It was the thirty-third time the clock had spoken.
The girl curled into herself, squeezed her eyes shut, and waited.
Tick, tock.
Her face was glued to her knees. But this was the thirty-third time. Shouldn’t she be able to break the cycle?
... 3, 2, 1.
The door creaked open.
The clock went silent.
The footsteps were soft and almost seductive. Its feet nudged her bare toes as it came to a stop. Her muscles clenched up, refusing to move.
... 3, 2, 1.
“Am I a monster?” The voice was soft, gentle, perfectly shaped. Fingers pressed into her jawline. “Hold still.”
Pain erupted in her skull and neck.
Her thoughts grew fuzzy. The floor tipped below her and she slumped down to greet it as the world faded.
It was time to dream.
[My eyes hurt from rubbing them.]
Drip, drop.
It was the thirty-third time the faucet had sprung a leak.
The girl sat rigid and straight. Waiting.
Drip, drop.
She was frozen in place. But this was the thirty-third time. Why couldn’t she break the cycle?
… 3, 2, 1.
The door creaked open.
The faucet went silent.
The footsteps were crisp and almost hypnotic. The shoes came to a stop in front of her. Her muscles clenched up, refusing to move.
... 3, 2, 1.
“How are you today?” His voice was smooth, perfectly oiled. Fingers pressed into her jawline. “This won’t hurt a bit.”
Pain erupted in her skull and neck.
Her thoughts grew fuzzy. The floor tipped below her and she slumped down to greet it as the world faded.
It was time to dream.
[Fine, I give up on trying to get my eyes open. Focus on something else.]
Click, clack.
It was the thirty-third time the alarm had broken.
The girl continued sitting on the bed. Waiting.
Click, clack.
Something prevented her from looking around. But this was the thirty-third time. How could she break the cycle?
… 3, 2, 1.
The door creaked open.
The alarm went silent.
The footsteps were cautious and almost normal. They came to a stop behind her. Her muscles clenched up, refusing to move.
... 3, 2, 1.
“Come on!” His young voice was soft and innocent. Fingers pressed into her jawline. “Come on, get up!”
Pain erupted in her skull and neck.
Her thoughts grew fuzzy. The floor tipped below her and she slumped down to greet it as the world faded.
It was time to dream.
[There’s cold metal below me and surrounding me.]
Tick, tock.
It was the thirty-fourth time the clock had spoken.
Tick, tock.
Her face was glued to her knees.
... 3, 2, 1.
The door creaked open.
The clock went silent.
The footsteps were soft and almost seductive.
... 3, 2, 1.
“Am I a monster?” Fingers pressed into her jawline. “Hold still.”
Pain erupted in her skull and neck.
Her thoughts grew fuzzy.
It was time to dream.
[Focus! What am I doing?]
Drip, drop.
It was the thirty-fourth time the faucet had sprung a leak.
Drip, drop.
She was frozen in place.
… 3, 2, 1.
The door creaked open.
The faucet went silent.
The footsteps were crisp and almost hypnotic.
... 3, 2, 1.
“How are you today?” Fingers pressed into her jawline. “This won’t hurt a bit.”
Pain erupted in her skull and neck.
Her thoughts grew fuzzy.
It was time to dream.
[Don’t get distracted! I need to figure out where I am.]
Click, clack.
It was the thirty-fourth time the alarm had broken.
Click, clack.
Something prevented her from looking around.
… 3, 2, 1.
The door creaked open.
The alarm went silent.
The footsteps were cautious and almost normal.
... 3, 2, 1.
“Come on!” Fingers pressed into her jawline. “Come on, get up!”
Pain erupted in her skull and neck.
Her thoughts grew fuzzy.
It was time to dream.
[Look up. Stretch the fingers ... It’s all so strange.]
Tick, tock.
It was the thirty-fifth time the clock had spoken.
Tick, tock.
“Hold still.”
Pain.
It was time to dream.
[Why am I so numb?]
Drip, drop.
It was the thirty-fifth time the faucet had sprung a leak.
Drip, drop.
“This won’t hurt a bit.”
Pain.
It was time to dream.
[What are those sounds?]
Click, clack.
It was the thirty-fifth time the alarm had broken.
Click, clack.
“Come on, get up!”
Pain.
It was time to dream.
[It doesn’t matter--don’t worry about the clicking, just figure a way out.]
Tick, drip, click.
Thirty-six.
The dreams always came.
Tock, drop, clack.
Thirty-seven.
An endless pattern.
[What is going on?]
Tick.
She was spinning into oblivion.
Tock.
It never ended.
Drip.
Repeat.
Drop.
Forty-seven times was too much.
Click.
She had done this before.
Clack.
Forever, ever, spinning.
[Stop getting distracted! Where am I? Cold everywhere, walls surrounding me, so close. There must be an edge. Where ... ? There. Use it. Pull yourself up.]
Slipping.
Down. Down into the hole.
Dreams. Darkness. Despair. Delirious. Doomed.
Death.
[Am I in a tank? There’s some sort of residue on me.
[Focus. Grab the edge. Get over it. Over the edge I go--]