Page 48 of Brainwashed

He wanders to the exam room door and opens it, stepping out into the hallway. I can’t even help how I pause hesitantly at the doorway. He looks back at me with a brow raised expectantly.

“I… I’m not cuffed,” I stammer. Like a total moron, becausewhy would I ever remind someone to handcuff me?!

Dr. Love tilts his head, and I swear, I see I flash of amusement on his face, before he turns and keeps walking up the corridor. And I scamper after him, gripping my book tight.

He walks me to the next row, then opens my padded cell, gesturing for me to step inside, which I do. He stands there for a moment, just staring at me, before he says, “I’ll send some food down.”

Then he locks the door and leaves.

And I fall into the padding on the wall, letting out the longest sigh of my life.

No dreams.

My eyes are closed, but I’m not sleeping. I’m unable to fall asleep tonight.

The lack of dreaming makes sleep feel forced, I think. After all, what is sleep if not an escape?

Behind my eyelids, I can see them…

People from my past. The ones I usually dreamt about, before I got here. But they’re just images, flickering memories skittering through my mind like a broken projector. I’m not being swept away by my subconscious, like I want to be.

No more dreams…

Maybe I’ve lost the ability to dream. Maybe being trapped inside this concrete hellhole blocks out the receptors needed to whisk me away to dreamland.

Maybe that’s my ultimate punishment.

I’ve always been a dreamer, since I was little. I would getlostin my thoughts, sometimes spending hours just staring, thinking about thewhat ifsof life. Concocting scenarios.

Some would skirt along the realm of normalcy. My parents bringing us to an amusement park, for example. They never did it before, and I would dream that one day they would wake up Zachary and me early in the morning and say,Surprise! We’re going to Great Adventure!

Pretty regular, I suppose.

Others were much more… fantastical, like finding strange creatures in the woods. Ogres and werewolves and witches with long, sharp fingers. I dreamt about abandoned cabins and haunted mansions, all of which became my playgrounds.

The thing I remember most, though, was that I was never scared. In fact, Ilovedthe scary stuff. Even as a young child, I would read the scariest books I could find, hoping for a little jolt of fear to pump up the beating in my chest. But it wasn’t there.

I was never afraid of the things every other child feared. I was afraid of something much morereal…

My eyes reopen slowly, and I stare up at the ceiling. Stretching my arms up over my head, I revel in the freedom of movement, without that damn straitjacket. It’s pretty thrilling that this is now the second night in a row they’ve tossed me in here without it. But I won’t hold my breath for it to become a regular thing.

Still, I’ve been able to read my book thanks to it. Tilting my chin, I look at the book resting on my stomach. I’ve been sort of cuddling it since I stopped reading earlier. It’s an intriguing book, for sure. The author is smart as hell, and I’m interested in the things he’s talking about, though they’re slightly worrying to consider.

I’m only a hundred-or-so pages in, but so far, it’s about the different types of human experimentation that have occurred in the name of behavioral psychology over the years. It begins with talking about how mental health was researched and diagnosed decades ago…

In asylums.

Glancing around the padded room, I scoff to myself. If the public only knew that places like this still exist.And I’m sure this isn’t the only one left.

At the sound of something loud banging up the hall, I jump myself lucid, sitting up, dazed and a bit groggy. I’m scrubbing a hand over my face and my eyes beneath my glasses as one of the guards I know pretty well, Peters, stomps up to my cell door.

“Against the wall, inmate,” he grunts, and I stand slowly, doing as he says, but not without first grabbing my book and stuffing it into the back of my pants again.

Peters gives me a peculiar look as he opens the door and steps inside. I’m guessing it’s because I’m not wearing a straitjacket, but he doesn’t say anything. He simply cuffs my wrists, then shackles my ankles, bringing me out into the hall to begin our trek to the showers.

Peters is a quiet one. He’s really good-looking too, shorter than most of the other guards, but clearly ripped the hell up, obvious even with the uniform in the way. Smooth, dark complexion, shaved head, no facial hair. Kind eyes, and this almost sweetness to him.He reminds me of Leon… Number twenty.

I shake myself out of my thoughts while we enter the showers, feeling pensive as Peters watches me taking a piss, washing my face, and brushing my teeth. And when I’m done, without a single word, he cuffs me back up and drags me out into the long corridor, in the direction of Dr. Love’s office.