Page 2 of Lost Echoes

“You’re going to turn into skin and bones. We’ll have to feed you through a tube soon, and you don’t want that.”

A tube? I look down at myself. Instead of wearing a beautiful costume, I’m in a checkered hospital gown.

Did Laurel give me a different role? I’m supposed to be the star. That’s what she said. I’m her favorite.

This has to be a test. I press the gown and fluff my hair again. “I’m ready for the stage.”

She sighs. “I’m going to have to get the doctor.”

“What do you mean?”

“Please eat.” The woman leaves, mumbling something I can’t make out.

The door slams shut as if it’s heavy, then a lock clicks into place.

My stomach rumbles, but I can’t feel any hunger. Why am I here? What is this place? It’s the strangest dressing room I’ve seen. Now that I think about it, there aren’t any costumes or makeup. There really shouldn’t be a bed. Not unless the play is longer than I remember and Laurel wants me to sleep.

My lines elude me. I’ll let Laurel down if I can’t recall them. What ever will I tell her?

Maybe I should eat the food. It could help my memory.

I have to remember my lines.

My stomach rumbles again. I don’t want to be hungry on set. That won’t be good.

The hospital gown rustles as I walk around the bed, which looks like someone slept in it recently. The covers are rumpled and twisted. Why would Laurel put me in a dressing room with a bed someone else slept in? That doesn’t feel right.

I stop cold as I pass the door.

That smell. I sniff the air. The scent’s familiar, bitter. Antiseptic. Makes me dizzy.

Images swirl in my mind. Faces, voices, but most disturbingly, darkness—so much darkness. Something smells musty, and the air is chilly.

Someone screams. It’s high-pitched, an agonized wail. Then another. A third.

It keeps going.

I cover my ears, but the shrieking doesn’t stop.

It’s coming from inside my mind. This is a memory. Not something happening now. It’s from the past, gone and done. Why do I feel connected to it? It wasn’t me.

But I was there.

Another person cries out, adding to the first person’s pained outbursts. The yells are out of sync, out of tune. Unharmonious. Disturbing.

My head pounds.

Someone says my name, orders me to do something.

They put something cold and metallic into my hand. Tell me to walk toward the noise.

No!

I close my eyes and run. Trip. Knock something over. Something clatters.

The screams continue.

Something wet soaks into my gown, clings to my skin. Blood?