Page 5 of Possessed By Shadows

Chapter 1

Iwoke up groggy with one of thosewhere the fuck am I?moments. It was also awhen the fuck was I?moment. Like having those dreams of missing the bus as a kid, or even oversleeping an alarm and missing work. Out of touch with time and reality. Straddling a thousand memories of my entire life.

The room was dark. A pale light illuminating from what seemed to be the end of the bed. The bed an uncomfortable box, too narrow and too short to really fit. The single pillow beneath my head little more than a thin lump between me and the hard mattress. Even the blanket, an almost useless swatch of bleached cotton, provided little warmth or comfort.

For a few terrifying seconds it felt like a prison. As if I’d ever experienced that? The closed door had a small glass window near the top, and there was an open partial door that seemed to go into a bathroom. Curtains were pulled shut over a single window under which a small desk sat. The room illuminated by a nightlight built into the end of the narrow wood box making up the bed. Would have been a pretty nice prison, I guessed. Though I recognized it for what it was.

A hospital. Lockdown ward. Not my first rodeo.

The sound of blinds shuffled from the little window in the door as it flipped open, and then closed a few seconds later. Fifteen-minute checks. Mostly to make sure I wasn’t trying to hang myself from the bed sheets or something. I’d experienced them enough to know what it was, even if my heart raced a little at the idea that I’d landed back inside.

Fear rolled through me. A terror that my recent memories were all a dream concocted by a broken mind. A dancing, creepy, ghost bear doll, and shadows laughing, was that how I’d ended up here? Or a nightmare I couldn’t separate from reality?

I lifted my right hand, feeling the wrap of the ID band, and stared at it. At least it said my name, Alexis Caine. Not John Doe or something. They knew who I was. That had to be good, right? Did Lukas or Micah know where I was? Where was I? Still in New Orleans or somewhere else? I’d been in enough wards over the past year that they all sort of looked the same. Though this one having its own bathroom was nice, even if the door looked like it belonged to a saloon rather than a bathroom.

Beneath the medical band was a tattoo. Print dark and clear, stating my name, and my allergies to medications. It indicated that I was a veteran. Former Army Ranger, like I could forget, but it made sense since medical records for vets were more universal than the normal ones. The tattoo was only a few weeks old, and helped quell some of the anxiety that was still dancing through my head about which memories were real, and which were false.

The tattoo meant Micah was real. He’d taken me to get it, insisting that it was a better way to indicate my medical needs to anyone, than my dog tags or even an emergency bracelet which could have been removed at any time. Lukas hadn’t been on board with it until Micah had pointed that out. Not that my twin brother got any say over what I did with my body, despite his strong opinions otherwise. Micah, my lover of several months, could tell me to tattoo or pierce the most intimate areas of my body, and I probably would. I’d have tattooed his name on me if he’d let me. But he kissed me instead, branding me with his touch, which was better than a tattoo any day.

How much time had I lost? Hopefully not months. I couldn’t even remember how I had gotten here. Which was never a good sign. Had something taken over me? That terrifying child thing maybe?

I got up, stretching, muscles and bones feeling a bit weak, like I hadn’t moved much recently. The bathroom was clean, minimal, with little more than a toilet, sink, and a large shower area with a drain. I did my business, washed my hands, but had to wipe them on my scrubs as there were no towels. Just the single, super thin, shower curtain that would have fallen if I tried to tug on it at all.

There were thick, fuzzy socks on my feet with those rubber sort of treads to prevent slips. It was the warmest thing I had, since the scrubs felt paper-thin, and the bright burgundy did little for my complexion. My beard seemed trimmed, though the tiny square mirror gave me little more than my eyes, and my hair was braided, but a bit messy from sleep.

The small supply of bathroom products meant I wasn’t on extreme lockdown. There was a toothbrush and paste, a comb, deodorant, some hand lotion, and even a generic lip balm sort of thing. I brushed the scum from my teeth, put on some of the balm, and even some lotion, before making my way to the door of the small room.

It wasn’t locked, but everything was quiet. Outside my room was a big open area that centered around a handful of tables and a TV, which was off. The doors to other rooms spread out in a circle. Familiar enough that I thought I was probably still in New Orleans. That was good news, right?

There was a nurse’s section on one side, a large clock above the station reading just after six a.m. I assumed, since it was still dark, lights down and the windows showing the first dredges of daylight trickling through. I approached the station slowly. The two people there didn’t look up, as they seemed to be talking. One was a woman dressed in a very distinct nurse uniform. The other seemed to be an orderly? What else did they go by now? Patient care assistants?

I reached the desk and leaned on it. “Hi,” I said, keeping my voice down.

They both jumped, as if I’d just materialized before them.

“Sorry,” I said. “I just wanted to see if I could maybe call my boyfriend? Or my brother?” Maybe ask them what the fuck had happened and how I’d ended up in the psych ward?

The nurse got up and reached for the phone. “Let me call the doctor on duty,” she told me.

“You don’t have to do that,” I promised. “I feel okay.”

She gave me a very practiced smile that said I should sit the fuck down and listen to her. “Let’s talk to the doctor first.”

I took a step back. “Okay.” The orderly came around the counter like he was ready for me to do something. Had I been violent? I hope I hadn’t hurt Micah. I knew my PSTD acted up sometimes, but I’d never hurt him before. In the past, I clung to him, exchanging violence for overprotectiveness.

“Can you tell me your name, sweetie?” The orderly said, voice soft. He was smaller than me, very white, with curly blond hair, but I totally got the vibe that he could take me down if he needed to.

“Alex,” I said. “Alexis Caine.”

“Do you know where you are?” he continued. His nametag read Daniel,Patient Care Assistant, written in smaller print below.

“A psych ward?” I looked around. “I think I’ve been in this one before?” Though I didn’t recognize the nurse or Daniel.

“Yes, a while back. How about we sit down while we wait for the doctor?”

“Can someone call my boyfriend, or my brother?”

“It’s not time for the phones to go back up, but in a little bit, I promise.” Daniel said and held out a hand toward a set of chairs seated beneath a window. “Your boyfriend is here almost every day.”