Lost Along The Way

You wake dazed and confused. The movie you’ve been watching has ended and the words “Continue Watching?” blink in the darkness. You’ve woken from a deep nap on the sofa. Your neck is bent funny and there are pressure marks on your cheek.

Your phone is ringing. You panic; still half asleep you throw cushions on the floor, trying to find it. Then you realise it’s been sitting on the coffee table all this time, ringing. It’s a number that’s withheld, but you’re too confused to think.

It’s the hospital and they’re calling you up to let you know your best friend has been in a terrible car accident. They say they’re stable, but they tell you to come down as soon as you can.

Spooked, you can’t think clearly though you glance at the time. It’s 2.30am.

You shouldn’t really be driving. You feel as though you’ve just knocked back multiple shots of Vodka but you’re too impatient to wait for a taxi. Thankfully, the roads are clear. In no time at all you’ve arrived and scrabbling for change to park the car.

You’re power walking across the aerial walkway, clutching your phone in your hand.

The bright lights of the hospital nearly blind you. After waking up in darkness, it takes a while for your eyes to adjust. The hospital map is no help and you spend too long trying to figure out where your friend’s been sent to. You try and remember what the hospital told you on the phone, but your mind keeps getting blocked. You see an elevator in front of you. There’s no one around to ask, no cleaners, or nurses about, so you step inside.

You stare at the multiple floors, highlighted in silver. No floor is calling to you and the information board above you make no sense. Just as you think you may as well take the stairs, a porter dragging a blue bin backs into you. They don’t speak to you, they don’t even acknowledge you. You’re trapped in the right corner unable to get out.

You see the porter press the B button and the doors close automatically. The elevator is dragging you down, squashed behind the bin, and the porter looks as out of it as you feel.

The doors open onto a corridor with flashing lights. It’s silent here, there are no windows.

You can finally breathe again when the porter pulls the bin away. Without so much as a glance or a smile, you watch them turn right down the corridor.

You’re here, you may as well wander around. You step out into the main corridor and watch the elevator vanish upstairs. You continue to walk straight ahead not knowing what lies ahead. You look down at your phone. It’s 3.12am now but being in the basement, there’s no service. Luckily, you’re at 85% charge.

As you keep at a steady pace, looking around at each locked door, all possibly supply cupboards, you get the feeling that you’ve been here before, when you were a child. Seeing the clipped tiles and stained walls, it becomes clearer that this used to be part of the main hospital.

In the distance, past swinging doors, this part of the corridor is darker. You’re lost, have no idea where the elevator is now. You hear whispers ahead; there are at least two people past the double doors.

Clutching tightly hold of your phone, you push through the doors. You were correct. Three people in white jackets, plastic gloves and face goggles, are gathered around a metal table.

You notice this room is mostly made from metal. It’s cold, your breath is frozen and the white floor tiles make everywhere feel sterile. Lined upon the wall, are rows upon rows of refrigerated cabinets. The three people catch you staring. Their eyes appear bug like.

“You shouldn’t be in here.” The one nearest to you says.

“It’s not what it looks like.” Another says.

You wish to leave, to find the elevator and to the department where your best friend is, but you’re rooted to the spot, you’re intrigued about what is happening.

You explain that you were only trying to find the Major Trauma Centre, that you got lost along the way. They tell you that you’re lost because this is the hospital morgue. You haven’t come all this way not to find out what’s going on and so you edge yourself closer. Whatever it is, all three of them are protecting something secretive.

Before one of them grabs you by the arm, you see a horrific glimpse of a corpse. You remember one of them said, “It wasn’t what it looks like.” And you start to suspect something isn’t as simple as three morticians in the basement.

You jump out of your skin. Lying on the metal table is a cold corpse, its guts pulled out and sewn back together again. You look behind you. The door has shut and there are only clerestory windows. You couldn’t fit through that small of a gap. You’re careful about what you say next because you notice each of them are holding sharp tools.

“Who is he?” You gingerly ask.

They’re suspicious of you, you sense that they don’t buy your ‘I’m lost’ story. You begin to wonder if they think you’re someone under cover, which you know you’re not. Less than an hour ago you’d woken from a deep nap and had no idea who you were.

“It doesn’t matter.” One says. They’re secretive, they hide their emotions away and it’s impossible to read them.

Your phone rings again. You look down, see the phone call is withheld and know its hospital ringing you up again. You’re about to answer the call when the one nearest to you reaches forward and snatches it out of your hand. You see it fall to the floor, but before you have a chance to grab it back, they smash the phone under their foot. You feel it crunch. The sound grates on you but the scariest thing is, there’s nobody to call for help.

You decide to make light of the situation, tell them you need to get going, your friend is waiting for you upstairs. As you go to open the door, your hand is batted away.

“I don’t think so.” They say. “You’ve seen too much.”

There was nothing you could report even if you knew what was going on. If they were clever, they would just let you go.

“It’s probably tracking you now.” They continue, pointing to your phone now in pieces.

You have no idea what these people are capable of and what they’ve done. You haven’t a clue what they think you know but you know it can’t be good.

You feel something pointy get plummeted into your back. It’s cold on the back of your skin but the pressure makes it impossible to stand up. You fall to the floor in a pile. Your legs are jelly and you’re as dazed and confused as you were when you woke. You want to sleep; your mind is telling you to rest and stop. The blood in your head is racing. You’re lying flat on the tiles. There’s no point in moving, you can’t anyway, you’re trapped where you are. The faces of those wearing white coats stare down at you.

Everything turns to black.