Page 22 of Demonic Cage
Darya said the medication suppresses my abilities. Did he really abduct me to be an interpreter? Faint hope creeps into my confused thoughts. Maybe if I finish everything Darya asks of me, I can go home and be a translator without needing to actually learn any languages?
“This is good,” an inner voice says, in the tone of my psychiatrist. “Focus on this!”
I imagine Maya’s face as she sees how much better her depressive sister is doing. My parents’ faces come to mind, and I see how they finally embrace each other now that they no longer have to worry about me. I think of Nathan’s longing gaze.
“This is good,” the voice says again. “Concentrate on the thought!” I try, but it doesn’t work. The lights are so red, and there’s no sound at all.
Food. Darya said I have enough. I open the bag I’m clutching in my lap. I reach for my medication, but the pockets are empty. I expected that. My parents sometimes took them when I couldn’t keep control. That’s why I came up with the secret pocket at the bottom. However, something is wrong; the little pocket is torn, and the place where the pills used to be is empty.
No.No, no, no, no.
Darya doesn’t understand. I have to take them, otherwise I won’t calm down. My heart… My heart will stop, and I will die here. Die of a heart attack, and…
I jump up. I pound on the door, shouting for my medication. I scream that I can’t handle it. I promise to do anything if he justgives me a little. I swear on my parents’ lives just to take half. I bang my head against the hard door.
The medication. I have to take my medication.
I imagine the pill in my mouth. I always let it dissolve on my tongue, like a ritual.
I scream until my throat dries out. I beat my head rhythmically against the door.
I feel nauseous. Somehow, I hoist myself up while continuing to grasp onto my bag, and step toward the bed.
I pause. Something isn’t right. I feel on my skin that something has changed.
Standing between the door and the bed, I lift my head. I look around, scanning.
“Just drag yourself to the bed,” I mutter to myself, but as I take a step, I feel something move again – not behind me, not in front of me, but around me. The black circles in the oval-shaped lamps follow my every step.
I stop in shock. They are not lamps. They are yellow eyes surrounding the room, tracking my every move!
I flee to the bed. The black pupils follow, and the eyelids blink moistly. Like a child, I pull the blanket over myself, as if it may protect me from every monster.
Then I hear something behind me. My hand tightens on the blanket. For a moment, there’s only my own wheezing breath and the sound behind me – a liquid sound, like someone closing their teary eyes.
I turn slowly.
Above the bed frame, another pair of huge yellow eyes fix their blood-black gaze on me.
I scream, desperately trying to crawl out from under the blanket, but suddenly bars slam down around the bed. I grab them with both hands and scream again, crying for someone to help. But no one comes for me. I am alone.
The eyes just peer, scrutinizing with their bloodshot, yellow sclera. One, then the other, closes its eyelids. The sound is similar to saliva dripping.
I tug at the bars, perhaps for hours, slowly exhausting myself. My heartbeat quiets down. There is no way out of this prison; no one will come for me.
The cold reality hits me, and my own eyes slowly close.
I never imagined them. They exist.
And now, I am not the captive of humans, but of demons.
White lime walls surround me, and I’m lying on a white table. I scream: Let me go, I’m not crazy! I don’t imagine them. They exist. I am their prisoner. I know the straps won’t let go. They never have.
That’s why I’m surprised when they melt away as if made of ice. I sit up, clutching my chest with my hand. Everything is so light, and everything is so familiar. And yet it’s not.
The space is murky, and I blink to make it clearer. The white light becomes turquoise, and the walls of the psychiatric ward turn into rock. The neon lighting spreads from the ceiling, emitted by faint crystals. I’m underground. The air is damp and scarce.
I get off the bed, and my naked feet are caressed by sky-blue mist. It’s not easy to move; my limbs are heavy, and I see everything in pieces. As if I’m drugged, and honestly? I hope I am.
