Page 16 of The Preachers' Promise
I’m wheeled away from the reception desk, toward another set of doors. These don’t open automatically. Instead, the older woman uses a keycard against a sensor.
A buzzing sound blares from somewhere beyond the doors, then they swing open. A long corridor lies beyond with numerous doors set at regular intervals. Harsh, strip fluorescent lighting illuminates the space. They hum and plink above us as the electricity is regulated through the tubes.
“Mealtimes are at seven a.m., midday, and five o’clock sharp,” she says as she pushes me along. “You are expected to attend and to eat your food without complaint. The dining hall is at the end on the right, and the day room is on your left. There’s a television in there, which you’re allowed to watch, but the staff have control of the channels. You’ll also find board games in a cabinet in the corner, which you’re welcome to play.”
The last thing I want to do is play board games.
Ahead, a couple of people dressed in the pink outfit—one a young man, the other an older woman with graying hair—drift across the corridor like a couple of ghosts. They seem completely unaware of my presence or even each other. Their heads are down, their shoulders slumped.
Is that going to be me in a matter of weeks, or even days, from now?
The presence of other patients makes me wonder if it’s not as late as I think. Is there a set bedtime, like there are mealtimes, or are we allowed to just wander the corridors whenever we want?
We come to a halt in front of a door, and she reaches past me to open it.
“This is your room,” she announces.
The room is barely a step up from a prison cell. The one luxury is a private bathroom, but otherwise there’s only a single bed and a dresser. There are no mirrors, and not even a picture on the wall to soften the place. There isn’t even a closet for my clothes, but then I realize it’s not needed. I’ll only be allowed to wear the pink pajama set. There’s a window, but it’s barred, and it’s dark outside.
She wheels me into the middle of the floor. “I’m going to unstrap you from the chair now. If you try anything stupid, we will sedate you again.”
“I won’t,” I mutter, already wanting to claw her eyes out.
But there’s no point in fighting. There’s a locked door between me and freedom, plus additional staff. I also noted the number of cameras along the corridor and at reception. I glance up to the corner of the room. Yep, one in here, too. I have zero privacy, though I assume the bathroom won’t have one. If I try to fight, there’s probably a buzzer she can hit to get more staff in here, and like she said, then I’ll be sedated again. A part of me wants to give in to that. Maybe my time here will go quicker if I allow them to drug me into oblivion. It’ll certainly silence the Prophet’s voice.
The thought is tempting, but there’s one main reason I don’t want to give up.
The Preachers. My beautiful men.
They helped me once, and I know they can do it again. The choice between spending every day alive, running from them in our woods, and free, or spending it in this drugged hellhole, is an easy one to make.
You don’t even know that they’ll want you back…
The voice isn’t the Prophet’s this time, but my own. A whispered, poisonous voice that spells out my worst fears. What if they’re done with me? What if, once the initial shock of me leaving fades, they discover they’re happy to see me go?
The possibility breaks my heart.
I’m lost in thought as she undoes my straps.
“Stand and undress,” she instructs.
I think I’ve misheard. “Sorry?”
“You need to take off your civilian clothes and put on the facility ones.”
“Okay, but can I have some privacy? I’ll use the bathroom if you have to stay in the room.”
“No. You might have smuggled something harmful in on your person. We need to be sure.”
My jaw drops. A strip search? That’s what she’s saying this is.
“No! I am not taking off my clothes in front of you.”
She rolls her eyes and tuts at me, then leans back and presses a buzzer near the door. I hadn’t noticed it before, but there’s a small microphone beside it which she speaks into. “I’m going to need some backup. Room one-oh-four.”
Adrenaline jolts through my veins. “No, please, don’t sedate me.”
The squeak of rubber soled shoes on the linoleum floor comes from outside the room as her backup arrives. It’s in the form of a huge man, who I’d guess to be in his thirties. He’s wearing the same uniform as the woman.
