A little over two weeks after my surgery I forced myself out of bed. I was no longer worried that I was like the people on the news since so much time had passed. I slowly cleaned the apartment and even made banana bread out of the browning bananas that had been forgotten on top of the refrigerator.
I had a follow up appointment at the hospital at two-thirty that afternoon. I hadn’t dressed in anything but pajamas, done my hair, or worn makeup in the last two weeks. Deciding that putting effort into my appearance today would help cheer me up, I slipped into my favorite jeans and black t-shirt with a brown leather jacket over top. I traded the heels I initially put on for a pair of leather boots, tall and flat. Since it wasn’t that far, I decided I’d walk; halfway there I felt so drained I wasted my extra cash on a cab.
Feeling pissy from pain, I hastily got directions to where I needed to go. I hated elevators. I was always afraid of getting stuck. And the hospital was more crowded than usual. All I needed was to get trapped inside an overly stuffed box full of strangers. Despite my pain, I took the stairs. Going slow, I was concentrating so hard on not acknowledging that I hurt that I didn’t notice him until I was very near. Blood ran down a gash on his cheek. Hands bound behind him in handcuffs, he head butted his police escort and madly dove down the stairs.
We collided. I desperately reached out for the railing—without success. He brought me down with him and, when we stopped tumbling, he crouched over me, drooling and growling. There were collective shouts of panic as people watched, gaping open-mouthed at the lunatic above me. The only items in my possession were my purse and a notebook. My purse was somewhere underneath me, but the notebook was still clutched in my death grip. Not knowing what else to do, I slapped him across the face with the notebook, grimacing at the blood and drool that splattered.
While it wasn’t my first weapon of choice, it worked. The guy was stunned, giving me enough time to knee him in the balls and roll away. I sprung up and kicked him hard in the side, immobilizing him long enough for the cop to recover his assailant. I backed away, my vision fading. A strong hand caught me just as I passed out. I remember seeing his big blue eyes and his mouth moving, but I couldn’t hear what he said.
* * *
I came to in an exam room. My purse and notebook were on a chair next to the hard, foam bed. Stiffly, I got up, gathered my things and opened the door.
“Whoa, where do you think you’re going?” a deep male voice asked in an alluring Irish accent.
I spun around; not a smart move at the moment. Blood rushed to my head and I felt dizzy again. The doctor with the pretty blue eyes put his arm out, thinking I’d faint again, but I held my ground. He led me back into the room. After I was lying on the uncomfortable bed, he said, “You were just in here a few weeks ago for surgery, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Appendectomy?”
“Yep.”
He carefully touched my side. “Does this hurt?”
“I had my stomach sliced open and part of my guts ripped out. Of course it hurts.”
He laughed. “Does it hurt anymore than it did before you fell?”
“No.” I sat up. “It hurt before then too. But my back didn’t.”
“You seem to be healing fast,” he said, as he inspected the incision site. “But I’d still like to run some more tests and do a CT scan to make sure the fall didn’t damage you. You could be bleeding internally.” He looked into my eyes. “Did you hit your head?”
“Uh, yeah, I think.” It happened so fast. The guy diving down a flight of stairs. The blood. The primal growls rumbling in his throat. There was something else, too. It was in his eyes, well, kind of. It was more like there wasn’t anything in his eyes. It was as if all the humanity was gone and all that was left was raw, animal instinct. I forced a half smile. That was a stupid thing to think. There is no way I could tell all that from the two seconds I’d had to look at the maniac.
“What was with that guy?”
“I’m not really sure,” Dr. Blue Eyes said, looking at the floor. He was lying. “Why don’t you change into a gown and I’ll get you set up for a scan right away. Do you want anything for pain?”
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Have any allergies?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pill bottle. He filled a Dixie cup with water from a bottle and handed me the pills. He closed the door and left. Assuming the pills were strong painkillers, I popped them into my mouth, willing them to take effect right away. I carefully folded my clothes on the chair and put on the stupid gown. At least this gown was more substantial than the last one.
To keep from feeling freaked out, I rummaged through the drawers to find paper towels. Using hand sanitizer, I cleaned the bodily fluids from the notebook. When I was satisfied it was clean enough, I sat back down and opened it, flipping nostalgically through the pages.
Someone screamed.
It startled me, and I jumped. The quick movements hurt my recovering abdomen. Another scream was followed by a loud bang. Half tempted to get up and see what was going on, I reminded myself that this was a hospital and screaming probably wasn’t uncommon.
I turned to the page in my notebook, smiling at what I was reading. I was starting to feel kind of sleepy from the pills; my mind felt at ease and my muscles were relaxed. Then, all of a sudden, something clattered to the floor outside the door. Someone screamed again: a long, harrowing, horror movie scream. Then a gun fired.
My blood ran cold. What the hell? I gripped the notebook tight and swallowed. The screaming started again, this time coming from multiple people. Three consecutive gunshots put an end to their shouts. I heard more panicked yelps as people ran up and down the hall. What sounded like heavy objects clattered to the floor. I tossed the notebook to the side and carefully put my legs over the edge of the bed. Slowly, I inched toward the door.
Something thrust against it and I jumped. Pain radiated through my side and I feared I had ripped my stitches out. I smelled it before the high-pitched beeping confirmed it: smoke. I needed to get out, even if it meant facing what was out there. I grabbed the cold round knob and twisted. The door didn’t open; something had fallen in front of it, blocking its path. I was locked in. Smoke billowed in from the vents. Panic rose in my chest. Desperately, I slammed my body against the door. Every move hurt. Again and again, I tried forcing the door open. My vision blurred. My legs buckled. “Fuck,” I swore, wishing I hadn’t taken the pain pills. Then I lost consciousness.
* * *
It was the emergency sirens that woke me. I sat up, a migraine threatening to form, and realized I wasn’t in the exam room anymore. I was in what looked like a basement, lying on a cot on the floor. Two backup floodlights were the only sources of illumination. I was surrounded by many other people, patients by the looks of it. Children cried right along with the howling of the sirens. I ran my hands through my hair trying to make sense of what was happening.
It was bad, that much I could tell. That was as far as I got, however, since the medicine still poisoned my veins. Then I saw him, looking all calm and professional in his scrubs and lab coat. A fire burned inside me, fueling my ability to get up. I attempted to angrily march over to Dr. Blue Eyes but staggered along the way.
“You!” I shouted. “You drugged me! What the hell is going on? What are you doing to us?”
Alarmed, he rose up and moved away from the crying girl he was soothing. “Calm down. It’ll be ok.” He put his hand on my arm. I jerked it away and shoved him.
“Be ok? What, after you surgically attach us to each other? Yeah, I’ve seen the Human Centipede, you creep!”
He took hold of my arms. I tried to fight him off, but I was too weak. My head pounded and any twisting hurt my side.
“Calm down and I’ll explain,” he whispered. “You’re scaring everyone more than they already are.”
“They should be scared. He’s trying to kill us!” I shouted, able to break free from his hold. “He’s going to kill us!”
“Quiet! They’ll hear you!”
“Good! Hey! Hey!” I screamed, hoping someone would hear me. The exit sign loomed ahead like a mirage. If only I could get out, maybe I could get help. Come back and save everyone. Dr. Blue Eyes grabbed me again, this time with more force. He held me back, telling me to calm down over and over. Still, I fought. I might have been weak and drugged to all hell, but I wasn’t going down without a fight.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not meeting my eyes. Then I felt the needle pierce my skin.