The long familiar hallway was once again bright and empty when he exited the elevator. It lacked a single adornment upon the featureless beige-painted walls, periodically interrupted by assumedly locked doors, and painted in the same monotonous tone—almost like camouflage.
The only discernible sight in the hall length was the twin narrow glass panes in the double doors at the end. The main lab where he had supposedly been brought back to life. That was still assuming he had been dead in the first place.
He moved slowly in the loose-fitting pants and a shirt given to him by his doctors. Similar in look and feel to a doctor’s scrubs, along with a pair of plain, light gray tennis shoes. His rubber soles squeaked with each step over the spotless tiled floor.
He paused at the door to Dr. Souza’s lab. It was closed and he couldn’t hear anything on the other side, leaving him wondering if she was okay as he continued forward.
When he reached the double doors, he then stopped to peer through one of the narrow windows. The room was dark. Revealing little more than Reiff’s reflection in the tempered glass. All he saw were the reflections of Masten’s goons, who stood directly behind him. Escorting him.
Leaving the double doors, Reiff followed the hall’s left-hand turn, which led to another. Passing more locked doors until he spotted the door to his own room. The fragments of the bedspring he’d used in the lock had been removed, and the door itself no longer locked at all.
When he turned on the lights, nothing else appeared to be different. Drawings on his table, the bed neatly made, and the two familiar medical devices: a Dinamap and an infusion pump, still affixed to the wall and powered off.
On the opposite side of the room were the familiar plant and chair, next to the sink, and a bright blue plastic bio garbage bag. Higher on the wall, a clock read a few minutes past four fifteen, which he assumed was A.M.
Reiff turned and watched both men assume guard positions outside. After a long, tired silence, he closed the door and glanced wearily at the camera just below the ceiling. Then he leaned forward to flip the lights off.
One floor above, the long hairy arm of the tiny capuchin remained quietly extended, reaching through and softly petting the short dog’s white head.
While she wagged her tail cheerfully, the monkey’s second hand emerged to stroke Bella’s neck and chest, then moved to the slim collar around her neck, where both sets of tiny fingers came together and continued fiddling. Searching for a way to get it off.