Episode 9: Meeting Place

I hauled the door closed behind us and it locked in place with a click. I stopped for a second to listen for any sounds in the hallway, but it was silent. I turned.

Sarah was sitting on my bed, her hands folded in her lap but twitching restlessly. She eyed the man nervously, whose back was turned to us. As she looked to me for a next step, I walked up behind him, arm outstretched. I placed my hand on his shoulder, and he jumped, whirling around to face me. The fire in his eyes returned, ready to face the wrath of the attendant, only to slowly dissipate and be replaced by the lifeless stare. His shoulders, tense and ready for confrontation, returned to their slumped demeanor.

"My name is Patrick," I said slowly. "At least, that's what the attendant told me. I didn't really remember until he took me to the room."

I couldn't tell if my words were reaching him or not. His eyes were set on me, but he could have been in another world altogether. I felt as though I should poke him or something to make sure he was still there. Perhaps he had fallen asleep on his feet, and had forgotten to tell his eyes.

"And I'm Sarah," she offered, following my lead as she stood up from the bed. She smoothed her gown, apparently recalling some hint of modesty, and crossed her arms over her chest. "I also found out the hard way. I... I thought something was wrong, too. I just... I couldn't..." She trailed off, her eyes drifting to the floor, her brow bent in concentration. She was trying to remember why she had been sent to the room in the first place--at least, that's what I was doing. I returned my gaze to the man before us. His head was cocked now, much as Sarah's had been the first and second times we had met.

"I'm John," he ventured after some deliberation. He spoke as though his mouth was frozen, or his tongue was too big for his mouth. I wondered if he was having some sort of allergic reaction. I wondered how I knew the symptoms of an allergic reaction. He seemed to follow Sarah's stare to the carpet, working his mouth as if he had to chew the words before he could spit them out. After some time he muttered the same idea from the other night: "Something isn't right."

There was a knock on the door, and my heart sank. The attendant. The three of us exchanged a scared look--that is, Sarah and I exchanged one, and then looked at John. With leaden feet I turned to the door. My hand trembled as I slipped my thumb inside to slide it open. There was another knock then, sharper than before.

I pulled it open, removing the wall between us and whatever lay outside.