I snapped my eyes open and sat upright in bed, blinded by the stark white. "What's going on?"

Mom twisted her face in worry as she rushed to my side. "You've had an episode and passed out in bed. How do you feel?"

I glared, not hesitating to show my doubt. "Don't tell me that was a dream." I shot my sights to the monitor, which continued its rhythmic beeps and projecting its glowing green lines on the screen. "That thing grabbed me. I know it did." I could still feel the remnants of its cold, steel fingers around my wrists and lifted them, expecting to showcase a bruise but only seeing even lightly bronzed skin tone stare back at me.

She patted my head. "Relax, Jo—"

"Stop telling me to relax." I jerked away from her comforting palm. My glare was vicious, I felt the tension in every muscle. "Where did you go, huh? How did you get out of here?"

She nodded; a streak of guilt flashed across her face. "While you were sleeping, I went to talk to Ian to convince him to come and see you."

"And?" I twisted in bed to stare at the door, anticipating someone standing there.

"And ..." She shook her head, sadness and defeat made up her facial features. "I'm sorry."

I tossed the sheet aside and threw my legs over the edge of the bed. "I'm getting out of here now."

"Jo, wait." She went to the table where the cake should have been, but instead a small, thin, rectangular black tablet was in its place. "Look. I brought this back for you. It's your diary."

I stood and my legs carried my body weight effortlessly as I grabbed the pocket-sized tablet from her hand. While staring down at it, the screen lit up. And the words, "Hello, Jovial!" Appeared onscreen as if awakening upon recognizing my face. I prompted it to open my diary with a click of my forefinger and swiped through the pages until the name Ian in a fancy font stopped me.

"Today's the day me and Ian will go through with it. We can't sit around waiting for someone to stop us, because I know they will. We have to make a move and do this now. Hopefully, it all goes as planned and we could be free of the hellhole."

After reading the passage, I looked up into her wide, round eyes and instinct made it clear that she was not to be trusted. Something about the diary threw me off. I held the tablet in my palms and examined it, front and back, hoping it would settle into my grip the way it had when I last used it and spark a memory of Ian, our motive, or provide some details I was lacking. The diary only proved to be another source of frustration and anger. Yet I slipped it into the breast pocket of my hospital gown, pleased to have the physical representation of me and my memories back in my possession.

The beeping from the machine increased, stealing my attention. The only thing running through my mind as a memory was that machine transforming and gripping my wrists. Somehow that computer was linked to the lock on the door. And by the way Mom was watching me, standing guard over me like a vulture, I knew she wouldn't willingly be of help.

She was keeping the truth from me, hiding secrets, and doing things behind my back when she thought I wasn't aware. There was no doubting that now. And in my eyes, those weren't the characteristics of a loving, caring mother.

I needed that door to open. I needed to get out of this room. And the only chance I would have to accomplish that was to bring Dr. Schwartz back in.

I patted my breast pocket for emphasis. "You'd bring my diary but not Ian?" One thing I knew for sure was that if I had kept a diary, I would have hidden it from prying eyes, especially hers. This tablet seemed to be easily accessible to her and that worried me.

But of course, she had an answer for everything. "His caregivers wouldn't allow him to come."

"He didn't send a message?" I shook my head in confusion. "Did he even ask about me or wonder how I am doing?" Looking back over my recent memories, it was her who brought him up. She wanted me to remember him. And now that he was the topic of discussion, she didn't have any answers.

And curiously the answers she did have seemed to derive from my diary, as I recalled her first mention of it after mentioning his name. "He was your boyfriend. Or at least it was thought he was. You never told me about him, but then again you never really told me anything. You mentioned him in your diary though."

"He—" she stuttered.

I lunged forward, grabbing her by the shoulders and digging my fingers into her flesh. "You're lying to me, aren't you?"

"No, let go of me, Jo." She gasped and twisted, trying to break free of my grip. "You need to calm down. You're hurting me."

I allowed my anger to boil, refusing to prevent my emotions from influencing my actions as she's been desperately trying to discourage. The beeping on the monitor increased, but I blocked it out, focusing on her quivering lips. Without a second thought, I shook her and demanded, "Open the door," through clenched teeth.

"I can't do that." The fear in her eyes caused tears to hover on the lids. "Only the doctor can open it. Now let me go."

"I saw you." How could she blatantly lie to me, but most importantly why? I dug my fingers into her flesh, feeling the bony layer beneath. She cried out in pain and I only stopped when I sensed the joint weaken and threaten to snap. "I saw you open the door and leave. Now, let me out."

The fear in her eyes nearly paralyzed me, but the feeling of having lived this moment before instantly washed over me. A vision of gripping her shoulders while demanding action from her entered my mind. In that memory, she screamed back, tears pouring down her face. "Jovial, stop!" she begged just like my memory. "You're hurting me."

I shook the memory out of my mind and released her as she slumped into a pile of sobbing mass on the floor. To find sympathy for her after exposing her lie proved difficult. And although a bit of remorse crept in, I shunned it away, refusing to let it settle.

Time for plan B. I marched to the computer and banged the monitor with my fists. "Wake up, you bastard. Open the door."

"Please step away from the equipment," it chimed in that nauseating robotic voice.

"Wake up, you piece of shit!" I pushed and yanked at the block of metal, trying my best to topple the machine or destroy it in some way. "Come on. What are you waiting for?"

"Your doctor will be in shortly."

The loud beeping increased, doubling in a few short seconds and matching the rate of my heart until it became difficult to distinguish the beeping from the blaring alarms. "Wake up! Wake up!" I demanded, pummeling the screen with the base of my fists.

Finally, the sound of the door clicking open behind me got my attention. Dr Schwartz stood in the doorway. "Ms. Spencer." His tone mismatched the chaos in the atmosphere as he exuded a nonchalant aura. "It would be wise of you not to damage that machine." He took one step over the threshold, entering the room, and the door slowly swung on its hinges, lessening the gap.

Before he could allow the door to completely close and lock, I sprinted toward him, putting all my faith in the regained strength of my legs.

"Stop!" he ordered, bracing himself, but the force of my body knocked him onto the floor. I used the momentum to tumble through the opening and out the door before he could say another word.

Finally, on the other side of the door, my feet carried me down a wide, pristine hall. I barely had enough time to take in the details of my surroundings before turning down another long corridor which led me further along sterile, white walls that radiated under the florescent ceiling lights.

"Ms. Spencer." Dr Schwartz's deep voice echoed from far behind. "It is imperative that you return to your room."

The halls were empty, and the walls were bare which resembled my private room he was urging me to return to. Not even a poster decorated the space. The only detail that stood out as I continued my sprint was the lack of physicians or personnel. 

Surprised that my legs were as strong as they were and not giving up on me, I continued on refusing to look back.

Finally, able to turn a corner, I only paused when a row of doors lining the walls of the corridor greeted me. My first instinct was to enter one to hide. To find a place to tuck away just in case Dr. Schwartz, Mom or that damn monitor machine was on my tail.

I wouldn't allow them to bound and restrain me again. I couldn't let them sedate me for who knows how long or examine me for god knows what.

My fingertips touched the lever of the nearest door, surprisingly it turned. I pushed the door open with ease, slid inside the dimly lit room and closed it behind me. I listened to the sound of heavy footsteps and commotion outside of the door as the booted footfalls came and went.

My name echoed down the empty corridors as they exited from Mom's lips. "Jo? Please, Jo." She had been following me and by the sound of her voice, she was close.

Dr. Schwartz's particular deep and dispassionate tone followed her as they called one after the other, "Jovial? You must come back. It is in your best interest to return to your room."

"Yes, honey," Mom chimed. "We're just trying to help you. Please."

In trying to remain silent, I slowly backed away from the door and pivoted, getting a glimpse of the contents of the room. A dozen of identical computer monitors were arranged side by side in the center of the large space, their jumping green lines and numbers danced on the screens. I wanted to follow the cords and cables to assess where they led or what they were keeping track of but there weren't any visible. Were they being powered by some sort of battery?

The room was dark, besides the glow from the monitors and small lights above them that focused a soft beam toward the edge of the room. When I followed the beam, my eyes settled and adjusted. My jaw dropped, and I brought my hand to my mouth to capture my gasp.

Obscure in the shadows aligning the wall, were the unconscious bodies of a dozen males of various height, weight, skin tone, and age. Their naked bodies were arranged upright along each wall as if they were a decorative part of the room's aesthetic. Two large straps positioned over their chest and thighs secured them in place as they rested their uncovered posterior against a slab of metal that looked similar to a vertical bed, reminding me of the one I had initially awakened on.

Were these people also in deep sleep? Were the monitors calculating their stint and remotely keeping track of their vitals? One of the bodies, a tall dark man with large muscles and a slim waist convulsed before going still again, and one of the monitors beeped in conjunction, startling me.

Questions about who these people were and how they were being so closely monitored entered my mind. I moved closer to the computer with the most activity on screen. I attempted to read the numbers and lines and make sense out of what I suspected were heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen intake, and even breaths per minute.

An eeriness crept over me as Dr. Schwartz's voice radiated down the halls, along with the sounds of adjacent doors in the hall opening and closing.

I watched the slumbering man's subtle twitches and how they correlated with the spikes in numbers on the screen. They were definitely being monitored remotely, but how? Were they implanted with something that kept track of that information?

At that thought, I pressed my palm against my stomach anticipating another flutter.

As the commotion of footsteps, doors opening and closing, and the occasional shout of my name echoed outside of the room, my eyes scanned the other unconscious males aligning the walls and stopped on the smallest one. The boy who looked to be not a day older than ten years old.

~~~

How do you feel and what are your thoughts on the latest revelations?