sheets back and swung my legs over the side. They felt good on the ground. It made me feel more stable than I’d felt since Noah’s hand had held mine.
Noah’s hand . . . I longed for it. For something to make me feel less alone. I grabbed my drip bag, attached it to the steel pole then wheeled the pole with me. Wait . . . how did I know how to do that? I turned and eyed the drip, feeling as if a memory was about to come to me, only it didn’t. I hobbled to the door and pushed it open. The corridor that ran to my left and right was long, cold-looking and empty and . . .
Blood!
Someone covered in blood.
I jerked my head back as something, a memory, a little flash of an image, came back to me. I tried to hold onto it, but it fluttered away like a butterfly being pulled by the wind. The corridor was deserted, and yet I felt too terrified to walk out into it. I pulled the door closed and rushed to the other side of the room. I went to the chair that my clothes were on and picked up the watch that lay on top. The screen lit up. At least I would be able to tell the time now. I slipped the watch back on and the familiarity of the band around my arm made me feel better. I made my way back to the bed and climbed in.
CHAPTER 7
I couldn’t sleep. No matter how hard I tried. I sat up in bed and looked around the room. Feelings like broken, sharp shards of glass, flew at me from all directions. I turned my head and looked at the shiny white basin in the corner. The drip, drip, drip of water, the repetitive motion and sound, pulling on something so deep inside me. A partial fragment of a whiff of a maybe-memory started to come back.
Blood, someone covered in blood.
The image hit me again, and again, and again. I turned my head to the other side and stared at the empty chair. It looked like it was waiting for someone to sit in it. Who? Another almost-memory fluttered into my brain, still out of my grasp, but this time so visceral, so real, that it made my skin crawl. I was cold. I pulled the blanket towards myself; the feeling of the hard-pressed cotton dragging over my skin was not comforting.
I looked at the window, and even though it was dark outside I could see he was there. My dove friend.
“Hey!” I sat up in bed and flicked the light on.
One tap!
He was talking to me again!
“I’m glad you’re back.” I looked around my room. Another plate of food seemed to have appeared and I pulled the lid off.
“You hungry?” I asked.
One tap!
I picked up the sandwich and climbed out of bed slowly, putting my drip bag onto the pole once more. I took a step towards the window and he didn’t look like was going to fly off. I walked closer.
“I’m just going to open this and give this to you, okay?” I asked, and almost jumped up and down with happiness when he tapped three times, as if excited to meet me.
I reached for the window and pulled, but it didn’t move. I pulled again, and again, and when I pulled even harder and it still didn’t move, I stumbled backwards, shaking my head.
“It doesn’t open. It doesn’t open, it doesn’t . . .” I stuttered over the words and grabbed onto the table to steady myself. I was trapped here, in a room with windows that didn’t open and, on the other side of me, a terrifying corridor . . .
“Shit!” I dug my fingers into the table as I felt the floor spin. I needed air. Real air. Not this recycled room air. I felt trapped. Caged. A memory of a zoo and a sad black-and-white panda sitting behind steel bars hit me all at once, making me want to cry. I reached for the window and pulled one last time, hoping that by some miracle it would open. It didn’t.
The toothbrush! I reached for it and rushed to the window. How did I know how to do this? How did I know that if you slipped the back of a toothbrush into the mechanism at the top and pushed it to the left, a latch lifted and it opened? How