Chapter 21
Ashley could barely move her arms. They felt as if they hadn’t been worked in weeks.
Her mind was clear though. And her thoughts raced trying to figure out how she got here. She wondered whether the creatures had even attacked.
Where were Jeff, Laura, and Pixie?
She looked for a call-button for a nurse or doctor, someone to explain her situation. To her right was a nightstand where a folded white towel lay with a black Bible on top. Nothing resembled a call button. To her left was only the computer and IV drip.
She reached up to scratch her cheek, and her arm stopped part-way. Why was this so hard? She looked down. Her right wrist was handcuffed to the bed frame.
Why? Just what kind of hospital restrained patients to beds? She wasn’t a criminal. She had done nothing wrong.
She found that her left hand had no cuff and was able to scratch her right cheek well enough. She was left-handed anyways. It was better that they had cuffed her weaker, right wrist.
Her eyes became a little clearer. She looked over to the other patient on the bed by the window. “Hey,” she cried, but it came out just as a whisper. She tried louder and only managed scratchy noises.
The man didn’t move.
With her fingers, she cleared out some of her crusty eye boogers, then rubbed her itchy, dry eyes.
She pulled off her covers and found she wore a light blue gown. Her legs were strapped down to the bed. Why? She didn’t like being confined. She would have never consented to this. Was she in danger of running out of here before her treatment ended? With her free hand, she undid the strap on her legs.
She wiggled her right arm, testing the cuffs. They jiggled but remained locked. She pulled up with her right arm and pushed down on the metal band with her left hand. The cuff slipped a little ways. She struggled to make her fingers of her right hand come together to shrink its width, sliding the band half-way over. With several more hard pushes, it fell to the bed.
These people hadn’t anticipated the strengths of a skinny teenage girl. She smiled to herself, while rubbing her sore wrist.
She hated captivity.
After visiting the cats and dogs in small cages at the animal shelter a year ago, her heart ached for weeks. Each animal not adopted would be euthanized in two-weeks after entering the facility. It was sanctioned murder. She wanted to take all of them home, but of course she couldn’t. Mom wouldn’t even let her take one, telling Ashley that she already consumes too much money without an animal to add to it.
Mom allowed her to keep Pixie only because she refused to let him go. When Mom threatened to take him when Ashley slept, Ashley stayed awake all night. The next day she pleaded with her mother, saying that she would pay for his food and care for him herself.
Thinking about animal shelters now was very troubling to Ashley. These places were supposed to be safe havens for animals. Hence, the name shelter. Instead, they were like Nazi concentration camps. Ashley knew she would have to work in a career to offer alternatives to these failed attempts of humanitarianism.
With some effort she sat up on the hospital bed, rubbed her eyes more thoroughly, and looked at the occupant on the other bed. She could see the man clearly now. But she didn’t recognize him. He had a brown beard and stringy brown hair down to his shoulders. His arms lay above the blanket, and they were sculpted with muscles. His eyes were closed.
“Hey you,” she said, regaining some of her voice.
Not a stir. He seemed to be fast asleep. He was set up with a similar type of arrangement, the IV drip and computer beside his bed to his right.
She pulled out the IV needle from her arm. She wasn’t going to be medicated with anything until someone explained to her why she was held captive and what the medication was for.
She tested her legs on the floor and found that on the third try, she was able to hold her weight. Walking was more difficult, but she made it to the bedside of the man after several tipsy episodes.
Ashley touched his left arm. It was cool. The air conditioning in the room had probably made it so.
She shook him. He jiggled in the bed, but remained fast asleep.
He was not handcuffed to his bed frame. Why wasn’t he handcuffed? He appeared to be a large, muscular man, who could do more damage than herself if he were awake. Why handcuff a skinny fourteen-year-old girl and not a giant man?
Just then, she heard footsteps coming from down the hall of the open doorway. They were rapid as though running, and they were getting closer. Maybe she could get some answers, but maybe she shouldn’t ask. She didn’t want to get strapped down and handcuffed again.
They were getting closer.…
She had to make a decision quickly. Where could she hide? The room was bare. No furniture for visitors to sit on and relax. She couldn’t even hide under the beds because they were too high. A bathroom was near the entrance. But after discovering her escape from the bed, they would surely check there next.
Clap, clap, clap, clap. The footsteps were coming closer.
There was another door that was closed near the foot of the beds. It might be locked.
She tried it … and it opened. Yes. She entered and closed the door just in time.
From behind it, she heard people talking.
“Where the hell did she go?” a man growled.
“Damn it!” a woman answered. “Malik is going to have a fit.”
“We need more staff at night. We can’t be expected to do everything.”
Ashley heard one of them open the bathroom door. She looked at the doorknob still firmly in her grasp. It included a pushbutton lock. She slowly pushed this with her index finger, hoping it wouldn’t make any noise.
There was a small click as it engaged—
—and it was just in time, as the knob rattled in her hand from someone trying it on the other side, causing her to start back and quietly gasp.
She didn’t think the lock would stop them for long though.
She walked through the room—running would have caused her unsteady legs to fail—heard the lock behind her disengage, and turned into the bright hallway just before footsteps slapped into the room. She passed five doors before entering the sixth. She wasn’t sure why she chose that room. It just felt right. There were two beds, empty though, with a similar arrangement as her room. She went into the bathroom and sat down on the ledge of the shower to hide.
She didn’t know how long she could keep this cat and mouse game up. Sooner or later, they would find her fleeing one room to another.
Behind her, in the damp darkness, a whisper tingled down her neck, curling her spine: “Aasshhleey.”