“Je-essss!”
The call competed with the hard rain beating against the various pieces of stained glass scattered about my house. I groaned and rolled over, my eyes settling on the light colored wood-paneling behind my alarm clock. Reaching for the glasses on my bedside, I noticed the rouge-colored seizure emanating from the rather angry timepiece.
“Oh my God, Jess! We’re gonna’ be late!”
“Thomas, I’m coming!” I yelled down the stairs, unceremoniously shoving my glasses onto my face and rooting around my room for wearable clothes.
“Every day!” My brother groaned, the sound barely echoing up the spiral stairs.
Lightning flashed, suddenly illuminating the house in a flash of white. Soon after, a crash of thunder shook the building, toppling over my bedside table.
“You okay?” Called Thomas from downstairs.
“Yeah! Just a table!”
“Come on then!”
“Hold on!” I yelled, still hurriedly brushing my teeth.
“20!”
“Oh my God, Thomasssss!”
“19!”
I raced around my room and frantically grabbed everything I needed for school, my adventure periodically illuminated by flashes of lightning.
“18!”
“I’m finding shoes!”
“..16!”
“I’m coming!” I yelled, flying down the dark, winding staircase.
“..15!”
I sprang awake, my pitch black hair matted to my forehead with sweat. High vaulted ceilings sprawled above my head, decorated in meticulously arranged string lights.
“Jessica, honey. Are you okay?”
A middle-aged woman bent over my bedside, her equally dark hair cascading over her shoulders and down the front of a muted blue tank-top.
“Jess, are you okay?”
I looked around the room, blinded by the sheer whiteness of it. The place was absolutely spotless, not a single thing out of place.
“Jess?”
I looked up and stared into the bottomless blue eyes of the woman. She was absolutely stunning, her only imperfection a small ash smudge on her cheek.
“Who are you?” I asked, honestly confused.
“Um, last I checked, I was your mother.” She laughed.
Lightning flashed through the room, closely followed by an earth-shattering clap of thunder.
“Where’s Thomas?” I asked, growing uneasy.
“Thomas?”
“My brother.”
She stopped laughing and grew silent.
“…honey…you’re an only child…”
Thunder rumbled again, filling the bewildered silence like water flooding a dam.
“What?”
She stood up and backed towards the door.
“Jess, you’re scaring me. Please, just get ready for school. We’ve to leave in fifteen minutes.”
“Ms. Harris! This is not your bedroom!”
I jolted awake, opening my eyes to find an entire classroom of snickering high-schoolers staring in my direction. What the hell was going on?
“What?” I mumbled, drowsily attempting to wipe the drool off of my face.
“Excuse me?” Boomed the angry woman, pushing her red, horn-rimmed glasses back up her long snout.
Without warning, her ruler slammed onto my desk not an inch from my hand.
“Any more disrespect and it’ll be your head.” With that, she whipped around and flew back to the front of the class, hurriedly teaching algebra once more.
Boy was I awake now.
“Jess! I can’t believe you said that to The Dragon!” whispered a small red-headed girl on my right.
“What? Who’s the dragon?” I asked, turning in her direction.
“Mrs. Draconis? Jess, you were the one who made up that name, remember?” She half-turned in my direction, still eyeing the angry woman up front.
My mind was completely blank. I had no idea what was real or fantasy anymore. Thunder rumbled uncomfortably in the distance, flashes of lightning illuminating the girl’s face.
“Not in the slightest.” I responded truthfully.
Her face took on a look of worry. Blinking, she gave a half-hearted laugh.
“Jess. You used it yesterday. How long have you been asleep?”
“I have no idea…I-I don’t know where I am, I don’t know who you are, I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t know anything!” I cried, my hands running nervously through my hair.
“…Jess…”
The bell rung, immediately silencing her thoughts.
“Listen, Jess,” She said, hurriedly packing her things and backing towards the door. “I’ve a softball meeting to go to, but l-let’s talk later. I’ll call you, o-okay?”
She turned to run towards the door, a wild fear in her eyes. Her auburn hair flew back, revealing a grey ash smudge on her cheek.
“Yoooo!” Yelled a boy in a varsity jacket. “Marie Nichols! Number 15! Our savior!”
A drop of rain fell on my nose, then another, then another. Soon, I could feel the effects of a complete downpour. I opened my eyes to find myself lying flat on my back, gazing up at the raging storm above. Charred walls and falling pieces of ceiling stretched upwards, their ruins giving me an almost knowing stare. Old family portraits lay cracked and blackened on the floor, the walls a sad recollection of memories lost.
A horrified awe swept through my head as I fought the ever-present rain to inspect what was left of the tragedy. Ruined pictures smiled up at me, instilling a sense of guilt that couldn’t be placed.
What the hell was going on?
“Fifteen!”
The noise echoed through the house without any true direction. I whirled every which way trying to find the source of the call without avail.
“Fifteen!” It came again, no less confusing than the last.
“What is going on?!” I screamed, falling to my knees in frustration. “What do you want from me?!”
“Patient 15! Can you hear me?”
Conversation echoed around my consciousness, bouncing about in the darkness.
“Is she awake?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Patient 15!”
I opened my eyes, greeted suddenly by the harsh LED lights flashing in my eyes. A bucket of water was thrown in my face, drenching an already soaked hospital gown. Wincing, I turned my head away from the source of the annoyance.
“There she is. Okay, here’s her file.”
“I’m sorry, what’s going on?” I asked, but the only sounds were the words of the lab-coated people.
I screamed, but there was nothing.
What was going on?
“…so she likes art?”
“Yes ma’am, she draws one of these pictures every day.”
Behind the four lay a wall absolutely covered in drawings. The cracked plaster was littered with pictures of people and creatures, horrifying and beautiful. In the center was a fiery red dragon, surrounded by images of flame and misery.
“These three in the middle, their identities are known, right?”
“Yes. The first, her brother Thomas, was found dead at age 10…about the time the patient was 7.”
“Cause of death?”
“Blunt force trauma; he was found in a pool of his own blood at the bottom of their staircase.”
“Pushed?”
“It is now assumed for her to have been the cause, yes.”
“And the other two?”
“Marie Nichols and Lauren Harris, her best friend and her mother. They were burned alive in the Harris residence.”
“Is there concrete evidence that the patient was the cause?”
“She was found in front of the burning house calmly drawing a picture.”
“Of?”
“Sorry?”
“What was the picture of?”
“Her father, ma’am.”
“The file states that the patient’s father had been missing in action 10 years prior. Is there any significance to this drawing?”
“The report states that a freshly pressed shirt of his was found with his death certificate in the center of the burnt house.”
It all came rushing back in a flash of white. Momma had to die...she was too close to Dad. Dad didn’t want her, just me. Everyone was too close, too insignificant, too unworthy. Only me…Dad only loves me.
“Is the patient ready for transport?”
“Yes. Patient number 15, Jessica Albien Harris, preparing for transport to Lincoln Hill Sanatorium.”
Daddy would come for me. He promised.
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