I can hear Rebekah as she quietly opens the door to bring me my "dessert." I don't turn to her; I just sit on my stool, looking straight ahead with unseeing eyes. I feel her draw near, hear her unscrew the cap of the syrup bottle and drip the viscous liquid into a spoon.
I open my mouth instinctively. I try not breathe through my nose as she tips the contents of the spoon down my throat; like many, her old person smell is intolerable.
There goes one spoonful. My vision returns slowly, cloudy and dim at first.
She has to wait ten minutes before the next spoonful, which would dim my thoughts a little. It finally comes. She hurries to do it this time because her pager is going off. She lays down the spoon and rushes out the door to help some other patient. Inmate.
I think about the third spoonful as I wait for her return. I'll be conscious, but not coherent. I won't remember anything of what happens to me in that condition. I saw someone else—my brother, in fact—in the third spoonful state once, on accident. It wasn't pretty.
When she returns, she looks at me and can't decide whether or not she's given me the third dose. I help her in deciding by acting as my brother looked that one time. She's convinced then, so she picks up the bottle and spoon and leaves the room.
I smile. She'll likely be fired for negligence when they go back and watch the surveillance tapes, but I don't feel bad. Anywhere is better than here.
I stand up, slightly dizzy and wobbly on my feet. I test the door handle; she's forgotten to lock it. I grin now. It's time to break away.
--
For the record, I think this might be Jonah. 'Cause he's blind. And he's too cool not to have a little intrigue.
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