Wheel of Fortune Part 2

"Now that I have reached this crucial point

I will not fear the peaceful and wrathful ones,

my own projections."

-The Tibetan Book of the Dead

Wheel of Fortune Part 2

Day 6: Sundown

There was a sickly crunch as Andrew Bellinger’s foot slammed down upon a tiny reddish-brown roach. Lifting his excessively cushioned and blocky white sneaker (or at least it used to be white before fading into a dull yellow), Andrew found that there was no mess to be found on the floor. Seeing this, he set his foot back down and dragged it forcefully. An ugly stain was left behind on the atrium’s waxy floor complete with two translucent antennas that twitched pitifully amongst the splattered remains of the putrid creature.

Andrew had never encountered a roach in his hometown, which happened to be the very same as St. Dymphna’s, but there is no such thing as a nursing home that has not seen the scuttling legs of a cockroach. They could be well maintained and regularly exterminated and mopped every hour on the hour and the little bastards would still seek out the rotting insulation in the walls or the stench of hundreds of old folks- many of whom had long since abandoned any efforts to maintain personal hygiene.

In any case, spotting a roach here or there was no unusual occurrence, though more often than not Andrew found them dead; their black bodies overturned; purplish legs pointed up towards the ceiling. Sometimes they still squirmed in a final discharge of nerve activity much like the antennas of the most recently deceased of their numbers.

Looking up from the squashed corpse, Andrew took in the hustle and bustle of the atrium. Sam was twittering and whistling, the guppies swam aimlessly in their murky habitat, the demented folk rambled about whatever nonsense plagued their broken minds, and the remainder of the residents rolled and stumbled about. A few were gathered in tables playing cards or reminiscing about the old days whilst others sat alone and read magazines or people-watched like Andrew.

It was funny, Andrew thought, how everyone could continue to go about their lives in this manner, knowing that death could very well greet them the next time they laid down to nap. And what would it matter? How silly it was to think that any of it could possibly mean a thing! And even if it did…who would be there to remember it? Not the demented ones surely. They couldn’t even remember what they had for breakfast that morning let alone what pleasant times they had in their youth. Hell, some of them couldn’t recognize their wives even if they kissed them on lips.

It is an awful torture for one to come to this conclusion that all of the good times will one day be forgotten and- in most cases- replaced with fear and confusion. Andrew wondered if perhaps humans were never meant to live this long. Sure we could expand the life of our bodies significantly with a varied smorgasbord of pills and needles, but science has yet to rejuvenate the mind with the same level of success. One day in the far future it could be possible, of course, but there is no doubt that that is safely beyond the reach of man for the time being. After all, humanity can barely grasp the outer reaches of psychology and neuroscience…never mind preserving a mind indefinitely.

And so, Andrew sat there, vainly attempting to search for answers where there were none. Part of him wished he had died 10 years prior when the decline of his mental state had not yet begun. Or what if he had been shot through the head in his youth by some mugger? Would that be preferable, in a way, to this? It was not like he could even recall more than hazy snapshots of his young adulthood at the present. What a frustrating and roundabout way of thinking this was! It reduced the experience of life to something less than a dream. A prison where all was mind, and nothing is matter.

More bodies began to trickle into the atrium now that lunchtime was approaching. Andrew watched Charlie, Jack, Freddie, and Debra roll and walk to their favorite table. He was about to join them in conversation but found that he could not move a muscle in their direction. Instead, he opted to observe them from a distance. He saw their jaws move up and down, their brows wrinkling, and Charlie’s hands gesturing as he talked- he was quite expressive whenever he spoke.

Debra looked to be distracted however, and no amount of hand waving could pull her back into the conversation. She cast a wistful look across the atrium and her eyes fell upon Andrew after a moment’s search. Her gaze immediately fell to the floor, but then rose once more as steady as ever. There was a deep curiosity in those pupils, Andrew could tell that much from all the way across the room and his vision was somewhat indistinct even with his glasses on.

Before long, Charlie noticed Debra was not paying attention and turned to see where her eyes were fixed. “Is that Andy?” Andrew could see him mouth. She nodded and Charlie proceeded to wave Andrew over with enthusiasm, though his eyes betrayed a look of bewilderment.

Andrew rolled himself forward towards the table. A smile threatened to break free from his mind and unfurled across his lips, but he held it in. Soon he reached the table and assumed his usual spot.

“Hey Andy, a little shy today?” Charlie joked.

“No, it’s just…well…I remember…” Andrew blurted.

Debra’s eyes were shining with a mixture of hope and apprehension. She locked eyes with him and saw that they were not shrouded by their usual uncertainty.

“What do you remember, Andy?” Debra asked.

“I remember that you’re my wife. And that I forget things…”

The entire table was overcome with surprise; eyebrows raising and mouths gaping.

“Jesus, Andy you know how long she’s been waiting for you to say that on your own?” Charlie said, overjoyed.

“No,” Andrew said, “Nor do I ever want to know. The important thing is that I remember right now, and I hope to god that I will tomorrow.”

“How much do you remember exactly?” Debra probed.

“Enough, I guess. I remember being stressed out after a phone call with my daughter…our daughter. And then you came into my room. We kissed, and then it hit me. I remembered we went to the beach and a few other fragments here and there. Then you explained a few things to me and told me how I would only be lucid for a little while.”

“Oh my god you really do remember! That’s…well that’s…” She tried to complete her thought but was quickly overcome with emotion.

“It’s feels amazing. I feel like I’m in control again. Still a bit confused, but I’m not afraid anymore now that I have you.”

Andrew reached out and grabbed her hand which had been resting on the table and squeezed it lightly. It felt as though all the planets and stars had aligned for this exact moment and yet he could not shake the feeling that there was still something terribly off about his entire situation. He said he was not afraid; those words had exited his lips, and yet a nagging terror threatened to overcome him.

He had a wife whom he loved dearly; he knew that now. But who was she? What tender moments had they shared in the past and were now lost to time and memory? How long had he truly been in this wretched nursing home? Why did it have to smell like rotten horse shit at all hours of the day!? These were questions that haunted Andrew in his current state of enlightenment.

“You have no idea how happy I am!” Debra said warmly, “I’m sure you have a few questions still, but we’ll get to all of that soon. Maybe I can jog your memory a bit more?”

And so she did. Or tried too at least. Debra painted a picture of a world that was nothing but a few scattered and sun-bleached puzzle pieces to Andrew. Memory upon nonsensical memory of weddings and funerals, beach dates and camping trips, great achievements, and great failures. This conversation did not last long, for as much as Debra wished to push and stretch her husband’s memory as far it could handle, she feared that it would snap like a rubber band and throw him into a state of agitation.

“Well,” She began wistfully, “Enough of that for now. Why don’t we just focus on the present moment? Lunch should be around soon.”

“Hold on just a minute. I want to know about my daughter. I remember her dropping me off. And I can remember a few details about our relationship…some of it wasn’t all that great, was it?”

Debra avoided Andrew’s gaze and said, “You both had your moments like any father and daughter. There were a few rough years especially as you got older…but that was around when your memory began to degrade.”

Andrew frowned, “Okay. But she’s still mad isn’t she? She put me here. She put us here to die. And you…look at you! Up and moving around! Young as can be! There’s no reason for you to be here, Debbie.”

Debra sighed, “Maybe not. I didn’t want to leave you on your own though. You needed the extra assistance that our daughter couldn’t provide, and I needed to make sure that you were not entirely alone in this world. That would be a terrible thing.”

Andrew nodded and felt his eyes stinging slightly. He recalled the dreaded isolation of this past week. He could talk to the bird, he could look at the fish, but what did he have in the way of family or friends? During those days he was nothing more than the hollow cutout of a human being.

“She doesn’t call. She said she does, but she doesn’t does she?” Andrew asked.

“She does. Sometimes she loses her patience, but she always calls.”

Andrew nodded again. She calls, he thought. She calls and I can’t even remember it. He was about to suffer another bout of mental anguish over this realization but managed to reel himself back from the depths of his anxiety. He may be confused, but at the very least he was aware of his condition and that alleviated his suffering if only slightly. Not to mention he was far more lucid now that he was a few days ago. That had to be an indicator that his condition was improving and, in time, perhaps he would be able to recover even more of his memory.

“Here comes the food!” Freddy boomed, his eyes alight with hunger.

Andrew noticed a brief expression of relief wash over Debra now that their line of questioning had been broken. He felt guilty for having put so much pressure on his wife in such a short amount of time. If he deserved answers, then she deserved peace; and it was for that reason that Andrew abstained from probing her further.

The food carts came out and the kitchen staff began to deliver trays of steaming meat, vegetables, and soup. The smell incited an intense hunger within Andrew’s shrunken stomach. His appetite had been awful lately and he was beginning to notice that his body was taking a toll. Each day his face appeared a bit gaunter than the one before it and his ribs pushed further out against his shriveled skin. A few more days and he’d be a walking nightmare. An emaciated gremlin that belonged in the frozen crags of some barren mountain range, shuffling along on bony feet and sucking blood from the carcasses of rotting beasts.

But on a tray sitting before Andrew was deliverance from this fate. Was it tasty? Of course not, but to a hungry man as he, anything would suffice. He chowed down on his food with a mad gleam in his eyes, hardly tasting it.

“You were hungry huh, Andy?” Freddie asked, a bemused look on his bony face.

“Yeah, I feel like I don’t eat much these days and when I do, I’m never full. Guess it’s just being in a new environment or something, but who knows?”

Freddie cackled a bit, although Andrew failed to see what was so funny.

“Well, if you’d care to have my meat I wouldn’t mind. I’m not much a fan of it myself,” Freddie offered. He forked the ugly slab of meat on his plate and raised it off his plate.

The meat was a purplish brown with splotches of tan and covered in a thick gravy. The sight of it made Andrew’s stomach curl, but he could not deny his hunger. He thanked Freddie and took the meat, slicing it into small pieces to make it easier on the few real teeth he had remaining. Once again, he ate quickly in a vain attempt to avoid the taste, but it caught up to him before he could finish the last few bites.

Almost gagging, he sputtered, “Jesus this is terrible! Are they trying to poison us?”

“Here, have something more to drink to wash it down,” Charlie said, holding out his plastic cup of orange juice for Andrew to receive.

Andrew grabbed the cup and gratefully gulped it down in large swallows. It was only when he was halfway done drinking that he once again realized something was off. The liquid had little flavor and was oddly textured with grainy bits of sediment.

Looking into the cup, Andrew could see that it was filled with what appeared to be cloudy grayish water. He swallowed the remainder of the water in his mouth but coughed forcefully as the liquid irritated his throat and tongue.

“What the hell is going on here!” Andrew boomed. Flecks of spittle flew from his gaping mouth.

Alarmed Debra looked fearfully at her husband and tried to decipher what had troubled him.

“Are you alright, honey?” She asked with alarm.

Andrew shook his head vigorously, “No! This juice…it’s contaminated or something. Take a look…argghh!”

Andrew tilted the cup towards Debra so she could get a proper look inside. Gently, she removed the cup from Andrew’s hand, examined it thoroughly, and gave it a sniff.

“What’re you two trying to kill me?” Andrew directed at Charlie and Freddie who sat watching the commotion with bewildered expressions on their faces.

“Oh, c’mon don’t play dumb with me now! What the hell is wrong with you both? It’s like that goddamn BINGO game all over again!”

“Andy Andy, calm down!” Debra implored.

To help settle him down further she tilted the glass against her lips and downed the juice without so much as a grimace. Andrew was confused as usual, but perhaps he had learned a bit from his past outbursts. Ranting on and on never got him anywhere, it merely brought more agitation.

“The orange juice tastes fine too me. Sure, it could use less pulp and more sugar, but it isn’t poison I can tell you that. Your taste buds must not be working as well as they did in your youth…which is for the best when you’re in here.”

Andrew considered that for a moment, “Are you…? Taste buds not working? No no no…could this be some kind of a…a hallucination?”

His tone was hurried and low and concern was visibly etched into his brow. Bitterly, he recalled a few painful and jumbled memories from his time at the nursing home. All of the little inconsistencies and torments that seemed so frightfully out of place. Was it truly just his addling mind? Or could this have just been a slight overreaction? A misinterpretation by the brain prompted by the awful taste of the meat tainting his palette.

Debra reached her hand out to Andrew and he took it, “Don’t worry about that honey. It’s just your taste buds…you’re getting old. But please don’t work yourself up; it’s alright.”

A pensive look crossed Andrew’s face, and then quickly dissolved into one of comfort. He felt his wife’s hand; so small, so warm, a bit moist with sweat. It did not take long at all for his anxieties to melt away into nothingness, with that little hand resting in his. Before long he had entirely forgotten what had made him so upset in the first place and their conversations went on like normal.

They talked about sports, the weather, the facility, other residents, and anything else that came to mind. At some point Charlie got riled up and suggested that they demand the staff to let them go outside. Sorry, guys but it’s stifling out there. You’d pass out before you made it ten feet out the door. Charlie wasn’t happy with that answer, of course. He whipped out a cigar and a rusty old Zippo and threatened to light up right there in the atrium if they didn’t let him go. A short confrontation ensued, and it took Debra’s cool wit to finally convince Charlie to give in. He was disgruntled afterwards but accepted his fate in the end. Andrew had kept relatively quiet throughout this whole exchange, knowing that any complaints would be futile.

The group played cards for a couple of hours to lighten the mood. Andrew won the first two games effortlessly in spite of being mediocre at card games. The worst part was that he barely understood the rules, and after winning, he could not for the life of him figure out why. Unsettled but afraid to dampen the mood of his friends, he politely decided to spectate the later games which proved to be much more fun and carefree.

Time passed quickly and before long they were eating dinner together. This time it was lasagna, watery vegetables, a piece of bread, and hot tea. Andrew ate little in spite of the fact that his hunger had returned with a renewed fervor. A lingering fear subsisted in the back of his mind that he would taste that same foul meat hiding somewhere in the lasagna. The thought alone was enough to make his stomach churn.

Once the table had eaten their fill and the trays were removed, Andrew decided that he had spent enough time with his companions for one day. He touched Debra’s hand to get her attention before departing.

“I think I’m going to head back to my room now Deb; I’m feeling a bit tired. See you tomorrow?” He said, smiling meekly.

Debra looked a bit concerned, knowing that each engagement with her husband could very well be her last and the following engagement his first.

“Okay, honey get your rest. Remember, I told you I have a doctor’s appointment early tomorrow morning? You’ll see me in the evening, but I wouldn’t count on any earlier…you know how it is…”

But, of course, Andrew had no idea how it was, nor did he remember Debra ever telling him about such an appointment. Perhaps, he thought, she had divulged such information to him at some point before his lucidity began to return. If that was the case, he feared asking her what the appointment was for out of sheer embarrassment, instead answering with a simple: “Oh yes that’s right. Good luck, okay?”

The pair said their goodbyes once more and gave each other a short peck on the lips. Then Andrew bid farewell to his other friends before wheeling himself off to room #119. He entered, sat down in the chair by his bed and opened up a half-eaten box of animal crackers that was sitting in a pile of similar boxes and snacks in the corner of the room. He hated animal crackers but was grateful for those giraffe and elephant shaped little bastards on this particular evening.

Before he had finished even three of the crackers, Petero rapped at the door and walked in, pulling along his medicine cart.

“It’s party time once again Mr. Bell! And what kind of party doesn’t have pills? Not one I’d want to go to that’s for sure,” Petero joked.

Mr. Bellinger looked up disdainfully from his box of animal crackers. That voice never failed to boil his blood.

“Jeez, always so glum? Can’t take a joke without looking at me like I just gave you an enema…which isn’t off the table might I add.”

“Aren’t you in a silly mood tonight?” Andrew responded, flinching.

“Eh? It’s just one of those days, I guess. At any rate, the doc cleared your new meds so there’s two extra in there,” Petero explained as he handed a Styrofoam cup full of pills to Andrew.

Peering inside, Andrew could see his normal nighttime medications plus two chalky tablets. They were a sickening pink color, reminding Andrew vaguely of the Pepto Bismol he used to choke down as a child. He presumed these new pills would taste just as appalling as that poison bubblegum-flavored liquid.

Petero fixed Andrew a glass of water and watched him down the pills one by one. Normally he just handed a resident’s meds off and left to the next room, but he seemed to take pleasure in watching Andrew consume the new pills.

“Atta boy, Mr. Bellinger. I’ll see you tomorrow for the usual song and dance,” And with that final comment he left the room.

After the door shut, Andrew rose from his chair with a great effort and headed for the bathroom to wash the foul taste of the new pink pills from his mouth. He removed his dentures and set them in their case and brushed his few remaining teeth. Even in his youth he had always been a stickler for dental hygiene, but as of late they seemed to be deteriorating much more rapidly, getting yellow and at times throbbing. He tried his best to take care of himself, but aging was a formidable enemy.

Not wishing to hang around in front of the bathroom mirror for too long, Andrew hastily finished up in the bathroom and walked back out into his bedroom. Given that it was already growing quite dark, and he was having trouble seeing, he changed into his pajamas and settled into bed.

His eyes scanned the ceiling from left to right in search of a crack that was not there; then they settled on that familiar photograph. The same song and dance, he thought bitterly. Each day blended into one another…numbering them or his meals had become meaningless. And they always ended in the same place: his hospital bed, mulling over dusty memories that were more dust than memory as of late.

There was only one glimmer of hope in his life, shining somewhere through the dull brownish haze of meds, wheelchairs, and television. That hope, of course, was his newly rediscovered wife. He felt strangely about her. How could he not when she was both a stranger and his closest companion? Staring into the unfocused outline of that beach photo, he tried to piece together in his mind what they had done that day. He thought long and hard but came up hopelessly empty. No matter how deep into his thoughts he dug…no matter how tightly he grasped for memories, they slipped between his fingers. Slipped like tiny grains of sand blown in the wind and cast out to sea.

Andrew closed his eyes and let the thought of dark ocean waves wash his mind away. His dreams were normally colorless, barren, and incoherent these days, but this one had an uncharacteristic familiarity to it. He found himself in a dimly lit house that stirred a terrible longing within him. Everything felt real and vivid: the fireplace, the bay windows and their blue drapes, the smell of polished wood, aging carpets, and the decadent wallpaper.

There was a party of some kind going on in the house. Lots of blurred faces with names that danced on the tip of Andrew’s tongue but could not leave it. One of these individuals stumbled right up to him with two champagne glasses in his hands. This man’s face was blurry and out of focus. There were no eyes, nose, nor mouth; nothing to distinguish him from the crowd around him. Still, it was a dream, and in the dream, Andrew seemed to know exactly who this man was and was not the least concerned with his indistinct features.

“Andy, buddy how ya doing over there?” He slurred.

“Hey! Not bad, it’s been quite the night hasn’t it?” Andrew answered cheerfully.

“Well how ‘bout another drink with me, huh? Got one for ya right here!”

One of the glasses was thrust into his hands. He felt as though he had already had a fair amount to drink, but clinked glasses with the faceless man and downed it anyway.

“Jesus was that vodka?” Andrew laughed uproariously. He had been too drunk and senseless to take a good look at the liquid before putting it in his mouth.

“What’d you expect champagne? Fuuuck champagne! I don’t care that it’s the new year I’m not drinking that bubbly garbage!”

“Yeah it’s not my favorite either; it’s just that I’ve gotta take Deb home pretty soon. Where is she anyhow? I feel like I haven’t seen her since the ball dropped?”

“Heck if I know. I hardly know where the hell I am anymore!” The man said, clapping a hand on Andrew’s shoulder, “But I’m sure she’s around here somewhere. Anyhow looks like a lot of folks are leaving now…I’d better see em’ off!”

The man disappeared into the thinning crowd of party goers, leaving Andrew standing uncertainly amidst the commotion. Suddenly, he heard a ghostly sound wafting through the turbulent air. There was a piano plinking out a classical piece somewhere in the house.

“Deb…” Andrew whispered under his breath.

He wadded his way through the sea of faceless figures, following his ears closer to the source of the music. Andrew opened many doors and staggered through several bizarre rooms and corridors on his journey. Many of these rooms felt familiar, but none familiar enough to be titled.

Eventually he ended up in another living room. There were a handful of onlookers, staring without eyes at the woman who was seated on the piano bench, but they slowly faded into a misty oblivion as Andrew approached his wife. He stood and watched her play, which had been a favorite pastime of his in a bygone age of his life. He loved how her eyes shone with concentration, how her fingers glided delicately and precisely across the keys, and how her posture became rigid as though there was an intense power brewing somewhere in her spine that could only escape through her hands.

After surveying her for what felt like a minute, Andrew put a hand on her shoulder and kissed the side of her head. Her fingers froze in place, striking out a final chord and holding it waveringly. She didn’t look at her husband. Her face was icy; bordering on the indistinct look of everyone else Andrew had come across that evening.

“That was beautiful, honey,” Andrew spoke softly.

“Moonlight Sonata…first movement,” She said. Her voice sounded thin and lifeless.

There was a moment of silence that hung heavily in the air.

“Do you think we should head home now? It’s getting late.”

As soon as the word ‘home’ left Andrew’s lips, Debra’s face took on a bluish, stony complexion. There was a fearful look in her eyes, much like that of a prey animal that had just become aware of a predator stalking it.

“Home…” She trembled, “We can’t go back there.”

Andrew drew in closer to his wife, holding both her shoulders now.

“What do you mean, Deb? We can always go home. Whenever we’d like to…” Andrew’s voice was nearly a whisper.

“No. You can’t go back home. And we can’t go outside, Andy. It’s too hot, remember?”

Andrew stumbled backwards from his wife, energized by a jolt of pure terror. He turned around, having sensed the presence of someone else in the room. It was Petero, standing with a martini glass in his hand, chuckling to himself.

“What’s so goddamn funny, hmm?” Andrew raged.

“Don’t get angry at me, Mr. Bell; like I said: It’s too hot out there. You’re not ready to go outside just yet, bud,” Petero taunted.

He raised his glass and added, “Cheers!” before downing the liquid inside. Only it wasn’t only liquid in there, Andrew could see. There were pills floating in the alcohol. Little pink chalky pills bobbing up and down like demented sail boats in a sea of vodka.

“This isn’t right!” Andrew shouted, regaining a shred of lucidity, “This isn’t right! Deb we need to leave right now. We need to go home…”

But Deb was frozen to her piano, statuesque and bluish. Struck by terror, Andrew turned from his wife and headed out the door from which he had come, finding that it opened into the house’s front yard. He could see his car parked down the dark foggy street. He couldn’t remember the model or color, but he knew that it was his, and upon seeing it he ran as fast as his legs could carry him. The air was dreadfully cold and the night suffocatingly black save for the few dim streetlamps that cast a hazy illumination over the cracked concrete.

Andrew kept running and running, closing the gap between him and his vehicle. He was mere feet away from it when a blinding light filled his vision. There was the sound of a car horn blaring, a screeching of tires, a crash. It all happened so fast, and before Andrew could piece together what had happened, he awoke from this nightmare.

Confused and dripping with sweat, Andrew frantically squirmed around, trying to figure out where he was. His heart was pounding erratically like a hailstorm against a tin roof and his back throbbed with pain.

Flash! The dreadful bulbs of a set of headlights filled his vision once more. His hand went to the car horn, bearing down on it. An awful crunch of plastic and metal and then the sound of whooshing flames.

“Oh god no…oh please…” He begged, covering his eyes and trembling. The horn kept blaring for what felt like minutes, but then it stopped, and Andrew felt his heart begin to quiet. Looking around the room he felt a dull familiarity wash over him mixed in with subtle confusion. He wasn’t in bed, strangely, but he was in his room; lying on the floor in a tangle of sheets and blankets.

Andrew gulped down a few deep breaths. His mouth was dry. So dry. He stretched his arm upwards in an attempt to reach the mug of tap water he always kept on his bedside table, but he was unable to secure it. He tried to sit up, but the pain in his back was too great to allow for such a movement. Instead, he laid on the cold floor in agony and tried to find his call button. Whether it was hanging from the bed or lying on the floor he could not tell for it was far too dark for him to see.

By some miracle, however, he managed to find it by grappling around aimlessly in the darkness. He put his thumb to the button and pressed it multiple times in a frenzy of anguish. Although he was too far from the nursing station to hear it, he imagined the sound of the telephone at the desk ringing over and over.

It was perhaps only a couple of minutes before someone decided to pick up the phone, but to Andrew it may as well have been a lifetime. He heard the speaker crackle and then a click.

Frustrated and in disbelief he tried again. And again. And again. Always the speaker crackled as if someone had picked up the phone in the nursing station and each time it shut off with a click. Growing more desperate, Andrew began to shout hoarsely towards his shut door.

“Help!” He cried, “I fell outta bed! Somebody help me!”

He yelled until his mouth was too dry to utter more than a few croaking syllables but received no response. He was just about ready to accept his fate and attempt to sleep on the floor in a crooked heap when the door to room #119 creaked open. A shadow approached him, bent down, and put a hand to his cheek.

“Mr. Wilson? Is that you?” Andrew asked uncertainly.

“No,” Came the reply, “It’s me.”

“Debra?” Andrew felt a rush of relief, “Oh Deb you’re here! I thought you might’ve died…I thought I was dead. Oh god Deb don’t ever leave me. It isn’t worth it…nothing is worth it. How could I live with myself?”

Debra stroked Andrew’s sweat soaked forehead in an attempt to ease his nervous blabbering.

“Are you hurt?” She asked him.

“No. I think I’m alright…my back is killing me, but I don’t think anything is broken,” He said, his voice exacerbated.

“That’s good. Did you call the front desk?”

“Yeah. They didn’t pick up,” He explained, “That’s why I was calling for help. God, I thought no one would hear me. You heard me?”

“Yes. I heard you yelling, Andy, but it’s alright now. I’m going to go to the front desk to get your nurse’s aide so he can help you up. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Whatever you have to do.”

Andrew was going to ask her to turn the lights on and hand him his glasses, but she was already gone by the time the thought occurred to him. Lying there in the dark he thought he could hear a roach scuttling around somewhere unseen. His heart thumped and he balled up his fists, ready to squash it if it came near enough, but such an opportunity never presented itself.

A knock at the door. Mr. Wilson’s shadow stepped inside followed by Debra’s. Strangely neither of the two thought to turn the light on, but Andrew did not comment on this; nor did he scold Mr. Wilson for his negligence. He was too exhausted and wounded both physically and emotionally to expend any of his wrath on the CNA.

“Sorry ‘bout not coming right away Mr. Bell. Didn’t hear the phone go off or anythin’. Anyhow, I’m just gonna take a look at your back and make sure you’re okay and then you can go back to bed,” Mr. Wilson said once he got Andrew back on his damp mattress.

Mr. Wilson gently palpated different areas of Mr. Bellinger’s back to localize the pain and, finding no bruising or significant pain, concluded that he had not been seriously injured.

“You’re lookin’ good, Mister. I’m gonna put up the railings so you can’t roll out again, alrighty? Get some rest and lemme know if there’s anythin’ else I can do for ya.”

Andrew thanked Mr. Wilson and he left shortly after, wishing both him and Debra goodnight before parting. Once he was gone, Debra approached Andrew’s bedside. She grabbed his hand and he felt that it was cold yet comforting all the same.

“Love you, Deb.”

“Love you too,” She whispered, “I’ll see you tomorrow evening after my doctor’s appointment. I have to leave early.”

“Okay,” Andrew said. He suddenly felt embarrassed and childish for the scene he had caused.

“Can I ask what exactly your nightmare was about?”

Andrew attempted to recall his dream, but it had mostly vanished. All he could recall was a flash of headlights and some sort of car crash. The rest had faded from his mind like most dreams when one is pressured to recall them. How silly it was for him to get so worked up over some imaginary happening like that? Mind over matter…but how stupid the mind could be on such occasions!

“I can’t remember,” Andrew admitted.

“Well,” Debra began, “It was just a bad dream. Get some sleep, Andy.”

They pecked each other on the lips, and then Debra departed. Andrew fell asleep easily now that he was safely back in bed, though no dreams- pleasant or unpleasant- disturbed his fragile mind. It was only black nihility behind his eyelids, and nothing more.

Day 7: The End of Arrival

Andrew never felt quite the same after his fall from bed, and he began to notice, rather frightfully, that he no longer traveled places but merely arrived at them. At the moment, he found himself sitting in the atrium dressed in his normal attire: a faded checkered shirt, cargo pants, and what he liked to call “old people sneakers” which were his excessively padded and ugly white shoes.

Once he was done studying his own appearance, Andrew took a closer look at his surroundings. Not too far off sat a gentleman whose face was obscured by a ragged black hat. This man was strumming away at a battered guitar that was missing its high ‘e’ string and Andrew wondered, briefly, how long ago it had popped off and if any employees would ever bother to help him replace it. I’ll give them three weeks before they bother…Andrew wagered internally.

That man was the not the only living being making music, however. Sammy was close at hand, stretching his wings and whistling an unfamiliar tune. Andrew felt a wave of relief upon seeing the creature. Something about the little feathered guy always brought a smile to his face.

He approached the cage parked his wheelchair next to it. Somewhere in the cloudiness of his brain he recalled his first interaction with Debra at the nursing home and how they had bonded over their appreciation of the pet. Had it been a week ago? Two days? Andrew was unsure, but he felt that same queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach just thinking about her. Where was she now? Still sleeping maybe? This question proved unanswerable as well, but at some point noon would come, and they would have lunch together as usual. That much was almost a guarantee.

A few rapid clucks and whistles from Sammy brought Andrew back to reality. He looked at the creature’s red cheeks and bright yellow crest feathers with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

“Nice hairdo, guy,” Andrew remarked with a smile.

“Hello! Hello!” The bird said in a screech.

Andrew could hardly contain his chuckle at Sammy’s exuberance. Feeling at ease, he decided to confide his current feelings to the creature.

“Hey there, bud. I don’t mean to be silly talking to you here but…I mean…it isn’t like I’ve got much else going for me. My daughter didn’t call yesterday. Hell, she rarely does. She doesn’t visit either. And now…now I’m just hanging around here with my wife. You have a wife, Sammy?”

“Hello!”

“Hell no!? Ha! Jesus, Sammy, I’ll bet you wish you did though. Locked up here all the goddamn time. Shouldn’t you be out in the Caribbean somewhere looking for a bird? Get it? Bird? Sorry that one was pretty bad…”

“Who’s a pretty birdie?”

“Well, you are of course! Me not so much these days. Every time I look in the mirror, I see a skeleton staring back. Don’t worry though you’ll get there too. I’m sure the way they treat you around here you’ll take a turn for the worse and then…” Andrew blew air over his tongue and stuck out a thumbs-down, “Straight into the kitchen you’ll go to be minced into some mystery meat. I’m tellin’ ya Sammy…this is no place for a bird.”

Sammy cocked his head and looked directly at Mr. Bellinger with his tiny black eyes. There was some unplaceable emotion in them, but whatever it was it felt strangely human. Shocked, Andrew backed up his chair an inch or two.

“Not exactly the best place for a human!” Came the shifty voice.

A jolt of icy fear shot down Andrew’s spine immediately, and he stiffened up like a fainting goat. Sammy’s words kept ringing in his ears again and again in his awful inhuman voice. Half bird and half man…yet somehow neither of these.

“W…what did you just say?” Andrew managed to force out after some time. His eyes stung as he gazed upon the fluttering creature.

“Who’s a pretty bird? I’m a pretty bird!” Came the reply.

“What? No…no…you…you j-just understood what I said didn’t you? How in god’s name…”

“Maybe!”

Andrew shook his head violently. He knew he was going crazy. He had to be going crazy. Fucking insane. There was no other explanation. No combination of words that could better describe his predicament. It was impossible. Sick. Demented. Evil. Most of all it was unbearable.

Still, he gathered up the final threads that held his sanity together and attempted, vainly, to knit them together. The damn thing must have been trained to say that phrase and that was all there was too it. It was simply a terrible coincidence or a prank like all of the other shenanigans unfolding in this blasted nursing home. If Andrew continued to talk with the bird, it would obviously only fall back on the few phrases is knew and that was a fact! But, Mr. Bellinger, being the stubborn man he was, continued to probe Sammy, nonetheless.

“Maybe? Maybe what?” He pressed on.

“Maybe you’re just losing your mind, Mr. Bellinger. Maybe this is all in your head. Maybe you’re losing your mind. Maybe, maybe, maybe…surely you have!” The bird cackled sardonically.

Andrew’s sanity, which had previously been threadbare, had now fully unraveled. In a panic, he stood up from his wheelchair and fell to his left side, writhing madly on the floor. He tried to get up but found his nerves were too electrified with fear to allow for such coordination. Instead, he clawed at the ground with animalistic desperation; all the while listening to the mocking whistles of the cockatiel.

There were shouts and a whirlpool of commotion as onlookers focused in on the drama unfolding before them. A rec employee ran up- the very same that had moderated the BINGO game- and tried to assist.

“Oh my god what happened? Are you alright?” He asked, bewildered.

Andrew said nothing but raised his horrified face at the man. Upon seeing the intense fear in his eyes, the rec employee immediately shouted for a nurse at the top of his lungs. Not knowing the cause of the fall, he could only presume the worst.

“Let me help you up sir! Is there any pain?” The man asked once again.

“That bird…that bird…” Andrew replied, wincing as the man helped him back on his feet.

He settled back into his wheelchair, overcome with both defeat and relief. Defeat for his sudden loss of control, and relief for the very same. Andrew shut his eyes, knowing that seeing Sammy sitting there on his perch would drive him into another frenzy of terror.

“Take me back to my room. Just take me back...for god’s sake,” He begged the man.

As they were about to head back, Petero came strolling over, looking disdainfully at his patient.

“What the hell is going on over here?” He snapped.

The rec employee explained the incident quickly, stating that Mr. Bellinger had stood up from his chair and flung himself to the floor.

“Well, what the hell for? Why’d you do that, Andy?”

Andrew, his eyes still shut, grumbled, “The damn bird. He talked to me.”

Although Andrew could not see it, he could feel Petero shaking his head in amusement and disbelief. He cackled a bit, not bothering to stifle that terrible nasal laugh of his.

“Ohhh boy! It’s just as I suspected…you’ve gone off the deep end Mr. Bell. Let’s get you to your room to sort this out and calm you down. How about that?”

Andrew wasn’t sure how long his eyes had been closed, but when at least he opened them, he found himself to be in his room, lying in bed. His lunch tray was pulled up next to him and the TV was on, playing dull daytime television. He looked out the window through the curtains and saw a sliver of blue sky; then he looked at the crack in the ceiling, but it was dry. The beach photo hung comfortably from the wall and the television flashed blue lights that danced merrily around the room. Andrew felt at ease in this setting, yet something still nagged at him in the back of his mind. Was it a dream that had disturbed him or something else? He couldn’t tell, but his stomach rumbled, and he decided that none of that mattered any longer and he ought to eat.

The tray in front of him contained a few animal crackers- most of which were broken up into shapeless fragments- and a glass of cloudy tap water. Under normal circumstances he would have been angered by such a tiny meal, but hunger won over his emotional unrest. He shoveled the smashed bits of crackers into his mouth and choked down the cloudy water.

Once fed, he laid his head back onto his pillow and sighed. As he lay there, an unsettling thought crossed his mind. He recalled his encounter with the bird in hazy detail. He could not remember exactly what the damned thing had said, but he was aware that it had responded to him in a manner that suggested it had been listening. As was typical for Mr. Bellinger in a state of paranoia, he began to list off possible explanations for this frightening occurrence. If he were to ask Debra or Charlie, they’d probably tell him the same old excuse: it was just a bad dream or hallucination; but Andrew knew that his own eyes and ears could not lie to him in such an egregious manner. No, a much more likely answer was that some twisted person- or perhaps a group of deranged people- had made it their mission to torment him. They could have placed a microphone and speaker in the cage. Maybe they had even hidden devices in Andrew’s room. In his walls, in his bed! And they had rigged those damned BINGO games and covered up the leaky ceiling, and his own daughter was in on it!

Who can I even trust? Andrew thought fearfully. Petero, Anna, Mr. Wilson, the rec kid, they were all obviously in on this charade. The rest of the nursing staff, cleaning staff, cooks, human resources…all of them dirty crooks and savages. Sammy was either some mechanical contraption or surrounded by speakers. Can cockatiels really even talk for god’s sake? As for the other residents, Andrew was unsure. He supposed that it was possible they were all trapped in this prison called a nursing home and slowly driven to insanity through various psychological tortures. If he could only figure out to what ends this facility would do such a thing then he could warn Debra and the rest! He decided to find her and tell her his theories now before he forgot them. If his mind blanked out again than she could always remind him again and again until he could at last formulate some sort of plan.

There was a sharp knock at the door followed by the squealing of its hinges. It was Anna, come to take Andrew’s lunch tray away.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Bellinger. All finished eating?” She inquired in a sweet voice.

Andrew was suddenly filled with that particular brand of embarrassment one feels when they are caught speaking unfavorably about a friend or acquaintance. Although he had not said a single word of his rant out loud, his face still turned red.

“A-all done,” Andrew sputtered.

“I hope you enjoyed your meal,” She said cheerfully, “Mr. Petero will be in very soon for your medication.”

“Yeah…the animal crackers and water really hit the spot,” He responded in a mocking tone.

Visible confusion slowly crept across Anna’s face, but Andrew knew better than to express his frustrations any further. If he had, she would surely answer with “Animal crackers and water? But Mr. Bell you just ate a four-course meal of steak and lobster and drank 3 glasses of wine! That hunger and the fact that you’re skinny as a bone has nothing to do with the way we feed you here!” or some similar nonsense. Andrew refused to be fooled any longer. He wasn’t going to play these games, he wasn’t going to feed into it any longer, he would stand his ground no matter what.

Anna opened her mouth to respond, but it seemed she too knew better than to do so. Instead, she smiled, bid a simple farewell, and stepped out of room 119. Even in her absence, Anna’s presence hung heavily in the air. Andrew recalled- with difficulty- her nighttime appearance a few days prior. She had yelled at him and called him names. What else had she done? Threatened him with violence, lied to his face, taunted him, beat him, attempted to murder him! She was in on this entire operation- whatever that happened to be, and that was unquestionable.

Andrew took a deep breath after realizing that his heart was pounding irregularly. He felt such intense helplessness and rage that his heart could no longer contain it even if his tongue was beginning to learn.

The door thrust itself open once again, this time without a courteous knock. Even if Andrew had not been forewarned, he would have known who the intruder was.

“You again,” He said uninterestedly.

“It is me indeed! In the flesh!” Petero cackled, “It’s time for your drugs, my man.”

He strode over to Andrew’s bedside with a few pills in a small cup. Andrew took them and downed them with some water that Petero provided.

“And I’ve got one more thing for you. I hate to do this, bud, but after that outburst this morning I think I’ve got to up your dosages.”

An ugly scowl took control of Andrew’s face.

“Outburst? I thought you said those little pink bastards were for my blood pressure! And you expect me to take more of them?”

Petero’s glasses flashed with the glare of the overhead lights. Somewhere shimmering beneath those rectangular lenses were two malevolent wolfish eyes. Andrew could feel them boring into him like a dentist’s drill into a cavity. Burrowing deeper and deeper into the bacteria infested muck of his failing mind.

“I never said a thing like that. These pills are for your dementia, Mr. Bellinger (Andrew flinched at the mention of the disease). You can refuse, of course. Sit here mumbling all day…talking to walls…yelling about a crack in the ceiling…wetting your bed…”

Andrew’s eyes widened in horror, and he felt a shiver run through his body.

“Yeah, that’s right. I know Anna must’ve known earlier than me, but it’s not hard to smell your fowl stench. But like I was saying…you can hang around in your room and act out your little fantasy worlds- god only knows what kinda nonsense goes on up there- but mark my words Andrew…if this gets worse you’ll be going down the corridor. And nobody ever comes back from there. Nobody. It’s for the looney bins and psychos like you…and it’s only out of pure kindness that I haven’t dragged you down there already. The pills can slow down your descent and keep you out of that place long enough for you to live out the rest of your life with relative sanity, but only if you take them as the doctor ordered. As I order. So, are we going to play your stupid games again or are you going to listen to me for once?”

Petero held out a paper cup full of chalky pink pills. By the looks of how many tablets were in there, it appeared to Andrew that Petero had well over doubled his initial dose. All of these drugs, he thought ominously, there meant to numb me. Make me believe their lies! I won’t let them! I WON’T LET THEM!

“You can take your pink pills and shove them up your ass! I’m not taking any of that garbage and I’ve just about had it with you nurses. Get out of my room!” Andrew barked.

A lopsided smile cracked its way across Petero’s face. It was an unusual smile given that it was neither mocking nor sarcastic. It was a cold smile. Evil to the very rotten core of the word itself.

“Okie dokie, friend; your wish, my command. Just remember what I told you. It’s only a matter of time before you crack like an egg, and who’ll be there to save you? Down the corridor you’ll go. Down with all the other crazies who wish they’d eaten the pink pills their generous nurse offered-”

“I said get out! Go! Now!” Andrew cut in viciously. His yell was so aggressive that flecks of saliva flew from his mouth and found themselves stuck to Petero’s glasses. The nurse merely shook his head in response, with an expression that all but said: you’ll get yours soon enough.

The door shut, and Andrew found himself alone once again, save for the stray ant or roach that darted across the floor. He sat quietly for a while as his heartbeat thumped in his ears. He felt that his brief engagement with Petero was significant in the most awful of ways. To him it was confirmation that his wild fears and suspicions were true.

Enraged by his own helplessness in the face of such a diabolical enemy, Andrew yearned to speak with his friends and warn them of the plot that was being hatched against them. He decided that he would head back into the atrium to seek them out (why had he left in the first place?). After sliding his legs out of bed and rocking back and forth to gain enough momentum to stand, Andrew stood up on two spindly legs. He felt his knees and back almost give out at the same time before, grabbing ahold of his wheelchair and plopping down. Everyday his joints seemed to hurt just a bit more and by now the pain was just short of unbearable if he stood for any length of time.

After settling into a position that was somewhat comfortable in his chair, Andrew set out on his journey, though it felt less like a journey and more like teleportation. Just one push of his chair and suddenly he was in the atrium. Somewhere an old man strummed out a blues rhythm with two withered hands and not far from there Sammy sang a joyous song.

Andrew himself was sat at his table in the usual spot. Jack and Freddie were there as well, playing cards and arguing about some television program. Charlie also happened to be there, only he appeared to be preoccupied with a newspaper.

“Anything interesting going on in the world, Charlie?” Andrew asked, squinting his eyes in a vain attempt to read the headline.

“Mmmh,” Charlie looked up from the news, “Something about a disease going around. They’re calling it Surfs…doesn’t sound too fun if you ask me.”

“A disease? Where is it and how bad?”

“Nobody seems to know exactly where it’s from, but the first confirmed cases were somewhere in California. Looks like it’s pretty awful…once symptoms start it seems like it isn’t long before it turns your lungs into mush.

Andrew was not fully conscious of it, but a few gears in his brain began to turn as he was made aware of the details of this disease. He was certain that, in some convoluted way, this illness and the behavior of Petero and his cronies were related. Andrew mulled this over for a few seconds, bouncing wild conspiracies around in his head and forgetting them just as quickly. He felt quite angry when he could not focus long to get to the bottom of his situation.

“You okay, Andy? You look a little pale?” Charlie asked warmly.

Somewhere a million miles away a fish tank was bubbling and gurgling.

“Y-yes…” Andrew answered. He tried to remember what particularly had troubled him a moment ago, but it had already vanished. Only the humming of the fish tank, the jarring songs of Sammy, and the slightly out-of-tune strums from the guitar player occupied his mind now. They merged together into a single unnerving noise that droned and whined and plucked.

“C’mon you can be honest with me; I hope you know that. What’s troubling you?”

Andrew waved his hand through the air and shook his head dismissively, but he spoke, nonetheless. He could feel Charlie’s worrying gaze baring down on him and was aware that his friend genuinely cared.

“It’s…it’s just…some strange things have been happening lately. And…I keep feeling like…I don’t know how to explain it. Like I’m not arriving in places anymore. I’m just sort of showing up you know what I mean?”

Charlie’s face was neutral, but he placed a comforting hand on Andrew’s shoulder. His fingers tightened gently.

“That’s just a part of what it’s like being in here for any length of time. You’ve got to stay engaged with people and have hobbies to fall back on when you don’t feel like talking. If you let your mind wander for too long than things can start to feel weird. Almost dissociating.”

Andrew nodded. Then he nodded again as a second affirmation. Everything that Charlie had said made a great deal of sense, but at the same time Andrew felt as though he had kept his mind as busy as possible. If he were always either watching TV, spending time with his new companions, or wheeling himself around the facility, then how could his mind not be entertained? How could he feel so damn lonely all the time if he partook in far more activities than most of his fellow residents?

Still, he didn’t want to stretch out the matter, so he pushed it aside.

“Thanks, Charlie…you and Debra both have a way with words,” Andrew said, laughing a bit.

“Like I said,” Charlie began, the worry fading from his face, “If you ever need to talk about something that’s bothering you please don’t hesitate. And yes, Deb is certainly good for that too.”

“Deb…where is she anyhow? Haven’t seen her all day.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, “Well she had an appointment today, remember? I coulda sworn she told you.”

“Told me…” Andrew said absently. It was neither a question nor an affirmation, only a mere parroting of Charlie’s words.

“Yeah, yesterday at dinner she let you know. She’ll be back in an hour or so I think.”

Like a broken record, Andrew’s mind skipped around and settled on another subject, almost randomly.

“Eh…you know…there’s something I feel like I need to tell you. Or…it’s more of a question, really. Did you happen to see anything strange on the news lately?”

Charlie, being aware of Andrew’s condition, was only momentarily confused by the abrupt change in conversation.

“You mean other than the virus I just told you about?”

“Virus? Oh no not that…the other thing…”

“I’m uh…not quite sure what you mean, Andy. Maybe you want to gather your thoughts for a minute.”

Andrew did just that, but his head felt like it was vibrating uncomfortably. If an outsider could hear his thoughts, it would not be unlike the dissonant sounds echoing through the atrium.

“The…the…the uh…car accidents! The car accidents! So many of them. I feel as though they’re happening all the time now,” He finally managed to say.

“Car accidents? Well, there’s always car accidents, Andy,” Charlie chuckled nervously, “Not like it’s a rare event or anything.”

“Yes, but…oh I don’t know. I feel like they keep happening.”

Charlie was visibly concerned by now and decided not to press the matter. Somehow, Andrew still managed to recall his wife and that was all that truly mattered.

“It’s okay, Andy. It’s just a few accidents you know? You seem a bit tired and out of focus right now, sonny. Maybe you should go to your room and get some rest.”

Andrew nodded. He wasn’t feeling very well at all. It seemed to him that there were far too many things happening all at once and it was diminishing his concentration. As soon as he made up his mind that he would return to his room, he found himself standing in the bathroom of room 119, hovering over the sink.

He splashed water into his face, brushed his teeth, and poured himself a glass of cloudy tap water. Not long after taking care of his hygiene, Andrew found himself in bed again, staring out into the blackness of the room. He reached out for his water glass and brought it to his chapped and cracking lips. By his second gulp he noticed something was off, but it took another two before he violently spit the drink out. There were little solids inside of the drink and they squirmed around in his mouth wildly.

Spitting the bugs out onto his blanket, he grabbed one in a fit of rage to inspect more closely. Not bugs. Something far more alarming. Strewn across his bed covers were many chalky pink pills. Mr. Bellinger was ready to scream and angrily mash his call button, but then he found himself sitting upright in his armchair watching television. The night had passed in a feverous delirium and was over in flash.

Day 8: Down the Corridor

The moment Andrew’s awareness returned, he immediately found himself in a great panic. For whatever reason, Debra was the first thing on his mind, and he realized that he had not seen her at all yesterday. For what reason, had she been gone anyhow? Andrew was aware that there was a tame explanation for her disappearance, but he failed to recall what that was. Still, he figured she should have been back before nightfall and stopped by to say goodnight.

What? Why would she do that, idiot? Andrew thought shamefully. After all she was just his nursing home crush and nothing more. Why did he feel so entitled to her affection all of a sudden? He felt that greediness that clouds the judgement of a man newly in love but recognized that such an emotion was both uncalled for and harmful. Even in this moment, his concern for a woman he had just barely met was surpassing the love he had for his own daughter and grandchildren. Hanging his head low in humiliation, Andrew began to think about Claudia and how much he missed her in spite of her lack of phone calls and visitations.

He missed her so much that-

He missed her. He missed. He…

Claudia? No-no-no-no that’s not right? That isn’t my daughter’s name! Clara? Caroline?

???

!!!

Who do I miss?

What do I miss?

What? What! WHAT! WHAAAT!? WHAATTT!?!?!?!

Andrew felt like rusty gears were grinding and colliding in his brain. It seemed the harder he tried to remember the contents of his memory, the further they slipped into obscurity. Before long, he could hardly even remember what had initially troubled him and was merely left with an aching feeling in his chest.

In order to offset his frustrations, Andrew flipped on the television for a pleasant distraction. Something that would put his mind at ease and bring him to that magical and elusive state of tranquility. Mind over matter.

And how lucky he was on this day! The first program that was playing as the television flashed to life was his very favorite: The Wheel of Fortune. Before the puzzle was revealed, however, Pat Sajak and Jim Thornton, the seemingly omniscient narrator of the program, revealed the vacation prize that was at stake.

“Travel to the picturesque and serene city of Los Angeles California for a two week stay in Hollywood! Here you can explore the-” And the narrator went on and on about the sights and activities that would be provided should one of the lucky contestants win.

As he spoke, brief images and videos of Los Angeles appeared, only it appeared to be in ruins. The highways, once packed with traffic, were now ghostly quiet save for a few rotting and abandoned cars. The famous Hollywood sign was missing three of its letters and had a yellowish stain to it. And the city itself? The streets were depicted as being gloomy and lifeless. Andrew could have sworn that a corpse or two was laying in the road in one particular image but chose to ignore such an unspeakable sight.

At long last the vacation advertisement passed and Pat appeared once more.

“Alrighty, well that looks like quite a lovely trip! Now, let’s take a look at the board here, the clue is: things you think you say when you’re in places where things are no longer said.”

Andrew spent a good couple of seconds trying to digest that, but eventually figured he lacked the intelligence to do so. He would leave this one for the eager smiling contestants to figure out.

“Samantha, go ahead and spin!”

The camera changed focus to Samantha as she grabbed the wheel and spun it with all of her might. The wheel spun round tick-tick-ticking away.

The crowd applauded; the wheel passed bankrupt once. Then again, Then a third time. It kept going. The crowd kept applauding, the wheel kept ticking, and the ceiling kept dripping. Andrew, feeling unease creeping over him as the wheel failed to stop spinning, reached for the remote again. Pat was laughing hysterically at this whole debacle, but something about it seemed very wrong. It was almost as though this bit of unexpected television drama was not meant to be viewed by the eyes of a sane man.

Andrew changed the channel, cycling through a few before landing on one that caught his eye. It was Sesame Street, which was obviously not a program that he was particularly fond of, but he was mildly curious what young kids were watching these days. Not to mention that anything was better than watching a wheel spin endlessly as a crowd cheered and jeered.

Focusing in on this episode, Andrew took in the colorful details of Sesame Street. Oscar the Grouch, the greenish trash-diving monster (or whatever the hell he was) was sulking in his signature can. The camera zoomed in on him and he began to speak.

“Ahhh look who it is! Listen up here kids I’ve got quite the lesson today for ya. You see this right here?” Oscar asked the audience as he withdrew a comically large butcher knife.

Andrew was stunned but intrigued all the same. After all, Jonny Quest hadn’t exactly been free from violence either.

“This is a butcher knife. A butcher is someone who slaughters an animal, cuts ‘em up, and sells it as food and he uses a special kinda knife to get the job done. Here, lemme go an’ show you how it works!”

As if on que, Grover came hobbling over, and Oscar turned his attention to the purplish creature.

“Hey Grouchie! What’s that you got there, huh?” Grover asked.

“Oh, come a little closer and I’ll show ya!” He responded in his gravelly voice.

Grover approached Oscar and his steel garbage tin, and as soon as he came within swinging range of the large knife, his head went rolling off. Red confetti spouted everywhere from the stump and the now headless Grover ran madly in circles. Oscar swung again, this time removing his arms. He kept swinging violently until the puppet of Oscar fell apart from the excessive motion, revealing the hand of its puppeteer, which still clutched the knife with murderous intent. This hand kept swinging and swinging, sending more confetti flying in every direction and continuing to speak in Oscar’s voice.

“Lots of good meat from Grover here. Gonna make for good eats. I can’t last must longer without it you see! Not with what they’re feeding me here,” The voice cackled, “Isn’t that right Mista Bell? Don’t worry I’m comin’ for you next! I’ll tear you limb for li-”

Andrew tossed the T.V. remote at the screen with all his might. It bounced off the glass and went flying under the bed somewhere. The program continued.

The hand that had once been Oscar dropped its weapon and kept talking by opening and shutting its fingers.

“How rude! As I was sayin’ though: I’m gonna tear you apart. Gonna fry your fuckin’ bones and eat em’ how does that sound Andy? You know you’d do the same! Once you get a taste for it it’ll never leave ya!”

Andrew forgot about his failing back and legs and leapt out of the chair he was seated in. He stumbled out of his room into the hallway, blind with panic. His heart was thunk-thunking so hard in his chest that he feared- no- he was certain that it would give out at any second.

As he staggered along the cracked and broken hall, he let out a few cries for help. There were shadowy figures everywhere, darting past him in a blaze of static and confusion. Plagued by tunnel vision, he ignored these hallucinations and powered onwards not quite knowing where he was headed other than away from the horrifying television.

Suddenly, he decided that he had to make his way to the nursing station. There he could call his daughter and confront her once and for all! He would force her to tell her the absolute truth and nothing but it! Only then could he put an end to these delusions! These endless circular trains of thought would STOP!

He was there now, standing barefoot and breathless before the nursing station. And there, behind the counter was a very terse looking Anna. She eyeballed Andrew like he was a diseased animal and only spoke to him out of a mixture of pity and a sense of duty.

“You should be in your chair, Mr. Bellinger. What do you think you’re doing all the way over here?”

“I-I-I…” A few gasps for air, “I need th-the goddamn telephone. I need it right now! My-my daughter…need to speak…”

“I’ll get you a chair to sit in and then we can discuss phone calls. I can’t have you falling over and getting hurt.”

“No chair…I just need my daughter! Look her up quickly and call her…I beg you,” Andrew said breathlessly.

Anna was annoyed by the dramatic antics of her patient, but she decided to humor him nonetheless.

“Okay, Mr. Bellinger I see you are in one of your moods today. I’m going to call your daughter for you, but then I will have to inform Mr. Petero that you are unfit for this unit, do you understand?”

“Just get the phone,” He whined, not caring about a thing in the world besides his daughter. Not even neccessarily his daughter herself, whose name he could not remember and whose face he could not place, but merely the concept of having a child that shared his blood.

The tired nurse’s aide submitted and went to get the binder with the phone numbers recorded in it. In no time, Andrew was cradling the phone in his hands as though it were a precious newborn infant. Half a minute passed in anticipation as the line connected.

“Hello? Is that you, dad?”

“Yes, Sweetie! It’s me, your father!” Andrew croaked. His eyes threatened to form tears, but there were none left to be shed.

“You sound a bit anxious. Are you alright?”

“Alright? Well to be honest with you I-I-I haven’t been doing very well as of late. It just keeps getting worse and worse here. I can’t even watch TV without scaring myself half to death…the kind of programs they play here just aren’t normal. Car crashes, plagues, cartoons with so much violence…it’s insanity. Oh god if only I could see you maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. If I could just so much as step outside this place…”

“Oh daddy, I promise you me and the boys will stop by soon. Day after tomorrow even. How does that sound?” Her voice was sweet and calming.

“Oooh, why that would be great! I can’t wait to see you all! It’s...I…well…uh…” Andrew trailed off. He was getting lost in his mindless thoughts again, running in circles that faded into oblivion.

“Have you been taking your meds, daddy? You don’t seem like you’ve been yourself at all lately.”

“Meds? You mean those goddamn pink bastards? No, I don’t take ‘em. They’re no good for me! No good!”

A deep sigh echoed through the phone receiver.

“Just hang in there, okay? Try to take your medication when your nurse provides it. I’ll see you very soon like I said, and then we can talk about your anxieties more deeply, okay?” She reassured.

“Yes, yes. Can’t wait to see you. Oh god, and the boys too!

“Goodbye, dad. See you soon enough.”

Andrew’s daughter had hung up already, but he still kept blabbering on and on about how excited he was to see his family once again. Eventually, upon noticing that the call had ended, Steven Petero snatched the phone from Andrew’s grasp and handed it to Anna. Petero scowled at his patient and awaited the outburst that was sure to come.

“Pull something out of my hand like that? I outta punch you in the mouth! You could’ve thrown me off balance!” Came the thunder of Andrew’s rage.

“You know Andy…I don’t like your tone. I don’t like the fact that you think you can go walking around without your wheelchair and not face any consequences. And I definitely don’t care for you yelling in my face.”

“Oh you don’t do ya? Well, you better get used to it because I’ve had it up to hear wi-”

“Shut. The fuck. Up,” Petero said coldly, “Have you ever- in your whole life- kept that crooked mouth of yours shut? Or do you just always blurt out whatever the hell you want whenever the hell you want? Maybe I should ask your daughter because I’m sure she has plenty to say about your behavior. Not like you can remember anything that happened more than a couple day ago.”

Andrew’s knees were beginning to tremble from standing for so long. He reached out awkwardly and grabbed onto the nursing station counter to retain his balance. Taking a close look at the angry nurse before him he noticed, bizarrely, that Petero was wearing an official-looking black uniform. The words “State Corrections” were sewn neatly onto the breast of the uniform along with “S. Petero”.

“I re-” He gasped a bit, trying to catch his breath, “I remember plenty enough. Enough to know I haven’t been treated right and that I…huff-huff…want out of here as quickly as possible.”

“Oh, you remember lots do you? Tell me then, bud: what’s your daughter’s name? Easiest question in the world for any father worth a damn. You’ve got all the time in the world to think about it so please take your time.”

Andrew looked from the uniformed Petero to Anna and back to Petero again. From one eager, devious smiling face to the next. He thought he could see shadowy figures darting past in a blur behind the two aggressors who stood near him.

“My daughter’s name…of course I know my daughter’s name,” Andrew said, his voice trailing off towards the end.

“Oh, do you? Well, we’re waiting to hear!” Petero gestured towards Anna who leaned in mockingly, putting the edge of her hand behind her ear.

Andrew didn’t answer. He knew his daughter’s name and there was no need to prove such an obvious and trivial fact to anyone, especially these tormentors. Even so, he could not help his mind from turning towards the question, and when it did, he felt the sickeningly familiar feeling of rusted gears grinding in his brain.

“Don’t know the answer, huh? That’s no biggie, we’ve got plenty more where that came from. How about this: where is your wife?” Petero was struggling to contain his laughter.

“W-wife?”

“Yeah, your wife. Where is she? Or you know what I’ve got better questions? Where are you? Who are you? What’s happened to the world, can you answer that one for me? No…of course you can’t. That’s because you’re crazy Mr. Bell. You’re crazy and you piss your pants and whine and complain and you can’t even remember half of it.”

“I-I’m not sure what it is y-”

“I’m sending you down the corridor, Mr. Bell because that’s where you belong. I should’ve done it long ago, but I’m not delaying it any further.”

Andrew’s hands tightened around the countertop. His filthy yellow fingernails dug into the wood, fighting to keep him from collapsing. He wasn’t sure what Petero was talking about, but the look in his eyes turned Andrew’s knees to jelly.

All around: left, right, up, down, shadowy figures danced through the static air and melded with the haze. Andrew was not sure, but he thought he could spot roaches and spiders scurrying about in large numbers. They darted between his feet and clung to every wall of the rundown and sordid nursing home.

“Mind over matter,” Andrew said at last. He did know where he had heard that phrase before, nor could he entirely decipher its meaning, but he knew that those words held weight and so he gripped them as tree roots grip the earth.

He whispered his mantra several times over, although it proved to be of little help. Petero and Anna seized him by his armpits and ripped him away from the counter he so desperately clung to. As he was dragged along his tried flailing his limbs and screaming for help.

“Wait a minute! No! Help me, somebody! Please…I did nothing wrong! I did nothing!” Andrew howled with animalistic terror.

The grips of his captors were like iron and provided no chance for the feeble Mr. Bellinger to escape no matter how hard he resisted. Eventually, he surrendered out of fear that he would suffer a heart attack or stroke if he continued to fight with such fervor. He hung limply in their grasp and was dragged onwards. The hallway numbers counted off as they passed: 117, 118, 119…

Every once in a while, an indifferent resident would pass by, and Andrew would attempt to grab a hold of them. As soon as his fingers grazed their flesh, they would immediately dissolve into a flurry of jittering shadows.

The hallway ended and Andrew and the two nurses carried him out into the atrium which was flooded with a dull gray light. Everywhere Andrew looked there was decay. Corpses littered the floor. Some were sat in wheelchairs, their rotten bodies degraded enough in some areas that bone was visible. The once glossy floor was caked in dust and dotted with trash, broken furniture, and carboard boxes.

The only living beings in the entirety of this forsaken atrium were Sammy- the dreaded bird and the man who sat strumming his ancient classical guitar. A black wide-rimmed hat was perched atop his head, tilted in such a way that his face was obscured. This man did not stir in his seat or spare a single glance to Andrew as he was pulled along against his own will.

“You there! Can’t you see what’s happening to me? Goddamn you they’re gonna kill me! They’re gonna kill all of us!” Andrew hollered at the dark figure.

The man’s fingers moved methodically up and down the instrument, plucking and strumming a complicated piece that Andrew could not recognize. Or at least he could not until the bird began to chime in with his whistle, filling in the blanks of the missing string and adding a grotesque flair to the composition.

Andrew, his fears renewed by the music, began to squirm once more beneath Anna and Petero’s grasps.

“Let go of me! Lemme, go you twisted bastards!”

“Moonlight Sonata. First Movement.” Petero responded. The badge on his chest gleamed mockingly.

“Wh-what? I said let me go are you deaf?” Andrew wailed.

“That’s what she played that night.”

“What who played? Why are you doing this…” A fit of coughs and gasps interrupted his speech, “to me? I’ve done nothing! I’ve hurt no one!”

“Your wife: Debra. Ding-dong does that ring a fuckin’ bell? So much for being called Mr. Bell…sheesh.”

“My wife? But I don’t remember! I don’t remember!”

“Ooooh you remember Mr. Bell. You just need to dig around a bit. Clear a couple cobwebs and then I’m sure it’ll all start making a helluva a lotta sense.”

Andrew kept thrashing about like a fish out of water.

“B-but…where am I being taken. I DON”T WANT TO GO!!!”

Petero tightened his grip until the muscles in Andrew’s arm threatened to burst open. The tired old man winced and gritted his teeth with rage, but there was no escape.

“I’ve told you already. Down the corridor, Andy. That’s where you’ll be able to think long and hard about your life. You’ll be splayed everywhere across the map of your existence, and there will be no time.”

They were exiting the atrium now, headed past the short gloomy hallway where numerous corkboards lined the walls and an obnoxious sign boasted about the coming of spring. IN LIKE A LION! OUT LIKE A LAMB!

As he struggled, Andrew could make out the receptionist’s desk and main exiting doors of the facility. The very same receptionist stood at her desk absently staring at her computer monitor and paying little mind to the patients and nurses.

“Are you taking me outside? Please I want to go outside! If I could just see the sky for one second. Just one-”

“Shut up will you! You’re not going outside. It’s too hot remember?”

“You there! Lady! Help me! Why won’t anyone save me?”

Anna and Petero tugged Andrew towards a set of elevator doors that were located opposite the receptionist’s desk. Anna pressed the call button and it glowed a sickly yellow.

“Anna, you wouldn’t do this to me. You can’t do this! I want to live!”

“Mr. Bellinger, you are going to get in the elevator. Do you understand?”

Andrew shook his head wildly, he continued to plea pitifully and writher about. The elevator dinged and its doors opened wide, revealing an insignificant space with drab walls and a dusty floor. It was a typical nursing home elevator and nothing more, it seemed.

“Nonononono…mind over matter! Mind over matter! I said it! I said the thing! Mind over matter goddamn you!”

Andrew went tumbling into the elevator and lay crumpled on the floor in a heap of his own useless limbs.

“Mind over matter. You keep saying that Mr. Bellinger, but what does it mean? Your mind is a playground for every set of eyes and every pair of ears here. The gang’s all inside, can’t you see that? And anyhow…what’s the mind if not a flimsy bit of matter?” Petero smiled at his own words, knowing them to be the ultimate truth, “Well…that’ll give you something to think about down there. Goodbye, Andy.”

The doors to the elevator shuttered before closing slowly, blacking out the tiny world Andrew had once known. Then the machine began to rumble and head downwards into some subterranean level. Everything went black, and Mr. Bellinger slipped into one of his timeless states, unaware of everything except for his own aching fears of a past that was drowning and a future whose prospects where no less bleak.

Day 9 (???): The Gang’s All Inside

After some time, light returned to Mr. Bellinger’s world and not long after that, the elevator doors creaked open. Outside of the dull glow of the elevator’s yellow lightbulbs, there appeared only to be a black wasteland beyond the open doors. A cold breeze blew in from this void and chilled the wrinkled flesh that clung tightly to Andrew’s bones. There was something strangely inviting about the wind, however. A smell that clung to it. One that was separate from the stench of decay that constantly lingered in the atrium upstairs. Or perhaps it was the gentle wonder of death that it seemed to promise. And each promise of death is preceded by an equally powerful promise of life.

Andrew clawed at the wooden railing in the elevator and brought his skeletal frame back on its feet. He huffed and puffed for several seconds and stared out into the abyss from which that promising wind blew. Cautiously, he stuck a hand out into the cold darkness and waved it back and forth. Next, he placed a single foot outside of the elevator and found that the ground- while soft and slick with water- was solid.

Upon stepping fully out into the icy wind, Andrew felt a sudden change in the composition of his own body. Startled, he looked at his hands, only to find that they were softer. These new hands explored the sides of his face and then his stomach and chest. All of these parts were rounder and younger in every way.

“Wow…the sky really cleared up didn’t it, Andy?” A soft feminine voice said from somewhere just beside Andrew.

In response to this voice, Andrew turned, bewildered, towards the speaker. The elevator behind him had disappeared, and with it all hope of Mr. Bellinger recalling its existence in the first place. He found himself to be fully emersed now in his surroundings both in mind and body.

“You heard me? Look at all those stars…” Debra said, gesturing with great reverence towards the open sky.

Andrew, feeling himself to be quite intoxicated and merry, lifted his head skywards and took in the view. There were many winking, blurry stars and the white face of the moon hung amongst them. The sight struck such awe within their hearts, that the couple momentarily forgot about the freezing air that pummeled them.

“To think we put a man up there,” Andrew found himself saying. He wrapped an arm around his wife and kept her warm as they stood.

After a few seconds he followed up with, “We ought to get out of the cold, honey. Get us back home.”

“Yes,” She agreed, “And you’re fit to drive, aren’t you?”

Andrew chortled.

“I’ve driven in worse shape back in my day that’s for sure. Not that that’s something I’m proud of…”

Debra frowned, but the pair of them walked towards the car nevertheless, driven by the sweeping wind and cold.

“I’m perfectly sober, you know. I could get us home,” She said concernedly. There was, however, a noticeable hesitation in her voice. She may have offered to drive, but secretly, she wished for her husband to take the wheel and thus the burden of a sleepy nighttime drive.

“Trust me, I’m fine. Let me get the door…” And Andrew opened the passenger door for his wife before entering himself.

He turned the radio on and tuned in to an oldies station, ensuring that the volume was nice and low. Then, he pulled out from the side of the street and started to drive. The road before him, which was sleek and black from the recent rainfall, wavered slightly. It appeared near and far at the same time and the streetlamps above left dazzling tracers hanging in the air.

Initially, Andrew had not realized just how drunk he was, but now it was apparent. Still, he pressured himself forwards. It’s just a fifteen-minute drive. Nothing serious. Fifteen minutes and then we’re home safe and sound.

Ten minutes into those fifteen, Andrew looked at his sleepy wife. She had her car seat reclined just a bit and her eyes shut though it was evident she was still awake by the faint smile on her face. She did this often on night drives: listening to old songs on the radio with her eyes shut and reliving lost childhood memories of when her father would take her on drives after work.

“Tired, Debbie?” He asked gently.

“Just a bit…” She answered in a loving voice. Her smile widened.

Andrew turned his attention back to the road. Saw the flash of headlights. Heard the horn honking- though he could not tell whether it was him or the other vehicle laying into it. Felt the airbag blow up in his face and his back twist in a violent manner.

The car spun a bit before skidding to a halt. Smoke and the smell of gas filled Andrew’s eyes and nostrils. He did not know whether or not he or his wife had screamed, all he was sure of was that everything hurt.

“D-Deb? Deb!?” Andrew rasped through a scratchy throat. He looked over at her seat and saw his wife leaning forwards limply. Her airbag had failed to deploy and there was a crimson spiderweb etched into the windshield where her head had impacted it. Andrew thought he could see little slimy bits of pink amongst all that red.

“No. No. No. No. No. No. No,” He kept saying over and over again in a robotic voice. This isn’t real. This is a dream. This isn’t real. This is a dream. His inner voice contended.

The smoke was getting thicker and blacker now. He could feel the heat radiating from the engine. It was growing hotter with each passing second and Andrew could spot little yellow flames licking away at the crumpled hood of the car.

Frantically, Andrew pulled his legs free from where they had been entrapped beneath the deformed steering wheel and clumsily pulled himself out of the shattered driver side window. As soon as he spared a look a Debra, all of his physical pain dissolved into numbness and yet he found that he could hardly walk. He managed to stagger over to the other side of the car before collapsing onto the pavement.

The car that had hit them (or that he had hit?) was some twenty feet away, similarly, crushed and facing the opposite direction. Andrew’s brain was unable to register that a severely injured man was likely in that vehicle as well. All off his efforts were focused on his wife who was still strapped to her seat in what was about to become a man-sized oven.

He tried pulling at her door, but the passenger side of the car was significantly more damaged and refused to budge. All the while the handle continued to heat up and the flames and smoke spread quickly. Andrew watched his wife burn. Her hair caught fire first. Then her clothes. Then the skin, blistering and blackening before his eyes.

Andrew threw up beside the car before dragging himself away. The scent of Debra’s singed hair and vaporized flesh still hanging in the night air. Just kill me. He thought. Just fucking kill me.

A gavel fell.

Andrew looked up from where he was collapsed on the pavement and found that he was now somewhere else entirely. It was a dull courtroom with gray carpets and barren white walls.

A judge read off the charges. DUI and gross vehicular manslaughter while intoxicated. Andrew listened to the grave words of the judge as he read off these possible penalties, but they refused to find a home within his mind. Whenever he tried to pay closer attention to his present situation, the vision of that red spider web would flash before his eyes. Then he would see, in all of its insidious detail, the car fire as it engulfed his wife’s body. He smelt it. He heard it. He felt the hot smoke billowing into his face.

Andrew’s lawyer gave his opening statement. It was filled with a lot of pretty phrases like “the pain my client is going through is immeasurable” and “a lapse of judgement” and “thirty years of marriage” etcetera, etcetera…. Each word that fell from the lawyer’s mouth felt like a needle stabbing into Andrew’s heart. They framed an argument that, while true in a sense, painted Andrew as nothing more than a grieving victim. What’s more, the purpose of these words was to guarantee the lightest possible sentence and prevent any unnecessary suffering.

But Mr. Bellinger wanted, more than anything, to suffer. And yet, when the plaintiff’s lawyer spoke, a twinge of fear shot through Andrew’s body. Complete ostracization from his family and friends? Prison? Were these really things that the meek Andrew Bellinger was equipped to deal with? No, he decided, but perhaps that was okay. Whatever punishment was to come would undoubtedly be deserved in his eyes even if his primal instincts were to flee this court session and never return.

The driver of the other vehicle had been banged up considerably (as was Andrew himself in spite of how well the initial adrenaline rush subdued his pain in the moment). It just so happened that, either by a stroke of luck or conversely a great cosmic misfortune, the other driver had been intoxicated as well. Both lawyers argued back and forth, citing evidence from the accident investigation, as to why the other driver was at fault. It was nearly impossible to discern the truth however, and it seemed rather likely that both drivers had been at fault to one degree or another.

Mr. Bellinger’s lawyer had the perfect weapon to end this dispute: the sympathy of the jury. After all, it was his client who had lost a wife. His client who was now reeling from a loss and who had not slept more than three consecutive hours in a night without awakening in a fit of terror.

When all was said and done, and the gavel fell for a second time so that the jury could convene, Andrew knew in his heart that he would be let off easy. After a relatively brief adjournment, the jury had made up its mind. Andrew was sentenced to one year in jail for vehicular manslaughter while intoxicated because he had no prior infractions and was pitied by both the judge and jury. The other man, who it was proven had exceeded the speed limit significantly, received a harsher sentence of four years and the weight of a murder on his shoulders.

Andrew’s lawyer placed a firm hand on his client’s shoulder as the court session came to an end and whispered in his ear, “I did the best I could. If you behave in there you could be out much sooner, trust me.”

Andrew said nothing. He put his hands behind his back and allowed a police officer to cuff them. As he was being escorted out of the courtroom, he caught a glimpse of Christine’s face which he had done his best to avoid. She was a mess of runny makeup and hot tears.

“I don’t deserve those,” He muttered dejectedly as he passed her.

The double doors to the court room opened and Andrew crossed the threshold, once again finding himself in a new environment.

He looked about, seeing that he was in the all too familiar room #119. Only the room itself was quite different. In fact, Andrew himself was different in that he still found his physical body and presence of mind to be marginally better than before the start of this strange journey down the corridor.

Andrew took a seat in his cushioned chair and flicked on the television, as if acting on instinct alone. He surfed the channels for a few short seconds before settling on a news network. It appeared there was some great turmoil in the country judging by the unsettling images displayed on the screen, coupled by the concerned faces of various newscasters.

Andrew, unable to stand watching those frantic talking-heads, quickly changed channels only to bet met with more grim reminders of the world that was rapidly crumbling all around him. On several channels there were public service announcements urging people to gather a month’s worth of fresh water and nonperishable food and remain in their houses. Other channels were merely static.

Disheartened, Andrew shut off the television and sat in the dull natural light of his room. What will dinner be tonight? He wondered fleetingly. Another MRE provided by the national guard? No, those had to be conserved. It was far more likely that the few remaining residents would get juice, a package of crackers, and a can of tuna fish. How much longer the simple luxury of a halfway decent meal would last, Mr. Bellinger could not guess, but he presumed that his days would soon be numbered. If starvation did not kill him, then the plaque surely would…and if not the plague, then some bastard looter.

Andrew’s door opened. A terribly weary looking Anna entered, wearing a green beak-like mask over her mouth and nose.

“Feeling alright, Mr. Bellinger?” She asked languidly.

“Still kickin’. Mr. Estrada coughed right in my eye the other day and I haven’t had so much as a runny nose yet.”

Anna blew air out her nostrils sharply, causing her mask to puff outwards for a half second, “You are one of the lucky ones, sir. That I can tell you. I thought I was too…but today I have a fever and I’m afraid I won’t be able to work here any longer.”

“I’m not the lucky one,” Andrew said bitterly. He averted the nurse’s gaze as his eyes began to sting.

“I…I’m sorry Mr. Bell. I didn’t mean it like that…”

“That’s okay. Family is everything,” He said, “I had to learn that the hard way a long time ago. Now I have nothing…nothing. Even my brain is going down the shitter!”

Anna stood watching the pitiful old man, feeling a great respect for him. She did not know what to say so she said nothing.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Go off and see your family! If they, have it already you won’t be endangering them anyway.”

Anna nodded and hung her head low, “I think you’re right, Mr. Bell. I’m sorry if I have ever been short with you. You do realize what this means though? Most of the staff is already gone…this place will be abandoned in a week’s time if not sooner. Tonight, there won’t be anyone to serve you your rations or give you medicine.”

“I’ll be okay, I’ve got plenty of food from those FEMA guys or whoever the hell they were,” Mr. Bell said dismissively as he pointed to the many boxes of foodstuffs littering his room.

“That’s not going to last forever, you know. You’re not eating enough as it is.”

“Stop worrying about me will you? I’m an old man. Shouldn’t have made it this far in the first place.”

Anna smiled and threw her patient a hug.

“Oh, come on. Even if I don’t have an immunity, I don’t want to be left hanging like that. Come here,” And Andrew opened his arms wide.

The two hugged for a minute and Andrew could almost feel the fear emanating off of his nurse’s aide. She feared for herself and for her patients who would be left to their own devices, but most of all she feared for her family.

“Remember…to stay inside Mr. Bellinger. Don’t leave this place until…until help comes.”

“And you remember to keep your chin up. You’re one of the good ones.”

Anna disengaged from their embrace and took leave of the ‘Old Glory’ wing for the final time soon after. She feared that if she lingered for too long, she would never leave and so she set out on her quest to return to her sick family without further delay.

Andrew was left alone, but it would not be the first time. He was beginning to come terms with the fact that his own mind was all he ever truly had in any given moment throughout his life. The nurses? His friends and family? Those bright smiling faces who hung merrily on the wall bathed in the summer sun? They existed inside of him all along, drowning in his memory.

Looking longingly at the beach picture hanging nearby, Andrew noticed something rather peculiar. The little figures of his wife, daughter, son in law, and grandchildren were stirring about as though they were still alive and the waves behind them were crashing. What’s more, he was missing from the photograph.

Alarmed, Andrew stood up from his chair and hobbled over to the picture, clutching his back. He bent forwards, peering fearfully through his glasses at the photo from so many years ago.

“Come on Andy get in here! Dad’s got the camera,” Miniature Debra said, gesturing for her husband to lean in closer.

Andrew’s eyes widened in shock, but before he could let out a scream, he felt a hand shove him from behind and he fell headfirst into the dusty picture frame.

Immediately, a salty wind was kissing Andrew Bellinger’s cheeks, which were far softer than in any of the previous memories he found himself encompassed by. Ocean waves crashed into the shoreline behind his family and glimmered under the rays of a fat sun.

“C’mon Andy, don’t keep the pretty lady waiting!” A familiar voice called from directly behind Andrew.

Andrew turned to face the voice and saw his father standing there shirtless, his wrinkled toes buried in the sand along with his wooden cane. He had never been one to shy away from soaking up the sun, even in his advanced age. Browning his already dark skin was all the man needed to be happy.

“You sure you don’t want to get in too, pops? I’m sure we could get somebody to hold the camera for us.”

“Nah I’ve never been one for pictures…seeing you kids happy is all I need. Now get in there will you?”

Andrew stood next to his wife and placed an arm around her waist. She looked up at him tenderly, expecting the photo to be a charming one. Christine, her husband, and the two boys rustled around and spoke lightheartedly.

“Everybody ready?” Charlie asked.

“Yup just one thing and-” Andrew swooped Debra off her feet and lifted her up into his arms which sent a burst of laughter through the family, “-now we’re ready.”

Charlie chuckled himself as he snapped the shot.

“I’ve been taking pictures a long time, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen such genuine smiles,” He remarked.

The boys broke away from the family soon after the photo to go splashing about in the water once again and were soon followed by Christine and her husband. Andrew and Debra took a seat on a blanket they’d laid out and watched the sun slowly lowering into the sea.

Debra sighed and rested her head on Andrew’s shoulder, “I wish everyday could be just like this, you know that?”

Andrew let his left hand fall into the sand, and he gripped a handful of the golden grains with it. One by one, they gradually drained from between his fingers.

“Yeah…that would be nice. But we’ll always have these moments to remember. No matter what we’ll always have that.”

The grains kept slipping.

Andrew looked out to sea and saw something large and misplaced sunken in the wet sand right at the shoreline. At first, he couldn’t tell what it was, but then it dawned on him, and his heart skipped a beat.

A few soft footfalls approached and stopped at Andrew’s side.

“It’s time to go back up, son,” Charlie said with a warm smile, “And when you get there…make sure to leave this all behind. Leave everything down here, Andy.”

“Even the good?” Andrew asked tearfully. He felt the last of the sand slip through his fingers.

“Yes. Especially the good.”

“I…I don’t understand why.”

“You don’t have to. All you have to do is get in that elevator. I’ll take care of all the rest.”

Andrew removed his hand from his wife’s and slowly, painfully stood up. He looked out across the short stretch of beach before him and saw, resting at the place where the land met the waves, an old elevator awaiting with its doors wide open. The tide lapped up beside the thing and filled it will a little seawater.

“Where are you going, Andy?” Debra asked with worry.

“I have to go back up,” Andrew replied, not finding it in him to look directly into her eyes.

“Up? Up where?”

“I don’t know, but I have to get there.”

He patted his father on the shoulder and headed towards those inviting doors. Stepping inside the elevator with his bare feet, he could feel the cool ocean water washing into the machine and then quickly draining out as the tide receded. He took a look at the control panel and could see that there were only two buttons: one atop the other. The top read: “MATTER” and the bottom: “MIND”.

“Wait! Do you have to go? Why can’t you stay just a bit longer?” Debra pleaded.

“He’s got to go back to where he came from, dear. That’s all there is to it,” Charlie answered for his son, “Now go ahead and hit the button. Things will make sense soon enough.”

Andrew took one last look at the beach and his family, trying his best to collect every last detail to store in his mind. Then he pressed the “MATTER” button and the doors slid shut. He could hear a mechanical rumbling and felt the elevator ascend.

Depleted both mentally and physically, Mr. Bellinger laid down on the wet floor of the elevator and experienced a bottomless yearning for the past he was leaving behind. The lights in the elevator flickered suddenly and came back on noticeably dimmer. He thought of Charlie’s words once more: “Leave everything down here, Andy…”

The lights faltered again and went out. All was darkness.

Day 10: A Ballad of Bellinger

Andrew awoke cold and wet from his filthy bed. A cold daylight seeped from between the cracks in his curtains and cast a harsh gloom over room 119. It took a few seconds for Andrew to shimmy his emaciated bones to the edge of the bed and a few more to find his glasses on the bedside table. He placed them on his face and noticed immediately that the right lens was webbed with tiny silver fractures.

Peering through his spectacles, Andrew examined his room. There was water leaking from somewhere above him, and when he directed his gaze upwards in search of the source, he could spot a sizable crack in the ceiling. The water was dripping both onto the bed and onto the tiled floor which was beginning to bow and discolor. The rest of the room was in no better shape. The television screen was smashed in, the walls were growing black mold, and every surface was coated in a sticky layer of dust.

Turning his thoughts inwards, Andrew could recall, if only vaguely, his trip into the subterranean corridor of the facility. What’s more, he felt quite lucid. It was as if a thick fog shrouding his mind with deceptions had suddenly and unexpectedly lifted.

“Surfs…that’s what they called it. The virus…” Andrew whispered to himself with a shudder. His teeth were chattering as the cold water continued to drizzle into the room.

He ripped his moldy blankets and sheets off and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. Finding his footing and a pair of slippers, he was able to stand up though a great pain in his back flared up. He cursed viciously at nothing and grabbed a hold of his bedside cabinet for balance.

Gotta get dressed, A voice in his head commanded. I need to see what it looks like outside. And so he began the painful process of rummaging through his dresser for an appropriate pair of clothes. Was it hot outside? It was supposed to be late spring after all, wasn’t it? No, Spring was when it all fell apart. It’s cold now. That same voice explained.

Once dressed in a shabby shirt and jacket, cargo pants that were far to loose even with a belt, and tattered brown shoes, Mr. Bellinger lowered himself into his wheelchair and prepared to exit his quarters. He twisted the knob on the door- pushed it open with a creak- and headed out into the gray hallway. The floor out here was lathered in grime and rat droppings. A long file of ants marched down the center of the hall and split into smaller lines that turned sharply into the residents’ private rooms. One of these lines went into Andrew’s room. They were raiding what little food he had left one crumb at a time. The animal crackers, stale popcorn, the few reaming packaged rations…all of it dwindling.

Andrew tried not to think about the fate that awaited him when his supplies finally ran dry. He could try to crush the ants or rig together a few traps, but this was more than a mere infestation. It was an invasion, and it seemed clear that nothing short of an atom bomb would put a dent in the implacable advance of these bastard ants and cockroaches.

Mr. Bellinger spared a glance to his right towards the nursing station and the second half of the “Old Glory” unit. Much like the rest of the building it appeared drab and uninviting. There was nothing but rotting corpses down that way, no doubt.

Andrew decided to head to his left in the direction of the atrium with the faintest hope that he would see a living person. Numerous times his wheelchair got stuck on the skeleton of a dead rat or in a hole in the floor, but he continued on his journey undeterred. Eventually the withered old man reached the door to the atrium which had a laminated sign attached to it:

ATTENTION! RESIDENTS NOT ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT. ALL STAFF MUST DOFF PPE AND DECON IN ROOM 125 BEFORE EXITING INTO COMMON AREAS!

Andrew disregarded this sign and proceeded. The atrium stank heavily of death and decay. It seemed that a few residents had gathered in this open space after the staff had fled. The lucky ones died from the virus whilst the handful of immune survivors died much ghastlier deaths.

Humans were not the only ones to be met with a horrible end either. Sammy’s cage was open and his little feathers and dried up bones peppered the floor around his cage. The fish tank with the three little guppies had also been smashed open although whoever had eaten them did not spare the bones.

Did I eat them? Andrew wondered. Suddenly, he had a feeling as though a sinkhole had just opened up within his stomach. He wheeled himself towards the lunch table him and his friends had claimed. Charlie and Debra…they had never been in the nursing home, but Jack, Freddie, and a few others had kept Andrew’s company during his stay.

At the table, he found two corpses. One was a skeleton that had been picked clean long ago by insects and other wildlife. The second was rotting but still much fresher. This man was skinny, his black eyeballs sunken into his skull. There was a gaping, bloody hole in the corpse’s chest with a knife jammed into it. Resting upon the table, in Andrew’s spot, was a dirty ceramic dish that had a piece of crusty meat on it.

“No…” Andrew murmured, “No, it can’t be real…”

Andrew spun his chair around quickly and forced the vision of that slab of diced-up meat from his mind. It was just a Salisbury steak anyway. Just a steak. And he was so fucking hungry. He had to eat, didn’t he? He had too-”

Mr. Bellinger retched, and a few mushy bits of cracker came back up. Once his stomach calmed down, he pulled his wheelchair up to one of the entrances to the other units, trying to keep his mind occupied with the task of finding some other living soul. Each of the other units he came across all had the same sign:

STOP! YOU ARE ENTERING A HOT ZONE! DO NOT ENTER WITHOUT FULL ISOLATION PRECAUTIONS!

And below that:

SUSPECTED SRFS? CALL THE HOTLINE LISTED BELOW. DO NOT RETURN TO WORK!

The stench of death was far too strong in each of these hallways for Andrew to bother checking for life. He knew the truth of his situation was simple: there were no other survivors in the building. Perhaps a small number of immune residents managed to escape into the outside world, but Saint Dymphna’s itself had become little more than a room-temperature morgue.

That left two options available for Andrew: he could either starve in this gloomy prison of death or join the one or two lucky residents who decided to take their chances out in the open. The choice seemed like an obvious one, and yet Andrew could not help but fear the unknown world that awaited him out there. Was there anyone left worth meeting? Anyone who would not slaughter him for his shoes or rob him of his dwindling food supply?

Probably not.

Nevertheless, all it took was another quick glance at that maggot filled steak to encourage Mr. Bellinger to head towards the main entrance. He left the atrium in a hurry, crossed the small hallway that was lined with arts and craft (and posters on the dangers of SRFS), and finally wheeled into the reception area. There were posters and barricades around the main double doors, but someone had shoved them out of place long ago. The receptionist’s desk, chandelier, and faux marble fountain, on the other hand, still remained in the exact positions they had been when Andrew was first admitted so long ago. He passed these derelict structures and zig-zagged his way through the barricades, eventually making his way to the front door.

Andrew hesitated. The glass on the doors was cloudy, but he could see that the rain that had been falling not long ago had turned to fat snow snowflakes. His frozen breath fogged the glass further and obscured the outside nearly entirely. Whatever lay beyond- however terrible- was still nothing more than a mystery. And it could remain that way forever if Mr. Bellinger merely laid back into his wet bed, wrapped himself in as many blankets as he could find, and downed a bottle of left-over blood pressure medication.

As he was considering this fate he remembered, faintly, the way the sun glimmered on the surface of the ocean all of those years ago. He saw Debra’s smiling face as she gazed out at that same heavenly sight. What if I could see the sun again? The ocean? Andrew asked himself. The prospect of seeing such a natural beauty had to be worth a short walk out into the cold dead world that awaited him.

Mr. Bellinger brazenly opened the door and exited into the wasteland. His eyes took a second to adjust to the startling whiteness of the gathering snowflakes and the sparkling lights that reflected off of them. He surveyed the open lot that lay ahead. The rusting hulk of a national guard supply truck was parked eternally near one of the side entrances, flanked by two smaller vehicles. There was a single camouflaged skeleton lying in the mud near these trucks, but it did not appear to have any comrades. Three or four other corpses lay not far from the entrance although these had quite clearly been residents.

Besides a few decaying cars and a flagpole whose tattered flag hung at half-mast, there was not much else to see in this lifeless parking lot. Andrew pulled his coat tightly against his flesh and took a deep rattling breath of the cold air. He smelt something peculiar.

Something was burning somewhere…

Surely enough, he could see a threatening orange glow cast upon the bellies of low hanging clouds. A great fire was now just three short miles away and growing quickly. A few weeks prior an unlucky lightning strike had ignited a dead tree and that tree set a forest ablaze. The forest sent a gas station up in a fireball and that fireball would eventually consume the better part of town. There were no fire fighters to stop this terrible onslaught, no government remaining to organize a response, no hope whatsoever of anything putting an end to it save for the very nature that started it. And how long would that take? Would this snowfall be able to extinguish the roaring flames that had burned for nearly three weeks unhindered, or would Andrew and the whole of St. Dymphna’s be engulfed in due time?

It was this realization that there was no civilization left able to combat such devastation, that forced Andrew to the conclusion that the world had indeed come to an end. And now, at this crucial moment, Andrew also noticed that his entire existence had amounted to little more than a trivial dance. A ballad. A gameshow. Something to be briefly witnessed and just as soon destroyed. All that he had were memories from the world that came before, and many of those were tainted by the same horrors that plagued it now.

With a mixture of stubbornness and defeat, Andrew wheeled himself along the cracked sidewalk and into the snowy parking lot. As he went along, he started to feel a bit better about his situation. At the very least he was lucid enough to recall the gorgeous face of his wife and the sweet nature of his dau-

Andrew froze in shock. He could see something approaching through the white fog of snow and the orange haze of the distant fire. There were three figures coming straight at him, each with a purposeful gait. Adjusting his cracked glasses to get a better look, Mr. Bellinger stared on curiously.

Day 0: Mind of Matter

“Ready for your first day, Daddy?” Christine asked her father. She took hold of the handles of his wheelchair and spun him back around to face the nursing home.

Andrew grunted, the lucidity receding from his eyes in a flash, “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

The rubber tires of his wheelchair squeaked noisily as he was guided towards the front entrance. Goddamn wheelchair! Andrew thought with outrage. He pondered several things in this ill-tempered state as he was pushed along like a shopping cart. The dreadful weather, the impotence of his grandchildren, the disappointment he harbored for his daughter- these were all emotions that boiled to the surface of his mind.

Gudunk! One of the tires of the wheelchair sank into a large crack in the concrete before bouncing violently back out.

“Sorry about that…lots of holes in this sidewalk,” Christine said nonchalantly.

Andrew did not respond although he was quite enraged. The double doors of St. Dymphna’s Nursing Home were close at hand now and soon he would be beginning a new dismal life where he would have plenty of time to lament over such minor grievances. No use in jumping the gun now.

“Can one of you get the door for your father, please?”

Jacob, Andrew’s youngest grandson, went ahead to press the automatic button beside the entrance. The double doors clattered open and revealed a dreary looking interior.

Mr. Bellinger sighed as he was wheeled in, “Here we go…”

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