Scene 21: The Thing In The Dark
"Move! MOVE!"
The shout echoed down the sterile white corridor, sharp and authoritative.
Dr. Cornelius West strode forward at a near-run, her white coat billowing behind her, a small medical bag clutched in one hand. Her brown eyes were wide, focused, already assessing the scene before she'd fully arrived.
Behind her came two guards in pressed blue uniforms, their expressions grim. And trailing slightly behind them, hands clenched at his sides, glasses askew on his pale face—
Jacob.
The corridor was no longer empty.
Patients lined the walls on both sides, fifteen, maybe twenty of them, all in identical gray uniforms. They stood in loose clusters, some leaning against the walls, others craning their necks to see. Their faces ranged from morbid curiosity to blank indifference to barely concealed excitement.
Whispers rippled through the crowd like wind through tall grass.
"...both of them just collapsed..."
"...think they're dead?"
"Nah, they're breathing. I think..."
"...bet it's the pils..."
"Oh my god, is this going to happen to all of us?!"
"Quiet," one of the guards barked, not turning his head. "Step back, ALL OF YOU!"
No one moved.
Dr. West reached the two bodies.
Glenn and Anthony lay on the cold tile floor, roughly three feet apart. Both were on their backs, arms splayed at their sides, eyes closed. Their chests rose and fell in shallow, irregular rhythms.
Glenn's face was pale, almost gray, a thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead. His jaw was slack, his expression eerily peaceful.
Anthony's face was worse—flushed and blotchy, his lips slightly parted, a string of saliva trailing from the corner of his mouth to the tile. His right hand twitched sporadically, fingers curling and uncurling in slow, involuntary spasms.
Dr. West dropped to one knee beside Glenn, her bag hitting the floor with a soft thud. She pressed two fingers to the side of his neck, just below the jaw.
Silence.
The crowd watched.
Jacob watched.
His hands were clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone white. His breathing was shallow, rapid, his eyes fixed on Glenn's still form. His lips moved soundlessly, forming words no one could hear:
Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay.
"Pulse is present," Dr. West said, her voice calm and clinical. "Weak but steady. Sixty-two BPM."
She moved to Anthony, repeating the process. Her fingers found the pulse point. She counted silently, her eyes flicking to the second hand on her wristwatch.
"Fifty-eight BPM. Also weak."
She pulled a small penlight from her coat pocket and leaned over Glenn first, gently peeling back one eyelid.
The light flicked on.
Glenn's pupil constricted sluggishly, the reaction delayed but present.
She moved to the other eye.
Same response.
Then to Anthony.
His pupils reacted faster, snapping tight the moment the light hit them. His head jerked slightly to the side, a faint groan escaping his throat.
Dr. West clicked off the penlight and sat back on her heels, exhaling slowly through her nose.
"Syncope," she said, more to herself than anyone else. "Likely vasovagal."
One of the guards, a broad-shouldered man with a scar above his left eyebrow, stepped closer.
"English, Doc."
"They fainted," Dr. West said curtly. "Blood pressure dropped too fast. Could be stress, dehydration, medication interaction..." She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked between the two bodies. "Or something else."
The guard frowned. "Something else?"
Dr. West didn't answer. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small vial and syringe.
"What's that?" Jacob's voice cracked from behind them, high and tight.
Dr. West didn't look up. "Ammonia inhalant and glucose solution. Standard revival protocol."
She snapped the seal on the ammonia capsule and waved it under Glenn's nose.
Nothing.
She tried again, closer this time, practically pressing it to his nostril.
Glenn's face twitched. His brow furrowed. His head turned slightly to the side, away from the smell.
But his eyes didn't open.
Dr. West frowned.
She moved to Anthony, repeating the process.
Anthony's reaction was immediate and violent.
His eyes flew open. He gasped—a sharp, desperate inhale—and his whole body jerked upright, nearly colliding with Dr. West's face.
"Whoa, easy—" Dr. West placed a hand on his shoulder, easing him back down. "Easy. You're okay. Just breathe."
Anthony's eyes were wild, darting around the corridor, taking in the crowd, the guards, Jacob, Dr. West. His breathing was ragged, panicked.
"Where—" His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. "Where am I?"
"You're in the Baron Protea hospital," Dr. West said calmly. "You fainted. Do you remember what happened?"
Anthony's mouth opened. Closed. His eyes drifted past her, landing on the communal bathroom door.
His face drained of color.
"The... the water..." he whispered.
Dr. West leaned closer. "What about the water?"
Anthony didn't answer. His eyes had gone distant, unfocused, staring at something no one else could see.
Dr. West studied him for a long moment, then turned to the guards.
"Get him back to his room. Bed rest. No activities today. I'll check on him in an hour."
The guard with the scar nodded. He and his partner moved forward, each taking one of Anthony's arms and hauling him to his feet.
Anthony didn't resist. He moved like a puppet, his legs unsteady, his gaze still fixed on the bathroom door as they led him away.
The crowd parted to let them through, eyes tracking Anthony's every step.
Dr. West turned her attention back to Glenn.
His eyes were still closed. His face was still pale. The ammonia hadn't worked.
She tried again.
Nothing.
Jacob took a step forward, his voice small and tight.
"Why... why isn't he waking up?"
Dr. West didn't answer immediately. She capped the ammonia vial and set it aside, then reached for Glenn's wrist, checking his pulse again.
Still there. Still steady.
But he wasn't waking up.
"Doctor—" Jacob's voice cracked.
"He's stable," Dr. West said, her tone clipped. She looked up at the remaining guard. "Get him back to his room. Now. Elevate his legs. I'll be there in five minutes."
The guard nodded and bent down, scooping Glenn up with practiced ease, one arm under his shoulders, the other under his knees.
Glenn's head lolled to the side, his dark blonde hair falling across his face.
Jacob moved to follow, but Dr. West held up a hand.
"Ah, where do you think you going?."
Jacob froze. "But—"
"Back to your routine," Dr. West said, her voice firm but not unkind. "I won't tell you this again."
Jacob's jaw worked, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His eyes flicked from Dr. West to the guard carrying Glenn down the corridor.
"I... I just want to make sure he's okay," Jacob said quietly.
Dr. West's expression softened, just slightly.
"I can see that," she said. "But the best thing you can do for him right now is stay out of the way. Understood?"
Jacob hesitated. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Good." Dr. West stood, brushing off her coat. She picked up her bag and turned to the crowd. Her voice rang out, sharp and authoritative.
"Alright, everyone. Show's over. Back to your routines. Now."
No one moved at first.
Then, slowly, reluctantly, the patients began to disperse. Some shuffled toward the communal bathroom. Others drifted back down the corridor toward their rooms, glancing over their shoulders as they went.
Within a minute, the corridor was empty again.
Except for Dr. West.
And Jacob.
He stood there, still rooted to the spot, his hands still clenched, his eyes still fixed on the empty space where Glenn had been.
Dr. West studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable.
"Jacob," she said quietly.
He didn't respond.
"Jacob."
He blinked. His head turned slightly toward her.
"Go," she said, her tone gentler now. "He'll be okay."
Jacob swallowed hard. He nodded again, more to himself than to her, and turned away.
His footsteps echoed softly as he walked down the corridor, his shoulders hunched, his hands still clenched at his sides.
Dr. West watched him go.
Then she turned and walked briskly in the opposite direction, her white coat snapping behind her.