Patient 27

Chloe couldn’t remember if the blood on her hands was hers or someone else’s. She inspected her palms, noting the way the scarlet liquid wedged itself in the grooves carved into her flesh. It was an excessive amount, dripping down the sides of her hands, splattering on the floor beneath her in a rhythmic drip-drip-drip. A thud before her prompted her to look up and see a man—her patient—bang his head against the wall.

His hands were shaking, and when he raised his head to pin those wild, crazed eyes on Chloe, she noticed his bleeding nose. She connected the dots, realizing, with some relief that at least it wasn’t her blood, but what she couldn’t remember was how it got there. 

Her patient, now five feet closer to her, fixed her with that manic look of his, the streak of red coming from his nose only making the situation that much more eerie. What Chloe could recall was that her patient kept forgetting who she was, where he was. Each time he looked at her rabidly and she knew he’d become disoriented, she would hold out her hand at him, assuring the schizophrenic man that she was real, that he wasn’t imagining her. 

“Noah,” Chloe started cautiously, slowly. “You’re okay. You’re in the Chicago city asylum, I’m the doctor, remember?” 

He only fixed her with a blank stare, looking around the room as if he were seeing it for the first time once again. She wasn’t sure what exact thing was going on with Noah Miller, other than the fact that his condition was a special case, and she’d fought to get herself assigned to it. 

Even though her job consisted of working with crazy people, she had to admit that she found the job interestingly exhilarating. She liked being able to probe into her patients’ minds, analyze their behavior to help them improve. They were crazy but the whole aspect excited her. 

She found the idea that minds can be so alike but oddly different fascinating. How even though everyone on Earth was the same, they were also so incredibly different. It was euphoric. 

“I do not know you,” Came Noah’s raspy voice, and the way it echoed off the walls of the too-bright room made it seem as if his voice was in her head. 

“It’s okay if you don’t remember.” Chloe told him gently, keeping her gaze pinned on him. “Like I said earlier, I’m a doctor at the asylum. You’re my patient, I’m treating you for schizophrenia.” 

Noah shook his head aggressively, and the bright, fluorescent lights above them shook ominously, as if in agreement with his rage. “You’re not real.” 

Chloe suppressed a shiver. Again with that creepy distortion of his voice. The room was big, and spacious, which explains why his ratty voice manages to echo off like that, get into her head like that. But at the same time, after spending so much time working with people like this, Chloe couldn’t help but feel that sometimes the walls feel as if they’re closing in, sucking the air out the room. Suffocating. Like their voices and their nightmares and their darkness has begun to taint her. And yet she still keeps the job, she still loves it above anything in the world. Being a doctor was who she was, it was a part of her that she would never let go despite the horrors she’s endured. 

“Yes, I am. I understand it’s hard to understand what is real and what isn’t, but I can assure you, Noah, that what you’re seeing is reality—” 

“This isn’t real. You’re not real. I’m not real.” 

Chloe let out a defeated sigh. Sometimes it was frustrating when patients wouldn’t comply. When they set their mind to something, stuck with it, and lived that lie in the distorted figments of their slowly unraveling mind. But at the same time, her heart unfurled with sympathy for his condition, the behavior he cannot control. She wished she could understand where he was coming from ,where his mind goes in those little space-out moments he has. What he thinks when he snaps back to reality only to find himself in an old, new space he’s been to but can’t remember. 

“Noah, why don’t you go ahead and lie down…” Chloe offers instead, gesturing with a blood-crusted hand towards the little bed in the corner of the room. 

Noah glances over towards the piece of furniture, stares at it as if he doesn’t trust it. “No. I don’t want to.” 

Chloe gives him an encouraging smile. “Why not?” 

Her patient’s eyes glaze over, his pupils dilating as he stares at something in the distance. Something behind her. Chills run down her spine, even though she knows what he’s seeing isn’t real. Just a confusion between a dream and a nightmare, imagination and distorted reality. 

He points a finger behind her, eyes wild with terror. His nails are crusted, dark with grime underneath them, lined in reddish blood from picking at his skin. “He won’t let me.” 

Despite herself, Chloe feels her heart beginning to race. That’s the other thing about her job. Their lines between dreams and reality were so blurred, she sometimes didn’t know if she could trust her own eyes. “Who won’t?” 

Noah’s terrified face slowly curved into a sinister smile, the dried blood connecting his nose to his lip making the sight all the more horrifying for Chloe. “Turn around and see for yourself.” His manic laughter ringed in her ears. 

“Noah, remember, he is not real.” Chloe reminded him gently, which only prompted him to rush forward, his face only inches from hers. 

“He wants you to look at him!” His breath fanned across her face. Old and rusty and smelling of fear. Chloe didn’t move, out of fear that he would make a move for her, wrap his fingers around her throat. She needed to call security. 

“Look at him! Look at him Chloe, look at him!” Noah’s scream was as unsettling as his echoey voice, his craze tinted eyes, blood crusted smile. 

She began to back away slowly, keeping her eyes glued onto him. “Noah, look at me. He is not real.” 

His long, bony fingers took her shoulders and her eyes widened, fear radiating off her in waves. He could sense it, smell it, she knew he could. He shook her. Hard enough to make  her teeth rattle. 

“You know who isn’t real? Me.” His lips split into a grin, and he begun cackling, as if this whole situation was amusing. She’d known he was a special case but she had not expected a man this deluded.  “I’M NOT REAL!” 

Chloe pried herself away, heart racing, stomach lurching, feeling the urge to scream out loud herself. Out of fear, help, or irrational thinking she did not know. 

She ran to the door, began to bang on it relentlessly. “Help! Help, someone, please, we need sedatives administered for Patient 27!” 

His footsteps thundered behind her, getting closer with each earth-rattling step. She screamed louder, banging on the door for help, not being able to find her keys anywhere. She became hyper-aware of his presence then, felt every breath, every devilish laugh he made and desperation fueled her screams, urging her to plead harder. 

“It’s like you say.” His voice was right behind her, and she could feel her vocal cords vibrating with the intensity of the scream she made. He mocked her with his laugh, with his words. It was in her head, driving her insane, like the voice of an old friend. Comforting yet terrifying all at once. “It’s not real. Focus on something else. It’s. Not. Real.” 

Noah giggled and his fingers grazed the back of her neck, she tensed, her breathing becoming heavy as her heart struggled to keep up with the erratic pulse roaring in her ears. “Pretend it isn’t real.” 

“Don’t touch me,” she warned, her voice hoarse and his dirty fingernails dug into the side of her neck, almost as a kind of warning, only then, at that moment, the door swung open. Doctors rushed in, with white coats and syringes, ready with a sedative to calm Noah down. 

She sagged with relief, gratitude beginning to replace the fear in her bones until she realized her backup was seizing her. She writhed against their grip. “No! No, my patient is right behind me, he needs to be tranquilized! Patient 27!” Her voice came out reedy and thin like a sort of whine. 

She wrestled against her restraints, and noticed the syringe was coming down onto her neck. She couldn't understand why though, because the syringe was clearly labeled with the number 27. It was for Noah, not for her!

No! 

The cold tip pierced her flesh, and dread pooled in her stomach as the liquid traveled through her veins, taking a hold of her body, making it go limp limb by limb. Her head turned foggy and her vision blurred as she sagged. The doctors murmured something. She strained her ears with the last bit of energy she had left to catch what they said. 

“Does she still think she’s the doctor? How much longer can her mind keep tricking her into this game of pretend?”

“I don’t know, but it’s getting really creepy to observe. I don’t know how we’re ever going to treat her. Come on, let’s strap her to the bed.”