Chained...

Dun Dun Dun Dun 

I wake up with a severe headache. A dripping pipe creates discord with the rhythmic pounding in my head. My thoughts are scrambled. The barren room, with the cement walls and concrete flooring, looks unfamiliar. Seems like I'm in a warehouse, but why?  

I try to stand from the chair only to realize I'm chained down, my arms and legs pinned down so I cannot move. I scream in panic, only to hear a muffled sound. I'm gagged as well.  

Dun Dun Dun Dun

My heart is beating so fast that the pounding in my chest seems to match the pounding in my head. My eyes are still adjusting to the room’s dim lighting. I cry out again, my pleas subdued by the cloth in my mouth. 

Two figures emerge from the shadows. Only two? For some reason, I expected there to be more people: eight to be exact. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the dread that is building in my subconscious. 

The woman seems worried. She is chewing her once-manicured nails. Her tanning salon complexion is marred by dirt. Her blond hair is matted with what appears to be mud and blood. 

The unpleasant stench of rancid sweat hits my nostrils. It is apparent that no one in this room, including myself, has taken a shower in several days. A number comes to me: we have been on the run for six days. 

"Sorry for tying you up," she mutters. "I couldn't risk losing you, and it gave you your best chance to resist."

"Best chance?" I repeat in my head. I wonder if this woman and this man are why I'm chained to the chair. And why is this woman afraid of losing me? Who is she? 

She is my sister, Katherine. My sweet, lonely, workaholic older sister. The feeling of love washes over me as I remember her. 

The man is now crouched next to me. "How you doing, bud?" he asks with what sounds like fatherly concern. There is a twinkle in his eyes despite his haggard appearance. The man is much older than my sister, probably by thirty years. His blue turtleneck and his khaki pants are both ripped. I notice that one of the lenses in his glasses is gone. 

I stare into his wrinkled face, wanting to remember. I don't believe he is my dad. Somewhere from within the fog of my mind, I recall that my father died two years ago. Who is he?

I still can't remember.

"Take the gag off so he can answer you, Gene," Katherine says in frustration. I think of any Genes I know, but I come up blank. 

Gene obliges and removes a red necktie, which acts as my muzzle. "How are you feeling?" he asks again warmly. 

I open my mouth to speak, and nothing comes out. 

Dun Dun Dun Dun

My headache seems to be getting worse. I try again. "I got this feeling," I say weakly. I am finding it difficult to put into words what I'm feeling. My head feels like it is being played like a drum. My heart is beating so fast, as if in ¾ time. My breathing is labored, and my hands are shaky. I have this pressure that wants to explode from my core. I am unsure of how to put all these feelings into words. "Inside my bones" is all I can muster before my words dry up again.

Gene and my sister look at each other. I can see the fear on her face as she resumes chewing her nails. Gene just shakes his head. I can sense their concern. He gags me again. He stands up, walks over to my sister, and gives her a big, awkward, yet comforting hug. Arthritis has given the kind man a slight hump, and he is now shorter than my sister. 

Gene! I remember him. He lives with his wife a few houses from my sister and me. I don't know much about him besides the fact he is a retired music teacher, and he —

Wait, I live with my sister? This fact feels true, yet I have no memory of it. In fact, I am struggling to remember many details of my life, including my name. My chest tightens, and I feel tears streaming down my face. 

Dun Dun Dun Dun

The infernal pounding is making it so hard for me to remember. 

My sister must have seen my silent sobs, and she is now kneeling down next to me. She wipes away a tear. "You are almost there!" She looks at her watch. "Just 20 more minutes, and you would have beaten the infection." She looks at me with a mixture of nerves and pride. "Do you remember when you couldn't sleep because you were worried the tooth fairy was going to steal all your teeth?" she asks with an inauthentic lightness. 

I fight so hard to remember that moment. However, my empty eyes betray my lack of connection.

My sister now wipes away her own tears and kisses my forehead. "You are so strong and brave. You got this!" she tenderly whispers in my ear.

I am embarrassed that I could ever forget such a caring person. 

As Katherine begins to pace around the room, trying to keep busy for the next 20 minutes, her words unlodge a few memories. Right now, the world is falling apart. There is an unknown infection turning people into… turning into… I can't seem to remember the word.  

In horror, I realize now that the reason why I'm tied up in the chair is because I, too, am infected. So why haven't I turned? 

"Just 20 minutes." I hear Katherine's words echoing in my mind. Flashes of a news conference play in my head, and I remember a doctor providing hope. If one can fight off the infection for 24 hours, they become immune. 

I'm less than 20 minutes away from becoming immune. If there wasn't a necktie in my mouth, I would smile.  

That is my necktie. I was wearing it when we fled. I look down. The suit and white dress shirt are gone. All I have left of my previous life is a tank top undershirt, black dress pants, and too-tight black dress shoes. 

My name is Kevin! I remember my name. I see more glimpses of my life. I am (was?) a banker. My job was my identity. I cared more about advancing in my career than my marriage. It led to my divorce.

My breathing is becoming more staccato. I remember something else: I'm also dying of lung cancer. I moved in with my sister so she could better care for me. I remember once she closed her yoga studio early so she could take me to my chemo treatment. 

My poor sister. Whether it was the infection or the cancer, she was always going to lose me.  

Dun Dun Dun Dun

Who am I again?

Thump Thump Thump Thump

That pounding sound is not coming from my head. 

I look around and realize the pounding is coming from outside the room. I can see panic in the eyes of the two people whose names I can't remember. They reach for the guns and headphones. 

"I got one bullet left," the woman says.

"Same," replies the man. "Just means we got to fight them with our brains first and guns second."

Thump Thump Thump Thump

I realize that the pounding outside is in sync with the pounding in my head. The infected are here, and they want me. I can sense their presence. I can feel their thoughts. I am petrified as my feelings and thoughts are incorporated into their hive mind. I hear a choir of voices, all in perfect harmony. It sounds… hauntingly beautiful.

I recall the kiss on the forehead. I need to fight it. For someone close to me… I just can't remember who.

Dun Dun Dun Dun

The pounding in my head intensifies. The humming in my ears gets louder. The pressure inside my chest continues to build. My muscles are twitching, and I begin to shake. I can see my hands starting to tap the arms of the chair. It feels like there is electricity coursing through my body. 

Dun Dun Dun Dun

My thoughts become hazy. I struggle to remember why I am resisting. My legs are restless. My skeleton wants to jump from my body. My feet are on fire. It feels like my shoes are somehow suffocating me. I try to kick them off to relieve the tension in my body.  

"Oh no," I hear the man yell. "Your brother is starting to turn." I see him aim the gun at me. 

"What are you doing?" I hear the woman scream as she lunges towards the man, "Don't hurt him." They wrestle, and I hear a gunshot. The gun must have gone off when the woman tackled the man to the ground. I can see blood streaming down her shoulder from where the bullet grazed her. She saved my life. 

"I am so sorry, Katie —"  

"Don't call me that!" the woman roars. She takes a deep breath to try to compose herself. She is shaking. She puts the hand holding the gun over the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. "I'm going to be ok." she eventually says. 

Both sets of eyes now turn to me. The woman chews on the nails of her free hand. The man remains on the floor, unable to move out of fear.

"You doomed us," the old man mumbles at the bleeding woman. "He's at the last stage. He is cutting footloose."

I feel the sweet release of the pent-up pressure. The rhythm I was once holding back now flows through my body. It wants to come out through my feet as I dance. I kick off my black dress shoes.

Dun Dun Dun Dun

The pounding is now a comforting rhythm. The hum is now a familiar melody. It is a song I once heard in a old movie I watched as a kid. I can clearly picture my entire family sitting down watching Fred Astaire dance to "Puttin' on the Ritz." 

A surge of energy reinvigorates me as I stand up. I ram my back to a wall, breaking the chair. I grab a long piece of the broken chair and twirl it like a cane. 

Toe Heel Toe Heel

My feet tap dance to the rhythm as if I have been studying the art my whole life. The beautiful rhythm that makes sense of the pain and suffering of the world.

Toe Toe Heel Heel

I spin in excitement. I just did a cramp roll! I had no idea what that was until I let the music take hold. I have never felt so alive, so healthy.  

I take a deep breath. I haven't taken a deep breath since the diagnosis. My muscles feel strong like they did before chemo. 

Toe Heel Toe Heel

I begin doing Maxi Ford steps, buffalo steps, and ball changes. Each move removes an old worry. I no longer worry about achievements. I just focus on the dance. I feel freer. I am a part of something bigger now. My voice joins the heavenly choir of the hive mind. 

I am We are stronger. 

We tap dance around the room without any care. We are no longer human. We are now dancers. 

Toe Toe Heel Heel

It feels good to let the music in and succumb to the rhythm. We look around and see Gene still frozen on the floor. Katherine is now curled up in a corner.

We shuffle-step towards Gene. He is screaming, tears of fear staining his leathery cheeks. We remove his headphones and sing a few lines from "Puttin' on the Ritz." He is now exposed to the infectious earworm. 

Gene's pupils widen as he hears the lyrics. He grins as he quickly lets the music take control. His body convulses and contorts in the rhythm of the song. Foam begins to form in his mouth as he sings along. He kicks off his shoes. The transformation is complete. 

We finally see Gene. He is no longer an ignored neighbor. His fears, hopes, and dreams are a part of us. He is an important instrument in the orchestra of life. 

In his previous life, Gene was a 72-year-old piano teacher who had to quit because of arthritis. Now, he moves like a young Mick Jagger. We all move like Mick Jagger.

Our fellow dancer, Gene, does a kip-up and begins doing the Charleston. He hasn't moved like that since he took his future wife to the homecoming dance. We feel his joy as we dance alongside him. 

Katherine simply watches in terror. "Kevin, please fight it. I need you," she whimpers, struggling to grasp her new reality. 

A new song starts in our heads. It's Katy Perry's "Chained to the Rhythm." The infected outside keeps the rhythm by pounding on the windows and the doors. 

We sing the words while performing hip-hop dance moves. We slowly move closer to Katherine. 

At the part where the song mentions rose-colored glasses, the fellow dancers outside shatter the windows. With half their bodies sticking out of the broken glass, they vogue to the beat. 

The doors bust open, and more of our fellow dancers join the choreography as if we were a well-rehearsed flash mob. 

We can see Katherine is frightened. We just want her to be happy, and the only way to clap along to the rhythm. Alas, she is still under the misguided delusion that happiness comes from success and achievement. She is blinded by her ambition and desire to shine as if life were a solo. 

She points the gun towards us, an empty threat. Her arms are trembling. We dance closer to her. "Please, Kevin," she pleads, "you're all I got." Her eyes are red from crying. We know she loves us too much to hurt us.

Still shaking, she raises the gun to her face and points it up. As she presses the trigger, she removes her headphones. She is now deaf, unable to hear our life-changing song. 

This is a temporary setback as her hearing will return. Then, there will be no escape from our melodies. It is a matter of time before she, too, experiences the blissful freedom of being chained to the rhythm.