The Subject

Chapter one

The keys weighed heavy in his hand as he reached the door. He inserted the gold key into
the lock. With a gentle click and a twist of the knob, the door swung open. Ben dragged himself
past the doorstep and pushed the door closed with his foot. He dropped his favorite jacket on the
floor and kicked of his shoes. Meanwhile, the coat rack was collecting dust in the corner, sitting
empty for months.

For sixteen hours a day, the house stayed empty as Ben typed away at his keyboard at
work. He never thought being a video game programmer would be so demanding. His fingers
sore from the constant movement, wrists becoming stiff. With a crack of the knuckles, he
reached for the light switch, which bore a weight under his tired hands. The dim light flicked on
and he made his way down the short hall, feet dragging across the floor. His stomach let out a
loud grumble reminding him that he hadn’t eaten all day. Sometimes he felt as though there
wasn't time to do anything besides work. Between his deadlines and his boss constantly
breathing down his neck, he often forgot to breathe.

Ben entered the kitchen, flipping the light switch on as he passed. He took his phone out
of his pocket and at once placed it on the charger next to the sink. Nobody calls or texts, but you
never know when you might need your phone.

Turning around with a step, he reached the refrigerator and pulled on the handle. One
yogurt, a couple of left-over tacos in a box, a six-pack of beer. He meant to buy groceries a
couple of days ago, but it must have slipped his mind. "I guess tacos and beer for dinner again,"
he mumbled.

He can't remember the last time he had a different meal. The days seemed to blend like
paint on an artist’s canvas. From home to work and work back to home. Living alone hasn't been
easy. There was no one to care whether he ate or cleaned.

He pulled out the plate of tacos as the refrigerator began to close. He placed the fully
loaded taco plate into the microwave. As he pressed the start button, something dark swept past
his vision in the other room. He glanced over his right shoulder trying to catch whatever he
thought he saw. What was that? There was nothing there except the empty living room
permeated with a hint of light that was coming from the kitchen and the windows. He took a step
in the direction of the shadow he saw but was pulled back by the beeping of the microwave. His
gaze shifted back to the food. His stomach complained again as the aroma of the tacos spread
throughout the house.

Caught up in his thoughts, he reached for the plate and nearly dropped it to the floor. The
loud clanking of the plate against the counter echoed through the kitchen followed by profanities

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that would make even the filthiest-mouthed sailor turn burgundy. "Way to go genius," he yelled.
He tried to fill the empty house with words, even aimed at himself. It made him feel like he's no
longer alone.

Blowing on his burned fingers, he walked to the refrigerator once more. Swinging the
door open, he grabbed a cold beer with his pained hand and left the door to close on its own.
"This should help," his quick solution made him feel proud. He turned to reach for the plate, and
again a shadow moved in his peripheral vision. His head turned towards the movement but was
stopped by the pain the shot through his neck. Sitting in front of the computer for hours has taken
a toll on his muscles. He grabbed his neck, attempting to rub out the pulled tendon. Moving his
head in a multitude of directions began to release the tension. He took a deep breath and tried to
shake off the feeling that he was not alone anymore. The long working hours must be taking
their toll.

With a beer in hand, he grabbed the plate of tacos and made his way to the living room
where he would continue his usual ritual of falling asleep on the couch. He set the beer and food
on the little end table his mother got him for his housewarming. The table may have been small
but a trusty friend through the years. From light magazines to lamps of all shapes and sizes, the
table never faltered.

Ben flopped on the couch and reached between the pillows, looking for the remote. For
some reason, it always ends up there. His hand squeezed through until it found its target. Pulling
out the remote and with it a piece of lint. Gross. I should clean this place. I'll get to it this
weekend. He promised himself every week.

His finger pressed the power button, yet nothing happened. He lifted the remote towards
the TV and pressed it again. Nothing. Banging the remote on the side of the couch, he pressed
the button over and over. The TV unresponsive. "I changed the batteries in this thing a couple of
days ago!" his tone gave way to frustration. With a grunt he hopped off the couch and made his
way towards the little drawer in the kitchen that held all the batteries. He pulled open the drawer
to find batteries of all kinds rolling around, scattered inside. He flipped over the remote and
removed the stubborn cover. The shinning batteries inside the compartment screamed ‘brand
new’. He removed them, tossing them back in the drawer. He often played this game with
himself, which batteries are new and which are used. Ben grabbed two different batteries and fit
them into their appropriate spots inside the remote. He used his hip to close the drawer as he
turned around closing the battery compartment of the remote.

Confident he had solved the problem, he pressed the power button once more with the
remote facing the TV. The TV refused to listen. "Are you serious? What is happening?" his
confidence fading.

Dragging his feet back towards the living room, he tossed the remote onto the couch
while he continued moving towards the TV. He paused in front of it and tapped the screen. The
taps didn't seem to wake the sleeping giant, so he smacked its side. "Oh, come on, not tonight,"

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he pleaded. Inspecting the TV closer, he realized that the little light wasn't on in the corner. He
followed his instincts and checked the outlet. Unplugged. Strange.

Not thinking too much about the situation, he plugged the cord into the outlet and headed
back to the couch. His mind was overwhelmed by the strange happenings of the night, but he
was too tired to dwell on them. He melted into the sofa as he settled in for the night. The remote
laid next to his hand, yet he hesitated to pick it up and try to press the power button again. He felt
a presence standing over him like that of his boss looming over his shoulder, except this one felt
colder, darker. He learned his lesson earlier about turning his head too forcefully. The journey of
his head was slow and hesitant, as he feared what might be waiting for him once he turned
around.

The strange feeling disappeared faster than it had come over him. His eyes didn't find
anyone or anything there. Work must be getting to my head. I need a vacation. He came to the
most rational answer he could think of. He turned back to the blank screen and hit the power
button. The noise became calming and kept his mind from racing to what he felt a moment ago.
The uneasiness still lingered but was soon forgotten as the aroma of the tacos tickled his nose
and his stomach grumbled of neglect.

Staring blankly at the figures moving on the screen, he scarfed down the tacos. They had
cooled down enough that his tongue barely registered any heat. His hands, in quick succession,
moved from plate to mouth. His chewing took on the speed of a competitor in a hot dog eating
contest. The mind had no time to register the taste nor did it register what he was seeing. The
figures on the screen became a mix of colorful pixels doing a dance for his entertainment. He
reached down once more to find that the plate was empty. Looking down he realized how fast he
ate.

Setting the plate on the end table, he grabbed for the beer and tapped on the lid. It's a trick
his father had taught him to keep shaken beers from exploding in his face. "Never forget to tap or
you'll end up not drinkin’ crap," he recalled the exact words his father had used. A smile formed
on his lips. It's been a long time since he had thought about his father. The smile faded. Nope,
not going there. Ben’s never been good at dealing with his feelings. He flicked the tab open,
picked up the remote, and began surfing through the endless channels. With every sip came
something new. Sports. News. Cartoons. A chick-flick. Some movie in a language his brain did
not even begin to decipher.

He settled on a movie with a title he didn't recognize, but it seemed calm and boring
enough that he could fall asleep to it. He turned to face the kitchen debating whether to get up
and turn off the light. I'll do it in the morning. He did one last sweep of the kitchen,
subconsciously looking for the shadow he's been passively seeing. When nothing appeared, he
turned back to the dancing pixels and sank deeper into the couch.

Within minutes, beer can in hand, he floated away to a distant land. A land where
anything and everything was possible. His dreams took him to lands where he didn't sit in front
of the computer. He slayed dragons, rescued princesses, even farmed on occasion. His body

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getting the movement that it craved. These were the lands that helped him get from night until
morning. In the end, he never remembered them. When he wakes up, the lands fade away from
the reach of memory. His dreams leave him with the feeling that something wonderful has
happened, yet he can't distinguish what that thing was. The wonder sucked up by the mundane
everyday routine.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. The loud banging jolted him awake. His hand tightened
around the can and it crinkled under the pressure. Good thing that was empty. Ben looked around
to find himself surrounded by darkness. His mind stuck between dream and reality. Did I hear
that or was it in my dream? He set down the destroyed can on the plate and rubbed his eyes. A
yawn rising from within his throat. He laid himself on the couch, looking to get comfortable and
pulled back to sleep. Eyes closing as sleep began to take over once again. Drifting away to the
land of wonder. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

Eyes shooting wide open, he lay frozen. Now I know that wasn't a dream. Sitting up, his
chest straining to contain his pounding heart. His mind started to come back to reality and
process his surroundings. No lights, no TV, no sound besides the banging.

He blinked a couple more times allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness as much as
humanely possible. The moonlight shining through the windows gave him guidance as he traced
the outlines of the furniture with his gaze. As his eyes probed the darkness, he caught a darker
outline of a figure in his kitchen. Ben's body became rigid with fear, his arms giving way to
goosebumps. The shadow standing still, appearing to be facing him.

Ben, unable to move or blink, stared back. His mouth dropped open, yet no air came in or
out. He wasn't purposefully holding his breath; it was as if his body has forgotten how to breathe.
A couple of moments passed by. His eyes shut abruptly, overcome with heaviness. He willed
them to open, even as they fought to stay shut as though they had a mind of their own.

Finally, his eyes flung open wide and searching. Nothing. Ben rubbed them with haste
and searched once more. Nothing. The shadow that was there had disappeared. In the moments
following the strange confrontation, Ben could not control his breath. At first slow and deep,
trying to refill his lungs with oxygen. Then quick and shallow, as the fear set in. Then once again
it returned to slowness, as if he were to never breathe again and had to catch every ounce of
oxygen he could.

Holding his chest and his heart within, Ben looked down at his hands and pinched his
arm. "Ouch!" he exclaimed. Reality set in. That thing was standing right there. Where did it go?
He shot up off the couch. Looking around for a weapon, he settled on a lamp which had been
standing in the corner, unplugged and unused. Creeping towards the kitchen, he raised the lamp
over his head preparing to take a swing at the first sight of the shadow figure. "Whoever is in
here, you've picked the wrong guy to mess with!" As the words left his mouth, a hint of humor
crept into his mind. Yeah, that'll tell the creepy thing in your house that you mean business. He
let out a chuckle.

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 With one hand outstretched to protect himself from bumping into the furniture, he made
sure to check every inch of the living room and kitchen. He set the lamp down by the oven.
Keeping his back to the wall, he slid his way along the counter to reach his phone. Still looking
ahead to make sure there was nothing there, he patted behind him where he thought he left his
phone. Nothing. He glanced down and saw that the charger was there, but no phone. Panic began
to set in. Where is it?

He ran to the light switch by the entrance to the kitchen, ignoring all precaution he had
taken thus far. His fingers maneuvered it into the on position, but the light above did not respond.
In quick succession, he continuously flicked the switch up and down. Nothing. He moved to the
set of switches by the sink, and again he flicked each one. Neither the light above, nor the
garbage disposal responded.

"Power outage," he said out loud trying to calm himself down. "Where did I put the
flashlight? I know it's here somewhere."

He started turning his kitchen drawers inside out. If there was an intruder, the banging in
the kitchen might have scared him off by now. Aimlessly tossing utensils, notepads, pens, plates,
and anything that wasn't a flashlight on the floor. He reached the drawer with all the batteries and
found his target. The flashlight rolled to the front of the drawer, pulled by the force of him
opening it. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

"AHHH," Ben jumped nearly pulling the drawer out altogether. He wasn't expecting the
banging. He grabbed his chest and felt his heart pumping against his hand. His pulse raced and
he began to feel dizzy. He took his hand off his chest and grabbed the counter for stability. The
dizziness subsided with every breath he took until it's no longer a problem. Freeing his hand
from the counter, he grabbed the flashlight and pushed the drawer closed. His fingers pushed the
button on the end of the flashlight to check whether it's working. It blinked on and off.

Leaving the flashlight on, he began his sweep of the counter, illuminating the spot where
his phone should have been. He couldn't make sense of why the shadow figure would take his
phone. Perhaps I did see a person and my mind is playing tricks on me. This person is just a
thief who wanted my phone. A competitor desperate to see what we have been working on
perhaps. He moved the light over the full kitchen, sweeping past cabinets, appliances, until he
landed the light on the floor. Silverware, paper plates, and all the items he threw out of drawers
in his panic presented themselves in small piles of mixed treasures. "I'll clean this up later," he
murmured kicking everything into one large pile in the middle of the floor.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. Ben looked at the ceiling, remembering what he was
doing in the first place. He swept the living room as a precaution and made his way towards the
staircase. His house was big and was better inhabited when there were more people. Even one
more person would have made this place seem fuller. He hadn't ventured upstairs in four months
to be exact. That was the day this place became an empty shell of an once love-filled home.
Feelings of sadness rushed through his body, but he didn't give in to the tears which threatened to

5
spill. He hadn't cried since then either. No time for that. There's someone upstairs. He shook his
head as if physically shaking away the feelings.

His feet weighed tons as he lifted them one by one, placing them on the steps ahead. The
flashlight illuminated the path before him. The steps creaked under his weight and his hands
began to sweat. Keeping his back to the wall, afraid of an attack from behind. Halfway up the
stairs, he lifted his left foot and it caught the corner of the next step. Ben toppled forward onto
the steps above nearly hitting his face on one of them. The flashlight slipped from his sweaty
grip and toppled all the way down to the foot of the stairs. Ben awakened his sailor mouth once
more as he cussed everything from the stairs to the flashlight to his own two left feet.

Flipping over to his backside, he sat on one of the steps and assessed the damage. Banged
up knee, scraped elbow, but at least the face is safe. Nothing broken, I think. He lifted himself
off the stair and made his way down to get the light.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. The sound grew quieter as he moved further from it.
"That's it. I'm coming up there. I'm not scared of you!" he shouted, grabbing the flashlight. His
fear replaced by annoyance at the sound. Anger began to build inside him as the cause of the
noise remained a mystery.

Ben stood up straight, puffed out his chest, hoping to appear stronger and fearless. He
wiped each sweaty hand on the side of his pants and pointed the flashlight straight ahead. He
inhaled deeply as he took the first step. His footsteps louder, firmer than on the earlier ascend.
No longer trying to sneak towards the sound, he tried to become bigger to scare it away.

His father once taught him a lesson while camping. "If ever faced with a black bear, stand
straight and tall. Make yourself bigger by stretching your arms over your head. Speak to it in a
non-threatening tone. It should leave you alone," his father said as he stoked the fire. Ben was
thirteen at the time, but the lesson stuck with him. If it works on a large black bear, it'll possibly
work on whatever or whoever is here.

Climbing the steps seemed easier than before. The creaking had subsided as the steps
didn't have the weight of his body on them for long. He began to feel as though he was being
carried up the stairs. His feet no longer dropping heavy against the wood. The aches from sitting
all day didn't seem to bother him as they had before. Calm overtook his body.

Upon reaching the top step, calm turned into paralysis. His foot made contact with the top
landing and his body refused to move any further. His hand refusing to move the flashlight, neck
refusing to turn the head. Panic began to set in as his eyes assessed the situation. They were the
single part of himself that he had true control over. MOVE! COME ON! His eyes grew wide as
he tested his abilities. He shut them tight and continued to plead with himself internally to move.

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 His eyes opened to find that he had reached the top landing with both feet. "How did I do
that?" he looked around in amazement. Checking behind him to make sure nobody pushed him,
even though he hadn't felt a push.

Shaking off the feeling that he wasn't the one to make his feet move, he turned to his right
and paused. "GO AHEAD! MAKE THAT NOISE AGAIN!" he challenged his unseen enemy.
No response, no noise. He turned around to face the left side of the hallway and began his search.
He walked towards the first door on the right and put his hand on the knob. His hand sweaty and
shaky. He firmly grasped the knob, taking a deep breath. You got this!

He turned the knob and began pushing the door open. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. The
noise awakened from the opposite end of the hall. Ben whipped his head to face the direction of
the sound, no longer fearing the pain that might attack his stiff neck. The flashlight followed his
gaze, but his hand was glued to the knob of the door he was about to enter.

Prying his hand from the door, he faced his body towards the source of the noise. His
heart began to beat faster and louder. His palms responded by becoming even more clammy than
they had been. He looked down at his hands. They began to feel foreign as small tingles ran up
and down his palms. His feet below matched the sensation of his hands. He lifted his gaze
unblinking. His mind wiped blank. His body became immutable. A chill creeped up his spine as
if a hand were tracing each vertebra.

Staring blankly ahead, he began hearing ringing in his ears. A high-pitched sound
growing louder, more alarming. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. The banging broke the ringing.
His body became his once again. Ben slumped over with his hands on his knees. Heavy sighs
filled the air, as he tried to catch his breath. Everything else around him grew quiet. His ears
filled with the sound of his heavily beating heart. He didn't dare to peek up, afraid that moving
closer to the sound was causing his loss of control. I shouldn't follow that sound. Whatever is
here, cannot be human. This must be a twisted nightmare. I should go back on the couch and
pretend nothing happened.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. His body straightened, and he felt an invisible pull
towards the sound. His mind filling with child-like curiosity. The fear subsided, and he forgot
why he wanted to turn away in the first place. His feet taking cautious steps while his body
dragged behind as if a rope was pulling him in by the waist. He passed door after door, yet his
body seemed to know that the sound was not coming any of them.

Without warning, his mind began racing. A touch of control and fear rose again as he
tried to stop himself. His body continuing the journey that his mind no longer wished to take. He
sensed that his body was physically present but once again it was not his own. Not even his eyes
would close. His body trapped in autopilot.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. Ben stopped walking. He willed his toes to wiggle as a
test of control; they moved with haste. He scanned his environment with the flashlight. Nothing

7
has changed. He was still standing alone in the hallway. No shadows. No people. He checked
around his waist, no rope. I'm losing my mind.

With a deep breath, he began to realize that there's no running from whatever this was.
Every time he has tried think about walking the other way, his body gave way to the control of
something else. If I can't run, I must see this through to the end. He puffed out his chest again
and turned towards the door that his body had stopped in front of. It was her room. He let out the
breath that was keeping his chest high, as the memories of the past filled his mind. A tear
streaked down the side of his cheek.

He quickly wiped the tear away and took a couple of deep breaths. NOT NOW! He firmly
grasped the knob and pointed the flashlight in the direction of the door. The bright light giving
him hope that this was all in his mind. That somehow, he had lost his marbles and a goodnight's
rest would fix him. The knob turned in his hand, and he gave the door a push. The door didn't
budge. He tried a couple more times. Locked. Wait, these doors don't have locks.

He begins slamming on the door with his whole body, hand still holding the twisted
knob. "OPEN!" he yelled at the door as he gave it one last shove. The door seemed to push him
back. Ben hit the wall opposite of the door. "What gives? I try to leave; you won't let me. I try to
come in; you won't let me. WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?!" Ben threw a tantrum in
front of the door, fighting mixed feelings of confusion and anger.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. He froze. The flashlight slid out of his hand and upon
hitting the floor, it shut off. All the tension in his body released. His heart slowed down and his
breathing evened. All emotions left his mind and body. He was standing like a soldier, waiting
for an order.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. The beating continued rhythmically like a drummer

following a metronome. Ben's heart aligned with it. His body surrendered control and moved
towards the door, his feet stepping forward with the beat. Vibrations went through his every
bone, muscle, and tendon. Not a single part of him left untouched by the beat. His eyes no longer
saw anything besides the door. They looked down at his hand as it contacted the knob once
again. He managed to recognize that the knob was ice cold. There was a faded light coming from
the crack under the door. His hand twisted the knob and pushed the door. Without a fight, the
door allowed itself to be opened wide.

His mind filled with images of water rippling to the beat. With every thump, a new ripple
formed until the waves begin to swallow him into the depths of nothingness. Everything went
dark.

-----------------

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. The incessant sound sprung his mind from the eternal darkness.
Inside Ben's mind, he resurfaced from the depths of the ocean that had swallowed him. From the

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darkness and nothingness, he began to see light coming from the surface of the water. His mind
began to register the warmth and light coming from the other side of his closed lids. Testing his
control, he pressed them tightly together. Releasing the tension, he traced the back of his eyelids
with his eyes. They felt dry and coarse.

Ben attempted to lift his hand to give his eyes a rub, like one did after waking up in the
morning. CLINK. Something held back his wrist. CLINK. He tugged again. CLINK. CLINK.
CLINK. Panic began to set in as he realizes that he was restrained. The area around his wrist felt
like it was surrounded by a soft pad to keep the metal of the restraint from digging in. He
abandoned hope of rubbing his eyes. Must eyes try open. The words come to him like a foreign
language. They didn't sound right in his head.

He squeezed his left eye tight and began to unveil his right eye from behind the lid. The
bright light blinding him and causing an immediate retreat of the lid to its closed position. He
tried once more, this time looking down to avert the light, but the light didn't allow his tricks to
pass. What next do? Again, the thought of the words felt flawed.

He internally scanned down his face and paused at the lips. HELP! He willed his mouth
to follow his mind, but his lips did not move. Ben focused deeper on the lips. Their shape semi-
familiar as he traced them with his thoughts. With measurable caution, he willed his mouth to
open. As it slowly followed instructions, the corners began to sting, skin breaking from dryness.
He stopped. His mind offered a solution in a passing thought: tongue lips wet use.

When his tongue met his top lip, he knew it wouldn’t help. His tongue, coarse and dry,
shriveled up like a worm in the heat after days of no rain. He pulled it back into its cave and as
far back as it went, hoping that saliva would form and save the day. Nothing happened. His
mouth refusing to produce moisture. Get attention.

He started quickening his breaths to get his heartbeat up. The machine began to beep
faster. His head began to spin, a pressure forming between his eyebrows.

"DOCTOR! DOCTOR! I think he's awake!" a feminine voice shouted from the distance.
Footsteps approached and a shadow cast over him. The heat on his lids began to fade. "Ms.
Carson, please turn down the lights," a grave voice of a man spoke, turned away from Ben by the
distance of the sound. The man seemed calm with no audible fear in his voice.

Ben realized that his lids loosened when the shadow came over him and his breathing
relaxed. The man read the signs and did what Ben wanted without him having to say words.

"Go ahead Mr. Brighton, open your eyes." The doctor, by the sound of his authority, had
moved away yet the shadow did not fully disappear. Ben lifted his lids a touch to test whether the
lights were dimmed. The light hit his pupils and sent a tinge of pain causing him to close his eyes
once more. He tried blinking a couple of times until the pain stopped and his eyes began

9
adjusting to the world. Faded colors, lots of white, the room began to spin. He squeezed his eyes
shut hoping to make the spinning cease.

"Ms. Carson, can you please go get some water for our patient?" The doctor's order came
in a modulated tone. He didn’t seem to want to leave Ben's side, as if he could tell something
wasn't right. Ben’s lips were too dry for the amount of liquids he had been receiving. The doctor
checked the charts making sure rounds were completed properly. Ben had been going through IV
bags faster than the nurses could bring them. It should have taken about two hours to re-hydrate
him, but they have been at it for two weeks. The doctor sighed lost in the diagnosis.

The nurse’s footsteps approached from the left, but she didn't make it to the bed. "It's
okay, he can't hurt you." The doctor assured her. Hurt? Why think I her hurt? The footsteps
resumed, and she stopped when she reached his side. Ben slowly lifted his lids open to see what
was happening around him. The spinning had subsided. He angled his head towards the nurse.

Her teal scrubs brought out the green of her eyes. Her shoulder covered with a veil of
fair, blond hair. Her hair, parted to the left, brought up scattered memories of another’s hair. One
whom he could not remember. The color was wrong. Whoever he remembered had dark hair.
Her lips pressed in a tight line as she contemplated her next words.

"I'm going to sit you up so you can drink," she remained professional. Her delicate floral
perfume reached Ben's nose as she leaned over to bring his bed upwards. The bed underneath
him began folding in half, his head making its way to a more vertical position. "Now I'm going
to touch your chin and put a cup to your lips. I will tilt your head and give you some water. I will
take it slow, don't try to get more than I give please," her instructions clear and concise.

He felt her warmth as she leaned in, that floral perfume tickling his nose again. Her soft
hand touched the tip of his chin, and he held his mouth ajar. The paper cup touched his lower lip.
She tilted his head back an inch and the water touched his tongue. It felt like she had poured but
a drop. It made its way to his tongue and then vanished. He didn't feel it go down his throat.

His brain sent waves of pain throughout his mouth and head. He gave the nurse a
pleading look to keep pouring. She took his chin once more and let a couple more drops in. This
time, he felt them on and under his tongue. The droplets were absorbed at once and didn’t make
it to his throat again. He felt like his tongue was a selfish sponge and would never allow water to
pass. Ben shut his mouth and eyes. The nurse flashed a look at the doctor, who was too busy
watching Ben's face to notice her.

Tongue, water through let. Selfish, body water need. He felt silly for scolding his tongue
in his head if one could call the jumble of thoughts as scolding. The thoughts were not coming
through in proper English. He couldn't figure out why his words sounded wrong to that extent.

Ben took a shallow breath to avoid irritating his already-burning throat. He opened his
eyes and mouth, looking at the nurse to give him more water. Her hands were shaking as she

10
grabbed his chin. All the warmth had escaped out of her palms and fingers. Her hands chilled
and bearing sweat. She tipped his chin and tried to steady her pouring hand. A couple more drops
went in. She lets go of his chin, but he keeps his head tilted back, knowing it's not enough.

The nurse peeked at the doctor, waiting for him to chime in on the situation. "Go ahead,
give him a little more." The doctor said with peaked curiosity. She turned back and followed the
instructions.

A small pour of water entered his lips. The gentle waves brushed against his gums, over
his teeth and settled on his tongue. His mind sent quick messages to his mouth to swallow before
his tongue could steal all the water again. Ben closed his mouth and lowered his chin, enjoying
the swishing of the liquid. He felt opposition from his tongue as he tried to send the water back.
He didn't allow this fight to go on much longer.

Ben tipped his head back and let the natural flow of gravity pull the water back. The
water rushed to the back of his throat, triggering a natural reaction in his mouth that allowed the
water to continue down the path past the tongue. The blissful feeling of water running down the
back of his throat caused a low grumble of pleasure to creep out of his throat. He unknowingly
allowed his tongue to brush his cracked lips.

The nurse watched him intensely. She had seen victims of dehydration react to receiving
water for the first time, but never had she seen someone enjoying it this much. A sense of
euphoria filled the room, and everything began to vibrate with the frequency. She felt a tingle up
her spine as a sense of excitement and pleasure filled her body. The feeling faded abruptly. The
nurse looked at Ben in amazement as he also experienced this feeling. She felt connected with
him for one moment as if they were one being. She turned to face the doctor who presented the
same sense of amazement on his face.

"Did you feel that?" The nurse spoke low, almost in a whisper as if the words were a
secret.

"Yes. I believe I did," the doctor smiled at her. He took a step towards Ben who turned
his attention from the nurse to the doctor.

"More," Ben's voice hoarse. Throat dry and pleading for relief.

"Give the man what he wants," the order came out short and full of wonder. The doctor
wondered what other feelings they might cross being in the same room as Ben.

The nurse turned to Ben and put the water to his lips. A small smile appeared on his face,
like a small child about to indulge in forbidden amounts of chocolate on Halloween. He tipped
his chin before she had a chance to help him. The water streamed into his mouth until the cup
was empty. He leveled his head, swished the water around in his mouth and swallowed. The

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water calming every nerve, every muscle on its way to the stomach. A grin emerged on his face,
satisfied at last.

"Mr. Brighton. May I call you Ben?" The doctor began the conversation seeing that Ben’s
innate needs were satisfied.

Ben looked at the doctor. At first, he didn't register what the doctor was asking of him.
Ben? Mr. Brighton? Who is that? The words started to sound more natural in his head. "Yes."
His own voice surprised him. A semi-deep melodic and genial sound.

"Perfect. Ben do you know where you are?"

"Hospital."

"Good. Do you know why you are here?"

"Am I sick? Did something happen? Was there an accident?" The words flowed out
naturally in order, unlike in his mind.

"Tell me, what's the last thing you remember?" the doctor posed a question which made
Ben's whole body go rigid. His smile turned into a scowl and his forehead began to wrinkle.
"Ben? Is everything alright?" The doctor grew concerned.

Ben looked around with his eyes only. His breath came out in short wheezes. The
machine began to beep faster matching the spike in Ben's pulse and heart rate. The doctor
nodded to the nurse, who ran into the other room and returned with a needle full of unknown
liquid. Ben eyed the needle as it entered his arm. Moments later, his muscles relax and his
breathing returns to normal. He began feeling drowsy.

"Stay with me for a bit longer," the doctor encouraged. "Can you tell me anything about
the last thing you remember? The date, day of the week or time?" Petitioning for answers, the
doctor slowed his words and spoke louder.

"To be honest. I don't remember. Too much work. Not enough sleep." Ben managed to
say between breaths, as sleep crept behind his eyelids threatening to take him away into
darkness.

The doctor palmed the stubble on his chin. As the hairs prickled his hand, he decided to
try one last time. "How about where you were? Were you in your house or outside?"

"At home. Upstairs. Dark. The room. The sound." Ben slipped away into sleep, no longer
able to answer the doctor’s questions.

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 "He gave us all we needed. That must have been the night before it all started three years
ago. How do we tell him he's been here but not here? We must run extensive tests. Ms. Carson,
call our diagnostic team and get them over here as soon as possible. This cannot wait."

"Right away doctor. Should I call anyone else?" The nurse gave the doctor a knowing
glance.

"Not yet. She told us to strictly call if we cannot find the answer ourselves."

"I'll get right on it." Ms. Carson turned on her heels and walked out of the room.

The doctor followed, turning off all the lights except for the lamp in the corner. It
provided a balance of low light and darkness. "Sleep tight Mr. Brighton. Your journey is just
beginning."

TO BE CONTINUED...

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