Drugs

Drugs

“...Are you awake yet? Hello? Hellooo?”
My ears were ringing, but I could hear a voice. It sounded...distant. As my eyes adjusted, I saw someone sitting across from me. A woman, mid-twenties, attractive. She was wearing loose fitting shorts and a white tank top.
“Ah, I see you’re awake now! Good morning, sleepyhead!” The person wasn’t talking, the voice was coming from a speaker on the ceiling. I looked around and realised I couldn’t move my ankles very far. I was shackled to the wall. I looked at the person opposite me and noticed she was shackled too. We seemed to be in some sort of meat locker or something. I remember my first thought was that this reminded me of some sick game from Saw or something.
“Hey!” the woman half whispered to me. “We gotta get outta here! Do you-”
“Oh, yes, we just gotta get free from these shackles,” the voice on the speaker sounded mocking, but hostile. The speaker laughed, then cut out. I gathered the consciousness to ask the woman where we were. She said she had no clue. What the hell was going on? Just as I was trying to stand, I realised I wasn’t with my daughter. I was with my daughter before. Where was she?
“Oh my god…” I breathed, slowly remembering I was at the park with my daughter moments ago. At least, it felt like moments ago. In truth, I don’t know how long it had been since I was with her. “Where’s my daughter? Where’s Samantha?” My voice was getting increasingly louder, and I no longer found it difficult to stand as I sprang to my feet. I walked forward towards the rusty metal door in the corner of the room, but was stopped short by my shackles. “Hey!” I shouted to the ceiling. “Where the hell’s my daughter, you bastard?” The woman got up and put her hands out toward me, like to calm me down.
“We gotta get out. It’s a trial or something, a game.” She seemed pretty calm considering the situation. I asked her what she was talking about and she simply said, “Like I said; it’s a game. I’ve been here before.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“Well, not in this room. I mean, I’ve been in this situation before. I think.”
“You think? You don’t remember?” I found that pretty hard to believe. I’d certainly remember.
“It’s hard to explain. This feeling...well feels familiar. But It’s like a foggy remembrance.” She was making no sense at all. “Look, all I know is this place distorts your perception. Look at your watch, for example.” She motioned to my wristwatch, and I looked at it. The clock’s hands were spinning different ways, and the numbers on the face seemed to change.
“What the fuck…?” I was thoroughly confused. I looked at the woman. “Just tell me how the hell we get out.” Suddenly the speaker crackled and the shrill voice came on.
“How you get out, good sir, is by playing my game. If you obey my rules, you’ll be fine. So will your daughter.” I felt my face get hot, and I started kicking at my shackles, trying to pry them off, all the while cursing at the disembodied voice. After I tired myself out, the voice came to life again. “Yeah...that’s not part of the game, friend. Alright, since you are so... eager, I’ll give you a hint; in this room, time hides many things, not just the hour. I’ll check back in with you guys in a bit. Good luck!” The speaker cut out.
“Hey, no! No, you gotta give us more than that! What the fuck does that even mean! Hey!” He wasn’t listening anymore.
“Calm down.” the woman grabbed my hand. “We can do this, it’s a puzzle.”
“I’m not playing a goddamn game! I want my daughter back!” I needed to know if she was safe. I started kicking my chains again. It clearly wasn’t doing anything, so I stopped.
“We need to play along. Otherwise… we’re dead.” She seemed gravely serious.
“Dead? What do you mean, dead?” I thought of my daughter, parentless.
“I don’t remember much, but I do remember that if you don’t play along, you will die.” At that, I decided I’d at least pretend to play this “game”.
“Fine. Ok, ‘time hides more than the hour?’ What does that even mean though?” I looked at my watch again. The hands were still going crazy.
“Hey, look over there!” She pointed above, behind me. It was a clock hanging on the wall. “That clock isn’t moving...it’s stuck at 6:30.” I went to the clock and looked closer. The face seemed to be….disconnected from the frame…
“Time hides…” I whispered as I grabbed the clock with both hands and pulled. The frame came right off, and the face fell to the floor. Behind it, rested a blade.
“Hey, there’s something in here,” I told the woman. “It’s...it’s a blade…” I looked at her, and she shared my sickened expression. “What are we supposed to do with this?” I aimed my question at the speaker. To my surprise, he responded.
“Well, my inquisitive friend, you may notice on your shackles, a keyhole. You may have also noticed a keyhole on the door across from you. You’ll need that razor to find said key. Simple!” The voice cackled, and cut out.
“Oh, god,” the woman caught my attention. “Oh no, that’s what that is…”
“What? That’s what what is?” I raised my voice. She looked at me, and suddenly slid her shorts off. “Hey, what the hell are-” I started asking, then I saw, on her inner thigh, a mark. A puffy line about four inches running parallel to her leg.
“Oooh, what’s going on in there?” the voice laughed through the speaker. “You randy kids!”
“The key is in my leg.” Her voice was shaking. “You have to cut it out.”
“What?! No!” I felt sick. I felt like I was dreaming.
“You know, the last couple I had in here didn’t figure that out for, like, two hours! You guys are smart!” the voice cackled again. The woman laid down and stretched her leg toward me.
“You wanna find your daughter, right? Cut it out. It’s the only way outta here, trust me.” She sounded nervous. Obviously. But she also sounded sincere. Something told me she knew what she was talking about, so I got on my knees, and put the blade above the poorly stitched wound.
“I’m sorry about this, Miss. I don’t-”
“It’s Amy. My name’s Amy. And don’t worry about it. I’d do the same to you if this situation were reversed.” That seemed to comfort me, oddly enough.
“I’m Rick.” I told her, as I brought the razor down. I hesitated for a moment, and thought of my daughter. Then my hand twitched, and I slid the blade down the line. The suture came undone after another pass, and I then lifted up one side of the skin that was now loose. I saw nothing but blood and fat tissue. I used the point of the blade to cut the tissue, loosening it, and then I pinched it between my fingers to pull it out. At this point, Amy was crying. I saw something shiny, buried between two thick veins.
“Holy shit,” I breathed. Realizing Amy was in agonizing pain, I quickly grabbed the fat end of the key that was sticking out, and pulled. Suddenly, Amy let out a deafening, blood freezing scream. I reeled back, letting go of the key.
“Uh oh, watch out!” the speaker crackled to life. “You might wanna watch the femoral artery!” I looked at Amy’s thigh and saw blood starting to seep from the wound I had just widened. “I guess I forgot to mention...I placed the key just so. It’s in a very...precarious... spot…” Amy was wailing, sputtering about a searing pain. What choice did I have though? I picked the blade back up, and moved one large vein to the side with the flat of it. I could clearly see the teeth now, and I could see that they were entwined in a larger vein. The femoral artery.
“Amy, I can’t get it...unless…” I trailed off, but the speaker finished my sentence.
“Unless he severs your artery, Amy. Unless you bleed out!” The voice was laughing hysterically.
“Wh-what? No, please…” Amy choked out through tears, trying to grab my hand. She couldn’t reach it.
“I’m sorry, Amy. I need to find my daughter.” I swiftly flicked my wrist forward, making the blade caress the vein, sending blood spurting outward. Amy shrieked. The speaker howled with laughter. I was silent. I was in a daze. I didn’t fully comprehend what I was doing until later. Amy was screaming at the top of her lungs. Begging me to stop. My hand was in her goddamn leg. I felt the key, and forcefully yanked it out. Part of the artery came out with it, and I had to untangle it from the teeth. There was a sourness in my mouth. It was then that Amy fell silent. I looked at the key. All I felt was hope. Hope for my daughter. I took my leg shackles and fit the key in. I was free. I rushed over to the door and jammed the key in the lock. I felt the handle give, and I lunged through.
“Congratulations!” The speaker came on. “You made it out of one room. Now ask yourself: Are you ok with the means you took to reach the end? I pose this question to you, not just now, but for all future levels as well. Enjoy!” I looked back at Amy’s unconscious body. Blood was pooled all around her, coming from the wiry tube that protruded from her upper thigh. The puddle was spreading at an alarming rate. This is fucked, I told myself, as I closed the door on her, trying to forget she ever existed.
The room I was in now looked like a hotel of sorts. There was a big bed across from me, and a nightstand. The floor was carpeted and the walls were papered. There was even a hanging painting on the wall. I allowed myself to feel almost comfortable. It still didn’t register in my mind what I had done in the previous room. I looked around for a door, but I couldn’t see one. Not even the one I came through. It must have the same wallpaper as the walls, so it blended in. I walked to the nightstand next to the bed, and opened the top drawer. There was a bible, a matchbook, and a piece of paper that had the number “5” on it. I took the matchbook. In the bottom drawer I found a rotten corpse of some small animal, rat or something. It smelled awful. I looked at the painting on the wall. It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before; it had random brushstrokes going every which way, and consisted of different shades of grey. Looking at it made me feel dispirited. Then I noticed in the bottom corner of the painting, blinking red digits. Counting down. It was at 4:43, counting down. I didn’t know what it meant, but when are red, descending numbers ever good? That’s when the voice came back on.
“Ah, I see you’ve discovered the clock. The only clock that won’t be affected by the magnetic field. You see, that timer represents the end. For you, at least. When that timer hits zero, gas will flow into the room, suffocating you.” Jesus.
“What the hell did I do? Why are you doing this to me?” I shouted.
“The timer will stop, however,” he continued. “If you find the code. Just a simple four-digit combination can save your life. Arguably the easiest of puzzles you’ll encounter in your life.”
“No, hell no! When I’m finished here, I’m finding you and slitting your goddamn throat!” No response. “Do you hear me!?” All I heard was my own heartbeat. Time was decreasing rapidly. Think. Think. Four digits. Four dials on the back of the timer. Obviously, the piece of paper with the number “5” was for this. But what other numbers had I come across? Then I remembered what Amy had said: “...It’s stuck at 6:30.” The clock in the previous room. Stuck at 6:30. Amy was stuck at 6:30. Absently, my hands were already working at the dials. She died at 6:30. But where did the “5” come into play? I murdered an innocent young woman at 6:30. The timer read 1:27. Was it 6:35? But then one dial was left.
“Tick tock, Ricky!” the voice trilled. I quickly tried 0635 but the timer still ran. It was at 0:42 when I thought of military time. At 0:38, I put in 1835. And at 0:36, the timer froze.
“Cut it pretty close there, buddy. I thought I’d get to see you gasping for air.” He sounded disappointed. “But, no matter. You’ll die soon enough.” When the voice said “die”, I felt an intense heat in the back of my skull, and I heard a sort of click sound. I blacked out after that.
I woke up in a box. A literal box, crunched up with my face jammed in the corner. I pressed my back up against the top. I don’t remember when I started shouting, but I remember when I cracked the sides and breathed the fresh air, I stopped. My throat raw, I kicked and pushed until I could stand upright. I didn’t recognize where I was. Some building. Bright lights from the ceiling made shadows nonexistent. The walls were an off white, and the white and black checkered tiled floor made me believe I was in some sort of hospital. I stood there for a while, wondering if I was safe, or if this was another “game,” wondering if I’d ever see my daughter again. A good ten minutes or so passed before I took a step. I instantly became dizzy, and my next step brought on a wave of nausea. I doubled over and puked. After I was empty, I stumbled to the nearest door a few feet ahead, and sort of fell into it. The room opened, presenting itself, and with it, a sense of utter disbelief. I stepped into the room and found myself in a swamp. I felt warm water rush into my shoes, and I turned around to go back, but the door was just gone. There was nothing there. I was standing there questioning everything when I heard a distant shriek. A familiar shriek. One that I had heard not too long ago. I tried running toward the scream, picking my knees up to my chest and half jumping through the muck. The scream was getting closer as I fumbled along, and then I saw a little patch of ground in a small clearing. There was someone lying down there.
“Amy!” I shouted, as I reached solid ground. I reached out and touched her bare shoulder. The head spun around and I felt a searing pain in my hand. Looking down, I saw two of my fingers were gone, partial bone exposed. Now, we were both screaming, and I got a good look at Amy. It was still Amy, I think, but she was so pale. Dark eyes shone from the ashen skin. Her mouth was wet with blood, my blood, and there was a piece of my finger hanging from her lips. I was staring at her, still screaming in pain, as she rose up to her feet, seemingly weightless. Her face was inches from mine and, overcome with shock, I stopped screaming. I could hear her breath. She shot an arm forward, grabbed my wrist and pulled up. I heard a pop and I felt my hand disconnect from my forearm. I cried out in pain.
“She was a newly graduated law student!” Amy’s voice was angry. It was not her own though, it was deep, bellowing. “She was going to become a District Attorney!” She squeezed my dislocated wrist harder. “You stole her from the world!” With that, she grabbed my throat and somehow managed to lift me up and throw me behind her. I smashed into a thick tree trunk and fell to the ground. My head was throbbing, and I opened my eyes to see the hospital walls again. I stood up, my back cracked, and I looked around for Amy. Nothing. I looked down at my hands. My right hand was missing the pinky and ring fingers, blood was squeezing out steadily. My left hand was bent outward, almost a right angle. I needed to patch my fingers up, but first, to do anything, I needed my left hand. I tucked my left hand into my right armpit, and braced myself. I clenched down, and again, yelled in pain. But my wrist popped and the pain faded quickly. Short of breath, I searched the nearby rooms, looking for a bandage or some cloth. Anything I could use to cover my hand with. Eventually, I came to a room with a gurney against the back wall. I spotted a box on it, a small red and white box. I walked up to the gurney and took the box. There was a wet blanket on the stretcher, wet with blood. This confused me, I had no real clue as to where the hell I was, or if anyone was even here with me. I didn’t even know if I really saw Amy, or if I was just losing it. Either way, two of my fingers were gone, and in the box I found a roll of gauze. So I wrapped my finger-stubs up and continued down the hall.
I remember there being a long period of inaction, other than me wandering down hallways, nothing happened for a while. I came across some beds that were spotted with blood, a broken wheelchair, some empty pill bottles scattered all over the floor, and a ripped up book. One hallway had lockers against the wall. I hoped I could find something that could tell me where I was, so I walked up to them. I remember reaching for a handle, and then all the locker doors swung open violently, knocking me back against the wall. I gathered myself and didn’t believe my eyes. Extending from the lockers were dozens of long, slender arms with hands the size of my body. The arms were covered in something black, which dripped off and formed puddles on the floor. It seemed they had two elbows. Bending in two places. Before I could even stand, I was grabbed from the front. The hand squeezed and lifted me up. I couldn’t get a breath. My lungs were being crushed. I was suffocating. From the corner of my eye came another hand. It grasped both my legs and I felt my knees compress against each other until finally, something cracked. I tried desperately to scream. The hallway was silent except for the crushing sound of the hand twisting my legs. I felt immense pressure, and then I saw the arm that had my legs. Then I was staring at my legs, dangling in front of me. My ankles were twitching. I felt more pressure as my legs were released, falling to the floor. My eyes felt hot and bulging. I glanced down and saw past the tightening fingers, saw my guts falling out of me. Wet cables from my torso trailed thick chunks of meat that fell out of my severed body. My head felt like it was going to explode, my right eye had popped out and the other was torn in three pieces. It all felt so real, the pain, the fear. But It also felt distant at the same time, like I was watching a movie. I knew what was happening, I could feel what was happening, but I wasn’t there. Finally, the arm dropped me, and they all slunk back into the lockers. As the locker doors shut, I screamed.
I was still screaming when I saw Sam enter the room, scared as hell. She asked me what was wrong, but I just screamed and ran for the phone. Sam began screaming with me when she noticed her mother. I dialed 911 furiously and then ran to my daughter and picked her up, bringing her into my room and locking the door. I explained to the police dispatcher, through many deep breaths, that I was kidnapped. Minutes later I heard the police at my door, but I didn’t dare leave Samantha. I waited until they broke open my door, then I called out. I don’t remember just when they started suspecting me, but at some point they stopped listening to my story and started looking around my house. They told me to step away from my own daughter. My daughter. My own flesh and blood. I told them no fucking way. They took her anyway, and I apparently “assaulted an on-duty police officer.” They put handcuffs on me, but kept me in my house, still searching for something. Then they saw my wife. The once white tank top was, by now, soaked red. About an hour went by before one cop reached into my pocket and pulled out a small matchbook. The cop carefully opened the box. I just wanted to see my daughter. LSD, they told me. I’ve never done LSD in my entire fucking life, but they tell me I used it frequently. I look at my handcuffs, trying to get used to the fact that they’ll be there for a while. The cop grabs me by my hands and yanks me out the door toward his car. It hurts. It hurts because I’m missing my right pinky and ring fingers.