Abluvion, (Prologue)
*****
Cold…It was so cold. Bright lights burned his retinas almost to the point of blindness and Michael squeezed his eyes shut tightly. The air was dank and had the repugnant smell of chemicals. His biceps swelled in protest at the firm grip of the strange men he, at first, assumed were hospital staff. He thought he might have another nosebleed.
Hours earlier Michael had been waiting with his older brother, Lincoln, at a hospital for a scheduled operation for his brain aneurysm. The doctors had predicted a very small percentile of a chance that he would survive surgery, but he and Linc had been hopeful. None of this explained why he was here now.
As soon as he had been dressed in his hospital gown the two thugs, dragging him to God knew where, had showed up at his room in blue scrubs. After realizing their apparent nonexistent association with the hospital, he had tried his damnedest to protest, but with the searing migraine and the oncoming nosebleed he had given up.
Michael was pushed into a large room, noticing first that it was inhabited by a few dozen other men in hospital gowns. Michael whipped his head around as the sliding opaque doors were closed with a beep from one of the thug’s ID bracelets.
The other men wandering about donned various designs of hospital gowns. Some of these men appeared to have formed groups. Others rested in corners reclusively or rambled meaninglessly around the enclosure.
Michael felt out wide in the open and alone. “Where am I,” he asked himself timorously.
He was tapped on the shoulder unexpectedly and he twirled to face his adversary. Instead he was met with a young and kind face. The man could have been in his late twenties, or possibly his early thirties like Michael himself. The man’s hair was set in a bleached ‘hawk and he had a small cleft in his chin. “New, huh,” the gravely voice asserted. “My name’s Jason.” Jason stuck out his hand for Michael to shake. Michael took the hand cautiously with a slack grasp.
“I think there’s been a mistake,” he expressed, upset. As soon as his hand left Jason’s he clasped it together with his other awkwardly behind his back.
Jason chuckled. “Oh, there’s been no mistake. What are you, prison or medical?”
Michael scrunched his brows together in confusion, “What does that mean?”
He sighed, “Did they take you from a prison, or did they take you from a hospital?”
“Hospital.”
Jason gave a sly grin. “Thought so.”
Feeling uncomfortable about his own vulnerability, Michael posed a question, “Where did they take you from?”
Giving a jokingly predatory look at Michael, he intoned, “Prison.” He winked.
“Hey, Maytag,” a man of small stature shouted. Jason rolled his eyes at Michael with a smile. The man strolled like a cat up to the pair, roving his sharp brown eyes over Michael’s form in a way that gave Michael chills. “Well, aint you just a pretty thang.”
He draped his arm across Jason’s shoulders. “I was just asking the new meat here where he came from. He’s Medical,” Jason explained coolly.
The man drew his bottom lip between his teeth and sucked. “I bet he is,” the man said in a rumbling Alabamian accent.
Jason ignored him and continued to question Michael. “So, what do ya have? It’s not contagious is it,” he asked nervously. “’Cause then you might want to sit at /that/ section of Pen.” He pointed to a part of the room where dreary individuals were propped against the wall. “No one else needs to share your predicament,” Jason added gloomily.
Michael kept his eyes trained on the southerner, but answered Jason’s question. “No, nothing contagious, I have a brain aneurysm. I was supposed to be in surgery today.”
Jason looked as if he might feel sorry for him. The other man, however, kept staring intently and it was a bit unnerving. “Aren’t yuh gonna introduce us properly, Maytag?” His eyes never left Michael.
Jason looked at the two of them with a frown. “Oh, um, this is T-Bag and this is…,” Jason scratched the back of his head embarrassedly. “I’m sorry, I never asked for your name.”
“It’s Michael,” he replied curtly. “Where were you taken from T-Bag,” Michael instantly inquired. He had a feeling he already knew.
T-Bag adopted the same look from Jason earlier, “Prison.” At Michael’s expression he chuckled.
Michael was uneasy as he shifted his weight from side to side. “What did you two do?”
T-Bag leaned in close to Michael peering up into his face. “Just a little murder here and there, nothin’ to worry about, Pretty.”
*****