Draft: AU Fic
The corridor was narrow, the walls white and bland. As I took note of this I followed a pair of helpers who were steering a hunched figure on a wheelchair; the person’s head was draped in some white cloth, so I had no way of telling if it was a boy or a girl.
Presently, we reached the last room. It was still white, with a few chairs on one side and double doors on the wall adjacent. No furnishings at all, just one small, bare window. They wheeled the patient into a corner opposite the seats. As the helpers turned around, they seemed surprised to notice that there was someone behind them, namely me.
“Are you lost sonny jim?” the fatter of the two said. She looked big enough to drag me out of there if I didn’t come up with the appropriate response.
“I-” I cleared my throat. I did not want to be manhandled by a woman as big as she was. Her hands were the size of barrel lids. “I'm here for Ken.”
It seemed my friend’s name was influential enough. They gave each other hesitant looks and the kinder-looking of the two said, “Please wait here. He’ll be out shortly.”
They left through the double doors and pretty soon I was alone with the patient. It creeped me out. She/He wasn’t moving, and that white cloth covering his/her head gave me the impression of a mobile ghost. I stood up and walked around, although I tried not to get near as much as possible, and started whistling. Upon my third round, I noticed that the person’s cloth had suddenly come off.
If he hadn’t been so beautiful, I would have screamed out loud.
The fact of the matter was, he was probably that good looking to appear so decent in that state: his skin was almost gray from being too pale, cheeks sunken and hollow, there were dark rings around his eyes and he was much too thin that all his bones were visible through his skin. His hair, though quite flaccid, was of a bright gold color that brought light to the dully painted room. He was staring straight into outer space, so still that I began wondering how that cloth came off.
Then his hand suddenly jerked.
I blinked and took a step back in surprise.
He blinked, softly, slowly. Then he shook his head, left then right, and opened his eyes. He stared right at me.
“Help me… please…” he croaked. “I'm hurting…”
I swallowed, and approached him in two steps. Only then did I realize his hands and feet, cruelly bound to his wheeled chair by thick leather straps; on his forearm was an evil looking needle, attached to a thin tube pumping dark green liquid connected to a glass cylinder. Forgetting about the fact that he was a complete stranger, and was probably a lunatic, I started forward and undid his bounds, first his hands, then his feet. He looked too weak to run anyway. He didn’t say anymore as I worked, but whenever I looked at his face, he would plead with his eyes.
“What’s your name?” I asked when I had finished.
Slowly, as if gathering strength, he rubbed his wrists and thanked me with a slight smile. Then he nodded towards a tag attached to his wrist.
It read, ‘Boy 3013’
I furrowed my brow. “You don’t have a name…?”
“They took it from me,” he replied weakly. “Please… this is a bad place… horrible things…”
“What…?” I whispered in horror.
He clutched at his chest, as if groping for something. He was hurrying, eyes frantic, and from under his shirt he produced a thick notebook, browning at the edges and burnt on one corner. “Please,” he whispered, pushing it into my hands. “Please…!”
I fumbled with the object as he forced it at me. “What is this, why are you giving it to me?”
He tried to move his foot, probably in the hopes of standing, when his eyes widened and he cried out. Then his head slumped sideways. He was out cold. I looked at the glass container on his side, attached to the tube. It was empty.
“Hey! Wake up,” I cried, grabbing him and shaking his shoulders. “Wake up!”
Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps, hurrying. I don’t know why I did, but I was glad I had done it, for the moment the two nurses came into view I tucked the notebook out of sight. They seemed surprised to see me.
“What are you still doing here?” the larger of the two demanded, and I immediately balked. The other wheeled the boy away.
“I was… I was just leaving…” I said pathetically.
“Good! Now get out of sight,” she snapped, following the other nurse into a room they had pushed the wheeled chair into.
Sighing, I ran my hand through my hair, and retrieved the notebook. I flipped through the pages, and was surprised to find that, aside from the usual notes, there were dates and pictures and letters, things pressed into the leaves of the book and things pasted on it. The first letter I encountered was faded, the writing messy and the ink spattered. The first two words were,
“Dear Wolfram…”