You Are Here for a Reason

Prologue

It was dim and dingy, and dust clouded my lungs as I opened my eyes.  The room was empty, save for a table missing a leg that slouched, as if in defeat, and it, too, supported a thick carpet of dust.   The chill of the floor on which I lay seeped through my jeans and t-shirt, and, as I sat up, penetrated my skin and muscles in wicked shards.  Joints creaking, I got to my feet and began to explore.

There were no windows.  Instead, dirty walls, painted a dull green and peeling, stretched up to a low ceiling that loomed at an arm's reach.  A plain door with a brass knob occupied the wall opposite me--locked, of course.  Spider's webs hung everywhere—thin and silvery, like dusty chandeliers.

"Great," I mumbled to myself, too tired to panic.  

I searched my memories for reasons why I had ended up there, and they made little sense and were incoherent.  Why couldn't I recall?  Was there something wrong with me?  Had something fundamental changed?  That couldn't be it.  I was all there, wasn't I?  All my limbs, fingers and toes, face, hair, skin and bones--my mind... Was all there, too, right?

All I needed, it seemed, was the time to realize the gravity of my situation.  Soon my fatigue combined with terror.   And it was the kind of fear that makes your limbs tingle, the kind that eviscerates you, the kind that dissociates you from reality.

Blank space, blank space.  Nothing in my head but cotton wool--wait, no. 

Now I remembered.  A genderless person--a perfect human at first glance--save for the waxy texture of its skin.  Looking at me.  Speaking to me.  What was it saying? 

Static. 

With a start, I realized that the memory had ceased, as if a switch turned off.  It felt like some external force was controlling my thoughts and recollections.  As the beginnings of a panic attack stirred within me, I heard the brief and unmistakable sound of a lock opening. 

A doorknob turning.

I watched the door as cold sweat ran down my back.  My breath became clogged in my throat.  There was someone there, and they were coming for me. 

The door opened a crack and I choked.  I could see a silhouette move in that fine gap between the doorframe and the door itself.  What was it doing? 

A shuffling, then the form receded, its steps growing father and farther away. 

Whoever that was had only unlocked the door and opened it?  Why? 

It had to be a trick, or a trap, or a cruel joke. 

I could have bet that there was another locked door outside of this one: no, two--one at each end of a hall.  The retreating figure's steps did sound like they were in the hollow of a large, lengthy space. 

None of this made sense.  It had to be a trick, or a trap--what else could it be?  There was no possibility of freedom.  Whoever deposited me in that room did so for a reason, a good one, a reason that made my flesh crawl with the tiny, prickly legs of dread. 

I filled my lungs with several deep, stabilizing breaths.  I had to focus, for what faced me was so important, too important to make a mistake.  Should I stay here, confined to this dilapidated space, relatively safe for now but tormented by my own thoughts?  Or should I attempt escape, with the potential of facing direct harm?

Either way, I had thought, trouble lurked at every angle. 

 It was best, I finally concluded, to take matters into my own hands.  Heartbeat erratic, I took my first step outside.