Trapped in PlayTime

The Memories

Ten
The Memories

Alli followed Jansen back into the Game Station.
"So what are we doing?" he asked, turning to look at her.
She had gone back to feeling suffocated again, the room closing in on her, her skin feeling too small. Her breaths were heavy in her ears and every time she swallowed she thought she was going to choke on her own tongue. "It's Marie. I know it. I know it is... but how? How?!" The thoughts were thick, they were loud, they were terrifying.
"Allison," Jansen said, starting for the first time to sound a little bit irritated with her trauma.
"Sorry," she said softly, "I'm sorry. Just–" she took a breath. She didn't know what she was apologizing for, didn't know why she felt obligated to. "You can't play with that broken Grab Pack,"
Jansen glanced down at the Grab Pack and its missing hand, the woven metal arm dragging on the floor by his feet. "Right..."
"This way," she said with too much confidence, "We'll find a better one–one for each of us."
He nodded and followed her.
They went to a door mostly hidden in the cushions against the walls; soft cutouts that looked like trees, animals, and clouds. The door was the same blue color as the walls around them, making it harder to find against the screaming vibrant colors of everything else. She tried the handle, knowing it would most likely be locked, but this was the only door to the equipment room.
They had taken her here, she remembered it most vividly. She had always been trusted by the doctors, they thought she was the easiest to control, that she didn't have any idea what was happening. They were right. She hadn't. Not until that day. One fateful mistake that they made. She had seen their papers, their notes on the games, on the experiments; their notes about the kids. She had seen the title of Marie's file, saw their plans for her, saw what they were going to make her.
The walls were down now. All the walls Alli had built up to protect herself were on the floor around her feet. The bricks chipped away slowly by the memory that had been plaguing her for years. It was all gone now, the things that had been protecting her from herself. The things that had been protecting others from her; from her living nightmares.
She took a breath and a step back. She was done running. Done being afraid. It was so exhausting to be afraid. With a firm step forward she kicked out, planting her foot right next to the doorknob, driving her heel into the wooden door. They had never thought that children were dangerous enough to need metal doors in the Game Station. She felt the door give a little beneath her foot, Jansen saying something behind her that she didn't hear. She fell back then went again, planting another hard kick on the door.
It slammed open, the strike plate having broken the latch off of the door, sending it flying into the hallway beyond.
"Damn," Jansen muttered as Alli brushed past the door and into the hall.
Stepping past the door she immediately turned right, the hallway only one way, and she followed it. It felt like a dream–a nightmare, to be back here. She hated it.
Another door in the hall held the name plaque "Equipment Room" right next to it on the wall. Allie tried the door, letting it swing open before reaching in with only her hand and feeling along the wall for a light switch.
The room illuminated, lighting up both itself and the hallway behind them, their shadows cast on the wall.
"Holy shit!" Jansen blurted, looking at the equipment room, "This is crazy!"
"It looks like Barbie's closet, doesn't it?" Alli agreed, looking down a long room lined with shelving units and racks.
"They– didn't take any of this when the factory shut down? This is probably worth a lot of money,"
Alli shrugged, "Doesn't matter. It's good for us that they left it,"
He raised his eyebrows in agreement as she stepped into the room and walked down the rows of shelves.
There was everything from packs of paper, to printer ink replacements, folder files, and other office supplies. There were stacks of paper plates, plastic solo cups, boxes on boxes of plastic cutlery. On the racks hung clothes, childrens of all sizes and colors; no prints, no patterns, just plain and simple colors. There were racks hung full of simple white office jackets, long and with too many pockets, some of which still had pens or other items outlined in them. Some shelves had boxes, cardboard or plastic, some clear but most opaque. They had labels on them, names mostly, some with more supplies and others with tags too worn to read. Dust coated every flat surface, thick and gray, dulling every color it touched.
Alli stopped at the end of a row of shelves lined with Grab Packs, eyeing the alleyway between the two towering structures.
"What are all the different colored hands for?" Jansen asked from over her shoulder.
"I–" she was going to say she didn't know, but she did. She remembered now. "They all have a different purpose," she explained, "The green and yellow ones are conductive, like a battery. Purple and pink are extra sticky, but they aren't conductive like the red and blue ones."
"Interesting,"
"Here," Alli said, "You'll probably want this one," she grabbed a pack with a blue hand and a green hand.
"Okay," he shed his old Grab Pack and put it on the shelf in place of the new one.
Alli grabbed herself one as well, with a blue hand and a purple hand. But her eyes caught on something in the dust. Finger prints, scuffs. Someone else had been here. Her eyes moved to the place where the Grab Pack had been, the clean spot where it had lain looking back at her. Someone else had definitely been there. Her heart started to pound.
"How do these games work, exactly?" Jansen asked as they both pulled on the packs and strapped them across their chests.
The breath was shallow as she took it, terrified despite herself. "I'm not sure what she'll have us play, but since the building still has power the instructions will be given to us over audio. When playing the game, you have to follow the instructions exactly or you will– lose." she finished. Die is what she would say, but that was too morbid. Too real.
"Okay, easy," he said, too confident as always.
"Right..." she said slowly, "The games are–Musical Memory, which is typically very easy. Whack-A-Wuggy, which is less easy. And Statues, which, depending on your physical mobility, is easy but tiring."
"Awesome," he grinned at her, "I always wanted to play Whack-A-Wuggy."
She gawked at him, "What is your problem?"
His smile faltered then faded completely, "Sorry?"
"Do you have no awareness!" Disgust overwhelming her conscious. "People have died here! My sister died here! And all you can think about is yourself? I get it, okay? All you wanted as a child was to come here and do what this–all I wanted as a child was to not be here! All I wanted was to not be couch surfing, was to not be called names at school for the clothes that didn't fit me and for my hair never being washed. I didn't ask for this to happen to me, and if I had a choice, I would love to have switched childhoods with you, since you can't seem to find contentment in not being traumatized! Is this truly what you wanted? Do you still not realize what happened? Do you not know what's going on right now?"
"I was just saying-" he started quietly, hurt by her outburst.
"We're being experimented on!" She shrieked, "They've found me again! They know I'm back. And this time... this time, you're here too."