Flytrap | WATTYS 2022 SHORTLIST

13 | Fern

Cold. It was unbearably cold. Even with the itchy blanket, Barbara couldn't stop her teeth from chattering. Trembling, she curled into herself as much as she could, desperate to preserve what body heat remained. Yet, the freezing temperature of the room was nothing compared to the shiver that ran along her spine when she heard her name.

"Good morning, Barbara," a soft voice cooed from somewhere in the dark.

As soon as the elongated fingers brushed against her shoulder, Barbara startled upright. That proved to be a huge mistake, one she instantly regretted as a wave of pain washed over her. With a groan, she squinted up at the lanky shadow standing in front of her.

"It's time to wake up," it replied from its place in the corner. Though its voice was hushed, she recognized the distinguished accent. There were only so many Brits that lived in Gotham.

"Dr. Crane," she tried to say, but not having had an ounce of water in over twelve hours, it came out as more of a rasp.

"How are you feeling? I imagine a little dizzy. A little disoriented." He tilted his head and chuckled. "Don't worry, you're not hungover. It's just the aftereffects from the sedative. They're quite normal, really. In fact, you seemed to have reacted better than most."

Rapping his knuckles on the door, Dr. Crane called to someone outside. "Frank, she's awake."

Immediately, the door swung open and bright, fluorescent light poured into the dark, cramped space. Another figure lumbered inside, one much bulkier and broad-shouldered than the gangling shadow beside the bed.

Shrinking into the lumpy mattress, Barbara winced as the figure known as Frank gathered her into his massive arms. As he carried her over to the wheelchair, she felt as if she were floating through the air. Oh, God. Just what the hell had been in that sedative? It was a struggle to even hold her head up, much less form a coherent sentence. The orderly must've noticed she was about to slump over since he quickly strapped her inside after placing her down.

"Wh-What?" Her head lolled to the side in a pathetic attempt to look at Dr. Crane. "What are you-?"

Luckily, Barbara didn't have to look far into the dark for the aforementioned doctor. The sharp, angular features of the man immediately came into view as he stepped into the beam of light seeping through the crack in the door.

"You'll see." Something wicked twinkled in his eye, something that only made the chill in the air grow colder. "Take her to my office."

Frank grabbed the handlebars with a grunt and spun her around, pushing her out of the dark and hellish abyss known as Confined Cell 66.

Blinking as a wave of artificial light engulfed her, Barbara was wheeled past a blur of steel doors and empty halls towards the elevator. She must've gotten on at one point since the next thing she knew they were on another floor, one much busier than the last. Nurses in white dresses bustled by, barely glancing at her as they hurried off towards their neurotic patients. Burly guards trudged past her, their hands lingering dangerously close to the guns at their side. And even the occasional patient would pass by, either on their own two feet or restrained to a wheelchair, looking like what she imagined she did.

Although her memories might be out of whack, Barbara knew Arkham wasn't this active yesterday. The place had practically been dead. But now, it was as if it had received an overnight delivery that consisted of half the city.

The noise was doing nothing for her throbbing forehead, which she figured must've been one of the aftereffects Dr. Crane had mentioned. Of all days, why did today, when her skull felt like it was going to crack, have to be so hectic?