Escape - 1. Escape

My head hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. I groaned and sat up, only to immediately lie back down due to the shooting daggers of pain exploding through my skull. What the hell did I do last night? And where the hell was I? I was lying on the floor, as my back was very clearly letting me know. I sat up much more slowly this time, and opened one of my eyes, then the other one.

It was pitch black, wherever I was. The pain in my head lessened to a dull ache. My body felt like it’d been run over by a freight train. I tried to remember the last thing I did, but felt a surge of panic as I realized I had no memory. As in none. I didn’t even remember my name. I fished in my pocket, relieved to find my cell phone. I turned it on, wincing from the bright light slicing through the impenetrable ink.

When my eyes adjusted, I noticed two things: the phone had no signal, and it apparently wasn’t mine. The name on the display read “Andrea”. I may not remember who I am, but I did know I wasn’t an “Andrea”. I was tempted to scroll through the phone, looking for information about the owner, but decided my more immediate need was to explore my surroundings. I stood up shakily and shone the phone like a flashlight.

There was a thick layer of dust on the floor that showed one set of footprints and one set of drag marks. So apparently I didn’t come here under my own power. There was a bed on the opposite wall—well, more of a cot than a bed—and I wondered why I ended up on the floor instead of there. The only other contents in the room were a rusty sink, a filthy toilet, and a dilapidated chest of drawers. There were no windows, only mildew-stained cement walls. The door was shut, completing the prison-like feel of the room.

I pushed down the rising panic and claustrophobia, and walked over to the door. Locked. Of course. I wheeled around; a horrible feeling that I was being watched washed over me, and I gasped for breath. I staggered to the cot and sat down, coughing and sputtering as I inhaled the cloud of dust I had raised. When I grabbed the edge of the mattress for support, trying to control my spasming lungs, I felt a hard object embedded in the disintegrating fabric.

Curious, I shone the cell phone light over the area where I felt it, and removed a small key. I strode back to the door, and relief flooded through me when I felt and heard the key turn in the lock. I pulled open the door and entered the hallway, gulping in lungfuls of fresh air. Well, air that was fresher than the stale, dust-filled air of my erstwhile prison.

The hallway was almost as dark as the room, so I activated the cell phone again and perused my surroundings. I decided to head to the right, and walked slowly down the dank corridor, passing quite a few rooms similar to the one I had just vacated. After I passed room 201—I wondered if that meant I was on the second floor—the cell phone illuminated a door with a sign that read “Maintenance” hanging by one screw. I turned the doorknob, and thankfully this door was not locked.

I was hoping to find a flashlight or some other form of illumination stronger than the cell phone. I thought it would be prudent to conserve the battery, in case I was able to get reception. The room contained rusty metal shelves with a variety of containers of cleaning products and other items related to the maintenance of a large building. There was a rusty, red tool box on the floor with the paint flaking off it. I opened the lid, and, to my delight, found a flashlight among the tools and other junk. I clicked it on and a dull light emanated forth, then sputtered out. Damn. So much for my good luck. I stuck it in my back pocket, along with a screwdriver, with the insane hope that I’d run across some batteries to power it.

Time had not been kind to the contents of this room, and there was very little that was still usable. I found a bottle of cleanser stamped from the 1980s. This place had been closed for a very long time. At the back of the room was a giant lump covered in a dusty tarp. I decided to risk another asthma attack and removed the tarp, revealing a generator.

I pumped my fist and yelled “yes!” which contrasted eerily with the silence that pervaded the place. Then my common sense kicked in, and I wondered what the chances were that it actually had fuel. It didn’t, of course, but I did find a giant drum labeled ‘Gasoline’ in the opposite corner. To my surprise and delight, it actually contained fuel! I easily found a container for the fuel and poured it into the generator’s fuel tank. I pressed the start button, and it roared to life, sputtering and belching forth black smoke. Thank goodness it vented outside, but I wasn’t sticking around to inhale any fumes anyway.

I turned to look out the doorway and practically ran into the hallway after seeing dull luminescence keeping the pervasive blackness at bay. Apparently I had activated the emergency lights. I was standing at the end of a long hallway. The corridor continued to my right. On my left was a room labeled “Nurse’s Office”. I reached out to turn the doorknob of the office and inhaled sharply when I noticed thick, black letters drawn onto my arm. I rolled up my sleeve and read the word abomination. My blood ran cold, and I shakily rolled up my other sleeve to read the numbers 3521.

I jumped when the overhead speaker system crackled to life with a loud, static-filled whine.

“Congratulations, 3521. You recovered quicker than I had anticipated.” The male voice was smooth with a slight accent I couldn’t place. “Your task is to make it to the first floor. If you complete this task, you will be rewarded. If you fail, you will be…punished. You have one hour.”

“Who are you? Why am I here?” I yelled, but there was no response. The feeling that I was being watched was back, and I tried to stop my trembling, to no avail. I looked at the door of the nurse’s office, then down the dim corridor. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to take a couple of minutes to explore my surroundings before I tried to find a stairwell to the first floor.

I used the screwdriver I had found in the maintenance room to unscrew the doorknob. It fell to the floor with a loud clatter. I easily opened the door and set foot in the sparsely furnished room. There was a desk chair that was tipped over, a dusty desk, and a locked file cabinet. The back wall was comprised mainly of cabinets with glass doors, but the shelves only contained an old stethoscope, a mortar and pestle, a black doctor’s bag, and some empty syringes.

The syringes caught my attention, since they were clearly newer than any of the other contents of the small room. The black bag also lacked the dirt and grime that had settled over the place for the past forty years. I opened the bag to find a vial containing clear liquid. It was labeled with a long chemical name, underneath which read: side effects include memory impairment and lack of muscle coordination; FDA approval denied. No wonder I had no memory.

I pushed aside the chill that ran down my spine when I thought about who would want to drug me, call me an abomination, and deposit me in a facility like this. I had less than an hour to get to the first floor. I didn’t want to know what my ‘punishment’ for not accomplishing this task would be.

I turned my attention to the file cabinet. It was locked. I thought it was strange, since everything else in the room was pretty much empty. It would be worth seeing if I could break into it and find out any information about where I was. I remembered seeing a hand drill in the tool box in the maintenance room. I figured that would do the trick. I retrieved it and made short work of the file cabinet lock. My hunch proved right, since the cabinet contained five files with numbers on them. I gasped when I read the number on the top file. 3521. The same number that had been drawn onto my arm.

I turned the chair upright and sat on it, placing the files on the desk so I could inspect them. My hands trembled as I opened the file. The first page was an information sheet comprised of demographic information and a photograph. Of me. Apparently my name was Eric Dawson. The next sheet contained my medical history. Why the hell would they have that? The last page was on stationery from the “Sunnydale Center for Mental Hygiene”. It was another medical report, but not from any doctor I remembered visiting. Under ‘sexual history’ it stated that I had slept with men only and showed no interest in females. Under ‘diagnoses’ it stated ‘abomination with deviant tendencies’. Recommended course of treatment—treatment not effective. A large red stamp with the word ‘terminate’ glared at me from the bottom of the page.

I sat back in the chair numbly. What the hell did it all mean? Terminate? Was someone playing with me just so they could kill me? Seeing my name did nothing to trigger my memory. What if I never got it back?

The other four files contained similar information, although the diagnoses were different. Andrea Gordon—I wondered if that was whose cell phone I carried—diagnosis: sympathizer. Treatment: ECT, then release. It was the same result for the other three names: David Evans, Marisa Abernathy, and Justin Crawford. The names were vaguely familiar. Maybe they were my friends? Was it me they were sympathizing with?

I pushed away from the desk. I had wasted fifteen minutes on these files. That left me forty-five to get to the first floor. I headed down the corridor, stopping at the end. There was an office labeled ‘Level Two Security’ across from a single elevator door. Next to the elevator was a door with ‘Stairwell’ painted on it in red stencil. I pressed the button for the elevator but didn’t think it would be that simple. Sure enough, there was no response. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get into an elevator in a building this dilapidated, anyway.

The stairwell was locked, of course. Fortunately for me, the security office wasn’t. The back wall of the office contained numerous TV screens and a computerized monitoring system. They were much too modern compared to the rest of the building’s contents. Maybe this building wasn’t as abandoned as I’d been lead to believe.

I explored the rest of the office, finding a crowbar and pocketing a couple of paperclips. I figured if the crowbar didn’t work, then I’d go all MacGyver and try to pick the lock to the stairwell with the paperclips.

“Tick tock, 3521. You only have a half hour left, and you haven’t even tried to get to the first floor. That’s not working in your favor, I’m afraid.” The voice laughed before the intercom shut off with a wave of static.

I had dropped the crowbar when the voice penetrated the eerie silence, so I bent and picked it up. It was easy to wedge the crowbar in between the elevator doors, but not so easy to force them open. By the time they were open enough for me to fit through, I was panting hard and drenched in sweat. I shone the cell phone light down the dark shaft, but it wasn’t enough to penetrate the black hole below me.

I slumped against the wall. Why did I waste all that time getting the elevator doors open when there wasn’t enough power to operate the car? I smacked my forehead. I was an idiot. No wonder I was slated for ‘termination’. I had wasted half my remaining time on a fruitless task.

I stood up and fished the paperclips out of my pocket. I straightened them out, then knelt in front of the stairwell door. I stuck both paperclips into the lock and moved them around until I could feel the tumbler. I was focusing so hard on my task that I completely lost track of time. I was becoming increasing frustrated with my lack of progress when the intercom crackled to life, causing me to nearly drop the paperclips and lose any slight progress I may have made.

“Five more minutes, Abomination.” The voice chuckled, sending prickles of fear coursing through my body. “Oh, I am so going to enjoy it when you fail. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed a good…punishment.”

I fumbled with the lock for another minute in earnest, then heard a soft click when I twisted the paperclips in opposite directions. Scarcely daring to hope, I tried the door. To my astonishment, it swung open with a loud creak. I bolted down the stairs, stopping at a door with a large ‘1’ painted on it. I cursed when the door opened only enough for me to get my hands through. It was padlocked on the other side. I still had one of the paperclips in my hand, so I reached through and grabbed the lock with one hand and stuck my makeshift lock pick in it with the other hand. This was a simpler mechanism than the door I had just picked, but my hands were shaking so badly it was difficult to concentrate. It became even more difficult when my captor’s voice reappeared over the intercom.

“Thirty seconds…twenty seconds…ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…”

The lock snicked open, and I furiously untangled the chain from the door. I shoved it open and fell into the corridor of the first floor, panting and shaking.

“…one. My my. We like to leave things to the last moment, don’t we? Well, I am nothing if not equitable, so you’ve escaped punishment. This time. Your new task is to gain entrance to the outside courtyard. Since you performed so well on this task, I think forty-five minutes should suffice. I wouldn’t waste any of it, if I were you.”

I lay on my back, chest heaving as I gulped in lungfuls of air and tried to calm my pounding heart. I had a new task and less time to complete it. Great. I was barely able to complete this task in time. I didn’t want to know what my ‘punishment’ would be for failure. The thought motivated me to sit up and inspect my surroundings. I was sitting in a narrow corridor in what looked like a main hallway. It had the sterile feel of a health facility, even though the dirt and detritus of the past few decades made it hardly sterile.

I rose to my feet. I figured I’d better get started on exploring my surroundings, considering I had such little time to find and enter the courtyard. I headed to my right. The first room I encountered looked like a rec room. There were numerous tables and chairs scattered throughout the room, and shelves lining the walls. The shelves contained mostly dust, but also some general interest magazines, books, and old games. Lining the far wall was a set of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking what I assumed was the courtyard. The door next to the windows labeled ‘Courtyard Entrance’ confirmed my suspicions.

There was no doubt in my mind that the door was going to be locked, and I was right. My egress wouldn’t be that simple. Neither would opening that door. Instead of a simple lock, it appeared to be hooked up to some sort of security system that required a keycard. How the hell was I going to find a keycard for a facility that had lain dormant for decades?

After searching the rest of the rec room and finding nothing of interest, I continued down the hallway in search of another exit to the courtyard. The cafeteria contained nothing of interest, either. All a search of it revealed was the fact that I was starving. Not surprisingly, there was no fresh food. I wasn’t brave enough to try anything that had been in a can for over thirty years, either.

“Scurry, scurry little rat. Over half your time is gone. Oh, I am so looking forward to your failure. Punishing people is so much…fun.” The voice laughed, sending a chill down my spine.

The next room I encountered had a sign next to it that read “Administration”. I entered the unlocked room and stepped into what I assumed was a reception area. There was a small desk perpendicular to the door to yet another office. I entered that room, figuring it belonged to the head honcho of this place. A large wooden desk occupied the back wall and rows of file cabinets lined one wall. The file cabinets were mostly empty, but I did find a newspaper clipping about the asylum and a flyer that looked decidedly more modern. I put them in my pocket to read later. I didn’t have much more time to gain entrance to the courtyard.

A search of the desk was fruitless. I leaned back in the chair with an exasperated sigh. I was so frustrated that I kicked the desk, causing the open top drawer to fall to the floor. It broke upon impact, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside was a keycard and a set of keys. I snatched them up and ran to the rec room, stopping in front of the courtyard door, breathing heavily. A quick check of the time on the cell phone revealed I had seven minutes remaining.

I ran the keycard through the reader, and it immediately glowed green. I turned the doorknob and opened the door, stepping outside. It looked like it was late afternoon. The trees were mainly bare, and there was a cold bite to the breeze that tousled my hair. The courtyard had a fountain in the middle that was surrounded by benches. There was a shed a little distance beyond it, and a black wrought-iron fence surrounded the property. Beyond the fence was woods as far as I could see.

“You are a clever little abomination. I wouldn’t get your hopes up too high, though. No one has ever completed Task Three. Therefore, I will be generous and give you two hours to complete it. If you can make it off these grounds, you are a free man. If not, you will be…terminated. I doubt you are clever enough to succeed when men much smarter than you have failed. I’d wish you luck, but I’d much rather have you fail.”

I sat on one of the benches near the fountain to plan my next move. Snippets of my memory were returning. Mainly just faces and emotions associated with them; unfortunately nothing that would explain my presence here. One face in particular stood out: blond hair, green eyes, and a smile that made my legs turn to jelly. I couldn’t remember his name yet, but I knew I loved this man. I wanted nothing more than to escape this trap and get back to him. Whoever he was.

I fished out the pieces of paper I had found in the administrator’s office and read the newspaper article.

The Sunnydale Center for Mental Hygiene closed its doors for the last time today. After being built in the mid-1950s, it was embroiled in controversy stemming from the unconventional methodology of Sunnydale founder, Aloysius Stockdale. Dr. Stockdale believed that severe psychiatric disorders required a combination of surgery, ECT, and aversion therapy, which led to allegations of abuse and malpractice. None of the allegations could be proven, however, until a recent undercover investigation revealed—

The article ended abruptly, as it appeared to have been torn haphazardly from the newspaper, cutting off the end of the article. A shiver ran through me as I contemplated what the patients at this facility had to endure. Could the voice be Dr. Stockdale? The article didn’t mention an age. Did he stick around after his practice ended, performing experiments on unsuspecting people?

My hands trembled as I inspected the second piece of paper. It had a much more modern look to it. It was printed on glossy paper in bright colors. It was an advertisement.

Do you like puzzles? Does being scared provide a thrill? Then sign up for ‘Escape the Asylum’, a two-week event running concurrent with Halloween!

I didn’t have time for any of the advertisement to sink in as a sharp scream pierced the silence of the courtyard. It was coming from the direction of the shed. I jogged over to it cautiously, stopping against one of the walls. I could hear movement inside, so it was clear I wasn’t alone. I slowly stood on my tiptoes to peer into the window.

A group of four people were tied together in the middle of the shack. They were all gagged except for one. I recognized them from the photographs in the files I had found on the second floor. My apparent friends. I dashed to the front of the shed and tried to open the door, but it was locked.

“Help us!” one of the women yelled. “We’re being held captive!”

“Hang on! It’s locked. I need to find a way to open the door.”

“Eric? Is that you? Thank God! We didn’t know what happened to you! That man separated us when we got here!”

“Yeah, it’s me. I’ll be right back. I gotta find something to break this chain.”

“Ok, hurry!”

I spun around, frantically trying to think if I’d seen anything to help me open the shed. I spied a pile of firewood behind the shed. I ran over to it, thinking I could use one of the logs to break the window. Something even better awaited me. An ax was lodged in a stump that apparently was used for splitting the logs. I removed it easily and returned to the shed.

“I’ve found an ax. I’m going to chop down the door.”

“Ok, hurry, Eric!”

It took me about ten minutes to chop through the door. I was drenched in sweat and panting by the time I finally broke through. I hoped that all the noise hadn’t attracted any unwanted attention, but at the same time had a feeling that it didn’t matter anyway, since our captor appeared to be aware of our every movement.

I stepped into the shed and untied my grateful friends. We all embraced. They looked about as great as I felt. Their clothes were dirty and hair disheveled. I caught a flash of black writing as I pulled away.

“Man, are we glad to see you. That guy is a freaking psycho!” Justin exclaimed.

“What guy?” I asked, afraid I already knew the answer.

“The one that caught us. You know…that crazy white-haired guy. The one that promised us the tour,” Dave said.

“I don’t remember. I don’t remember much, I’m afraid. I think he drugged me. I found syringes and a drug vial on the second floor. I only know my name because I found a bunch of files.” I pulled up my sleeve and showed them the writing. They gasped and rolled up their own sleeves, showing the word sympathizer on one arm, and a series of numbers on the second.

“He gave me two hours to escape the grounds or else he’ll kill me. We only have an hour left. C’mon. We’d better hurry,” I said.

We decided to walk along the iron fence until we found the entrance. “So you have like, no memory at all?” Justin asked.

I shook my head. “Just snippets here and there. I keep remembering one face, though. A blond guy with green eyes.”

Andrea grinned. “Well you better remember him, or he’ll kill you if this psycho doesn’t.”

I narrowed my eyes. I couldn’t believe she’d joke about something like this. “So you know who he is?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course we do. Cyrus is your fiancé.”

Fiancé? I smiled. It was nice to have a pleasant thought after the horror I’d been through. Marisa stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Wait…Eric. You really have no memory?”

“No. I woke up in a locked cell three hours ago and have no idea who I am or why I’m here.”

My friends looked at each other in concern. “That wasn’t part of the deal…” Justin mumbled. Dave smacked him on the arm and shook his head.

“Do you guys know something—”

“Look! A guardhouse!” Marisa pointed and ran forward. We all followed suit.

The guardhouse was located in front of the locked gates. Dave and Marisa went to check out the gate, while Justin, Andrea, and I headed to the guardhouse. Justin broke a window and opened the door to the small enclosure. I checked the time on the cell phone. Fifteen minutes remained. I handed the phone to Andrea. “I think this is yours.”

“My phone!” she shrieked. “I don’t suppose we have service?”

“No. Nothing in this place is that simple.”

She tucked the phone in her pocket, and we proceeded to inspect the small guardhouse. There was nothing of interest, except a piece of paper with a series of numbers on it taped to the underside of the desk. I shoved it in my pocket. We headed to the gate to meet our other two friends.

“There’s a manual override, but we need the combination. It’s the only way out, I’m afraid,” said Dave.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the paper with the number code. The other two papers fell to the ground.

“What’s this?” asked Justin as he stooped to pick them up.

“I found them in the administrator’s office. It’s a newspaper article about this place and an ad. I didn’t have a chance to look at the ad long, though, before I heard the scream.” The words on the paper returned to my consciousness—Escape the Asylum; a two-week event—just as Dave yelled in triumph and swung the front gates open.

We all dashed through, embracing each other and laughing the whole way. There was a road at the end of the driveway, so we started walking toward it. Relief flooded through me. “So what happened to you guys? You actually saw the person who did this to us?” I asked.

Justin dissolved into a fit of laughter, doubling over. Dave grinned, and the girls just rolled their eyes.

I scowled. Clearly my asshole friends knew exactly what was going on. “What’s with that flyer? Guys, what the fuck is going on here?” I yelled.

“It was your idea, man,” Justin said in between bouts of laughter. “We just came along for the ride.”

“So this was all a set-up?” My stomach roiled from the anger building up inside me.

“It sure was. Boy, you should have seen the look on your face when you busted through that shed like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.” Justin howled with laughter.

I raised my fist and punched him in the face. “Fuck you,” I spat, then stomped down the driveway.

“This doesn’t feel right to me,” Andrea said. “Why would they drug Eric, and why did they write that stuff on our arms?”

My friends jogged to keep up with me. “I don’t know, but who cares? Let’s just get out of here,” Dave said.

“Does anyone have a tissue? Man, that freaking hurt, Eric,” Justin groused, rubbing his chin.

After all the taunting by the voice over the intercom, our escape felt a bit anti-climactic. I wasn’t going to question it, though. I just wanted to get away from that place and my ‘friends’ as soon as I could. We walked about a half mile before we were overtaken by two white SUVs that slid to a stop in front of us and behind us with a crunch of gravel. An old, white-haired man exited the vehicle in front, followed by two rather large, younger men. Three men in white emerged from the second vehicle, surrounding us.

“So you’ve defied the odds, 3521. Nicely done, but I’m afraid I can’t quite let you leave yet,” the white-haired man said. I recognized his voice from the intercom, and my blood ran cold, despite knowing this was all a hoax.

“Look, whatever we paid you…we got our money’s worth. Now step aside, and let us out of here. I want to go home,” I said crossly. “Where is our car?”

“Abominations must be terminated, or else they will continue to spread their infection throughout society. Sympathizers must be punished. A message must be sent that abominations are not to be tolerated.” He nodded toward the men, who each withdrew a gun and motioned to the SUVs.

“Look, this isn’t funny anymore. You have our money; we had our laugh. Now just let us go,” Justin said.

“You’re not going anywhere,” the old man said with a laugh that scared the hell out of me.

One of the goons advanced and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me towards the vehicle. I tried to pull away, but he had a grip of iron. My friends shifted their feet, and uncertainty played across their features. “Run!” I yelled, then the goon hit me over the head with the end of the gun. The last thing I remember seeing as my consciousness slowly faded was my friends being subdued and dragged into the waiting vehicles. A chilling realization swept over me as the man who hit me dragged me toward the SUV: this was no game, and escape was impossible.

A big thank you to Cole and Lisa for their help.  You guys are amazing!  Please leave a 'like' or a review and let me know how you liked my creepy tale...