In The Mist Chapter 3

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It was more than obvious Misty was sick, and Darell had decided to keep her with him until she was better. Darell knew how to take care of the sick, leaving her to sleep he had left for work. He was late of course, but his boss didn’t get up him, since he was his own boss.

It was the dreams that pulled her down in that ocean of wonder. She didn’t know she was dreaming, and the fear was real. Small whimpers slipped from her lips. It was all she could manage. In her dreams she was screaming as if she was being murdered.

The images were sometimes short, simply flickering behind her eyelids. And other times they were long stories that made no sense all of which were making her body suddenly jerk with each horror they held in store.

Sometimes she was running, running from something utterly terrifying although she didn’t know what. Other times the horror danced on her eyelids clear as glass, and just as sharp.

It wore a white mask over its mouth that made its breathing absurdly loud. Its hair was hidden by a surgical cap, its face was male. And he gave the impression that he was grinning widely. He grasped a syringe in one hand and a scalpel in the other, his gloves squeaked as he flexed his fingers around the grip in an eager manner.

Misty was in a lab. A viewing room with a glass window and controls inside was fixed to her right. A blinding light swung from the roof shining purposefully onto a table that had shackles where one’s wrists and ankles would lie. On sturdy wheels was a theatre trolley and upon it slumbered the wicked surgical equipment that made her shiver.

This was all too familiar, the scientist, the lab, the feeling of absolute dread. Misty shrunk back into the wall, tears already streaming down her face. Another surgeon came into view and he grabbed her and slung her onto the table. She kicked and thrashed but they were strong, pinning her down like anchors. They pulled the buckles of shackles tight and before she knew it even wriggling proved difficult.

The light above her made everything as hazy as the dream and it burnt and made her eyes sleepy. Each blink revealed something new happening, the people in their surgical gowns moved around her like bees

extracting pollen. They were pointing at her skin, drawing imaginary lines with their fingers, deciding where to slice and dice.

Just before they were about to cut Misty open, they sent a needle into her arm. Her muscles relaxed and ignored her commands, but her eyes darted across the room in raw panic.

The surgeons, scientists, whatever they were, were going to pull her organs out, dissect her, study her until satisfaction filled them with sick joy.

It happened often and recovery was extremely slow. Misty guessed that was the downside of being an experiment. Of course the down side outweighed the upsides.

Misty’s eyes shot open. Only glimpses of the dreams stayed, the rest fluttered away like butterflies when she reached for them.

It felt like late afternoon, very late. The sound of night wafted inside and then was cut off again as the door shut and locked. Darell came in and she welcomed him with her best smile. In the hallway she saw grocery bags slumped against the walls. Darell must have woken her up bringing the lot inside.

He came in with some different bags and dumped them on the bed.

“I got you some clothes,” he said cheerfully as he pulled out jeans and shirts, underwear and shoes from the bags.

One outfit was made completely of black leather and Misty immediately knew it was her favourite of the lot. She got dressed in the outfit and admired herself in the mirror. It shaped her really well and she thought she looked fabulous. The shoes amazingly fit perfectly. Darell had estimated her foot side well. She imagined him measuring her foot when she was asleep and giggled.

Darell came back and looked her up and down, “I should become a stylist,” he said impressed. “That would be such a fun job,” he added sarcastically.

Misty smiled at him, still feeling a little shy.

“I don’t want to sound like I’m keeping you prisoner, but I’d like to keep you here until you’ve recovered, with your permission of course.”

“I am better,” Misty replied feeling pressured.

“You can’t be sure Misty, you were vomiting blood for gods sakes.” Misty remained quiet with her eyes on the floor. “Look, you’re safe here, I promise,” Darell raised a hand, “and I never break a promise.”

Misty shrugged, “fine by me,” she said.

“Good,” said Darell, nodding, and then he pulled out a syringe. Misty eyes widened in fear, the syringe looked

awfully familiar. “It’s ok,” Darell said, seeing her alarm, “it’s a concoction I made myself. Made of healing,

energy and other bits and pieces, it’s what I give my students when they’re sick. Your arm please?”

Reluctantly, Misty stuck out her arm and tensed when Darell injected the blue liquid.

“Students?” Misty said curiously.

“Ahh, yes, I train them and send them on missions.”

“Cool,” Misty said, trying to imagine what he would train them in and what missions they would go on.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes thank you, you’re very kind.”

Darell shrugged, turned on his heal and walked out the door, “Do what you like in my home. I’ll be working in

my study if you need me,” he said, disappearing through another door.

After a moment’s hesitation, Misty got up and had a look around. Some of it was pretty average, bedrooms, lounge rooms and a kitchen. Some of the house was much more interesting. Artefacts were scattered around here and there and she peered at them with wonder. One room had shelves as high as mountains filled with books that all looked priceless. This place was more like a mansion. It had the feel that it was old but looked like it was built yesterday and in general, it was huge.

After an hour of filling her mind with marvellous books, Misty was sat down at Darrel’s dining table. With her stomach now healed, Misty wolfed down her meal. A full plate of food was like a buffet to her and every bite was a blessing.

Darell watched her, amused, “well,” he said, “you were hungry.”

Misty happily munched on her chicken, “you’re a very good cook,” she said, but it sounded like she was being smothered by pillows.

“Thank you,” Darell cheered, “now I was wondering Misty, if you’d like to work for me.” An image of Misty’s past flashed before her eyes, and she almost choked on her food. She saw a man, tall and broad, who was ordering her to do stuff of nightmares. Suddenly working for Darell didn’t seem like such a good idea. All Misty wanted was freedom because in her eyes freedom was safety.

“You all right?” Darell asked, concern in his voice. Misty nodded quickly, forcing a smile.

“Yeah,” she said, standing and taking her plate to the sink. And then she skipped out the door.