Close Walls- Chapter 9

The hallway finally began to settle.

The shouting faded first, dissolving into tired murmurs. The footsteps slowed. Doors stopped slamming. Even the crying softened into small, whimpering sound that drifted away down the corridor.

I waited.

I stood just inside my room, staring at the thin crack of light beneath the door, listening for anything noise. Charlie hovered near the wall, tense and alert.

I swallowed hard and stepped closer to the door. My fingers trembled as I reached for the handle again. I pulled gently.

The door opened with a click.

I slipped into the hallway, my bare feet cold against the tile. The air out here felt different carrying the faint smell of disinfectant and something metallic underneath.

I kept close to the wall.

The hallway stretched out in both directions, lined with identical doors. Some had small windows. Some had scratches near the handles. Some had faint marks on the floor in front of them. One of the doors had a peculiar pale green substance in front of it.

I tried not to look too long.

Farther down the hall, two staff members were talking in low, urgent voices. Their backs were turned. One of them held a clipboard. The other wiped sweat from his forehead with a shaking hand.

Their voices carried just enough for me to hear.

“—three of them in one morning,” the man with the clipboard muttered. “Three. I’ve never seen intake this bad.”

The other man let out a shaky breath. “They were fighting like wild animals. Did you see the blonde one? Took four of us to get her into a room.”

Clipboard Man flipped a page, his pen tapping nervously. “They’re getting younger too. Half of them look like they should be in school, not here.”

The sweaty man rubbed his face with both hands. “I don’t get paid enough for this. They scream, they run, they bite—one of them nearly broke my wrist.”

Clipboard Man snorted under his breath. “Be glad you weren’t the one who had to drag the girl from Room 14. She wouldn’t stop yelling. I swear she almost—”

His voice dropped lower, too soft for me to catch the rest.

I pressed my back harder against the wall, trying to make myself smaller, invisible.

Charlie hovered beside me, tense. “Don’t move,” he whispered. “They’ll see you if you move.”

The men kept talking, their voices tight and exhausted.

“We need more staff,” the sweaty one said. “This place is getting out of control.”

Clipboard Man sighed. “Just get through the morning rounds. After that, we’ll sedate the ones who need it.”

Sedate.

I swallowed hard, my breath trembling.

My chest tightened instantly. My breath caught halfway in my throat and wouldn’t move. The hallway tilted slightly, the lights flickering too bright. My fingers went numb. My knees wobbled.

I backed up against the wall, trying to breathe, but the air felt too thin, like I was swallowing nothing. My heart hammered so fast it hurt. My vision blurred at the edges, tunneling in and out.

Charlie appeared right in front of me, his voice urgent but soft. “Caroline—hey—look at me. You’re okay. You’re okay. Just breathe. Slow. Slow.”

I tried.

I couldn’t.

My breaths came in short, broken bursts. My hands shook uncontrollably. My legs felt like they were disappearing beneath me. The hallway sounds grew louder, then quieter, then louder again.

What happened to the girls they sedated?

Were they dead?

Tortured?

Were they still alive?

Would I be next?

I probably would be.

Charlie reached toward me, his expression full of worry. “Caroline, please—focus on me. You’re safe. You’re not alone. Just look at me.”

But I couldn’t focus.

I couldn’t see him clearly.

I couldn’t see anything clearly.

A small, involuntary sound escaped my throat — not a word, just a sharp, panicked gasp.

It was enough.

The two male staff members turned around.

Clipboard Man froze first. His eyes widened when he saw me pressed against the wall, shaking, struggling to breathe. The other man stepped forward quickly, hands raised in a gentle, non‑threatening way. Or maybe it was all fake. So, he could sedate me later.

“Hey—hey, it’s okay,” he said softly. “You’re alright. You’re safe.”

I shook my head or tried to. My vision blurred again. My chest tightened even more.

The sweaty man approached slowly, like he was afraid to scare me. “She’s having a panic attack,” he murmured to the other. “Poor kid… she must’ve slipped out during the chaos.”

Clipboard Man nodded, his voice low and calm. “Don’t touch her. Just talk to her. Keep your voice soft.”

The sweaty man crouched down a few feet away from me, keeping his distance. “Hey, sweetheart… you’re okay. You’re not in trouble. Just breathe with me, alright? Slow. In… and out.”

He exaggerated a slow inhale, then a slow exhale, showing me.

Charlie whispered beside me, “Try to match him. Just a little. You can do it.”

I tried.

My breath hitched, but I managed a shaky inhale.

Clipboard Man softened his voice even more. “That’s it. You’re doing good. You’re safe. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to steady the frantic beating beneath my ribs. My breaths came uneven, but they were breaths. Real ones. Not the sharp, broken gasps from before.

The sweaty man nodded encouragingly. “There you go. You’re doing great. Just keep going.”

Charlie stayed close, whispering, “You’re okay. I’m right here.”

Slowly — painfully slowly — the hallway stopped spinning. My vision steadied. My hands still shook, but not as violently. The tightness in my chest loosened just enough for air to move again.

Clipboard Man let out a relieved breath. “Good. Good. She’s coming back.”

The sweaty man gave me a small, gentle smile. “You scared us for a second there.”

I leaned back against the wall, exhausted, trembling, but breathing.

The men exchanged a look — worried, unsure — but kind.

Clipboard Man spoke softly. “Let’s get you somewhere safe, okay? Somewhere quiet.”

I didn’t move.

I couldn’t.

But for the first time since stepping into the hallway…

I didn’t feel completely alone.