Chapter Thirty-Nine Faith

Faint beeping sounds. The weight of a blanket as she lay on her back. The air, cold against her face.

She attempted to open her eyes. They felt heavy, sticky. There was a chemical scent in the air, like chlorine or bleach.

"M… I'm…" She tried to speak. "I'm…"

It was difficult to get the words out. Eventually, she gave up.

There was a new sound, hushed voices in the background. But she couldn't make out the words.

She slept.

Later, the squeak of a door being opened. A single set of footsteps.

She was lying on her side now, but couldn't remember moving.

As always, the beeping, punctuating the thud of the shoes on the tiled floor. Deadened, like the stranger wore running shoes.

A sense of heaviness. The inability to move.

Someone clearing their throat. A door closing.

Silence.

An alarm, its shrill tones cutting through her sleep.

A flurry of activity. Pillows being removed. Being rolled abruptly on to her back.

Someone lifting her arm, then a pinching sensation at the crook of her elbow.

Sudden peace as the alarm cut out.

She struggled to swallow. Someone leaned close.

Breath on her cheek. The scent of mint. A warm hand on her forehead.

Heaviness she couldn't shrug off.

The beeping sound resumed, penetrating the air around her.

A clicking sound. High heels, perhaps?

More voices, closer this time. Almost overhead.

"How's she doing?"

The voice, somehow familiar, sent shivers down Faith's spine.

"She's tolerating it. Sedation seems to be helping."

A rustling sound, like papers being shuffled.

"That's good." Sanders. The name was poison in Faith's head. "Let's roll her now."

Several pairs of hands took hold of her. Faith's body was rolled on its side. Pillows were adjusted to hold her in the new position.

The heaviness was ever-present, immobilising.

"Increase the dosage." A command.

"Are you sure she'll–"

"Increase the dosage."

"Of course."

The clicking sound again. Definitely high heels. The squeak of the door as Sanders exited.

A repetitive tapping for several seconds, followed by a whirring sound.

The same warm hand on her forehead. The minty scent close, once again.

"I hope you're ready for this, Faith Hanlon."

Retreating footsteps. The squeak of the door.

Silence.