Robert Crane - Alone

They don’t want to give you answers; they want you to work for them, to…kill for them.

I snorted, staring into the steel wall opposite my bed. “Let me ask you something…where’s my mom?”

I don’t know. And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.

“You’re lying.”

“Excuse me?”

I looked up, startled. Dr. Perugini had appeared from her office door and crossed the bay. “Who were you talking to?”

I tried to keep my expression blank. “Myself. Bad habit, I’m afraid. It’s what happens,” I said with a light chuckle, “when you have no one but Mom to talk to for years and years.”

“Ah,” she said. Her face bore discomfort and I could tell she felt sorry for me. “Here you go; something to dull the pain.” She dropped two pills into my outstretched hand and reached to the side table where a pitcher of water sat, poured me a glass and handed it over. She watched as I dropped the pills in my mouth and drank half a glass. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“No,” I said.

“You’ll be healed by tomorrow. Nasty marks on your neck should all be gone by then. Skull fracture too; it’s already almost knitted together.”

“Thank you.” I mouthed the words, not sure if I really meant them. I felt a sudden urge to hit her, to beat her bloody and then slam her head in the door until she stopped moving, and then…

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Dr. Perugini looked at me, eyes searching mine.

I looked at the blank steel plating that covered the wall across from my bed, the shiny, reflective surface, then looked back at her with a practiced smile. “I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all. And my head hurts. It’s been a long day.”

“Of course. I’ll leave you alone. Just call out if you need anything.” With a smile, she turned and went back into her office, closing the door behind her.

You wanted to do it, to beat her, to kill her…

“No, I didn’t,” I whispered, softer this time.

You did; I felt it; you’re coming around to my way of thinking…

“No.” I stared at the wall, and I could see just the faintest image of myself. “Tell me where my mother is.”

Told you. Don’t know…and I wouldn’t tell you if I did.

Somewhere in her office, Dr. Perugini must have hit the light switch, because the medical unit was bathed in darkness, broken only by the faint light of instrument panels. I looked back at the steel, mirrored surface across from me and my face was gone, replaced by black eyes and teeth that looked unusually sharp; predatory, even. I smiled, and my voice came out harsher, lower and more rasping than usual.

“We’ll see about that…Wolfe.”

Robert J. Crane was born and raised on Florida's Space Coast before moving to the upper midwest in search of cooler climates and more palatable beer. He graduated from the University of Central Florida with a degree in English Creative Writing. He worked for a year as a substitute teacher and worked in the financial services field for seven years while writing in his spare time. He makes his home in the Twin Cities area of Minnesota.

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