Sparrow Lane
After
"How are you feeling?" the nurse asks as she checks my pulse.
"Tired," I answer. "I didn't sleep well last night."
"Well, the doctor can prescribe you something to help with that," she says kindly. "And if you want to see the psychiatrist, we can arrange that as well."
"Okay," I say.
As she leaves, Doctor Wyatt comes in, carrying a clipboard.
"Good morning, Max," he murmurs. "How are you doing?"
"I'm in a mental hospital, how do you think?"
Wyatt pulls a seat up to my bed, all while he adjusts the bandages on my arm. The white gauze is dotted with blood, but it's not seeping through.
"You went through a terrible ordeal, and it's perfectly understandable that you had a breakdown. Have you spoken to Elena?"
I shake my head.
I haven't seen her in months. That's how long I've been in this place.
"She won't talk to me," I reply. "She says it's my fault that he died. She's not wrong. When the cops found us, he was already gone. They couldn't save him."
"It's not your fault." Wyatt touches my arm, and I recoil. "I know what happens at that farmhouse. I've heard the stories. You and your friends are not the first to come across that monster." He's quiet for a moment, his eyes glassy. But then his next words leave me floored. "I lost someone that way as well."
"Tired," I answer. "I didn't sleep well last night."
"Well, the doctor can prescribe you something to help with that," she says kindly. "And if you want to see the psychiatrist, we can arrange that as well."
"Okay," I say.
As she leaves, Doctor Wyatt comes in, carrying a clipboard.
"Good morning, Max," he murmurs. "How are you doing?"
"I'm in a mental hospital, how do you think?"
Wyatt pulls a seat up to my bed, all while he adjusts the bandages on my arm. The white gauze is dotted with blood, but it's not seeping through.
"You went through a terrible ordeal, and it's perfectly understandable that you had a breakdown. Have you spoken to Elena?"
I shake my head.
I haven't seen her in months. That's how long I've been in this place.
"She won't talk to me," I reply. "She says it's my fault that he died. She's not wrong. When the cops found us, he was already gone. They couldn't save him."
"It's not your fault." Wyatt touches my arm, and I recoil. "I know what happens at that farmhouse. I've heard the stories. You and your friends are not the first to come across that monster." He's quiet for a moment, his eyes glassy. But then his next words leave me floored. "I lost someone that way as well."