Hall of Infinite Doors
You don't figure you need the pills - other than the discomfiting blankness in your head, you aren't hurting or out of sorts in any way, and you doubt those pills can help with that original problem. After a moment's thought, you stash them underneath your pillow and fall too on the food - it's decent enough and fairly filling, leaving you satisfied and just faintly full when you're done. The utensils are of the plastic spork-and-knife sort, hardly useful, though almost as an afterthought you rise out and stash the empty can of Sprite under your pillow as well. No way to know when you're going to want a glass of water.
A short time after you've finished, the door buzzes open and lets Shawn in, who smiles when he sees you. "All finished? Excellent. You'd be surprised how many people here get touchy over the food." He busies himself stacking your disheveled plates and utensils, chattering all the while. He's friendly, a good conversationalist, asking questions about you where he can and filling up the inevitable silences with talk. You do manage to ask him a few questions, which he answers amicably.
You ask him about Dr. Callo and Everard; at the mention of the last name his expression sours. "I don't know much about the good Doctor, but I work with Everard. Humorless son of a bitch, isn't he?" He grins at you, all shiny white mis-angled teeth. "He was supposed to train me, but he hardly even speaks. Just goes about his business and leaves when he's done. I wouldn't be surprised to find out he was a patient here at some point... or will be in the future." You ask him about the facility, and he smiles as he describes it, his hands animating to sketch imaginary ground plans in the air. "It's a big place we have here, not just a place for inmates but also a rehab clinic. There are public facilities here, too, and the grounds are beautiful, very nicely kept up. You'll be getting a grand tour shortly, I would imagine, though I can't imagine you staying here for very long - that is, unless your secret memories involve something particularly scandalous." He wiggles his eyebrows lasciviously at you.
Shawn finishes up and bids you goodnight, carrying out your dishes and kneeing the door closed. Night falls quickly, the activity outside and around you slowing to distant dull sounds in the mazelike hallways. For about an hour past dark the fluorescent lighting allows you to read, but shuts off suddenly after a time with a hurried beep. Lights out, it seems.
You try to get some sleep, but don't seem to be having much success. You drift in and out of consciousness, each somniferous journey interrupted with a distant bang or wheel-squeak. Once, a heavily-laden hospital cart plows rapidly down the hallway just outside your door, making the floors rattle - and your door shake open just a crack, letting in light from outside. Shawn must not have locked it right when he left.
A short time after you've finished, the door buzzes open and lets Shawn in, who smiles when he sees you. "All finished? Excellent. You'd be surprised how many people here get touchy over the food." He busies himself stacking your disheveled plates and utensils, chattering all the while. He's friendly, a good conversationalist, asking questions about you where he can and filling up the inevitable silences with talk. You do manage to ask him a few questions, which he answers amicably.
You ask him about Dr. Callo and Everard; at the mention of the last name his expression sours. "I don't know much about the good Doctor, but I work with Everard. Humorless son of a bitch, isn't he?" He grins at you, all shiny white mis-angled teeth. "He was supposed to train me, but he hardly even speaks. Just goes about his business and leaves when he's done. I wouldn't be surprised to find out he was a patient here at some point... or will be in the future." You ask him about the facility, and he smiles as he describes it, his hands animating to sketch imaginary ground plans in the air. "It's a big place we have here, not just a place for inmates but also a rehab clinic. There are public facilities here, too, and the grounds are beautiful, very nicely kept up. You'll be getting a grand tour shortly, I would imagine, though I can't imagine you staying here for very long - that is, unless your secret memories involve something particularly scandalous." He wiggles his eyebrows lasciviously at you.
Shawn finishes up and bids you goodnight, carrying out your dishes and kneeing the door closed. Night falls quickly, the activity outside and around you slowing to distant dull sounds in the mazelike hallways. For about an hour past dark the fluorescent lighting allows you to read, but shuts off suddenly after a time with a hurried beep. Lights out, it seems.
You try to get some sleep, but don't seem to be having much success. You drift in and out of consciousness, each somniferous journey interrupted with a distant bang or wheel-squeak. Once, a heavily-laden hospital cart plows rapidly down the hallway just outside your door, making the floors rattle - and your door shake open just a crack, letting in light from outside. Shawn must not have locked it right when he left.