JAMIESTORY: Chapter 9

The hospital corridors stretched ahead of me, sterile and bright under the flickering fluorescent lights. I wheeled myself along, my hands gripping the rims of the wheelchair. The casts on my legs were heavy, a constant reminder of the nightmare I couldn’t escape. Despite it all, I tried to distract myself.
“Beep, beep!” I called out, pretending my wheelchair was a race car as I navigated the hall. Nurses and doctors glanced at me, some smiling, others too preoccupied to notice. For a fleeting moment, it felt like I was just a kid playing a game, not a girl recovering from horrors too terrible to name.
But the moment didn’t last.
Warmth spread down my legs. My hands froze on the wheels. I looked down in disbelief and felt the humiliation crash over me. I had wet myself. Tears stung my eyes as I sat there, unable to move, the shame suffocating.
A nurse noticed and hurried over. “Oh, sweetie,” she said softly, her face full of sympathy. “It’s okay. Accidents happen.”
She quickly fetched a mop and cleaned the floor, her words kind but not enough to quell my embarrassment. She helped me into my room, closing the door behind us, and found fresh clothes. As she helped me change, I stared at the wall, my face burning with shame. I didn’t speak, didn’t look at her. I just wanted to disappear.

~o~O~o~
Once I was settled back into bed, the nurse turned on the TV. A documentary about horses played, but I barely noticed. My thoughts spiraled, fragments of memories and fears colliding in my mind. The sounds of hooves and soft narration became white noise as I drifted into my own head.
A knock at the door startled me. A man stepped inside, tall and unfamiliar. He wore a white coat, but there was something about him—his sharp eyes, the way he closed the door behind him—that made me uneasy.
“Hello, Jamie,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m Dr. Davis. I’ve been reviewing your file.”
I tensed, my hands gripping the edges of the blanket. Something about him felt off, though I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“I noticed something unusual in your records,” he continued, flipping through the clipboard he held. “It says here you’re female, but earlier records list you as male. That’s… quite a change.”
I said nothing, my throat tightening.
He stepped closer, his voice soft but probing. “Jamie, I need to understand what happened. Did you have surgery? Was there some kind of medical procedure? It’s important for your treatment.”
The room seemed to close in around me. My heart pounded in my chest as I fought the urge to scream. I didn’t want to talk about the machine. I didn’t want to relive the terror of what it had done to me.
When I didn’t answer, his expression hardened. “Jamie,” he said firmly. “I need your cooperation. We need to do some tests to figure this out.”
“No,” I whispered, barely audible.
He sighed, stepping back slightly, but his gaze remained sharp. “Alright,” he said. “We’ll revisit this later.”
Without another word, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him. I exhaled shakily, my body trembling. Something about him wasn’t right.

~o~O~o~
Hours passed, and the shadows in the room lengthened. My mom and Jessica arrived later in the evening, their presence comforting but unable to chase away the unease lingering in the back of my mind. I recounted the strange interaction with Dr. Davis, my voice hesitant and small.
Mom’s face darkened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I’ll speak to the staff,” she said, her tone clipped. “That doesn’t sound like standard procedure.”
Jessica sat beside me, her hand warm on mine. “Jamie, if anything feels off, you have to tell us, okay? Don’t keep it inside.”
I nodded, grateful for her support, but the unease wouldn’t fade. There was something about Dr. Davis—his demeanor, his questions—that gnawed at me.

That night, as the hospital quieted, I couldn’t sleep. The shadows on the walls seemed to shift, twisting into unfamiliar shapes. The hum of the machines felt louder, almost oppressive. I turned on the TV, flipping through channels until I landed on a boring old movie. I hoped it would lull me to sleep, but instead, my thoughts spiraled.
Fragments of memory bubbled to the surface—flashes of the machine, its cold metal walls, the whirring sound as it came to life. My body had felt like it was on fire, every cell rearranging itself. I shuddered, pulling the blanket tighter around me.
The door creaked open, and I jumped, my breath catching in my throat. A nurse stepped in, her silhouette framed by the dim hallway light.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to check on you.”
I nodded, relaxing slightly. She adjusted my IV and smiled kindly. “Try to rest, Jamie. You’ve been through a lot.”
As she left, I closed my eyes, but sleep didn’t come easily. The strange encounter with Dr. Davis, the fragments of memory, the lingering questions—they all swirled together, forming a storm I couldn’t escape.
Somewhere in the depths of my mind, I knew this wasn’t over. There were secrets buried here—secrets about the machine, about what had been done to me, and about the people who wanted to keep it hidden. And I wasn’t sure I’d survive uncovering the truth.