Goosebumps pricked up from my skin, the cold plastic of the chair leeching the heat from my body. The room smells of sweat and disinfectant, as I sip on the hospital coffee someone had brought me. It tastes bitter and old but it was the only warm thing in this sterile tundra. I try to allow the warmth and familiarity of the coffee to calm my nerves. I hated hospitals. No one ever comes to a hospital expecting good news, and I had already gotten the worst news of my life. I was dying.

Dying. I’m dying. The words had rattled in my head on repeat since I learned of my diagnosis four weeks earlier. But it still hasn’t felt real. I’m twenty seven, and never even had surgery before and somehow I’m dying. I hit the genetic lottery, and inherited a deadly neurological disease. They told me I’d be lucky to see my 29th birthday. Two years. I’d be dead in 2 years if I didn’t do something.

I applied for over a dozen experimental drugs and research studies, only to be rejected again and again. Once symptoms begin, prognosis is fatal. No one would touch me. That was until this clinic got ahold of me. It’s the first bit of hope I’ve had in weeks. Now I’m here hoping that they will tell me that I don’t have to die.

The door opens abruptly, and I start at the sound. The doctor is an older man, complete with a lab coat. At first he appears ordinary, except he wears a dress shirt and pants beneath his coat instead of scrubs. Before I can ponder on the oddity of his outfit, he introduces himself.

“I’m Dr. Silas Mercy. Can I get your name and birthdate?” His eyes meet mine expectantly, as he flips over my chart.

“Anya Cooper. May fifth of ninety eight.” I respond matter factly. He reads the information from my chart to ensure they match and begins rapid fire questions about my diagnosis.

“When did symptoms start?”

“4 months ago.”

“What symptoms do you have?”

“Vertigo, paresthesia, memory loss, and myoclonus.”

“How long does the symptoms last?”

“20 mins to an hour for the vertigo and paresthesia. The spasms last about 5 minutes..”

He wasn’t a very personable doctor, but after depressing prognosis’ from the most compassionate doctors. I didn’t care what he was like as long as he could save me. When he seemed to have enough information charted down, he shut his computer and stood up.

“I think you’ll be a perfect candidate for our new drug.” A spark of hope ignited within me, and a smile broke out across my face.

“Its an experimental drug still in trials, so we require you to be monitored while you undergo the treatment. You will stay here for the entire duration of your treatment. Is that a problem?”

I couldn’t care less what the requirements were, as long as it would save my life. “Of course. When will we begin? How long will it take?” Excitement bubbled inside me, this news had brought the energy back into me.

The doctor did not mirror that same enthusiasm, he continued on apathetically. “A nurse will be here soon to bring you to our treatment center. As for the length of treatment, for some it only takes a couple doses; for others it may take a dozen.”

Before I knew it, I was alone in the examination room again. The sweat coated my hands as anticipation crawled through my body. I paced anxiously as I awaited the nurse. What if the treatment doesn’t work? The thought of losing this last option became overwhelming.

Eventually the nurse came to retrieve me. She didn’t so much as ask me my name before leading me through a maze of hallways. The staff here has never heard of bedside manner I guess. I just hope they’re just too brilliant to be bothered with niceties. We came to an elevator at the end of a hall, which required a key to open. Weird. I gave the nurse an expecting look but her face was blank. I followed her reluctantly in the elevator. My gut twisted with a nagging feeling that something was off. But I had no other choice, this was my last chance.

The elevator opened up into the clinic basement. It’s not anymore eery than a regular basement. I tried my best to reassure myself, but the knot in my stomach didn’t loosen. A scream echoed ahead of us and my eyes widen in fear. I sought out the nurse’s face in hopes she would explain. Instead nothing but an absent, bored expression rested there.

“What was that?” I demanded, fear rippling through me. I couldn’t shake how wrong this all felt. She rolled her eyes at me, “The patients here are dying, on their last leg. Like you. Did you think curing fatal diseases would be painless?” Her voice dripping with condescension.

My mouth fell open in shock at her words. What had I done to induce such disdain from her? Maybe it wasn’t that weird to hear screaming, after all she is right, we are dying. I kept trying to shake the bad feeling that followed me through these halls. It’s just anxiety, I repeated. But I couldn’t stop my teeth from grinding as we continued down the hall.

She slowed down as we approached one of the rooms, I could see inside through a small window in the door. There was several metal rolling trays filled with medical instruments and a small cot with restraints. Oh my god. My eyes widened in fear as I took a step back. The nurse unlocked the door and my breath quickened. Why did the examination room need to be locked? Why were their restraints? Alarm bells started sounding in my head and I took several more steps backwards before bumping into something. I mean someone. I felt my stomach drop as I turned around and met Dr. Mercy’s icy eyes.

For the first time since I met him, I saw a smile spread across his face. His eyes danced with excitement, and I had no doubt this was an omen. “Anya, don’t be afraid. We only want to help you. Don’t worry so much, everything will be fine.” He insisted, as his hands found my shoulders. He gripped me tightly and led me into the examination room.

I began shaking as I was led to the cot. Something was wrong, I couldn’t shake that. But what could I do? What if I was imagining it? This may be my only chance to be cured. Maybe it’s just self sabotage, fear of disappointment. I had to believe this was my salvation. I had to keep going.

Just as I turned back to Dr. Mercy, I felt a needle slide into my neck. I reached for the syringe but it was gone. “What? Why?” I exclaimed. The injection site began to burn and my body felt heavy and slow.

“It’s the first dose of ExoVita. A neurogenic serum I developed.” My hand fell from my neck into my lap. I attempted to lift it back up but instead it sat limply, unmoving. My eyes widened in horror as the doctor pushed me back onto the cot. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t talk. I was trapped in my body, like a prisoner.

The nurse began restraining my limbs with the bondages attached to the bed. I couldn’t even resist, I just laid there. My heart pounded in my ears and fear gripped my insides.

“I’m sorry to have to do it this way, but unfortunately the FDA doesn’t want to approve my compound. It’s unethical they say.” He scoffed. “This will cure you of your pesky neurological disorder, and it will leave you with a gift that you will never be deserving of. That’s more ethical than what most of this insolent organization encourages.” He seethed, as he comes into view. His eyes were wild and his smile wide and toothy. He was enjoying this, I realized.

A shiver ran down my spine, as he caressed my face. My eyes narrowed on his, as I attempted to convey every hateful thought through them. His smile broadened at that, he liked that he spiked fear into me. He squeezed my cheeks together, pulling my face to his. “I can do anything I want to you, and you can only watch. I have so many fantasies I could play out.” His eyes bore into mine, before he let go of my face. My head dropped roughly onto the cot. “But I like the fight.” He snickered as he left the room.

My eyes welled with tears, as the pain of the injection continued to sear through my body. Spreading first from neck up to my head, it felt like acid pumping its way through my veins. Time passed in a blur, I couldn’t tell if it was moments or hours passing. But finally I blacked out from the pain.

When I awoke I could move again. But it did me little good as I was still restrained to the cot. My head pounded with pain, and my limbs felt weak and strained. I was naked now, with only a sheet over my middle. I did my best to look around, the room was empty but next to me the silver tray had been filled with several syringes since I had lost consciousness. They were a light Arctic blue, eerily unnatural looking for a serum. Sweat coated my skin from fear and pain. He said my condition would be cured but was this pain worth it? What if there was no cure and this was all a sick fantasy of a serial murderer?

I tried to think of anyone who knew I was here. I hadn’t told any of my friends about this appointment. At the time I didn’t want to give anybody false hope, now I felt foolish for keeping it to myself. But how could I have known this would happen? The door opened, interrupting my spiraling thoughts.

“Ah, hello Anya.” Dr. Mercy’s sharp voice rang out. I winced at the sound of each step towards me. As he reached my feet, he let a finger trace his way from my feet to the sheet at the top of my thigh. He smiled at me as he came into view.

“Now that you’re awake, we can begin dose two. The first dose is the easiest, so don’t worry it’ll only get worse.” He chuckles, as he grabs a syringe off the tray. He caresses my face as he shoves the syringe in my neck.

The pain was quicker, hotter this time. It felt like it was scorching my insides. I didn’t lose control of my body or voice this time. I screamed and fought against my restraints. I writhed in pain, every movement caused more agony, it was as if every movement pumped it deeper into my muscles. I cried out and begged for relieve. The doctor’s face above me was hauntingly pleasant. He enjoyed every sound of pain, devouring every scream. His face glazed over with pleasure.

Over the next few days I was injected 6 more times. My throat was raw from screaming and the taste of metal filled my mouth everytime I cried out. My veins felt like sandpaper and I hadnt eaten. The doctor had ordered scans of my brain to see if it had treated my neurological disease. I didn’t even care if they did anymore. I needed this to end. I was ready to die. A cure wasn’t worth this.

“You’ve been cured, thanks to myself. You’re welcome, Anya.” He caressed my cheek. “I’m sure you can think of ways to show your gratitude to me. After all your gift should be manifesting itself soon. I bet you will be a very valuable asset.” He spoke softly but coldly.