Read previous installments of Myra here.

“What?” Myra stuttered.

Officer Tamblyn let out a sigh and said, “Look, you have been through some major trauma, and it is not unheard of for your brain to create…”

“Are you suggesting I’m crazy, Officer?” Myra snapped.

“Miss Lansing,” the officer continued, “we will continue to investigate every detail of your claims. We are taking the investigation very seriously. But maybe you should speak to someone…a doctor, maybe…”

The officer’s words trailed off and seemed to float further and further away from her. It was as if he got sucked down a drain, and all she could hear were the echoes of his voice as they bounced off the pipes on the way down.

Myra didn’t remember hanging up the phone. She didn’t remember sitting on the couch or falling asleep, but soon she was peacefully dozing in the quiet apartment.

She heard the beeping again and shuffling movements around her. The smell of antiseptic and cleaning agents filled her nostrils, and she felt someone tugging at her arm.

“Her heart rate is calmer,” the foggy voice said. “I think we have her back under control.”
“Good,” a different voice chimed in. “She won’t be a danger any longer. To herself or anyone else.”

Myra tried to move but she couldn’t. She called out, screamed, but the two men who circled her didn’t seem to notice. They continued to discuss her condition as if she weren’t conscious. Myra yelled as loud as she could, but the two men continued to move about the room, adjust controls, looking at charts. Her eyes fluttered open briefly, and she saw their white coats.

Myra quieted, realizing that her screams were not actually coming out of her mouth. They were only in her head.

“Her eyes are moving,” one of the doctors stated. “That’s a good sign.”

“Myra,” the other one whispered to her. “Myra, open your eyes.”

Myra was back in her apartment when her eyes shot open. It was hours later, the darkness of the evening filtering in from the window.  She stared out the window, looking down on the street she had looked at many times before. How often did she walk along that block? With Jeanie. With Jay. Alone. And yet, as she stared at the pavement, something seemed wrong. The edges of the road seemed to blur, and Myra swore she saw the sidewalk phase in and out, and become wavy.

What was happening? Her head began to hurt as she tried to process it all.

Her phone pinged with another message.

“Have you figured it out yet, Myra?”