She must have been drugged at some point. It was only a blur of confusion, dizziness, and fear. Vigil sat in the automobile as it rumbled down the road. She wouldn't move if she could, her legs felt swollen and numb.

Shifting for a glimpse out the window, she saw a large, green plane. A large, brick building stood in the distance, surrounded by a tall, wrought iron fence. Judging by the low sun, they had been driving for a long time.

Finally, the automobile faded to a rest, and she heard a door open. Footsteps grinding on gravel crunched outside. Her door opened. A man took her arm, surprisingly gentle. He was probably just trying to calm her down.

She squinted in the dark, staring at her new home. "How long will I be here?"

The man said nothing for a long time as he led her down the road. "Hard to say."

Vigil shivered, although the air was muggy and thick. As they drew closer to the building, a sudden scream started her.

"What was that?" She whispered. "Is somebody hurt?"

The man kept looking straight ahead. "Our patients can be a bit melodramatic. That is why they are kept here."

They reached two, tall doors, which both squeaked open. The interior was surprisingly chilly, despite the humid air outside. The floors were creaky wood boards, and the walls were chipping drywall. A few half walls contained different people, seemingly organizing them all into separate conditions.

"Go sit and wait." He ordered, nodding to a unit. She blinked when he hung a metal plate around her neck.

Vigil walked on numb feet, footsteps heavy. She found an empty chair and sat down tentively, wrapping her arms around her stomach. An old woman sat next to her, eyes shut and lips murmuring. A young boy sat across from her, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth.

"Patient No. 146." A woman's voice came from behind her.

The boy nudged her. "That's you."

Vigil glanced down at her metal plate. Rising from her seat, she walked slowly toward a woman in a white dress. She followed her down a hallway and into a small room.

"You are ill." She began.

Vigil said nothing, only stared blankly at the wooden desk.

"You hear things inside your head, am I correct?"

"They told me to jump."

The woman nodded. "Yes. Well, No. 146, you are in good hands."

~~~~~

She was sitting in a small cot. A never ending row of identical cots were lined up next to her, all draped with the same, scratchy and thin sheet. Nothing felt right. She longed for silence, but the constant moans, screams, and uncontrolled laughing proved that peace and quiet was impossible.

A girl was sitting a few cots away, her skirt bunched in two fists. Wispy blonde hair fell over her eyes, shifting with every puff of breath.

"How long have you been here?" Vigil asked.

The girl was silent for ten seconds, then suddenly jumped and spun around.

"Were you talking to me?" She said vaguely.

Vigil nodded. "How long have you been here?" She repeated.

The girl shook her head and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I don't know. I can hardly tell night from day anymore."

Vigil tucked her feet up. "Am I supposed to be treated?"

"Tomorrow, probably. We should get going, it will be dinner time soon."

As if on cue, a speaker on the wall blared. Hundreds of patients started gathering into a crude line, some pushing others, some standing dead-faced and still. Vigil took her place at the back of the line, although she couldn't begin to think of eating anything. The line started moving toward a room, nurses moving everyone along.

She was handed a small packet at the door. Took a seat at an empty table. Staring at the brown paper, she couldn't eat. She felt like dead, like all the life had been sucked from her. And she supposed that was what had just happened.

She supposed the shock hadn't hit her yet, but the grief definitely had. It was the only thing she could feel, an overwhelming sense of saddness for her parents, for Clarence—for James.

The sob came unexpectedly, and she clamped a hand over her mouth. She might never see him again. Never again meet him in the garden or sail in his green ship.

After dinner, they were herded into a room to wait for treatments. She found a chair, and tucked her knees up, glancing around. Most of the chairs were empty, and most of the patients were sitting on the ground. Some wandered aimlessly. One man was walking in circles, another girl was spread over the wooden boards, sobbing.

The entire room was extremely cold, the colors dank and gloomy. The smell of mold and sweat clung to every inch of the room. She seemed to be in an entirely different world, with the windowless walls and dusty floors.

"No. 146," A man's voice called at a door.

Vigil inhaled and stood from her seat. She had a strange feeling, like when she would have a checkup at the doctor's office when she was a child. Only this time, they would be operating on her mind, not her body.

"No. 146." The man repeated, and she realized how long she had been standing there.

With heavy footsteps, Vigil treaded inside the door. Rows of bathtubs were lined against the wall, half of them filled with a patient. There were blankets stretched over each one, so that only the patients' heads were visible. Vigil's eyes darted from face to face, the expressions a disturbing blend of fear and drowsiness.

"What— what are you going to do?" Vigil stammered, voice barely audible.

Either the man didn't hear or didn't care, but he only lead her toward an empty tub in the corner.

The voices came back, again ordering her to jump. She could feel panic rising in her chest. They told her to jump, and she almost did. She was that close to silencing them. That close.

She whipped her head around to look at the man behind her, eyes wide. "Please, sir. I have to jump. I know how to cure myself."

"Step inside the tub, miss."

"No," She said, louder than expected. "You have to trust me. I know what I have to do."

"Step inside."

Vigil felt her legs entering the interior of the tub, although she kept pleading with him. She expected water, but the tub was only filled with hot steam. It felt almost pleasant—alluring. But it wasn't enough to keep her from giving up.

"Please," She begged. "All I have to do is jump. Then I'll be cured."

"Just relax." He replied, pushing her into a laying position.

"I need to go," Vigil declared, grasping the sides of the tub and lifting herself up. "I need to do what the voices told me."

The man grabbed her arms and held her back down. "I need some help, here." He called.

Suddenly, there were several other men and women crowding the bathtub, grasping her arms, legs and shoulders. Belts were wrapping around her wrists and ankles, slithering over her skin like snakes. She couldn't move as they stretched the sheets over the tub, trapping the steam inside.

"You don't understand," She murmured drowsily. "I have to obey the voices." 

The nurses remained silent. They started filing away to other patients.

Vigil was alone, like she always had been, her whole life.