A single mouse scurried down the hallway of the sanatorium, making pitter-patter noises on the polished tile. Noah looked down at his feet, encased in manila envelope-colored padded restraints. Upon realizing his predicament, he was overtaken with an uncontrollable urge to scratch his ankle. He shook his leg and a chain clamored against the metal bars that made up the footboard. A patient in a neighboring room let out a maniacal howl.
There was a tapping on the door, and then quiet. Noah stopped and held his breath. The door creaked open, and two nurses walked in with a cart holding a single metal plate. Without a word, one nurse propped Noah up while the other spoon fed him oatmeal. Neither looked him in the eye. He quietly accepted the food without any protest, even as the flavorless meal dribbled down his chin and onto his pajama shirt. It felt like a transactional formality, like a routine that all parties had memorized and were playing out day after day for an invisible audience. Perhaps if he kept up the performance, he could leave one day. Or at least make it out of those damn restraints. Baby steps.
The nurses left as quietly and as suddenly as they had come. Noah stared up at the ceiling, watching the shadows in the cratered, stucco ceiling as they gradually changed direction. If he hadn’t been crazy when he got here, he was certainly going crazy now, and it hadn’t even been a month yet. Noah quieted down the thought. He laid there quietly, playing games in his head, and reciting the Greek alphabet, which he had been forced to learn as a freshman in college when he was rushing a fraternity. Alpha, beta, gamma, delta, epsilon…
He heard another understated tap, this time coming from the small, barred window in the corner of the room. He abruptly turned to look and a sharp pain shot up his shoulder, caught between his strained neck and manacled wrist. He made eye contact with a familiar face. The intruder held up a sheet of paper against the glass: I’m coming to get you. Hold tight.
