Once again, I leave my room in the middle of the night to wander the hospital corridors. I walk down the corridor where my room is located, peering through the glass doors of the other rooms. There's a door to the right of the small corridor that you have to go through before reaching the area where the gurney and sofa are in each of the rooms. Everyone seems to be asleep, and some are awake reading or watching television. As I reach the corner, before passing through a tiled path that connects to a corridor between the two hospital gardens and directly beneath the overpass, I see through the glass door a nurse who appears to be leaning toward a patient's gurney. After a few seconds, I notice the nurse isn't moving, and there's a stain of blood that seems to extend from her neck to her shoulder and continue down her back. The nurse falls to the floor on her back like a rag doll. She didn't move, didn't try to break her fall. From here, I can see that her eyes are still open. The bloodstain extends from her neck to her chest, and one foot lands between the nurse's open legs, followed by another. It's the patient, who looks me in the eye as drops of blood escape from the edge of her lower lip.
I run along the tiled path to the brightly lit hallway where I see a doctor talking to the nurse from several nights ago. The nurse is pushing a patient in a wheelchair who appears to be asleep.
— What are you doing outside your room? I understood that Class M patients sleep through the night — the doctor says, taking my wrist to check my medical information bracelet.
I'm having some trouble thinking about how to explain what I just saw —Doctor, there's an injured nurse in the last private room!
— Injured? What happened? — the nurse asks.
— It was a patient. Apparently, she injured the nurse. I saw a lot of blood on her uniform — I say.
— That can't be — the doctor says. At which point, the nurse looks at what his colleague is observing.
— It was her. She's the patient who injured the nurse!
— Take her to radiology, I'll call security! — the doctor orders.
The nurse rushes with the wheelchair toward the left door of the hallway, and the doctor returns through the right door, holding my hand. The man takes a phone and presses a gray button located below the numbers while announcing, "Code gray, I repeat, code gray in corridor 14B, outside zone!"
The woman smashes the glass with her fist, and despite cutting her arm on the sharp shards, she reaches for the bottom cane bolt that locks the door from the inside. — Damn it, hurry! — the doctor shouts into the phone. A nurse, turning around the corner of the inner corridor where we are, notices the situation and goes back the way she came. "Close the doors, don't leave your rooms and offices. Code gray, this is not a simulacrum" a voice repeats over the loudspeakers about three times. The woman manages to lift the bolt and pushes the door, but she can't open it because of the top bolt on the other door.
I hear many footsteps approaching rapidly, some closer than others. It seems security teams are coming from both sides of the corridor. — Come on, we need to guard ourselves — the doctor yells, grabbing my arm. The woman is attacked with what appear to be stun batons, but they only enrage her further. With her long fingernails, she slashes the throats of some of the security guards and lunges at others with her mouth agape.
— We'll be safer here! — the doctor says. His hands tremble as he tries to lock the door.
— What's wrong with that woman? — I ask. A strong, sweet, metallic scent fills my nostrils. My throat suddenly goes dry, and my teeth begin to ache so much they seem to cause pain in my temples.
Then my vision begins to blur to the point where I can't see anything around me, and I'm in complete silence again. A deformed, faceless figure, is just a silhouette. This thing has no depth, no perceptible texture before my eyes, but I can hear its breathing, like snores that amplify with each step, with each drag to get closer, until it's forced into my mouth like some kind of viscous rubber that chokes me. I don't suffocate, I don't need to breathe, I just notice that my lungs aren't working.
It only takes a couple of blinks to be back in that office with the smell of the doctor's sweat in my mouth, a smell that has a taste.
— Doctor? — I ask. I seem to be on my knees, so I stand up.
— Are you crying... blood? — the man asks. He pulls a handkerchief from his coat to offer it, but my teeth are already sunk into his hand a second later.
His cries are like tickles in my chest as I watch him lose the strength to stay on his feet.
But what am I doing? I let go of his hand and watch him crawl on the floor to the back of the office. What's happening to me? Is this a nightmare? Yes, that must be it. None of this is real. I go out into the hallway where I see the huge pool of blood spreading among the guards' bodies on the floor. Their faces, necks, and arms are covered in scratches, bites, or have their skin torn off in some places. The woman is soaked in blood, her mouth pressed to the wrist of one of the dying men. — R-r-run…— he says, his last words. which make the woman lift her face toward me.
If this is just a nightmare, I'll wake up soon. She throws herself on top of me, making me hit my head hard. I grab her hands to stop her from scratching me and try to push her off, but it's quite difficult because she's thrashing around so much until I feel a sharp pain in my abdomen and notice someone standing there holding one of the electroshock batons. The woman stops moving, and the nurse pulls the baton from her back and sets her aside. — No, no, no… I'm sorry! — he says. I look down at my abdomen and see a small patch of blood standing out among the bloodstains on the deranged woman's gown. This patch begins to spread rapidly until it covers almost my entire abdomen.
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After mapping the place, I know I'm in my hospital room. Miriam is looking out the window — Hi.
— Marco — she says. She comes over to take my hand — How are you feeling?
— I'm fine, I think.
— I'll call the doctor to check your head — she says.
— What for?
— Don't you remember what happened last night? — she asks, just as my aunt arrives with the doctor.
— It's good you're awake — Yolanda says, approaching — Marco's brain is quite fragile. He might have forgotten what happened last night. We don't know if his brain connections have fully recovered, and how he hit his head again...
— So it was real? — I ask.
— A woman suffered a psychotic episode and started attacking staff and several patients at the hospital last night. You were one of the people who was injured. She pushed you too hard, and you hit your head on the reception desk.
— No, things didn't happen like that. She didn't just attack them; she also murdered several people — I say. Miriam looks at me, confused.
— He probably suffered hallucinations — the doctor says.
— But she was covered in blood...
— I'm sorry to say I'll have to postpone your discharge. We'll do another CT scan, and you'll be under observation for 72 hours — the doctor says — If everything is alright by then, you can go home.
— Mom, the doctor is lying. That's not what happened — I say as I watch him leave.
— What's the truth, Marco? — Miriam asks, but Yolanda gives her a disapproving look.
— Please, just focus on resting, okay? — Mom says — Mirian, can we talk for a second?
I try to focus on their voices to hear what they're talking about. "...making him believe he's crazy and treating him like a child, he's eventually going to think he's lost his mind," Mirian says.
- I don't think you're in any position to have an opinion.
- I'm a part of his life, whether you like it or not, Mrs. Bracamontes.
– I don't think he remembers that part of his life.
- I already know.
- I think it's best if you leave — Yolanda says. I hear the door creak, as if one of them had tried to open it, but then there's a long silence before I hear footsteps moving away.
— Did you tell her to leave? — I ask as soon as I see my aunt come in.
— She had things to take care of.