Stream of consciousness Sunday: The Accumulator, part twenty…

22 Jan

Here we are again, wading into the unpredictable waters of SoCS, for another chapter in the continuing story of Patrick and his strange gift, today inspired by Linda G Hill and this prompt;

”  “glass.” Use the word “glass,” or find something that’s made of it and use that in your post. “

The Accumulator, part twenty.

Scene: A private hospital room. It is 9 o’clock this morning, three hours ago.

The opening shot is of white, perforated acoustic ceiling tiles, seen from the POV of someone lying in the room’s only bed. It lingers there for a few seconds and we hear the sound of distant traffic and nearby birdsong, before our host turns their head and looks to where sunlight streams into the room through a window with a view of treetops and blue sky.

We see a hand reaching for a glass of water on the nightstand and then for the first time, the voice of Subject:Beta takes over the narration;

“Today is the first day I woke up without a headache and that weird feeling in my hands hasn’t returned, which is good because that was REALLY starting to get to me. I can’t explain what it was that disturbed me so much about it, but it almost seemed alien, or…malevolent maybe? 

I know, I know, it sounds mad, but that’s what it felt like; like something was inside me, changing me somehow, something out of my control.

It must have been from the brain injury I sustained in the accident, and Dr Braithwaite did say the sensations would take a while to fade after the surgery. He seems to have been right, though, I haven’t felt as relaxed as this since…well, since I can’t remember when, really.

That’s the other strange thing; my memory was permanently damaged, so the doctors say, but I can remember everything after I woke up here, it’s my life before the accident I can’t recall. 

None of it, not a thing.

It was horribly frustrating at first, not even knowing my own name, but after Dr Braithwaite started the treatment I wasn’t anywhere near as anxious about it, (even if some of it was painful at first, especially the electric shocks) and now it doesn’t bother me at all. 

Dr Braithwaite, (he asked me call him Felix, but it didn’t seem right somehow) he told me I’m his special project and that I’m destined for great things when I’m better. I’m not sure what he meant by that, but it all sounded rather exciting.”

Now we hear the door opening and our view swings in that direction as Subject:Beta sits up in bed, to see Patrick and Cathy entering the room. 

Patrick closes the door and he and Cathy stare silently as the voiceover continues.

“I had no idea, of course, that something was about to happen to change all that. I hadn’t realised that I wasn’t the first person Felix Braithwaite had experimented on and when these two strangers walked into my room this morning, my short, newly constructed life began to fall apart.”

“Hello, my name is Patrick and this is Cathy, we’ve come to get you out of here.”

Patrick smiled as reassuringly as he could, looking down at the young man with the vivid triangular scar on his head, thinking back to what had happened to him since his own time under the care of Dr Felix Braithwaite. The wasted years spent on the run, always looking over his shoulder, the things he’d had to do in order for them to survive, the trail of death and horror that haunted his dreams; and now this one final act, the final entry on his list of crimes. 

A tide of anger rose inside him and he had to force himself to remain calm as he walked over to the bed.

“What do you mean, get me out of here?” 

The young man known as Subject:Beta sounded nervous. He swung his legs off the bed and planted his feet on the cold tiled floor

“Did Dr Braithwaite send you?”

“Braithwaite? No, we’re here to save you from him, but we need your help.”

“Save me, what are you talking about? Dr Braithwaite saved my life, I don’t need saving from him, who are you?”

Without waiting for an answer, the young man lunged for the alarm next to the bed and was fumbling for the switch when Patrick caught hold of his wrist and tore his hand away.

“Listen to me! Felix Braithwaite isn’t who you think he is, he’s an evil bastard who wants to use you as a guinea pig for his twisted experiments, but with your help, we can stop him.”

“You’re mad, get away from me!”

“It’s true,” Cathy looked nervously at the door, worried their voices would attract the guards outside, “I used to work for him, he doesn’t care about you, he’s only interested in getting you to work for him.”

“Working for him, doing what?”

“Killing people, that’s what.” 

“We don’t have time for this. I’m sorry, it’s the only way.”

With that, he closed his eyes and focussed all his concentration on the young man whose wrist he still held. Cathy watched as Patrick went completely still and his face took on a tense expression, then his body suddenly jerked and Subject:Beta cried out in pain, falling to his knees at Patrick’s feet. Still Patrick clung to his arm, veins beginning to stand out on his forehead as he channeled all the terrible power he’d accumulated in preparation for this moment into Dr Felix Braithwaite’s latest abomination. Then he started to change, the strain of storing all that destructive energy finally extracting its awful toll on his body. 

His skin became taut and grey, his shoulders slumped and his legs buckled, even his hair took on a brittle and wispy look as he reached for the nightstand to support himself for the last few seconds, before falling to his knees beside the shocked young man, releasing him from his death like grip and finally collapsing, unconscious

“What happened? What has he done to me?”


To be continued (using next week’s prompt {which can now be found HERE)…


Pingback to Linda G Hill.


Tags: , , , ,

2 responses to “Stream of consciousness Sunday: The Accumulator, part twenty…

  1. John W. Howell

    January 22, 2017 at 20:38

    Oh, no. Patrick. Get up, get up.


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