Post by Robbie Hope on Mar 2, 2021 22:53:54 GMT -6
Halloween 2020
I needed to get away from New Orleans.
Things weren’t going well for me. My hours were progressively slashed until I was finally ordered into a very nice meeting with HR where they determined my position was “redundant”, and that my services and my skills were no longer needed. That was something I’d struggled with my entire life, even from my earliest memories. I was a Swiss army knife - a jack of all trades, but a master of none. There was nothing I was exceptional at, hence why I was always the first to be shit-canned. I was the walking embodiment of ‘replaceable’, especially now.
COVID had hit our industry like a plague.
We relied on tourism. On any given night, tens of thousands of people would stumble along Canal Street, looking for a fun night out. Not anymore. It became more like a ghost-town, the empty streets holding feint remnants of the energy and the cashflow that were once the norm. A night like this, Halloween - you could be set for months. You would generate enough income to pay two months rent, and wouldn’t have to worry about anything else. Now, I saw my bank account trickling down and realized I needed to get the fuck away.
Enter Las Vegas.
It couldn’t be any worse, right?
Thanksgiving 2020
“So what brings you to our facility, Elisabeth?”
His lip curled as he read off the laundry list of prescriptions I needed to refill. Having your luggage stolen on a cross-country Amtrak when you were trying to start a new life was not the best way to begin. I knew I was draining my resources, and would have to resort to either selling myself soon, or gambling away what I had left with hopes of multiplying my investment. But I was afraid to put my money on the table, because I was afraid of how addictive it can become. Momentary monetary success was a cruel, persuasive beast.
“Isn’t it all on the sheet?”
I could tell he didn’t appreciate my abrasiveness. But I was in a new city, without any friends, without a support system. I remembered walking into this facility and seeing the streets not unlike what I’d left behind. What was once a vibrant civilization had devolved into an abandoned jungle of steel and lights. It felt apocalyptic, and the only thing that could make it bearable would be the numbing agents. Something I could swallow to erase my feelings of loneliness and inadequacy.
“I’m not prescribing you all of this medication, young lady.”
“Why?? I need it. It’s all legit, my old doctor signed off on it.”
“It is completely irresponsible for you to be taking this cocktail of antidepressants and pain management, particularly in this environment. And without supervision.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, doc. I don’t need to be monitored.”
The physician rose to his feet and looked out the window, before shutting the curtains.
“Right now, everyone needs to be monitored.”
“This is absolutely ridiculous. I’m just going to go somewhere else. Thanks for nothing.”
I stood up to exit, hoping I could find someone else who could help me. As I approached the door, he placed his foot at the base of the steel, wedging it shut. He wrapped his strong fingers around my shoulders, and suddenly, I saw the fear in his pupils.
“There isn’t anywhere else. There isn’t anyone else.”
“What are you talking about? Where the hell are we??”
The manic look in his eyes, and the ghostly tint of his skin finally receded to normalcy. He seemed to have had a brief lapse, but was now regaining his composure. He smiled at me and directed me to the chair. A part of me knew I should leave. Every instinct told me to turn and run, as fast as I could.
“I’ll sign off on your prescription, Elisabeth. Please wait here while we draw it up. In the mean time, this should help you relax tonight.”
He opened up the medicine cabinet and read a couple of the bottles, before untwisting one and shaking out a pair of pills into his palm. He offered me a glass of water and handed them to me. At this point, I would take anything.
“I’ll be right back.”
The last thing I remember was the sound of the door being shut behind him.
Christmas 2020
Four padded walls surrounded me on all sides. My gown hung off my gaunt, famished body as if I was a walking skeleton. I didn’t know where I was, or how long I’d been here, but the drugs had begun to wear off. The floor was soiled with urine, and I sat at the edge of the bed, feeling every spring under the fabric. My eyes cleared, but my face was drenched in sweat. I reached up and felt my skin, but it didn’t feel like skin at all. It was then when I realized that my face was covered with leather.
I pulled it up over my head, feeling the strap tug the ends of my hair. Feeling my scalp separate from my skull, for just an instant, was a pain I’d never experienced. I held the mask in my hand and brought it down to my knees.
It was the scariest thing I’d ever seen.
New Years Day 2021
I had escaped, leaving it all behind. I remembered seeing the sign on the door - “The Gate: Las Vegas Division” - and had no idea what I was walking into when I hit the streets. But finding that opening when the guards weren’t looking was the most freedom I’d ever felt in my life.
I stepped out into the Las Vegas streets.
They were even more empty than I could imagine.
I needed somewhere to stay. Even if that hospital forced me there against my will, at least I had somewhere to sleep. I was at their mercy for so long, following their rules and their structure that I had forgotten what it was like to have one of my own.
I needed a disguise.
Sneaking into an abandoned department store, I needed to find resources. The food aisles were cleared out, but that’s not what I was interested in. I walked straight towards the seasonal aisle -- the shelves were still stocked with Halloween supplies. That gave me a sense of the timeline from when it all went to shit.
I grabbed the white facepaint.
The black lip liner.
I found a mirror.
And I created my new identity.
I stepped back out into what was once civilization, and two men appeared from the abyss, like rats coming out of the sewer. They were bald. Bloodied. Emaciated.
They were the mole people. The ones the doctors once warned me about.
“Hi, boys.”
And they followed.
No longer was I a master of none.