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The dim light from the ceiling fixture illuminated the small, gloomy hospital room. Peeling light-yellow paint on the walls, cracked whitewash on the ceiling, and dusty cobwebs in the corner served as a reminder of complete hopelessness. Even the spider preferred to abandon this doomed place, but Tyler, alas, could not. He had no doubt that Willowhill Psychiatric Hospital would be his last refuge. The doctors were slowly but cruelly killing those particles of sanity that remained in him.
Of course, the injections helped restrain the Hyde, but along with that, Tyler was losing himself. His thoughts, feelings, memories—all merged into one big tangle that was impossible to unravel. The injections caused strange, and sometimes horrifying, hallucinations. After each shot, Tyler plunged into oblivion, not understanding where the lie ended and the truth began. He lost control over his body: muscles cramped in the strongest convulsions, skin covered in profuse sweat. Tyler screamed in pain, or so it seemed to him, clamping his mouth with fists bitten to blood. He dreamed of dying, just to end all the torment.
The corner of his lips twitched involuntarily in a smirk. A barely perceptible scent of bitter, damp earth, felt right after rain, and spicy clove, as a reminder of her favorite shampoo. That's how his salvation smelled.
Tyler slowly opened his eyes, greedily inhaling the air.
Wednesday.
There she was, just two steps away, in her invariably mourning dress with a white, starched-to-a-crisp collar. Her dark and large, doll-like eyes shone in the dimness of the room.
"Wednesday," Tyler whispered with lips alone, lacking strength for more.
He squinted from the incoming pain again and pulled his knees to his chest. The seizure was just beginning, but Tyler was glad for it. The injections gave not only unbearable pain but also nightly dates with the girl he cherished. Tyler guessed that the real Wednesday would never come to him, but the illusion that she was here and forgave him gave him strength to endure another day full of pain and hopelessness.
Tyler involuntarily sighed. The touch of cold fingers to his sweat-damp forehead brought relief.
"Please stay with me a little longer," Tyler whispered, responding to Wednesday's modest and clumsy caresses. His heavy head from eternal migraine ended up on her thin and sharp knees. He whispered some nonsense and cried like a little child, clutching the wet-from-tears hem of the dress in his hands. Wednesday was silent, but Tyler didn't need her words. She shared his pain; he dreamed of no more.
When the seizure subsided, Tyler felt sleepy. He knew that if he fell asleep, Wednesday's image would immediately disappear, and fears would creep into his consciousness again.
"You need to rest," her firm voice broke the room's silence. Apparently, Wednesday noticed his feeble attempts to perk up.
She carefully moved Tyler's head from her knees to the pillow and swiftly rose from the bed, intending to leave, but he managed to grab her wrist. Their gazes met. Now Tyler knew for sure that Wednesday was just a play of his sick imagination. Compassion flashed in her unblinking, deep-as-abyss eyes. She obediently sat back on the bed and lay so close that Tyler felt her warm breath on his cheek. And even though a not-real Wednesday was beside him, he decided to apologize to her. Tyler stumbled over words, stuttered from tears flowing from his eyes again. He talked and talked, telling everything about Laurel's plan, about Hyde, about how his father hid the truth from him. He didn't forget to tell about the first murders and how he lost control over his mind.
"You know, you were always like a beacon for me. Thoughts of you brought me back to life, if only briefly."
Wednesday looked at him thoughtfully.
"Really, you save me, Wednesday. When it hurts a lot, I immediately imagine your face. I think I've never seen a girl more beautiful and dangerous than you."
He gently touched her face. Wednesday shuddered.
"My life was never sweet or calm, but now, locked in four walls, I realized I don't have many happy memories. I remember mom's tender hands and the vanilla pie aroma, games in the garden and Elvis's loud bark when I threw him the ball, and you. Your soft lips. Wednesday, I constantly think about your lips. If I could kiss them once more..."
An electric current seemed to run through his body. Wednesday's plump lips caressed his so sensually and tenderly, as only in dreams. Tyler squeezed her fragile waist in his hands, as if afraid that opening his eyes, she would disappear forever.
"I'll get you out of here," a barely audible whisper reached him.
"Wednesday, I love you," Tyler confessed and opened his eyes.
The room was empty.