The White Room

Day 1

To whomever finds this journal:

My name is Anthony Perkins. I am 25 years old, and today I woke to find I've been kidnapped. I don't know who has me, where they've taken me or why.

I can remember last night so clearly. I took Julia out to celebrate our engagement. She protested, since we'd already 'celebrated' twice before, but I insisted. How could I not? When you have someone like her to spend a lifetime with, you celebrate.

We went to Jackie's Bistro. Her favorite. She had chicken parmesean, and I had roast beef and pastrami on rye. I ordered us the finest champagne they had (which, admittedly, was the ONLY champagne they had, but it always feels good to order 'the finest'). Then, we went to our favorite little dive for drinks. There was a gentleman who acted very..ungentlemanly towards Julie. He was about medium-height with light brown hair and a particularly nasty scar under his right eye. Looking back now, I should have been a little more careful. God knows how a man could get a scar like that, but it can't have been something a normal, law-abiding person would get mixed up in.

..Shit. My thoughts are getting scrambled. Where was I (or, for that matter, where AM I)? The bar. I was fine to ignore this man before he tried to grab my Julia. That, I could not abide by.I took him outside and behaved in a way that I'd imagined men in this day and age weren't supposed to anymore. His friends scooped up what was left of him, and that was that. Julie and I went home, made love and fell asleep in each others' arms. That's the last thing I remember. What the hell happened between then and now?

A woman walked in as I was writing just now. A nurse. Somehow, the shock of waking up in here kept me from noticing the fucking medical equipment next to my bed. No, this can't be right. This room is too bare; plain, white concrete walls and nothing more. More of a cell than a hospital room. This doesn't seem right. I asked her what was wrong with me to put me in a place like this, and she didn't even look up. Didn't even twitch. I think I even heard her fucking laugh at me under her breath. She just injected something into an IV in my arm and left without a word. I'm getting woozy now.

I have to find Julia. I have to get out of here i have to get



Day 2

I can't walk. My lower half can't even so much as twitch. There are sores all up and down my back that were never there before, and my arm is full of puncture marks around where they've stuck the IV. How long have I been here? Nobody will tell me. Nobody will look at me. Nobody will even treat me like a fucking human being.

Two nurses and a male orderly have come in since I woke up this morning (or what I assume was this morning, anyway. No windows or clocks in here). I tried to get something out of them- anything- but they just went about their business changing bedpans, catheter bags and IVs like I wasn't even there. Like I didn't even exist. The only one who's acknowledged me at all so far was the orderly who brought me my food. He just..STARED at me with the most God-awful grin plastered across his face. He didn't speak. He didn't even move. He just stood there, grinning wide and breathing in the silence of the room, as if waiting for something. I looked down at the cold, miserable pile before me of what I could only assume was meant to be chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes. This shit wasn't fit for a garbage disposal, much less for a man. I looked back up at him as his grin began to widen. Jesus.

I don't know what's inside me now. I'm just glad he left after only one bite. I have never been so hungry but wanted to eat so little.



Day 3

I've forgotten what her voice sounded like. This can't be right.

The orderly came back with more food. I pretended to swallow, and spat it back out the very second I was sure he'd left. I would have thrown up if I'd had anything in my stomach with which to do so. What is he trying to put inside me? What is he trying to do to me? The pain is getting worse. My joints all feel like they're about to explode.

I'm so tired, Julia.



Day 4

I keep staring at the tattoo of her name I got on my bicep last year. I'm still not used to it being there. I got it so I'd always be able to remember her, and it's been serving its purpose well the past few days. Looks like shit, though. Guess I should've been taking care of it like the guy told me to when I got it. I swear, if I make it out of this somehow, I'll start doing so every damn day. I want it looking good until the day I die.



Day 5

I threw the food back in that prick orderly's greasy cunt face, so the bastard beat me for a while, grabbed me by the throat and forced some down. Slimy motherfucker. I'm not sure what else I was expecting to happen, though. Whatever this place is, it sure as hell can't be a hospital.

Things are starting to get hazy. Confusing. Sometimes I'll blink and realize I've been staring at the wall in the middle of writing a sentence. Who knows for how long? Minutes? Hours? I don't know how much longer I can handle this.

Every part of my body hurts. I'm so tired.

I don't know if I'll make it out of this, Julia. I love you.



Day 5

Something's wrong. What color was her hair?



Day 6

Don't trust them, Andy. Don't trust the things they say. You have to get out. You have to find her. Prove them wrong.

DON'T EAT THE FOOD



Day 7?

what color were her eyes



Day 1

To whomever finds this journal:

My name is Anthony Perkins. I am 25 years old, and today I woke to find I've been kidnapped. I don't know who has me, where they've taken me or why.

To be quite honest, I don't really remember much of anything from last night. I don't remember much of anything at all. I appear to be in a medical facility of some kind, though, so they might have given me some sort of medication that's messing with my memory.

On second thought, maybe I'm overreacting with the 'kidnapping' stuff. I probably had a little too much to drink with the boys and ended up doing some stupid shit. Sure feels like it. Guess I must've jumped off of something and screwed up the landing, or stepped in front of a bus or something. Christ, my body hurts.

Julia's gonna give me hell the next time I see her, I'm sure. I deserve it, too. I'm done drinking the second I'm out of this place. If we're gonna start a family, I can't keep being this stupid and irresponsible.

Hopefully, one of these nurses will be able to tell me when I'm getting out of here.



Day ?

something's wrong julia



When Dad passed, the only possession he had to his name was a journal. I guess no one at the assisted living home read its contents before they turned it over to me. I gave it to the police, who- after a remarkably-short investigation- are now holding the orderly as the lead suspect for the poisoning of my father and two other Alzheimer's patients just like him.

What that man did fills me with disgust, but I think what really makes me sick is imagining Dad's last moments. I mean, what must that be like? Did he really just wake up one morning and forget 60 years of his life? What could possibly do that to a human mind? Is that gonna be me one day? If so, maybe I deserve it for leaving him in a place like that. At least his death may have stopped more innocent people from getting hurt..

I just hope that, after 30 years without her, he and Mom are finally together again somewhere. I hope he found her.