Doctor, Doctor!

2364 words. A girl is trapped in an abandoned yet overstocked hospital with a deranged doctor, and doesn’t truly feel like escape is possible

“It has come to my attention that you have expressed an intense dislike of my profession, and others within my profession. A slight phobia is natural, but a great loathing like yours is not.”


“So is that how it is going to be? Look, I’ll give you another chance to reply. It’s always better that way.”


“Do you still refuse to speak? Implorable! I have you in as a guest to help you overcome your negative feelings, and this is how you treat me? Do you treat all doctors in this fashion?”


“Answer me!”


“If you don’t speak up, I will have to use the needle again. You’re already getting dangerously low on bone marrow.”

“I’m not afraid of doctors. Just you.” God, I hope he doesn’t hurt me.

“…” Why has he stopped talking?

“Please don’t take more of me…” I whispered feebly.

“…” His silence was starting to unnerve me. Did he feel the same when I was silent?

“I respect your job, I just don’t respect what you do with your degree.” I already knew flattery wouldn’t get me anywhere.

“…” I so terribly wish I could see the chap’s face right now.

“Please, doctor. I just want to go home.” Pleading never did anything, either.

“…” I so terribly wish this blindfold didn’t itch and scratch my eyes.

“Doctor, please. Get help, for both of us.” I thought that there might have been some off chance that even if he killed me, he might still get arrested and executed. I know he was once a swell fellow, but something pushed him over the edge.

Then, I heard footsteps move away from me, before a door opened and closed. He was getting his needles again, and he planned to take more of me. I wasn’t going to let that happen this time! I was ready this time, and I knew how to escape my bindings.

I shuffled my hands back and forth against one another, eventually loosening the knot that was tied, and the soft rope keeping my hands behind the chair I was confined to fell off. I reached an arm up, and tore off the blindfold. Then, I moved along to the bindings on my feet, and then I stood.

I expected to fall down, from weakness, but I didn’t. I was still standing, and I felt refreshed. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it wasn’t my place to question the circumstances.

I tried to gather a short look at the room, and take in as much as possible. I had no idea when he would be back, and I had no idea how long I had been trapped with him. It was at this point I also realised I was surprised the sudden light hadn’t hurt my eyes.

The room was empty, besides the chair I had been tied to. I stepped toward the door, and my footsteps were heavier than I remembered. There was no way I could just quietly get out of here. If he came too close, I would certainly have to stop moving and hide.

I continued my loud paces towards the door. Upon further inspection, I realised that the door was still slightly cracked open.

I placed a hand onto the cold steel, and slowly pushed the door open. My eyes were then rapidly put back into their place, being overwhelmed by sunlight.

A few closed moments later, I reopened my eyes, and they adjusted much better. I could see well enough at that point to tell that the hallway I was standing in was empty.

I looked out of the window, and noticed I was a few stories above the ground. I was at least three or four stories up, but I wasn’t quite sure. I must have lost some depth perception when I lost my right eye.

From here, I can either go left or right. There’s no way I’m hopping out of that window.

I chose to go left. That meant I was going right from the door’s perspective.

Each step was slow and agonising. Each step was loud and noticeable. Each step stung and felt like a dozen pine needles were jamming up my leg. Christ, now I specify the type of needle I’m feeling.

I followed the hallway until I found stairs that led downward. In all reality, I was constantly asking myself ‘who in their right mind would abandon a fully functional hospital like this, while also leaving behind so many functioning medical supplies?’

Once I reached the stairs, I placed a leg onto the next step, and I felt my leg attempt to give way. That meant that walking down the stairs normally wasn’t an option. Thus, I sat at the top step, and dragged my butt onto the next step. Then I did that again. And again.

I eventually got to the last step that would lead me to the conveniently labeled second floor, and then pulled myself down to it. I reached up for the railing, and used it to pull myself up to my feet.

I took a tentative step. Realising, I was fine, I began to walk back over to the second set of stairs, that would lead me to the first floor.

“I KNOW YOU’VE LEFT! YOU HAD BETTER GET BACK UP HERE BEFORE I HAVE TO PUNISH YOU WORSE THAN BEFORE, GIRL!” His voice tore through the intercom system, and shredded its way into my ears. I felt warmth rush into my face. There was no way I could get away from him faster than he could catch me. I needed to hide.

I was glad I had stood up, because that would make it easier to open up a patient room, and put myself into a closet. Assuming there still were closets.

Wincing at the volume of my feet constantly slamming the ground, I opened an unsurprisingly unlocked door, let myself in, and proceeded to hide in the nearest cupboard. I’m not sure why I thought closet. Cupboards are so much more prevalent in hospitals.

“You know that you won’t get away from here. I’ll check every room and every cabinet if I have to, you are not getting out of here,” he said through the intercom. I honestly prefered his actual anger to this sing-song voice he was using.

I held my breath. I could make it out of here alive. I just needed to avoid being caught.

I waited in that closet for maybe twenty seconds before I started breathing again. My heart was pounding the entire time.

After what seemed like years, I finally decided to leave the closet. I hadn’t heard him speak over the intercom in a while, and I hadn’t heard his footsteps at all, either.

I pushed open the closet doors, then stood up. My legs felt much more stable this time. Maybe that meant that I could actually walk down the stairs.

I tentatively stepped toward the door. This was going to be how I escaped. I would walk down the stairs as quickly as possible, and rush away the moment I was on the ground floor. I would try to find a police officer, and I would do whatever I needed to to get that guy put away.

I opened the door just a crack. I peeked through, and looked out into the hallway. There was no one there. I’m safe. Thank god.

I pushed the door open the rest of the way, and walked back towards the stairs. I’m glad I hadn’t gone too far from them.

“No no no!” I was grabbed from behind. There were hands on my throat. I couldn’t breathe. I reached up and tried to pry the hands away. I still wasn’t strong enough.

I felt something sharp poke at the back of my thigh. A needle? A knife? It doesn’t matter, just grab it and stop him!

I reached down toward the sharp thing, and tried to grab it. It was in his pocket. I had to reach in if I wanted it. Just avoid the urge to breathe.

I tried to stuff my hand into his pocket, but he let go of my throat with one of his hands, and grabbed my hand. “I wouldn’t dare let you touch that.”

I could breathe at least. I took a deep breathe, then broke away from his other hand. I turned around to look at him.

He was a tall man, probably in his forties. He was clearly fit. He wore green scrubs, like the stereotypical surgeon, and a face mask covering his nose and mouth.

He roared at me, then jumped at me. I put up my hands in self defense, and he jabbed his needle into my palm. I was greeted with the sharp end of a needle poking out of the back of my hand. It was surprisingly large, but not large enough to avoid breaking off into my hand!

“Hell!” I tore my hand away, and heard metal snap. I could still feel the needle inside of my hand.

“This could have been so much easier,” he muttered, almost to himself rather than me.

“You’re bat-shit crazy!” I tried to ignore the needle.

“I have spent eight years in school learning to diagnose things like that. Tell me something prolific next time.” Despite the fact that most of his face was obscured, I could still see the rage in his eyes.

“Do you know how sharp scalpels are?” he asked me.

“Let’s not do this right now,” I said, clearly and precisely.

“There’s no time like the fucking present!” He leapt at me, with a scalpel suddenly yet unsurprisingly in his hand.

“Hell!” I dove aside, and put my hands out to break my fall. I noticed the needle still stuck in my hand, and regretted the choice before landing.

I landed, and felt an even sharper pain force itself into my hand. I caught a glimpse of the needle, and it didn’t look well.

“What kind of doctor would I be if I didn’t take care of my patients?” I stood up, and tore the needle out of the back of my hand. My hand bled. I think it missed my bones, because otherwise it would have broken on them. I hope, anyway.

He stepped toward me again, holding his scalpel with confidence. I didn’t want to test the strength of that scalpel.

“Quit running and die, whore!” He leaped toward me again, and tried to cut me with the scalpel. I stepped aside, narrowly avoiding his slash. He stood behind me. “I’m not even a woman!” I shouted.

“Not yet you aren’t!” he replied, and I felt a liquid run down my thigh, followed by even more pain.

“Fuck!” I fell to the ground; my injured leg had collapsed beneath me. I felt the pain become more acute than before.

“Looks like you won’t be standing for a while. Perfect. What kind of surgery will I perform on you now?” The doctor was standing above me. “Don’t go anywhere, I have to get a new needle. I still enjoy the idea of taking bone marrow.”

He walked away.

I had to do something. I couldn’t just lie here and die.

I dragged myself back into the room I was hiding in, and found some gauze in a drawer. I tore my pants off of the beaten leg, took the scalpel out of it, then wrapped my my leg tightly with gauze.

I stood up. My leg wasn’t holding up very well. I could only limp around. If only I had a crutch.

I picked up the bloodied scalpel. It was going to be my way out of here.

I stepped out of the room, and limped to where I had been standing before. He didn’t want me to move, so I wasn’t going to.

There was a small trail of blood from where I had been stabbed, leading into the room I bandaged myself in.

“Perfect, you’ve already helped yourself. That will save me some time. I’m glad you’ve decided to be compliant, finally. Come.” He started to walk past me, and he did so rather slowly. He must have expected that I would move slower myself. I limped a bit faster, attempting to catch up to him.

“I honestly thought you would fall after that first step. I’m glad you proved me wrong. Don’t push yourself too hard, however. I wouldn’t want to harm any more of your precious tissues.

Seriously, an entire empty hospital that still has all of its supplies. What the hell?”

I kept moving quickly, and I slowly caught up to him. He didn’t see the weapon I had flattened and hidden within my palm. That was just what I needed.

He stopped and opened a door. That was the break I needed. He turned, and motioned for me to walk in. A second later, his throat was spewing ochre onto me and the surrounding floor.

He gurgled, and slowly fell to the ground, attempting to cover his throat with his hands.

“I guess we did find out how strong scalpels are, after all.” His face turned to face the ground, and then he fell. Blood pooled around his corpse. It was a mess. I think I might have thrown up from the smell, or maybe the mental toll, or perhaps my injuries caught up to me.

I took slow, deliberate steps out of the hallway, down the stairs, and eventually out of the hospital. As luck would have it, there was an officer driving past at that very moment. He stopped when he saw me.

“PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!” I did as he demanded. I didn’t expect his voice to blare through a megaphone, however.

“STAY WHERE YOU ARE.” The officer stepped out of the car, and walked toward me.

“Officer, thank god you’re here. There’s some madman in there! He tried to kill me!” The officer looked me up and down.

“I see. How did you get away?” He put his hand on his chin, as if considering me. I was still bleeding, so maybe he was admiring my impromptu bandages?

“Well, I… I had to kill the pyscho to get away. I wish I could say I feel bad, but you can see what he did to my leg. I’ll probably need stitches.” I motioned at my leg, for effect.

“Turn around for me, will you?” I complied to the officer’s request, and felt metal slap onto my wrists.

“Wait, what? What’s going on?”

“You’re under arrest for the murder of Doctor Macmillan.”

“Hold on, murder? He tried to kill me!” I squirmed in his arms. He simply started dragging me toward his car.

“Sure, but you succeeded. That’s why you’re getting arrested.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Too bad Macmillan had connections. You don’t.” Before I could get out another word, the officer stuffed me into the back of his car. I never heard his voice again.



Author: Kay Walker

I write short stories, and post them to my site

2 thoughts on “Doctor, Doctor!”

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