Chapter 11 - The Mercy Cage

The eleventh chapter of our thriller novel, in which Anne wakes up in the infirmary, seeking answers to where she is or how she got here.

Anne - New York City, 1899

Prologue // Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 // Chapter 7 // Chapter 8 // Chapter 9 // Chapter 10

     My eyes blink open, and I scan the shadowed room, unable to make out whether it is day or not. My head still throbs, but less so than the pounding I felt when I initially awoke. Upon adjusting my eyes, I realize that while I had dreamt in my sleep, waking up here was very real.  Wherever “here” is...I blink hard to try and will my eyes to better adjust to the darkness with no luck. I can tell I am still chained to that bed in the room that lacks any indication of where I might be. Scanning the room slowly, my eyes fall on another person- a girl lying in a bed a few away from me and staring into the ceiling. She is not chained as I am, and hardly looks older than a child. She groans softly and rolls to her side, our eyes meet as she adjusts. We freeze, eyes locked for a few moments, until she wretches into the bucket next to her. I must be in a hospital. She wipes the dribble off her chin with her sheet and her eyes linger into mine for a while. 

      We share an unspoken comfort in seeing another breathing human. She finally whispers, “I’m Victoria. What’s your name?” My brow furrows by instinct. Why must she whisper? I suppose there are other girls in this hospital still sleeping. I hope I do not catch whatever sickness causes her to vomit. “Anne,” I whisper back. She studies me with kind but curious eyes, looking me up and down, and finally says, “We haven’t  met before. How long have you been here?” I ponder for a moment, how long have I been here? It can’t have been long, though my mind feels too groggy to give me an answer. I woke up once before, that feels ages ago. How long have I been sleeping? I glance to my bedside and see a glass of water, untouched, and a dry rag that must have once been a compress. At least a day perhaps. I touch my head gingerly and feel a wrap of gauze. Where is this hospital? Where is “here?” After stumbling through my dreams and memories, coming up lost in the throb of my headache, it strikes me that perhaps this other girl, Victoria, has an idea. “Do you know where we are?” I finally ask. Victoria looks at me, startled at first, then sadness falls in her eyes, and finally she says “The House of Mercy.”