I stare into the tiny purple-green squares that pattern my gown which reaches to my ankles. The back is tied with a flimsy string and the armholes are too big for my thinning hands. I run my neatly-trimmed fingertips through my damp and rough hair. The lights in the hospital are dimmed now, so I can only see a bluish glow peeking out of my half-closed door. I look into the right corner of my room where the old surveillance camera looms. It’s usual red light is gone now. The balding janitor came in earlier today, taking a tally of the things that needed to be repaired. 

“They should at least try to keep the freaks here,” he had groaned.

Though it’s only 3 AM, I’ve woken up four times tonight. My dreams have been the same every time. The windows can’t open and the doors are locked tight. Dr. Ross’ voice is somewhere in the room with me, telling me about how I am imagining all of this.

“It’s 3 AM, Dana. Do you need anything?” A nurse comes in and fiddles with my file.

“Why am I here?” I ask.

“You have an appointment with Dr. Ross tomorrow. You can discuss your condition then.” She pencils in a few notes.

I sigh. “Why can’t I just leave?”

The nurse quickly exits the room. There’s probably a note at the top of my file, instructing her to stop talking to me as soon as possible, or else she may fuel my ‘fantasy’. I know that she and everybody else just wants to keep me here. They say that it’s not normal to hear voices in your head, to constantly rock between reality and delusions. It’s the same thing that the jury said, all those years ago when I tried to tell them what had happened. I begged them to listen. I knew the truth. 

“I didn’t do it,” I had wailed, “It wasn’t me. They kept on threatening me, telling me about how they wanted to get me.”

I know that they just want to trap me here.

“You can empty out your pills, you know.” The voice sounds like Dr. Ross, the same way that he talks in my dream.

“Why are you here?” I back myself into the cream colored wall.

“Empty out the pills.”

“Why? I have an appointment tomorrow; they’ll prescribe me new medication then.” 

“You already know what they are going to say, that you need more time in this psycho circus. You’re a threat to society. Is that what you want?”

Is Dr. Ross finally understanding me? I open up my pill bottle by pressing the tiny lever and twisting the cover to the right, the same way that the nurses do. The bottle feels heavier than I remember. I slowly turn it to the side, watching the tiny pills flow towards the opening, letting them spill onto my feet. I don’t care whether they say that I am paranoid or on edge or if I am still at risk. I am leaving.

I’ve never tried to open my window before because the alarm will ring. I mess with the latch at the bottom. It’s old and rusty. I nudge and twist it until I hear a click. The deafening alarm doesn’t sound, so I move the heavy chain that strangles the latch. Next is the yellowing pane that has never been lifted before. I push the glass upward, my feet sliding underneath me from the effort. The window is heavy, but it opens enough for me to slip through it. 

I peer outside, relishing the fresh air, and look around. The only thing that greets me is a desolate forest, though I thought I was in a city. I lower my feet out first and hang off of the ledge by my hands, the same way that I used to sneak out of my house as a child. The concrete is rough, and my sweat loosens my grip. I let go. Pain shoots through my ankles as I land. My bare feet rub against the soft, wet grass. I turn toward the forest behind the facility. The gaping trees stretch out their arms, welcoming me. They wouldn’t care what I had done. They wouldn’t even care if I had murdered.