It appears I'm writing this story for no one but ghosts. Not a single review nor alert. This means that either it sucks (something I'd rather not be true) or that people just don't care enough to bother. But, I will keep writing and posting chapters, if for nothing but to finish it.

The first thing she noticed, before she opened her eyes, or was even sure if she awake, was the talking. Not the voices, but from the outside world, a world that she felt strangely distant from. She laid there, letting the words wash over her, not paying attention to what they meant. She just lay where she was, wherever that might be. The voices changed in pitch and tempo, and sometimes weren't there at all.

The second thing she noticed occurred when she tried to get up, and it was that she couldn't. Max dragged her heavy lids open, groggily curious. A harsh light met her sensitive eyes. She blinked a few times, trying to focus. She could gather that she was in a small room that as bare save the bed she was lying in and a chair near the far wall. Her bed had no sheet or even a pillow, just a plain, lumpy mattress. Rails lined the sides of the bed, roughly two feet high. Everything was white, the walls, the ceiling, her mattress. It confused her already muddled mind. Weakly, she tried to sit up again. She still couldn't. Max lifted her throbbing head, searching for the obstacle. Around her wrist and ankles were heavy leather restraints, just loose enough not cut off her circulation.

Max shut her eyes, trying to remember anything that would explain why she was there. Slowly, a memory played out behind her eyelids.

Max thrashed against multiple pairs of arms, trying to break away. They held her tightly, not allowing her to move. She was being tied down to something. She had to, had to escape the voices. Nothing else mattered.

She gasped as she emerged from the recollection, a fresh sheen of sweat covering her body. Who were those men? She could only vaguely recall them. . .

Just then, the door opened, then shut loudly behind a man with a receding hair line and a long white coat. He was studying a small laptop in his hands, not bothering to look at the girl tied down to the bed.

"Hello?" Max called, suddenly anxious. Her throat was raw, as if it had been rubbed down with sandpaper, and her voice came out as only a hoarse whisper. The man continued to fiddle with the laptop as if she hadn't spoken. Max called out to him again. Still, he kept on like he was alone on the room.

She began to panic, struggling against the bonds. The voices erupted again, but she could not focus enough to concentrate on them. The doctor finally took notice, rushing to side. He collapsed one row of the bars and pinned down her shoulders with his body. He was heavy, nearly cutting off her air, and reeked of body odor and some kind of sterilizer. Max felt a small prick on her arm before the night again over came her.