The "Specialist's" Job-Elizabeth

"Ida Byrnes."

Her voice echoes off the cinderblock walls and bounces through my head. The seemingly "magnetic force" between my hands and the chair refuses to cease its pull. I can feel the panic setting in.

"Ida Byrnes?" 

My wobbly legs unsteadily pull me into a half stand, half crouch position. Judgmental eyes shift to my awkwardness.

"Follow me please."

To where? What will it look like? Dizzy and sick, I slowly inch my way to the door and glance back at the remaining patients, certain it will be the last time that I will see true civilization.  The door shuts with a loud *clank* as I turn my head down the hall. I dart forward to catch up with the woman. 

       The hallways remind me of a hospital. Everything is white; the walls, floor, ceiling, doors, even the thin robes we were asked to change into. Nothing is out of the sorts, except my stomach. The usual fluttery butterflies feel more like gorillas pounding on my insides. The woman looks forward, says nothing, doesn't even acknowledge my presence. She finally notices how I've been stealing glances and looks down at me. I slow down, expecting her to say something. She smiles and looks back up, quickening her pace.

      After about 5 minutes of navigating the twists and turns and corners of the facility, she motions towards a room on the right. 

"Aren't you coming too?" 

"No. The specialists will be with you shortly. Please wait here"

She closes the door and turns back down the hall. The handle is locked. I pace the area of the small room, examining all of its contents. A sink, some cabinets containing nothing but robes and tongue compressors, and a table in the middle. It looks like the ones you'll find at a doctor's office. But this one has close to 20 or 30 straps and some sort of head contraption. I reach for a latch near the leg rest when the door bursts open. People in white scrubs and masks concealing their faces flood in, wheeling carts of who knows what. They all busily get to work setting up their supplies I assume. I'm too busy trying to keep myself from a panic attack to focus on anything else. Two men grab my arms and lay me back on the table. The one on the left speaks.

"now this will be a lot easier if you just don't talk so please keep the noise down and try not to interrupt."

I try to intervene but he shoves some giant contraption into my mouth making it impossible to form each word I'm trying to force out. I can feel the "specialists" strapping me to the table and pulling the head thingy over my neck. They lock it secure and all 15 or so of them gather around me. I can move nothing but my eyes which I'm sure are presenting a wonderful show, darting from this concealed face to that. The men part and let in a guy with a gold badge on his chest. 

"everyone get ready for their assigned job"

I try to scream but my jaw feels too sore and clamped. The gold badge man reached for a tray and brigs forth a syringe. I can hear nothing over the screams of terror in my head. Without warning, he plunges the needle into my neck. My head feels like it's on fire. The cool serum slowly seeps into my veins and soothes the flames. It actually is beginning to feel good before everything turns black.