beatrice; bee. (![]() ![]() @ 2016-01-15 22:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | #day 017, beatrice, madison |
[who] Beatrice & Madison [COMPLETED]
[when] 10:30am
[where] Lounge
[what] Beatrice wakes up in the Mansion
An hour and a half had passed from the time she awoke, the dreamless sleep bled into a nightmarish reality. Beatrice had no idea how she arrived here, no where here could be on a map. In those first waking moments, with the IV taped to her skin, she had flashbacks of the hospital in Madison. Why dream of that time passed? But alas, it was no dream; not as the IV was removed and she took in the surroundings. The room was comfortable, quaint, and reminded the girl of home. But this was not home. Something was terribly wrong.
Eventually, slowly, but surely, Beatrice figured out her way around the room. A box of clothes sat on the floor with the baggy overalls, tank top, plaid blouse, ball cap, and old Converse shoes she had worn when she went to Madison. Yes, I went to Madison to make two deliveries. I was on my way back... Was I in an accident? After she dressed, Beatrice attempted the door. It was horrifying to think that she was locked in a room. She yanked on it a few times, pounded on the door with a fist, called out to anyone to open the door--but nothing happened. It took a moment two realize there was a computer in the room.
There was no access to email, though there seemed to be an online forum. What was on that forum was the sort of garage that people post on the Internet--namely things about other people that they would not say to one's face. A couple of scrolls and Beatrice stopped reading what she had found. But there was an indicator of a subject name. No sense could be made of any thing. To look at the window provided no clues as to her location, nor were there any indications in the room. The more time she spent in there, the uneasier she became. The room was perfect to her liking--too perfect.
I'm dead. I died. This is like Lost, and I don't think I'm dead but clearly I am in purgatory and this will drag out for six years before I come to terms. Beatrice was incredibly stressed. Her phone, bag, a necklace she had been wearing, among other things, were not in this place. In a fit of frustration, she tried the door again, surprised to find it opened with ease.
She was hungry, somehow tired, and most notably very confused. Outside of the door was something out of a Las Vegas hotel, a room much too posh for anywhere a down-to-earth farm girl would ever find herself on a... Sunday? Monday? It was all too much. Beatrice tore off past the lounging sofas, away from the glow of the modern art, and smack into a complete and total stranger. Unprepared and unaware, she went down and down hard to the floor.