Play@YSDC

Cecilia passes by the children - the mannequins. Real or not, it seems wrong to disturb them.

The bed with the curtain seems to radiate dread. Her hand trembles as she grasps an edge and pulls it back just an inch, waiting for any response.

"Who's there?" she whispers. Her voice echoes solemnly in the quiet.

Silence is her only answer.

Cecilia pulls the curtain all the way back.

A store mannequin of a woman dressed in smart casual business attire stands over a bed that contains another little girl mannequin that has her left arm stretched out as though around some sort of teddy or other toy. The Get Well card beside her bed is the only thing on the bedside cabinet but for three white flowers. There's no sign of what is causing that glow - it just seems like some sort of vague ambient light.

Cecilia isn't sure how many times she's wondered what's wrong with this town. Her thoughts travel back to the Observation Deck - were these mannequins people, once? Is this all the work of one individual with a strange obsession? Repopulating a ghost town with fake people?

It's a crazy thought. Everything in this town is crazy.

She glances at the woman nervously - she's not really watching you, she's a mannequin, for God's sake - and picks up the Get Well card.

She sets the card back on the little table, takes one last look at the girl-mannequin, and puts the curtain back the way it was.

The cooks. What does that mean?

Cecilia leaves the ICU and heads to the other two patient rooms, 205 and 206.

205 and 206 are near identical in their disrepair. Dirty, mould-ridden mattresses, bundled up sheets streaked brown with old blood, with broken machinery discarded around the floor like someone went crazy with a sledgehammer. The air contains that chemical tang mixed with blood and there's a sensation to the place ... one of misery and degradation. It's like walking through Chernobyl and yet this is meant to be a resort town in America.

Cecilia backtracks through the nurse's station to get to the stairs, hoping to go up to the third floor.

The door to the stairwell is wet and glistening and there's this strong, chemical reek as she approaches it. What's more is that the nurse is there, standing with her back to Cecilia, head lowered, facing the door, fingers twitching on the scalpel. Words escape upon the nurse's wheezing breaths. "The children ... sooooo looooonely ... the children...."

"What is going on?!" Cecilia takes a step forward, taking shallow breaths through the chemical scent. "You've been leaving these messages, haven't you?"

"Do you know something about all the mannequins?" The questions spill out of her mouth, almost in a shriek. The grooves of the shotgun dig into her fingers. "Where is my daughter?"

"...the children ... sooooo looooonely ... the children ... so ... soooo loooonely," she muttered, seemingly not hearing Cecilia.

Cecilia's arm snaps forward; her hand grabs the nurse's shoulder. "Answer me! Where is my daughter?"

She's shaking and despite the cold, she could swear there's sweat on the back of her neck. This woman has to know something. How long has she been here? Long enough.

The nurse whips around with a terrified scream and slams her back up against the wall.

Cecilia's fingers are caught in her straight hair and as her hands pull back and as the beam crosses her closely, she sees that the woman's hair isn't brown.

It's blonde.

It's just so caked in dried blood that the strands themselves are covered in clotted, old blood stains.

"I don't know!" the nurse screams again, sliding down the wall, face half-hidden in her hands. "I don't know...."

Her moan trails off into more sobs.

She cries out sharply when she hits the wall, and bites her lip hard enough to draw blood. The shotgun trembles in her hand.

The fingers of her other hand are dusted with coppery flakes of dried blood. She brushes it off with the coat, wide-eyed at the strands of gold in the woman's hair.

Can she cry, with her eyes stitched up like that? She shudders at the thought. The danger is gone - for now - and the pity returns.

"You really don't know, do you?" she murmurs, half to herself. Cecilia shuffles awkwardly against the wall, looks at the door, then back at the nurse. "What was... is... your name?"

"It hurts...." whimpers the woman, clutching at her face. "It hurts so much. Why? Why does it hurt so much?"

"The children ... they're sooooo looooonely ... I can't make them stop ... can't make them stop crying ... so lonely ... why won't she stop crying?"

"How is that poor child still alive?"

"What child?" Cecilia sees the opportunity and leaps for it. "What does she look like? What's her name? I need you to tell me."

It's a dim hope, conversing with a broken woman who doesn't seem to listen. Strange and unreliable as he was, Jack could answer questions.

But this is the only lead she can get right now.

"I promised I wouldn't say ... but I couldn't remember ... I wish I couldn't ... so long ... been so long ... where is she?! They left me here to die! Oh Harry... Harry... Harry!" she wails, clawing at her own face with her nails. "I wish I could forget! Please, please make me forget!"

Cecilia sighs. She's been at this long enough... it's going nowhere.

It feels wrong to just leave the woman here, but what else can she do? There's no one around who could possibly help her.

Quietly, she heads for the door, leaving the nurse to her raving.

The slick door frame stings her fingers on a touch, leaving the skin red and raw from the painful liquid.