Barcode Boy

The last thing I remembered before being engulfed in darkness was the sharp pain of being impaled with a needle. It was uncomfortably thick and though I had never had an issue with shots, I remember tearing up.

Despite the array of nurses who had me restrained to the bed, I was fully prepared to reach over and rip the syringe out of my arm. Though just as I wiggled my finger, the pain disappeared, and everything went black.

I had never experienced unconsciousness for so long, but I grew used to it and began to enjoy it. At first, I wasn’t aware that my head had manifested one long dream, yet once I realized it, I calmed down.

I couldn’t hear anything around me—only the thoughts in my head.

It was almost like watching a movie, except I was the lead. Often times I didn’t like being alone with my thoughts but despite drowning in guilt and regret as I went under, my subconscious had other plans.

A fake scenario of if everything had gone right.

My dad was around, my mom was happy, my brother was safe. I was healthy, I graduated high school, and above all else, my best friend loved me just as much as I loved him. Nothing bad ever happened. I just knew it was all too good to be true. I kept waiting for a plot twist or at least the end credits, but I never woke up.

Instead, it all went white.

More than I feared facing my problems, I feared the sudden, blinding white light. Though as the brightness worsened my headache, I realize the issue.

They were fluorescent. They were fluorescent and I remembered them.

Shadows frantically whipped past me and as I grew increasingly terrified, I couldn’t breathe. My eyes tried to focus while I started feeling my body again, or at least the pain in my limbs, especially my head.

I tried to move but it felt like I was being dragged across barbed wire, nonetheless, I couldn’t stop shaking. I couldn’t catch my breath, I couldn’t get up, I couldn’t figure out what was happening.

At first I thought that my sentence had ended, but the constant shuffling and yelling that pierced my eardrums spoke otherwise.

“He’s moving! Why is he awake?!” Someone yelled.

“Knock him out again!” Another shouted. “Give me that!”

And with that, I felt what I assumed to be a needle getting stabbed into my neck, the same girth as the first. Difference was I never felt the side effects. Just the unbearable pain.

I tried focusing on what they were yelling about but I didn’t understand a damn thing. It was partly because I failed my forensics class in high school, but every now and then it sounded like I was underwater.

In seconds I tuned out the doctors only to realize the screeching alarm that echoed through the room. With each wail my pulse increased, and I panted more and more like a dog, trying not to suffocate.

I saw blurry figures all around me and white coats that blended in with the walls. I kept trying to lift my head, but it made me feel worse due to my grogginess. I shut my eyes.

Maybe this was the plot twist I was expecting. I felt like I was awake, but at the same time I felt like I was dying. I heard faint explosions and what could even be gunshots, but I didn’t know if it was real or not.

I tried to tune everything out. Stop hearing, stop feeling—I would even be fine if I stopped breathing. I just wanted the pain to stop and the noise to fade out and for the darkness to come back.

And then someone called my name.

My eyes popped open as I felt another needle get jammed into my neck in the same areas as before. I tried to shriek but nothing came out when I opened my mouth.

“Jean, get up! We have to go!!” The male voice cried.

I felt him unstrap me from the bed and when I felt his hand, I realized how cold I was. His hands felt like fire. I never thought I’d experience the sensation of burning, drowning, and being stabbed all in one go.

The man yanked me up and I wailed, feeling my eyes water at the pain. The figure in front of me was still a blur and between the blinding lights and the overstimulation, I couldn’t focus on him and shut my eyes again.

“Jean, c’mon! We need to go!”

I gasped for air. “I-I can’t...” I managed to get out, my voice a cracking, uneven mess. “It...it hurts...”

With that, the man lifted me off the bed. His body heat hurt, and I tried to wrestle away but I was practically a ragdoll. Existing was pure agony. I coughed as I tried to open my mouth again and with what little grip strength I had, I clung to the guy’s shirt, choking on air.

“Are you okay?!”

I stared at the ceiling and with the elevation, my shaking lessened.

“I can’t...” I wheezed. “What is... I don’t know what’s happening.” I kept stretching upwards. “What time is it?” I asked, knowing one thing from my prolonged unconsciousness:

There were no clocks.

There were seasons, but the sun never set. No one said the time or day of the week. There were no watches, calendars had no numbers, lock screens were blank—everything was one long day.

I knew if he answered me, I was awake.

“I can’t explain what’s going right now—we’ve gotta get out of here!” He said frantically.

“Please...” I cried. “Just give me the date,” I hissed, quickly breaking into a coughing fit afterward.

“It’s November! It’s the middle of the night, we’re in Rhode Island, and it’s 2019!” The boy yelled frantically. “Is that good? Is that helpful—are you okay?”

I stopped coughing.

The pain stopped.

I could breathe.

It was like someone had restarted my brain and suddenly everything clicked. All the problems I had buried resurfaced in an instant. Everything came back.

Two years ago, I was arrested.

I beat up some sixth graders with a screwdriver in a fit of anger, and was convicted of assault and battery, or to be specific, assault with a deadly weapon.

No one died, but I was still in the red. I was in shock for hours. The realization of my actions sunk in. All I was doing was trying to help, but I fell apart. I had already been falling apart for months on end before it happened. I was a fool to think I could lend a hand if I couldn’t even take care of myself.

I lived with my mom and my younger brother, Lloyd. We were five years apart and my father disappeared the moment he came into the picture.

Our family was a mess. Money was always a struggle, my mom had too much to juggle, and everyone but my brother was drowning in stress because he was too young to grasp what was going on. Nonetheless, the three of us loved one another dearly.

Lloyd was nothing like me. Aside from looks, freckles, and short brown hair, we were polar opposites. He was a carbon copy of my mom: Soft, introverted, and sweet, but quiet.

A phase began where every day he would come home with a new bruise. The boy never explained much and seemed unphased, but I knew there was more behind the marks. As if our family didn’t have enough shit going on, the last thing I wanted was for my brother to get picked on, especially since he wasn’t the type to stand up for himself.

That was my job as the older brother, and I had no problem with it. All throughout school, I would stand up for people—even complete strangers. That’s how I was.

In Lloyd’s case, I tried contacting his middle school, but they were of no help, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. It was only supposed to be verbal. No hands, no weapons—no nothing. However, middle schoolers are vicious. They wouldn’t listen and all they wanted to do was fight.

The entire time my head was barely in the game. I was mad at them sure, but the confrontation became an outlet for all the problems I had been experiencing all throughout high school and tried my best to ignore. I grew more and more furious about things that didn’t even concern those kids.

That morning I had repaired one of my friend’s skateboards. I had never really put the screwdriver away because I ran out of time and had to finish repairing it in homeroom.

I don’t remember thinking.

I just remember the anger and nothing else.

It happened in a flash.

The yelling and the screaming from the surrounding kids during dismissal still echoed in my ears. After a good minute, I realized what happened and I ran to my car and drove off, covered in blood, as Lloyd sat in the back seat with his headphones on, oblivious.

When I got home, I didn’t even change my clothes. I sat on the floor of my room, silent. I knew what was coming next. I’m sure my brother tried asking questions, but I was trying to process what had happened. In the end, I never could.

The police came to my house that evening with video evidence from the other kids at the school.

March 7th, 5:27 pm.

Lloyd was in tears, terrified. I didn’t even resist. I deserved this. I could only hope that now no one would mess with my brother. Except now people could pick on him for having a lunatic as a sibling.

More than I remembered the sound of Lloyd crying on the porch, I remembered my best friend calling out to me with the same panic in his voice, maybe even more.

He lived beside me. We had been together for ages and might as well have been joined at the hip, but now that was over.

I was already upset of course, but hearing him sob tore me down. It was like someone was stabbing me in the heart and I only had myself to blame. I never acknowledged him. I was afraid to, and I didn’t know how.

I walked straight down the sidewalk to the cop car and the moment I sat down, I broke down. I cried until I had no tears left.

The police informed my mom once I was at the station. The officers offered to give me a free phone call or the option to have a visitor, but I declined them both. My mom refused to accept the news, but even before I got to the holding cell, I admitted guilt.

There was no doubt I fucked up. There was video evidence for God’s sake. I wasn’t gonna lie. I had no reason to and frankly, I didn’t want to. I was in custody for what felt like ages. I was disgusted with myself, and I couldn’t tolerate being alone with my thoughts. I had nothing to do. I was going insane, and it felt like my jumpsuit was choking me.

The officers urged me to make phone calls because I was practically a kid so eventually my mom showed up. I blocked out everything, except for when she mentioned my neighbor.

“You should call him.”

All I did was shake my head.

Then the day of my sentencing came. It was bizarre. Nothing like I’d seen on TV, for one specific reason:

I didn’t have to go to jail.

“Jean Asher,” The judge began. “You have two choices.”

A baffled expression appeared on my face. I stabbed two kids—why in the hell did I get to pick my punishment? This wasn’t some petty offense where I could pick between paying a fine or doing community service.

“You can serve the length of your sentence in jail, as is customary, or you may spend the same length unconscious in a hospital. Essentially you will be used as a lab rat, however, it is helpful towards the future of medical science.”

“Won’t that kill me?” I asked.

“It is highly unlikely. You may end up with temporary or even long-term side effects, but death is uncommon.”

The idea sounded asinine. People donate their bodies to science when they’re dead—not alive, especially at eighteen years old.

Nonetheless, I picked it. Essentially, I could sleep for ten years. I wouldn’t have to think or face my problems, I wouldn’t have to worry about prison fights or getting raped by some tatted-up thugs, I could just rest.

Rest was all I really wanted.

Maybe the potential side effects would lead to the start of some real-life superhero movie. Truthfully, both options were terrible, but I sided with what I presumed was less awful. And when was sleeping ever bad?

I was to be sedated for ten years and placed in a medically induced coma so they could run tests on me. Yet, it was 2019.

No more than two years had passed.

All I wanted was to sleep. I wanted to escape. Yet here I was, recovering from all the drugs, writhing in pain, and in the arms of a stranger with no clue as to what was going on or why the hell that alarm is so damn loud.

Honestly, I’d rather be dead.

The man helping me temporarily set me back down and gave me what I could only assume was my jumpsuit because it was orange. No wonder I was so cold, I was sitting around in my underwear. Quickly after helping me dress, he picked me back up.

“You trust me, right?”

I had no clue who he was, and he was still one giant blur. I could only tell that his hair was blond. “N-No? Not really,” I coughed.

He hesitated. “Ah...” He mumbled, and I could hear the pain in his voice. “Well, we need to get the hell out of here,” He stated. “I can’t find any wheelchairs and this bed is locked down so we’re gonna have to run.”

“W-What?!”

“I’ll carry you for as long as my arms let me, yeah?”

I clung to his shirt as we left the lab and he booked it down the hallway. That’s when I smelled it.

Fire.

As if my senses weren’t already dealing with enough, the scent worsened my headache. As the boy carried me, the alarm grew louder with every doorway we passed through, and I heard more yelling and what sounded like demolition.

“What is that?!” I cried, trying to cover my ears, though I felt uncomfortably unstable when not clinging to him.

His body heat still felt like fire and the fabric against my skin was like laying on sandpaper, but the more we moved, the more I got used to it. Nonetheless, I just wanted everything to stop.

“Don’t worry about it, just hang on!” He yelled as he kicked the door to the stairs open and bolted down.

I shut my eyes until we were finally on the first floor, and if I thought the previous area was bad, I was terribly mistaken. Now I saw the flames, along with was I guessed was rubble from the building. I could tell people were trapped under the concrete, yet we whizzed past them in seconds.

Outside it was dark and pouring, but the cold precipitation felt amazing. The man tried to continue carrying me, but he slipped on the pavement and barely caught himself on one of the many traffic signs in the parking lot.

He squatted down and I slid out of his grasp. He towered over me and though my eyes were adjusting thanks to the darkness, I was still at a loss as to who he was. I was terrified and confused and couldn’t focus on a damn thing.

“Can you run?” The man asked breathlessly.

I aggressively shook my head.

“Can you at least try?” He cried.

He lifted me up by my armpits, but as I expected, the only thing keeping me up was him. I was bed-bound for two years—of course I couldn’t run. I could barely walk.

“Jean!”

I tried to lower myself back onto the pavement. “Please stop! It hurts!”

“Jean, we have to go!”

As if the heavy rain wasn’t enough, I felt like I was drowning again. Each breath wasn’t long enough and all of them hurt.

“I don’t wanna go!” I sobbed, covering my face. “I don’t know what’s happening—just leave me here!”

“No!” He picked me back up. “I’m here for you! I’m not leaving you behind! You’re the only reason why I’m here, okay?!”

The boy continued to run across the parking lot as I gasped for air. I wish I had some painkillers or something so that I could move on my own. It’s not that I couldn’t move or fight back, it’s just that it hurt too much.

The alarm from the lab grew fainter as we fled into the darkness, though it was replaced by the sirens of fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars. Even so, it didn’t take long for the flames surrounding the building to look like Christmas tree lights.

The man finally stopped running once we had gotten to the side of a road. He sat me on the ground, and I watched as he fiddled with a motorcycle, mumbling under his breath. While he grabbed his drenched backpack, I attempted to stand up. I felt like a toddler, but I eventually got there.

After grabbing his helmet, he handed me his bag and I put it on, confused. “Is that yours?” I stared at the bike.

“Yeah.”

“Why’s it all the way over here? You still haven’t told me anything!”

“That’s cuz we still don’t have the time!” He scowled, his eyes flashing a bit of teal in the darkness. I recoiled, thinking that at any second this seemingly helpful stranger could turn on me.

“Come on!” I urged.

“Jean, chill out! I’ll tell you later, I promise!”

“Stop calling me that!” I hissed.

“Calling you what? Jean?”

I tensed up. “Yeah! No one calls me that! I go by Asher—”

“Dude shut up! If we get caught, we’re doomed! We need to go!” He hissed and threw his helmet on.

He hopped on his motorcycle, and I awkwardly sat behind him, clinging onto his cold, wet body as he sped onto the road with no hesitation. After leaving the lab, I figured things would calm down, but the man drove at ninety miles per hour, and then the police sirens that were previously in the distance were now trailing us.

I broke into tears, overwhelmed and terrified. I wished I was still asleep. I missed everything being perfect.

I shut my eyes as the man continuously fled from the cops with succession. My mind kept replaying the past several minutes and I thought about him. He seemed so familiar, but at the same time, I felt like I didn’t know him at all.

Blond hair.

Teal eyes.

Even the scent that I was engulfed in as I laid on his back reminded me of home. It was something I smelled before. Even his voice held a familiar frequency. Even in my dreams.

Yet eventually, my senses faded out and I couldn’t recognize anything anymore. All I knew was that somehow, maybe even in a past life, I knew him.