Patient 17

Intro The Patient: "Unauthorised Recordings" They tell me she’s just a girl. That’s what the doctors say. “Don’t worry, she’s sedated.” But sedatives don’t stop the voice. I hear her every night. The walls are thin—peeling paint, metal screws rusted with age. They don’t block sound. They don’t block what’s underneath sound. She doesn’t always speak in words. Sometimes it’s a humming, like a lullaby played backward. Sometimes it’s a voice that isn’t hers. Deeper. Older. Sometimes, she cries. The first time I heard her, it was Eve. She begged someone named “Marla” not to open the door. She was sobbing. Not loud—but broken. Like something inside her had snapped and wouldn’t go quiet. I pressed my ear to the wall, whispering back. I don’t know why. She stopped crying. And then… someone else answered. Not Eve. Not Marla. This one laughed. Not like a person. Like a crack in the wall of the world. She said, “I knew you’d listen.” I screamed. I think I screamed. The orderlies came. Gave me something to shut me up. I didn’t speak for three days. But the next night, I heard her again. Now she says my name. She shouldn’t know my name. No one told her. She says things I’ve never said aloud. Things I only think. She hums to me. And sometimes I hum back because I don’t want to hear what comes when she’s quiet. They call her Patient 42. But I know her name. It’s all of them. And sometimes when I dream, I dream in three voices. And none of them are mine.