Accident - TWP prompt

Ali blew on her frozen fingertips, staring gloomily at the pile of past due bills on her kitchen table. The longest freeze she could remember continued to pile snow outside the window of her rented room, rent which was heading into its fourth month of non-payment. A year since the factory closed, six months since the last of her savings had gone on utilities, no more than a month 'til she was out on the street. In the ice. In the freezing winds. In the snow.

She heard Mr Trent shove more brown envelopes under her door, held herself still and silent whilst he called her name, threatened to have her evicted, promised bailiffs, even police. When he tramped away she forced herself to pick up the envelopes, stacking them atop the pile, dropping back into her seat, trying to come up with a plan, any spark of an idea to get out from under.

Her eyes fell on a slender blue envelope. It was unusual enough for her to ease it from the scary brown demands for payment, threats of legal action and what she was sure was another 'Why won't you tell me what's going on?' letter from her mother.

“Because you only want to gloat, tell me you knew I couldn't cope alone and then drag me back to that hell-hole you call home.” Ali muttered, staring at the blue envelope.

It was handwritten in copper-plate script, incongruous when everything else was printed, impersonal, run off on automated machines. Curious, despite her woes, Ali slit the envelope open, unfolded the letter within, also hand-written, and read it through twice, not quite able to believe what she was reading.

'Dear Miss Marshall,

Our company, Deermont Pharmaceuticals, would like to offer you the opportunity to participate in paid trials for our latest skincare products. We are aware that you have offered similar services to our sister company, Ultramed, in the past. We value people who are willing to help further our research and try to offer such people the first and prime opportunities to do so as and when they arise. If you are interested in participating once more, please read the enclosed schedule and payment leaflet. Trials begin on the third of February at the above address. We look forward to working with you.

Yours sincerely...'

Ali read the leaflet, her heart leaping at the amount of zeroes after the 10 in the payment section, and started packing. The gods were smiling and she wasn't going to spit in their faces.

The third dawned bright, freezing and buried under two feet of new snow. Ali caught the 6 am bus into town, then sat snug in a corner seat on the underground, dreaming idly of being debt free and maybe even moving somewhere new, maybe training for a career. She alighted at Belmont station, walked just over a mile to a massive industrial estate and followed the site map to locate Deermont Plaza.

It turned out to be somewhat less impressive than its grand name, a three storey cement block with tinted windows and an empty lot out front. The reception area was empty, but a note pinned to the desk asked participants to follow the red arrows on the walls. Ali duly wandered up a flight of stairs, wondering why it was so quiet. There wasn't so much as a hint of life although rows of doors stood locked, their glass windows revealing lab after lab of equipment Ali had no names for.

Through a door, down a flight and then out the back of the building. The back lot was as empty as the front. Didn't anyone drive to work here? Another arrow sign flapped limply on a single storey building beyond, grey and dilapidated. Ali felt a twinge of unease, almost turned around. Sod the bills, this was too creepy.

“Miss Marshall?”

A young man in a slightly dingy lab-coat hurried out of the building, smiling and beckoning her on. Ali noted the ink slowly spreading on his coat pocket, a busted pen no doubt. His hair was dishevelled, a phial poked out of one fist as he held out his other hand to shake hers.

“I do apologise. We had a bit of a breakthrough this morning and everyone is inside” he jerked a nod toward the low building, “Please, this way. I'll show you to your room.”

He was sweet, slightly scatty in a nerdy way and Ali was charmed by him, listening to his excited chatter about some chemical as he led her into the building, down more corridors than there seemed room for; a Tardis effect, and finally flung open a steel door with a glass observation panel at eye-level.

She was relieved to see the room within was bright and clean. The young man intimated she should settle in, that he'd be back later, and hurried away. Ali dumped her case on the table, bounced experimentally on the bed – surprisingly soft – and then caught sight of the welcome pack on the dresser. She was soon munching on luxury chocs and sipping a rather nice white wine. It wasn't going to be so bad if this was the way they treated their guinea pigs. She flicked on the wall-mounted flat-screen, found a suitably romantic film and promptly drifted into the most restful sleep she'd had in months.

She awoke feeling decidedly woozy, her head spinning and she had a strange ache in her arms. She tried to sit up, instantly struggling when she found her wrists in restraints. She shook her head, trying to clear her wonky vision, vaguely made out the lab guy leaning over her, tried to speak and found she had no voice. She felt him undo her right arm, lift it. Her vision cleared momentarily and she saw two things.

First, he was wearing some kind of gas mask. Second, her arm was covered in long green tendrils. At the end of each tendril a tiny eye blinked. Ali found her voice, began screaming, just as a disembodied voice came over the room's tannoy.

'It might have been an accident but it's working so we're going to feed more gas into the room. She could get strong enough to break free before the change is complete. Get out, Paul.'

Author's note - Anyone who has watched the Rocky Horror Picture Show will hopefully know why I used a picture of Frank in his lab for this piece *wink* If you don't know, go watch it *grin*