Terminal Regression

by Mallory Hill

  “Well, we’re talking about saving lives. I think we win.”

  He looked at me for a long moment before kissing my hand again. “You know if you’d stuck it out a little longer, I think you would have been selected.”

  Well that was random. “What do you mean?”

  “For management. At least, I would have selected you. For all your sarcasm and suicide, you actually really care about people, don’t you?”

  He wasn’t just being cute. He meant it. And some part of it, maybe a very large part, was true.

  “I guess I just know what it’s like to suffer. There’s no solution to feeling like a failure, but if we didn’t just destroy people every chance we get, maybe things would be better. Maybe the world would be livable, and no one would have to go around feeling like they’d rather die than take any more chances.”

  I felt my chest tightening. Deep breaths. I didn’t need to freak out about this.

  “Are you okay?” Will asked gently.

  I nodded. “I just… You know I’m always going to be like this, right? No matter how many parents I get back, even if we free you and save the world. There’s always going to be something chemically wrong with me and you can’t save me. It’s not simple like that. More than anything, I want to give you your hero moment, be that one-dimensional damsel in distress who you can just fix, but if you stay with me, it’s like a virus. It doesn’t go away; it spreads, and people will associate you with the crazy. I mean, you saw how my dad looked at me when he found out. And he loves me. Can you imagine if…” I shut my eyes. My head was spinning. Just let it go, Laura. Don’t get into hypotheticals. You can control it.

  Will wrapped his arms around me. I kept breathing, letting myself absorb him and the beautiful things he made me feel.

  “I know who you are,” he whispered. “I know the good and the bad. You know I didn’t choose you. I didn’t put you on the train or make you see me in the mud. I wasn’t looking for you. Something bigger than me, bigger than us, put you in my life and forced me to love you beyond the limits of reality. So it doesn’t matter. I’m with you because there’s no other way for me. There’s no me. I’m just a part of your story, whatever that ends up being.”

  I hoped to God that wasn’t true. If the world revolved around me, what a waste. There were quality people in existence who could actually have a conversation with someone for more than ten minutes without having some freaky existential crisis.

  I sighed. “You’re actually the best person I’ve ever met. I’m going to try to change the subject now, okay?”

  He kissed my cheek. “Okay.”

  I took a deep breath. “So I’ll try to get ahold of this prison guy. As for going back… Any ideas?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe figure out how to send a message on the delivery train? Then you’re not physically in danger.”

  That wasn’t good enough. There was too much variability. I’d have to make sure the message got into the right hands and that they really understood what it meant. It was a hands on job.

  But I nodded. “I’ll work on it… Make out with me?”

  He smiled a little bit. “I mean, if I have to.”

  I tried to relax. Everything was fine for now, and as long as I didn’t think about the future, there was nothing to worry about. I wished that were enough for me. It should have been. Will was several days removed from damage and it really showed. I had plenty to be grateful for, plenty to enjoy.

  But the future was looming, weighing me down and canceling out any temporary relief I might have felt. I had to end this. I had to show everyone once and for all how completely wrong the world was. I needed a big demonstration, a mass communication, something to let everyone know what was really happening behind the wall.

  The dusty old gears got to grinding in my head. They had to see it. That’s how it had been for me. One glance and I’d instantly believed. But there was no way I could get the entire city to take a trip on the suicide train. Tearing down the wall was messy and complicated, not to mention impossible given my limited resources. What was the next best thing?

  I really didn’t want to do this right now. I tried to command my brain to just shut up and kiss my boyfriend, and it worked for a while. And it was wonderful. Really, I can’t stress this enough, I had a magical time kissing that boy. But it wasn’t all I wanted out of life. It wasn’t my calling.

  For the first time ever, I had an opportunity to be significant, and I had no idea how I was going to do it. One attempt had already gone wrong. This calling business seemed so much easier for everyone else. Why did mine have to be a big, dangerous, over-the-top, life-altering mission from hell?

  Because I wouldn’t settle for anything less.

  I pulled myself off of Will, reluctantly. Again, this was nothing against his kissing.

  He sighed. “You’ve got a plan?” he guessed.

  I nodded. “I think so. Look, I love you, but—”

  “Go. Obviously, you’re not going to change your mind about this. All I ask is you be careful and don’t forget about me when you’re on the other side.”

  “Thank you.” I kissed him again. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “I’ll be waiting. Now wave to Eddie so he can send someone to let you out.”

  The cameras didn’t have audio, so poor Eddie, whoever he was, probably thought I was a horrible girlfriend for just leaving like that. But better a horrible girlfriend than a rebel about to redefine life as we knew it.

  Once I got out of the cell, I rushed into my dad’s office. There were a couple guys in there, but it seemed pretty casual. They looked at me with identical pity in their eyes. Yes, I was the suicide. Get over it!

  “Are you okay, Princess?” Dad asked.

  I nodded and tried to keep my cool. “I’m fine. Will needs to rest, that’s all.”

  If he suspected anything, he didn’t let on. “All right. You can sit down with us if you want.”

  “I’m not interrupting?” I knew I wasn’t, but I needed to keep up an image of politeness and respect. For now.

  “Not at all. This is Mr. Mills and Mr. Hartle. Gentlemen, my daughter Laura.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, trying so hard to appear genuine I nearly bobbed a curtsy in feigned respect. “Dad, do you have a pen and some paper I could use?”

  He nodded and opened his desk drawer. “May I ask what you’re up to?”

  I shrugged. “I just feel like drawing.”

  He smiled at me, the very picture of a proud art dad. “Really? Do you want colors then?” He would have his desk fully stocked with art supplies.

  “Yeah, that’d be great.”

  I took a seat apart from the men and tried to figure out how I was going to do this. It had been years since I’d last tried designing a project, and I’d never done anything so major before.

  I just had to show this side of the wall. I had to represent Terminal B and all it was. I knew about the farm, the plant, management, and there were some factories and apartment complexes scattered throughout. But did I want it to be so literal? I mean, if I was just going to draw a picture of everything, I might as well have just written out, “We’re not dead over here. There is a Terminal B.” Which actually wouldn’t have been so bad. But I could imagine the crap I’d get from the art community if I commissioned them to write a couple sentences.

  So how to say that with art? I drew a tree, a very basic sketch of a tree that any four-year-old could have drawn. Trees were symbols for life. So maybe I’d focus on the farm. Some fields, the greenhouse, maybe a couple peach trees.

  No, that was too happy. I wasn’t trying to inspire a mass suicide, after all. I crossed out the tree. Most people were selected for manufacturing, so I did a rough sketch of a factory building. Of course, I knew next to nothing about what actually went on inside.

  I
sighed, and the men took notice.

  “Everything okay?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah. How do you do it? How do you just draw something?”

  He smiled. “You don’t. You’re never just drawing something. You’re telling a story. Everyone and everything has had a unique experience, and the way they look gives you hints about it. Take Mr. Mills for example.” He gestured to the man who chuckled in response. “What’s his story?”

  This really wasn’t helping. I didn’t need an art lecture; I needed a flawless design.

  But I studied the guy. Average build, my dad’s age or older. He had on a leader uniform, so I assumed he was pretty important.

  “I guess he had a good life. Or at least, people thought he did. He has a comfortable job and probably does it really well.”

  Mr. Mills laughed. “Well, I certainly hope so, Miss Laura.”

  Happy people were so strange. Hadn’t they lived in the same world I had? Hadn’t they fallen victim to the same universal grievances?

  I looked at his eyes. Sure he was smiling, but there are a thousand ways to smile. His was almost like Dad’s. Not that they looked alike, they just evoked a similar feeling.

  “I bet he really misses his family,” I continued. “You probably had a couple kids?”

  His smile fell only slightly. “Three, yes. My girl’s probably about your age now.”

  Dad stepped in before I could pick this guy’s life apart any further. “See, you got all that from an image. So, first, think of a story and see where it takes you.”

  A story. The story of life after death. I didn’t know the full history of this place. In fact, as far as I knew, the whole of Terminal B might have sprung into existence the moment I stepped off the train. So that was the story I needed to tell. Mine.

  Chapter 31

  <<<

  I spent that whole day thinking about myself and what made me me. I was a suicide. That part couldn’t be ignored. I was a girlfriend. I was a daughter. Other than that, I wasn’t really definable. I was just a long string of experiences.

  I started sketching again. Terminal B wasn’t any one career location. It was a farm, a plant, a factory, and a management district. A haven, a prison, a mandate, and the power behind all of the above. It was a bizarre conglomerate of people and places removed from the realm of the living. Sure we weren’t actually dead, but we may as well have been.

  I had to go literal. I could only be real about this stuff; no exaggeration or imagination. The world was the way it was.

  I put the farm in the background. Suicides weren’t the best representation of the Terminal B population. We were accidents, the only group that hadn’t been brought here against our will. Besides, the lush, green sanctuary in the distance gave an impression of hope. Beyond Terminal B was actual death, and to many, paradise would mean a glorified version of the farm.

  I knew the plant and the factories weren’t equal proportionally, conditionally, or really at all, but I put them both in the middle ground. The factories best represented the population, but I needed to draw attention to the substandard conditions of the plant. And though the actual plant didn’t have the decency to incorporate such a thing in its own design, I added a high voltage sign, the kind with a little man being zapped.

  Then, front and center, the part no one thought of. That trivial, well-hidden origin of civilization as we knew it. Management. The main building itself didn’t provide any indication of its significance, so I added a pointed dome on top like the government buildings of long ago.

  Looking at the work as a whole, it was actually the opposite of my experience. So I made one final adjustment. A tunnel around the whole thing and train tracks ending just before the front of the management building. If my most recent stop was going to be the closest, most central part, the train and tunnel had to be all encompassing. That would be my final stop and my last glimpse of Terminal B before everything changed.

  I finished the sketch at Dad’s that night. It wasn’t a masterpiece, but it would be enough. All I needed was interest from the general public. I’d give a detailed explanation to the artists, and they could distribute the specifics once we had the city’s attention.

  If I remembered the train schedule correctly, and really that was unlikely, I’d be able to catch the passenger train the next morning before it left for the next round of newly dead. It would be early, and sneaking out of that tiny house unnoticed wouldn’t be easy, but I had to try.

  I didn’t get a good night’s sleep, but whatever. I’d sleep when this was over. At six on the dot, I carefully got out of bed and got dressed. I shared a room with Dad, but I couldn’t make myself look at him. This time, I was the one leaving. And if I failed, it could easily be well over eight years until I saw him again.

  I’d left my sketch on the table, carefully hidden by other, more innocent drawings.

  “Oh my God!”

  I almost died. Dad was sitting at the table, waiting for me for who knows how long. Why did I suck at escape plans? If anything, I’d over thought this through.

  He held up my sketch. “It’s not bad.”

  I crossed my arms, actually hating him a little bit. “It’s not finished,” I said, trying to make it seem like my irritation was due to him seeing my incomplete work.

  “It’s finished all right. I know a mural when I see one. Sit down, Laura.”

  With no other options, I obeyed, huffing a big attitudinal breath. “What?”

  He looked at me, clearly conflicted in his roles as a supportive dad and leader of a community. “You were going to paint this?”

  I nodded. “That was the plan. I’d get Mom, and we’d organize an impromptu mural night.”

  He furrowed his brow. “And where would this go?”

  “On the wall. Right above the terminal tunnel.”

  He looked at the sketch again. “That’s actually brilliant.”

  “Duh.”

  He half smiled. “Why? Why risk your neck for this when you say art doesn’t matter to you?”

  “Because Mom does. And you do. And for some reason, all these pathetic dead people do. Dad, you’re lying to everyone. Don’t you feel bad about that?”

  He shook his head. “Honey, I’m part of a team. I can’t just—”

  “You can! You can have an individual opinion. Don’t you feel bad about that?” I was practically shouting, my anger bubbling up into tears.

  He took a long time to answer. “I do,” he said quietly. “Of course I do. I’m sure a lot of us do. But, Laura, you’re talking about changing everything. No one would be unaffected.”

  “Good. What’s so great about the way things are? People forced from their homes and taught to ignore their problems? What kind of life is that?”

  “It’s not life. That’s why we don’t tell anyone this exists. Once you get on the train, you’ve accepted the fact that your life is over. It’s functional.”

  “It’s ridiculous! I should be dead right now! That was what I wanted! Do you have any idea how awful it is to be cheated out of the one thing you want? To just have to sit back and take it because you’re too scared to do it yourself? And to have people tell you over and over it’ll get better when it only gets worse?” My chest was so tight I thought I’d pass out, but I just kept screaming. “And then when you have the chance to make it better, people keep getting in your way and it only confirms that you should be dead because nothing you do is ever good enough and you couldn’t possibly ever amount to anything? But you just keep living!”

  I started choking on the tears running down my throat and was forced to shut up long enough to have a full mental breakdown. The reasons, the room, everything was unclear, but I sobbed my soul out while Dad tried in vain to console me.

  “Laura,” he said gently, his voice shaking in fear. “Honey, look at me. Look at Daddy.”


  I shook my head. He was the enemy. My own father! He was the only thing standing in my way.

  “Laura, I know how it feels. I do. I had to leave my family, Laura. I had to walk away from the best thing I’d ever known. And you’re right, honey, it doesn’t get better. It’s not getting better. But I’m afraid to do it myself.”

  I looked at him. I knew for a fact he wasn’t a suicide.

  “I’m afraid to get my family back, the one thing I want most, because what if I can’t? What if it’s actually impossible?”

  Somehow, I’d exposed him. That was the underlying link between all of humanity. Fear. We were all just terrified out of our minds, trapped in our imperfection and forced to recognize the possibility and probability of our failure. I’d never wanted to see my father weak, but it gave me the advantage.

  “Daddy,” I choked out. “I can do this… I can fix everything. You just have to trust me.”

  He looked at me with his lips pressed together and his own tears pouring out. Trust. That was the other universal flaw of man. Trust meant surrender. Trust meant putting our faith in an imperfect being outside our control. He was about to burst, I felt it. He held my face firmly in his hands and looked me dead in the eye.

  “I’m approving a delivery at ten,” he whispered. “Be on that train.”

  I let my breath out, unaware I’d been holding it. I nodded. “I will.”

  He released me. “It’ll take you to the market. Go to your mother and stay with her. She’ll arrange the mural night. Stay hidden until then.” He picked up my sketch. “And let no one see this until it’s time.”

  I folded it up and hid it in my bra.

  “Daddy, I need you to take care of Will.”

  He nodded. “I’ll check in with him every day. And I’ll make sure we personally investigate prison conditions. I’ve already got meetings set up with the leaders.”

  I nodded and then threw my arms around him, unable to contain myself.

  “Thank you!”

  I wished I didn’t have to leave him. I’d only just gotten him back, and we were really starting to understand each other. But I knew I had to finish what I’d started.