by Abe Moss
“A father’s love is everything.”
The barrel of the shotgun flashed like a camera, boomed like a cannon, and Emmett fell out of his chair onto the floor in a heap of hysteria. Glass crunched beneath his head.
“Oh my!” Dr. Marks shouted. “What in the world…”
Emmett screamed, pushing himself up on his hands as he pedaled backward against her desk. She appeared around the corner, bent over him.
“Hold still,” she said.
He searched the room behind her, behind the chair where he’d been sitting, and saw no sign of him. No sign at all. In fact…
“Hold still,” she repeated, and her hands worked under the helmet as she unfastened it. She unclipped the collar around his neck. When she finally lifted it off, stood with it in her hands and took a step back, he got a better look at the room around them, where he now saw the office door was shut. “My goodness…”
Leaving him on the floor, she disappeared behind the desk. He listened as she fiddled with the device, muttering beneath her breath.
“You can sit up,” she instructed him. “Sit back in the chair.”
Slowly, vacantly, he picked himself off the ground. Tiny bits of glass were under his feet, pricking him painfully. He lifted his foot to see the mess on the floor—little fragments of bulbs. He observed Dr. Marks with the helmet in her hands, rotating it as she searched for all the damage.
“These cost a fortune, you know,” she said, shaking her head irritably. “Very complicated, expensive pieces of equipment.”
“I’m sorry,” Emmett said, though it was a complete lie. “It was an accident… I… I saw…”
“Yes, yes. I know. I was there. I should have known better… I should have been less… less…” Losing her train of thought, she held the helmet up over her head, toward the light in the ceiling, peering at it from underneath. “I think you only broke a couple bulbs, is all… nothing too major, I suppose…”
Exasperated, she opened her drawer and placed it inside with a defeated sigh. She sat down in her chair once more, then gestured for Emmett to do the same.
“I guess you saw something quite terrible.” She pushed her glasses up on her nose and wielded her pen. “The lights on the helmet told me as much, though your body language was plenty enough to go by.” She cleared her throat. “Neat, isn’t it?”
“I never want to do it again,” Emmett said. “Never.”
She smiled, but her eyes betrayed her. Bitter. Malicious.
“We’ll see.” She quickly wrote a few more notes. Dissatisfied, she hung her head, tapping her pen against her temple. “There’s clearly much more work to be done with you. Much more work…”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean,” she said, still tapping her pen, “is there are a lot more tests to be done… a lot more tests…”
“I don’t want to do any more.”
“That’s not up to you…” She lifted her gaze, barely pretending to smile anymore. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for you, I’m afraid.”
Although a struggle, she managed to get her train of thought back and she put the pen to her notepad and the words began to flow.
“What did you see?” she asked. “What frightened you so badly?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. “I want to be done…”
“But we’re not done, Emmett. I still have a few questions left.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore!” he yelled.
Dr. Marks slapped her pen down on her desk with such force that it stole the breath from his lungs. He sat rigid, clutched his hands in his lap nervously.
“You won’t raise your voice to me again,” she told him. Her glasses had slipped down her nose and her eyes perched above the lenses like narrowed, fiery little beasts. “Do you want to be like them?” She nodded toward the door. “Like zombies, you said? Because if you don’t cooperate, I have no limit of resources to obtain your cooperation. And the medicine is where we start. Think about that.”
He did think about that. He thought hard. He rubbed the back of his head, sore from the fall he’d taken, though it probably would have been much sorer without the helmet…
“Would you like me to administer the medication now?”
“No.”
“All right, then.” She repositioned her glasses. “What was it you saw just now, at the door?”
He bit his lip in his effort to spill the answer…
“It was the man who came that night. Who killed Mrs. Holmes.”
“How do you know he killed her?”
“Because he…” He swallowed. In that moment he’d have rather screamed his throat raw than tell the story. “Because he… he had her… her head. In his hand. He threw her head on the table… and…”
Dr. Marks clucked her tongue, to express what a shame that was.
“Do you know who the man was? Do you know what he wanted?”
“He was Bailey’s dad. He was there because… I don’t know.”
“Bailey Lee’s father, Francis Lee, was severely ill. Psychotic. He murdered Bailey’s mother not long before—”
“I know,” Emmett interrupted. “Bailey told me.”
“Did you witness her murder?” Dr. Marks’ tone was aggressively cold in its matter-of-factness. “Did you know she was found dead at the Holmes residence?”
He had known without truly knowing. They all had.
“How did you and the others get away?”
“He let us go.”
“Ah. So you were already gone when he turned the gun on himself.” Scribble, scribble, scribble. “In your own words, Emmett, how does remembering all this make you feel?”
“Sick,” he said at once. It was the first thing he thought, first thing from his mouth.
“Do you think about it much?”
“Every day. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Silence. Dr. Marks flipped back and forth between a couple pages in her notebook, looking for something or remembering what she’d already written.
“We could give you something that might help with that. Something to… relax your mind, so you won’t feel the need to dwell on uncomfortable things. How does that sound?”
“I don’t want any medicine,” he answered immediately.
Dr. Marks shrugged. She took a few more notes before finally setting her pen down for the last time.
“I think we’re done for today, Emmett. You did rather well. I don’t think medication will be necessary quite yet. We’ll see each other again soon and see where we’re at then.”
To his great relief, he left her office. But that relief was tainted. On his way out the door, her words rang ominously in his ears.
I don’t think medication will be necessary quite yet.
He would fixate on those words for the rest of the day. His dread would grow relentlessly in wondering.
✽ ✽ ✽
Washing himself during showers that night—he was getting rather efficient—Emmett heard something strange from one of the opposite stalls. He peered over his shoulder toward the sound, vaguely curious.
A boy lay flat on his stomach on the wet tile.
Emmett stopped what he was doing and peered out of his stall. The guard, meant to be keeping an eye on things, was leaned against the wall, head tilted back, eyes closed, likely wishing only to have the monotony of his day over with like the rest of them.
The water swirling toward the drain was full of pink.
“He’s hurt!” Emmett yelled.
The guard snapped to at the sound of his voice. Spotting the boy, he hurried toward him, took hold of the his shoulders, turned him onto his back. Emmett was surprised to see the blood wasn’t from a head injury.
The boy coughed and blood spurted from his open mouth, coursed over his lips in a thick stream. Dark blood. The guard scooped him into his arms, where he coughed again and an impossible amount of blood doused the front of the guard’s vest. Cringin
g, the guard carried him quickly through the exit out of sight.
Emmett and the other boys exchanged worrisome glances. A few of their showers’ water shut off, having run out of time.
Before Emmett could make sense of what he’d just seen, another child was already approaching him, daggers in their eyes. With soapy water still on his back, he moved along without protest.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DETAINMENT
Emmett lay in bed listening as his roommate tossed and turned across the room. They’d changed his medication a handful of times, and now he barely slept. But on the bright side, he was eating again.
It was puzzling to Zachary that Emmett hadn’t been started on something yet. It wasn’t fair that everyone else including him were having their minds turned to slush and for some unfathomable logic Emmett got a pass. They would find a reason eventually, he said. He’d be like the rest of them soon.
“I feel so different,” Zachary said that night. “It’s like… well, it’s like…” He paused for an entire minute, losing his place in his own mind. Emmett had witnessed this kind of thing becoming more frequent day to day. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m saying…”
From the dark of his curtained bed, Emmett helped him out. “You were saying you feel different.”
“Yeah. It’s like… I know I didn’t feel like this a couple weeks ago. Or even a few days ago. It’s more and more different every day. It’s like I’m not… me anymore.”
“What do they say?” Emmett asked. “What’s the medicine for?”
“She says I’m too nervous…” He rolled over again, Emmett could hear. Emmett listened as Zachary punched his simple bed frustratedly with his fists in an attempt to reshape it, but of course their beds were too stiff for that to do anything. “She told me… I worry too much… more than a child should…”
Emmett clasped his hands fearfully against himself.
“Be careful what you tell her,” Zachary said, before finally making another effort to sleep and becoming silent for the rest of the night.
Now it was Emmett who would struggle.
✽ ✽ ✽
“I never told you this before…” Tobie said.
He and Emmett and Zachary were out in the yard in the late afternoon, pacing from one side of the lawn to the other, taking breaks in the shade on either side as needed.
“I was the one who found my brother when he tried to kill himself. He was in the garage. He tried poisoning himself with our mom’s car in the middle of the night.”
“That’s what you saw?” Emmett asked. “When you wore it?”
“Well, Dr. Preston asked me about it, so I was picturing it all over again in my head, but… you know what it’s like. My memories are like, way more intense with the helmet on.”
Tobie bent to pick a mushroom out of the grass. As they walked, he tore it apart piece by piece, sprinkling it beside them.
“What about you?”
Even now, Emmett hardly wanted to talk about it.
“She asked about our last night in Mrs. Holmes’ house.”
“Oh. Right. They asked me about all that a while ago… before the helmet, thankfully.”
“And they aren’t making you take any medicine yet, either?”
“No.” Tobie said. Then to Zachary, he asked, “What is it they’re making you take?”
Zachary, rubbing his arm meekly, said, “It’s some kind of… relaxer, or something. I think. Because I worry too much.”
Tobie scoffed. “Well then, I bet everyone in this place qualifies!”
That was precisely what Emmett was afraid of. Like Zachary had said, they’d find reasons eventually.
“I wish there was a way out of here…” Zachary mumbled, loud enough for them to hear but low enough that it was clear he spoke mostly to himself. He did that quite a lot.
“Yeah,” Tobie said, “me—”
A sudden voice across the yard interrupted them.
“Tobie?”
The three of them halted. Emmett and Tobie, much more than Zachary, jerked toward the voice in immediate recognition. It came from the fence, on the other side…
Tobie’s pitch was high and shaky, disbelieving. “Jackie?”
Emmett stood shocked, as Tobie darted toward the fence in an instant, where he met his sister on the other side, shaking the fence between them as they joined hands through it. Giving them that first moment, Emmett eventually approached behind Tobie, helpless not to smile by just the sight of their reunion.
“We’ve been out here every day looking,” Tobie said. “I knew we’d find you…”
“Actually, I found you,” Jackie corrected, laughing through her tears. Quickly, remembering where they were, she released Tobie’s hands and they both moved away from the fence, wary of the guards. Emmett noted the number on her uniform, 509.
“How long have you been here?”
“Oh, geez…” Jackie wiped her eyes while she thought. “A couple weeks, maybe.” Then, smiling at Emmett for the first time, she said, “Hello, Emmett.”
Beaming, Emmett waved politely.
“Really? That long?” Tobie said. “You haven’t come out here the whole time?”
“I didn’t know. I spent most of my time in the library. I… I didn’t know what the yard was like, or that there was any chance I’d see you… Who’s he?” she asked, pointing toward Zachary.
“Zachary,” Tobie said. “He rooms with Emmett. He’s all right.”
“What about Clark? Have either of you seen him?”
They shook their heads. Jackie’s attention wandered, her eyes absently searching the grass at their feet.
“Hey, at least you found us. At least we found you,” Tobie said.
“Oh, I know. I’ve just… I’ve seen awful things. I was so worried about you guys.” She paused. “There are girls here you’d never know about, because they can hardly walk. Some of them can hardly stand. It’s like they’re barely alive. There’s a girl in my ward… I pass her room on my way to our cafeteria. She doesn’t leave her room. She can’t. She sits in a wheelchair but it’s like she’s too weak to even use her arms for it. Her head is shaved, and there’s a scar from the top down the back of her neck. A fresh scar. Something they did to her here. I don’t know what. And everyone else…” She gestured to the clusters of children around them.
“We know,” Emmett said.
Jackie appeared on the verge of tears once more. “I’m scared what’s going to happen to us in here.”
Emmett wished there was something they could do. And by the pain in Tobie’s expression, it was clear he wished there was something he could tell his big sister.
“We should meet here every day,” Tobie said. “Then we’ll always know we’re all okay.”
Jackie nodded, comforted by the thought.
Emmett, the worry-wart he was, could only think of the days when seeing each other would be impossible. What of the days when the weather didn’t permit them? What about when winter came, and left the yard caked in snow for months. What then?
What if none of them were here by then?
✽ ✽ ✽
“Emmett?”
Doing his best to fall asleep, Emmett wiggled onto his side, not altogether in the mood for conversation but choosing to give Zachary his attention anyway. They were both worriers, so he knew what it was like.
“Yeah?”
“Do you ever get the feeling…” Zachary paused. For a brief second, Emmett expected the sounds of feet carrying his roommate to the toilet. “I can’t stop thinking about what Tobie’s sister said. About the girls over there with… scars on their bodies. I’ve been looking, and I haven’t seen anyone here like that. Boys, I mean. What do you think it is?”
“I don’t know,” Emmett said.
Silence for a time.
“It’s just…” It always took Zachary a moment to collect all this thoughts. “Boys disappear. I’ve noticed it. I’ve seen kids who spend every day togeth
er suddenly alone, and whoever’s missing never returns. They don’t come back with scars, they just don’t come back at all.”
“I don’t know…” He wished Zachary would stop his worrying, before he passed it on to him again, too, leaving them both sleepless.
“What if I disappear? What if you disappear? Then I’ll be alone again… Don’t you ever get that feeling…” Searching, grasping, fumbling. “… that feeling that something bad is going to happen?”
Emmett’s stomach twisted. Just a little. He turned onto his back, staring at the black space of his cubby’s ceiling.
“I just have this feeling that something’s coming…” He sighed.
“You worry too much,” Emmett said, and that twisting in his gut was gifted an added stab of guilt, knowing the hypocrisy behind his words. “Nothing bad is going to happen to us.”
“How do you know that?” Zachary asked. His tone wasn’t exactly skeptical, but rather hopeful—a need to be reassured.
“Because. I have a feeling…” It felt so wrong to tell such a lie. “…that we’re going to be just fine.”
“You do?”
“Yes.” He chewed on his lie a little bit, deciding if it needed a bit more flavor. “We’re not like the kids Jackie told us about, or the boys you say disappeared. We’re not really sick.”
He grimaced as the bitter words left his mouth.
✽ ✽ ✽
“Despite your efforts to destroy the thing, your test results were recorded just fine the other day, I thought you should know.”
Dr. Marks had a folder open on her desk, leafing through the pages of his results. She raised her brow as she read them, as though surprised. Emmett said nothing. He only hoped he wouldn’t have to put the helmet on again any time soon.
“They’re very interesting. The subjects we covered were very traumatic, for sure. And that definitely shows here, but… there are some unusual patterns. Quite frankly, I don’t know what to make of them…”
Emmett swallowed. This was it, he thought. The day she’d tell him he was sick. She’d tap her head to indicate where, he was sure.
“I wondered if somehow the patterns it recorded were damaged by the fall, but… the fall happened near the end of our talk. These thought patterns are similar to those we see when a patient is lying…”