The Girl Who Could Fly

by Victoria Forester

  Conrad wasn’t about to be enticed into joining the discussion until Dr. Hellion’s hand was laid bare and all her cards were on the table.

  “I’m not trying to scare you, Conrad, and I know that you understand that these are not empty threats. I realize that you don’t have all the information at your disposal to make the best decision for you personally, though.”

  Dr. Hellion retrieved three sheets of paper—her pièce de résistance. She tossed them in front of Conrad. “I spoke with your father this morning.”

  Conrad looked up, startled.

  “Such a nice man. I’ve been urging him for some time now to allow us to perform a new procedure that would greatly assist you. This morning he finally signed this release form.” Dr. Hellion flipped the page over and pointed to his father’s signature. “See? It is now at my sole discretion to determine whether to perform this wonderful new operation or not. It’s called a—”

  “Lobotomy?” Conrad’s mouth hung open as his eyes jumped ahead, speed-reading the form.

  “Well, that’s a dramatic way of putting it. It’s much more localized and specific. We believe that you are suffering from frontal lobe disease. Meaning the part of your brain that is responsible for your higher reasoning, planning, and problem solving is malfunctioning and causing you great distress. Therefore, it naturally follows that it must be removed.” Dr. Hellion paused. “It would really help you, Conrad, to think more clearly. To slow down and not be so . . . agitated. I think you’d be very happy with the results.”

  Conrad had no words. Her plan was brilliant, even he had to admit that, and the stakes compelling. If he tried to escape and was caught, his frontal lobe would be removed. Conrad knew Dr. Hellion well enough to know that she wasn’t bluffing. Undoubtedly, she already had the entire facility on high alert and lockdown, which meant escape was already impossible.

  And Conrad was desperate.

  Desperate times call for desperate measures. This left him with only one option and one question—

  “What’s in it for me?”

  After Conrad left that day, Letitia Hellion sat at her desk and carefully reapplied her lipstick. She performed this action each hour on the hour without fail. The name of her lipstick was Red Giggles, but Dr. Hellion had never giggled once while wearing it. This was probably because Letitia Hellion hadn’t felt anything, either physically or emotionally, for years, least of all like giggling. She gave masterful impressions of emotions, which she created by carefully contrived movements of her eyes or lips—simulating caring or happiness or understanding.

  Except for Conrad, no one had ever seen through Letitia’s pretense—but then people were so ridiculously easy to fool. Most of the time they saw what they wanted to see, which was precisely why she invested so much time and energy in constructing a perfect outward appearance. Exquisitely groomed hair, lipstick always in place, beautiful couture clothing, and an elegant posture all worked to cleverly distract people from actually seeing her—the real her underneath it all. The Letitia Hellion who once upon a time had felt waves of panic, nausea, and revulsion whenever she encountered anything abnormal or unusual, and who unequivocally decided long ago that the world was a much, much better place without such things.

  This pivotal decision became a simple equation to live by: normal = good and abnormal = bad; ergo, all abnormality must become normal or be destroyed.

  To this end, Dr. Letitia Hellion devoted her life’s work.

  The upside of her decision was undeniable; her frayed nerves became instantly soothed as the world divided into black and white, manageable and containable. At the same time, her banishment of the murky grayness of it all effectively buried any feeling she ever had. And it was precisely the lack of feeling that allowed her to calmly witness unspeakable torture in plants who had no voice, in animals who had no one to understand their cries, and in children who were too weak to fight back. Without feelings, she had subjugated her humanity to a monstrous and play-acted version of a real person.

  With her lipstick artfully painted across her delicate lips, Letitia pressed them together one last time, satisfied with the effect, and began preparations to deal with the escape.

  The morning after the attempted escape, Conrad had demanded to see Dr. Hellion, but she made him wait a full week before she finally granted him an audience, by which time he was trembling with rage.

  “We had a deal. You said that if I told you about the others that you’d release me. I told you everything. I handed them all to you on a silver platter and now you need to honor our agreement!!”

  “You are correct. That was the deal.” Dr. Hellion was working on her computer and could only give Conrad half of her attention. She had a lot of work to do and Conrad was no longer a top priority. She tossed him his release papers. “There is just one last detail to complete and you may go.”

  “What detail?” Conrad picked up the papers and quickly scanned through them.

  “On page three, I need an adult guardian’s signature, accepting legal responsibility for you from this point on.”

  “What?” This had not been discussed and Conrad was in no mood.

  “When you came here I became your legal guardian, and in order to be released from that position someone else must claim it. An eleven-year-old boy cannot be released on his own recognizance, it’s against the law. So I need a name.” Dr. Hellion waited. “Any name.”

  “I’ll have my father sign it when I return home.”

  “Unfortunately, you can’t be released without a signature. Under the circumstances, I’m prepared to accept a verbal commitment. To expedite the process, I have your father on line one and he will speak with you right now.”

  “My father?” Conrad was shocked. He hadn’t spoken with his father in over four years. At first when he’d arrived at the facility, he’d cleverly orchestrated ways to get to phones and call his father’s office in a desperate bid to get help. Each time some snot-nosed assistant would inform him that Senator Harrington was unable to take his call. Then one day a new assistant accused Conrad of maliciously playing some sort of prank, because everyone knew the senator had no son, but that he and his wife had just become the proud parents of a baby girl. And that was how Conrad learned that he had a sister, and he marked that the last day he ever tried to contact his father.

  “Conrad? As I said, your father is on line one.” Dr. Hellion wanted to get this over with. She didn’t like to waste her time or energy on a hopeless case.

  Conrad hated himself for getting excited, but he was. He yearned to hear his father’s voice. He picked up the phone with a quivering hand. “Hello? Father?”

  It was noon in Washington D.C. and Conrad Harrington II was about to be late for a very important lunch. He juggled files and the phone as he left his office.

  “Hey, sport, good to hear from you.”

  “Father, I—”

  “Dr. Hellion tells me that you’re doing one heck of a good job and your mother and I are proud of you.” Senator Harrington dashed for an elevator. “Keep up the good work.”

  Conrad recognized the tone in his father’s voice; it was the one he used to glad-hand his bigger campaign contributors. “Father, listen to me, I can come home now and I—”

  “Oh yes, Dr. Hellion mentioned something about that, sport. The thing is that your mother and I feel it’s a little bit too soon, especially as things are going so well for you there. Like I always say, if it’s not broke, don’t fix it.”

  “No, Father, I need to come home now, I—”

  “Aw, Connie, it’s real great hearing your voice, sport. You sound fantastic. Let’s talk soon.”

  “No, no, don’t hang up. Wait, you need to understand that—”

  Conrad stopped talking when the dial tone buzzed in his ear. Still he couldn’t let go of the phone. After all that had happened, after everything he’d done, it had all come down to this phone call, and he’d hardly said more than a few words. He’d failed. He’d sold out Piper
and the others too, and now he had been sold out.

  “Well, Conrad, I’m sorry that didn’t work out for you the way we’d hoped.”

  “You never had any intention of letting me go. You lied to me.”

  “No, Conrad, we were both lied to. Your father also retracted his approval for that cranial operation, which means that neither of us gets what we want. I don’t want you here any more than you want to stay. Frankly, I think you’re a bad influence and make everything more difficult for everyone. And as much as I’d like to help you, I can’t. My hands are tied.”

  It was a stalemate once again and they were back to where they’d started.

  Conrad should have known better than to negotiate with Dr. Hellion. What was he thinking? Maybe, just maybe, Piper had been right. Maybe he wasn’t as smart as he thought. . . .

  “Conrad?” There was nothing left to say and Dr. Hellion needed Conrad to get out of her office. He was a living, walking reminder of her failure, and no one wants that hanging around. “Is there anything else? Conrad?”

  “Huh? Oh.” Conrad was drawn back from his thoughts to find that he still had the phone in his hand. It took all his concentration and willpower to open his fingers and place it back in the cradle.

  Conrad left Dr. Hellion’s office in a daze, and he remained that way for over three weeks. In class Conrad gazed off blankly and did not answer questions, did not participate, did not argue that the theory of relativity was outdated and limited. At mealtimes he ate mechanically and without thought, and he went to bed at lights-out and didn’t work on his secret projects. His transformation was so startling that Professor Mumbleby even reported to Dr. Hellion that there might be opportunities to rehabilitate Conrad Harrington yet.

  During those weeks, only one thought dominated Conrad’s existence. He wrestled with it endlessly to try to understand it.

  How was it that I failed? I thought of everything. I weighed every option, considered every aspect, I made all the right choices and still I didn’t come to the right answer. How is that possible?

  Finally it came to him. His mind—all-powerful, brilliantly calculating, analyzing, processing—didn’t have the answers. His mind, Conrad realized all at once in a luminous flash of understanding, had information, not answers. The answers, Conrad suddenly knew, came from somewhere else entirely.

  The revelation was so stunning that it immobilized Conrad completely.

  “Harrington, you got something wrong with your ears?” Nurse Tolle barked when Conrad failed to get out of bed. “That was the breakfast bell, boy, and if you don’t hustle, you’ll be on my list.”

  Conrad still didn’t move, didn’t respond. Later that day when a doctor was called for, Conrad remained unresponsive.

  “He’s in no danger,” the doctor whispered to Nurse Tolle. “He’s had a nervous breakdown. Just let him rest. He’ll snap out of it sooner or later.”

  Conrad wasn’t having a nervous breakdown and he didn’t care if they thought that he was. The problem was that Conrad couldn’t figure out where his answers were going to come from, and until he could he wasn’t sure how to go on living. His mind was the only thing he’d ever relied upon and no one had told him or even hinted that there could be another way. So how was he to find the answers if they weren’t in his mind? Where were they hiding? How could he get to them?

  Piper had known. Something in her had just known what to do and she wasn’t even that smart. Conrad wasn’t being mean, only factual. Piper simply didn’t have the same capacity for intellectual thought that he had and yet she knew things that he didn’t. How was that possible? Where were her answers coming from?

  Days turned into weeks and Conrad remained silent and still. Kids began talking in hushed whispers in the dormitory hallway by his room, and Dr. Hellion contacted Senator Harrington to apprise him of his son’s situation.

  “Fine, fine, Dr. Hellion. Thanks for the call. I’ve got to jump into a meeting right now and you don’t need to contact me again unless his situation gets worse. Is that clear?”

  Dr. Hellion understood perfectly. Conrad was her problem and the senator didn’t want to hear about it. He wanted him out of sight and out of mind and her calls were an irritation at best and a threat to his peace of mind at worst.

  Several weeks more passed and Conrad sank deeper and deeper into blackness, until a single flickering ray of light, like a tiny candle on a gusty day, broke through. Piper had the answer and had always had it, Conrad realized as he lay curled up under his covers. (Why, oh why, hadn’t he paid closer attention and listened to her before?) And if Piper knew, then as soon as she was released, he could ask her, and then he would know too. It was a slender and feeble hope at best, but Conrad clung to it and it provided him with enough incentive to get out of bed and function such that he could attend class again. Each day he found himself sitting on the edge of his seat in a state of expectant anticipation. Was today going to be the day that Piper would return? Would he discover where to look for the answers that day?

  It was a hard winter that year, and the snow got so deep that for a time the facility was blocked off from the outside world altogether. Spring came late and struggled to slough off the snow, but at long last the white cold melted away and a tentative green covered the earth.

  As was often the case, Smitty was the first to see. “It’s Piper. She’s out! She’s out!!” Smitty came screaming into the library. Conrad leapt to his feet and violently grabbed Smitty’s shoulders, shaking him.

  “Where? Where is she?” Conrad hadn’t spoken in weeks and his voice was hoarse.

  “The dining—”

  Conrad ran before Smitty could even complete the sentence. The others were hot on his heels. Myrtle was, of course, the first to arrive and discovered Piper sitting quiet and still at the dining table. A sandwich sat neatly on a plate in front of her and she was slowly chewing.

  Although Conrad was not aware of it, all of the kids had waited for Piper’s release with impatient fervor. More than anything, they wanted Piper back. Nothing was the same without her.

  After the mad dash, the kids all stopped dead, feasting their eyes on Piper.

  “Piper?” Violet trembled, afraid of what might happen next. Piper looked up from her meal and smiled. Relief spread through the waiting faces and they rushed to gather around her, excitedly reaching out to touch her.

  “Piper, we missed you!”

  “We knew you’d be back.”

  “Guess you showed old Hell a thing or two? Huh?” Smitty was overjoyed.

  Piper smiled. Conrad watched her closely. He saw that she was paler and thinner. There was also a fragile quality about her, like she could be blown away by a hard wind. All of that was understandable, though, considering what she must have gone through over the last few months.

  “So what happened?” Kimber pressed.

  “Yeah, where’ve you been hiding?” Ahmed asked.

  Piper shrugged.

  Lily moved in closer and whispered, “Can you still fly?”

  “Fly?” Piper smiled.

  “Maybe you can fly tonight after lights-out!”

  Piper shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “You know, Piper,” Smitty persisted, “flying. You fly.”

  Piper became more flustered. “Fly where?”

  “No, you fly.” Kimber helped.

  “You’re a flier, Piper.”

  Looking between the hopeful and expectant faces surrounding her, Piper’s confusion mounted. “What do you mean?”

  Conrad’s heart sank, his worst fear realized. “She doesn’t know what you’re talking about. Leave her alone.” Conrad turned away.

  “No, she knows.” Violet couldn’t believe otherwise. “You remember, right, Piper?”

  Piper’s eyes were blank and her smile vacant. She nodded, but there was no understanding behind it. All of the people around her looked as though they were familiar, but Piper couldn’t quite place them. They were talking so fast and noth
ing they said made sense. She wished that they would slow down. She was trying her utmost to follow along, but her mind couldn’t quite seem to grasp words.

  “I’m Piper.” Piper smiled at the girl closest to her. “What’s your name?”

  “My name? Piper, it’s me, Violet.” Violet took Piper’s hand and squeezed it with alarm and fear. “Just think, Piper. Think hard. You can remember if you want to. I’m your friend. Violet.”

  “I’m Smitty. Remember, Piper?”

  “Remember the escape?”

  “And Sebastian and how he sang?”

  “Yeah, we all heard it, Piper. It was so beautiful.”

  “And we’ve been waiting for you so that we can escape again. Except this time it’ll work out.”

  Piper’s confusion mounted. “Escape what?”

  “Stop it. Just stop it. She’s gone.” Conrad banged his fist on the table. “She’s not Piper anymore.”

  Silence fell over the group. Piper returned to placidly chewing on her sandwich. Just like countless others Conrad had seen over the years, Piper had been reduced to an empty shell—a blank slate for Dr. Hellion to write on.

  A bell rang in the distance, calling them to afternoon classes.

  “Better not be late.” Piper smiled. With her hands, she pushed herself away from the table and reached for two silver canes that were propped up against a chair. In all of the fuss they’d escaped everyone’s notice.

  With painful difficulty, Piper struggled her way up to a standing position, heavily reliant on metal support braces that had been wrapped around her mangled legs. Even with the canes and the braces, Piper’s movement was pure agony. Not only could Piper no longer fly, she could no longer walk. Dr. Hellion had crippled her.

  Lily gasped and tears came to Violet’s eyes. “What have they done to her?!!?!”

  Ten children mutely watched through clouded vision as Piper hobbled pitifully away, bent and broken.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  EVERYONE WAS late for afternoon class. Normally this would have been instant cause for Professor Mumbleby to become irate and mete out detentions. Fortunately, it had been a busy morning at I.N.S.A.N.E.