Detention by Claire Chilton
First published in the Great Britain by Claire Chilton 2014
This edition published by Claire Chilton
Copyright © 2014 by Claire Chilton
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, and the United Kingdom Copyright Act of 1956 and 1988. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Published in the United States by Claire Chilton
Illustration by Claire Chilton
DEDICATIONS
This story was written as a thank you to all the wonderful readers of The Squishies Series. I wanted to give you all something that would make you smile, and I hope this does the trick.
“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding!” Carla Mainston cried as the car pulled up beside the juvenile detention center. She peered through the passenger window at the perimeter wall towering above them in gloomy gray stone, casting dark shadows across the road ahead.
She turned away from the car window to face her mother, who was sitting in the driver’s seat. “I can’t stay there. It looks like a prison!”
Her mother frowned at the austere complex through the windshield.
For a second, Carla felt hope blossom in her chest.
Then her mother shook her head. “It’s for your own good, and it’s only for two weeks. It won’t be that bad.” She smiled, and a few laugh lines appeared in her lime green skin.
“Come on! All I did was walk mud on Mrs. Bailey’s carpet. It’s not a crime!”
He mother narrowed her eyes for a moment. Then she cleared her throat and pointed to her biblical car sticker, which read:
THOU SHALT NOT DIRTY ANOTHER’S CARPET.
Carla slumped back in the car seat. “Come on. It can’t be against the law. That judge must have been on crack. I didn’t mean it. Isn’t there like a section of the bible that says it’s better to forgive than to avenge?” She peered hopefully at her mother.
Her mother shook her head.
“They should put that in the next edition of it,” Carla muttered.
“Carla! Why do you have to always go too far? That’s blasphemy!” her mother cried.
Carla slumped back in the car seat. She folded her arms, staring down at the lilac skin on them. “Why do you always punish me for being different?” she mumbled.
“Don’t be silly,” her mother said as she put the car into first gear and drove toward the gates. “This has nothing to do with how unique you are. It’s because you broke the rules of the colony. You know that.”
“It’s a stupid rule,” Carla muttered, narrowing her eyes. I can’t believe I’m getting sent to juvenile detention for walking mud across someone’s carpet. This colony is insane!
She widened her eyes as they drove through the dark iron gates into a courtyard. The dark building loomed above the car. Sharp slate spires peaked at the top of the east and left wing, and there was a rusty old balcony spanning the top level of the building. In rusted gold letters, the institution name was emblazoned across the front of the building: CLEANER’S REFORMATORY FOR ADOLESCENT PURIFICATION.
Oh, hell no!
She turned to her mother, whose eyes had also widened. “Come on. I’ll be good. I promise I’ll never be rebellious ever again.” She really meant it too. She had known when she walked across Mrs. Bailey’s carpet with muddy shoes that it had been a rebellious act because the old cow had called her a dirty immigrant because of the color of her skin, but she’d learnt her lesson. One look at the juvenile detention center, and Carla promised herself to never let a bit of racism make her act crazy ever again.
Her mother parked the car outside the building, shaking her head as she opened the door and got out.
Carla sighed and climbed out of the car, gripping her backpack. She closed the car door behind her with a loud thud, and then stared up at the drab concrete of the building towering over them, which was dotted with many tiny windows. It looked like a badly maintained prison, with iron bars on every window, flaky paint peeling off the large doors, and deep cracks in the gray concrete steps. For a building in Derobmi, it was a mess.
She swallowed a bubble of panic when her eyes wandered over the building, and she noticed a gray-clad teenager pressing his face against the second-story window, staring out with a miserable expression.
She turned to face her mother, trying to pull an expression of complete despair to gain some sympathy.
Her mother shook her head. “Don’t look at me like that. You knew it would happen if you didn’t start behaving. Go on. It’s for your own good,” she said. She was clearly attempting to mask her own feelings of panic, judging by the panic in her eyes.
Carla sighed and hitched her backpack onto her shoulder. It was only for two weeks. How bad could it be?
“Okay, I’ll take you to the door,” her mother said with a sigh, walking beside her.
She’s making sure it’s safe. Carla hoped that she might get out of this punishment after all.
They walked through the huge doors into an endless cream corridor with a drab gray-tiled floor. Obviously, no expense had been spared on making the place look as depressing as possible.
Carla watched a small group of Derobmi children marching down the long corridor, all clad in gray shapeless smocks while carrying mops and buckets. She frowned at them for a moment as they marched in time, carrying the buckets by their sides while holding the mops across their chests in synchronization. They were silent and thin. They looked completely beaten in every way.
She tightened her grip on the strap of her bag as she glanced to her right to see a large reception area.
She followed her mother into the foyer. It was the only decorated area that she’d seen so far. Her feet sank into the plush green carpet as she reluctantly wandered by upholstered blue chairs and a couple of decorative tables, which were adorned with magazines and leaflets. The walls were painted a vivid mint-green, and a few vases of flowers made the overall atmosphere cheerful and bright.
She eyed the two women behind the massive oval reception desk at the end of the waiting room. One was a plump lady in a suit with blonde-hair cut in a short, sensible style. The other receptionist was an immensely thin woman in a matching suit, with gray hair scraped back in a severe chignon. Both were green-skinned, like everyone else in Derobmi, but Carla was used to being the only purple person here by now. After twelve years of defending her skin color, she still didn’t know why she was purple.
She shot a sideways glance at her mother, and her hopes of getting out of this punishment evaporated. It seemed that a well-decorated lobby was all it took to impress her mother, who wore a pleased smile on her face.
One of the receptionists smiled at them both, and her mother beamed back before turning to face Carla. “See, it’s not so bad,” she said.
She glanced down at her watch. “Now, I’ve got to get back to make dinner, so be good, and I’ll pick you up in two weeks, okay?”
Carla nodded, trying to calm her racing pulse. You didn’t have a choice in this from the second the judge sentenced
you. Just deal with it.
Her mother gave her a tight hug. “You’ll be fine, and you can always call me if you get scared. This’ll be good for you.”
Carla hugged her mother back, trying to be brave about her dilemma. “I’ll be okay, Mom.”
Her mother released her, and then gave her a pat on the shoulder. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks. I love you.” On that note, she turned on her heel and left.
“I love you too,” Carla muttered as she watched her mother walk out of the door and leave her behind.
She inhaled slowly to calm her nerves before she turned to face the reception desk, trying to muster up the courage to walk toward it. It really didn’t look that bad. Above the reception desk was large sign with the words: WELCOME TO C.R.A.P. emblazoned across it beside a big yellow smiley face.
Her fear dissipated as she stared at the sign. That’s gotta be the worst acronym ever.
She shook her head and glanced below the sign. Behind the receptionists was a vending machine, brimming with candy, potato chips and cakes. Food. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since lunch, and dinnertime was long overdue.
She strode over to the reception desk, smiling politely at the two women while trying not to focus on the candy in the vending machine, even though she could almost taste the chocolate muffin that was looking back at her.
The two receptionists carried on talking to each other as if she wasn’t there.
Carla coughed, and the plump one glanced up. Carla smiled at her and waited for her presence to be acknowledged.
The plump woman stood up from her desk. With a plastic smile, she walked toward Carla, and then past her to the printer where she pointlessly began shuffling some paper together.
Carla frowned. What’s this about? She shook her head. Maybe she didn’t see me standing here, right in front of her.
She hopefully turned to face the older and slightly emaciated receptionist, who immediately found a sudden interest in her cup of coffee and sniggered over it.
Frowning, Carla felt a burn of anger bubbling in her stomach. They were messing with her. She was sure of it.
She cleared her throat, but both receptionists peered down, refusing to acknowledge her.
“For godsake, you ignorant sods,” Carla muttered. “Stop ignoring me and—”
Alarms blared through the room. Metal bars shot down from the ceiling, forming a cage around the reception desk. Carla jumped back, her heart pounding. She stared at the bars, which had nearly slammed onto her hands.
She widened her eyes when the room darkened to a red glow. The lights flashed in time with the sirens that were screaming through the building, and the tranquil reception area glowed red.
The bulky receptionist walked over to where Carla stood and wagged her finger at her through the bars that had nearly flattened her a few seconds earlier. “Now, now, no bad language here at C.R.A.P,” she mocked. “You are in trouble.”
Carla was about to use an even more colorful expletive on the wicked witch of the reception desk, but she paused when she heard a thunder of footsteps behind her.
She spun around to discover four burly male nurses surrounding her. She could only assume they were all called ‘Oog’, judging by their vacant expressions and meaty physiques. They wielded strange-looking guns with darts loaded in them.
“What the f—”
Two of nurses charged forward and knocked her face-first into the wall, restraining her against it with their large hands and cutting off the rest of her sentence.
“Get off me!” she cried, struggling to escape their iron grip.
She widened her eyes when she heard a ‘pft’ noise, and she felt something sharp jab her backside.
The world got hazy, and she realized she’d just been shot in the ass with a tranquilizer dart. Before she passed out, she heard a familiar sniggering noise. Then the red blaring world sank into a suffocating darkness.
Carla winced at the harsh electric lighting as she slowly forced her eyes to open, fighting to wake up.
Oh crap, where am I?
She quickly sat up as her memories returned, gripping the bedframe for support when a bout of dizziness hit her. What the hell did they shoot me with? She waited until her eyes refocused before exploring her environment.
Glancing around, she found herself in a cell with uniformly cream walls and a floor covered by industrial gray linoleum. Her eyes rested on a tiny barred window. She wistfully stared at the dark night sky on the other side of the bars. I’ve gotta get out of here.
She shifted uncomfortably on the bed. It was small and hard, equipped with pillows like rocks and annoyingly itchy gray blankets.
“Home, sweet home,” she muttered while she scanned the room.
No sink, no toilet and no shower. Great, what do I do if I need to pee?
She shook her head, and her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she still hadn’t eaten anything since lunch.
She pondered her options as she glanced at the bulky metal door. She frowned at the lock, which looked as if it had been built to last a million years. After standing up and walking over to the door, she tried to open it, but it was firmly locked. There was a small grille at face-level looking out into a cream corridor. She peered through it.
“Hello?” she called out. Nothing happened.
“Is anyone there?” she said. Her voice echoed down the corridor, but there was no reply.
She rattled the door handle, trying to get out. This is inane! Why am I locked up? After realizing that the immovable door was not going to open, she walked back over to the bed and sank onto the mattress with a sigh. How do you get attention in a crazy prison?
An idea popped into her head, and she grinned. “Any chance of some food in this bloody place?” she shouted.
Alarm bells blared loudly. Red lights flashed in the corridor, and the sound of stamping feet echoed down the hall toward her door.
She rested her hands behind her head and leaned back against the wall, feeling mildly smug. Profanity was like a call to room service.
The door shuddered when a massive bolt was drawn back. It opened, and a flashing red light glowed into the room from the corridor. Standing in the haze of a red glow was an extremely short Derobmi.
He strolled into the room, stopping beside her bed and peering down at her with narrowed eyes. He had patchy lime-green skin, which was mostly marred with acne around his chin and forehead. Small round glasses with thick black frames sat on his pointed nose, and his dirty-blond hair was wiry and slicked down with grease or something equally slimy.
His hair obviously annoyed him because he impatiently tugged on it as if making it flatter would be an improvement.
He looks like a rat.
“You have flouted our rules before you’ve even heard them,” rat boy said. “But you will learn to understand them over time.” He puffed out his chest with pompous indignation.
She narrowed her eyes at him. She had a feeling they weren’t going to get on. “But I’m only here for two weeks.”
“Oh, are you?” A nasty smile spread across his face.
“Yep.” She offered a cheerful smile.
“We’ll see about that. If I choose to, I can legally keep you within these walls forever. You’re in my world now.” He ominously polished his cuff link, shooting her a dark glance.
She looked him up and down before loudly yawning. Why are people like this allowed to work near other human beings? Anal-retentive morons on a quest to make everyone else on the planet have a bad day just because some idiot gave them a bit of power over innocent lives. This world definitely needs some changes in it.
She looked him straight in the eye. “Well, I’ll just have to change the world then, won’t I?” She smiled sweetly, trying to fight her natural instinct to rebel. She’d promised her mother that she’d be good, but her natural instinct was to fight back.
“I’m Nicholas Rancy, and I am the head officer for your assigned cellbl
ock,” he said, ignoring her statement. “You may call me Mr. Rancy or Nick.”
Rancid prick, she thought.
“You will stay here in the detention block tonight, and tomorrow you will be taken to the girls’ dormitory to be instructed further on the rules of conduct at C.R.A.P.” He walked to the door, and then turned and glanced back over his shoulder at her. “I’m turning off your alarm. Make as much noise as you like. It won’t make any difference.” He switched off the light, walked out and slammed the door behind him.
She listened to the hollow sound of the lock slamming into place, followed by footsteps echoing away until all that remained was silence.
She solemnly stared at the door, feeling as if she’d lost some battle of wills. For all of her bravado, she had ended up locked in a cell. What if there was a fire? What if everyone forgot she was here? What if… She paused and eyed the bars up on the window. They didn’t look so tough.
She inspected the room under the dim glow of moonlight through the small window, searching for faults and mischief-causing materials. After a moment, she shook her head. She’d made a promise to her mother that she wouldn’t be rebellious. Maybe if she just played by the rules, it would all be okay. She jumped up and ran to the door, peering out through the tiny peephole. “Hey, what about my phone call?”
The corridor was silent.
“I get to call my mom, right?” she added.
“Shut up. You’ll get us all in trouble.” A low voice hissed back from a nearby cell.
“But, we’re allowed to call our parents, aren’t we?” Carla asked in a quieter voice, trying to guess which cell the voice had come from.
“We don’t have parents anymore. We belong to the state,” the voice said.
Carla shook her head. “No, that’s not true.”
“They left you here, didn’t they?”
Unsure of herself, Carla stepped away from the door. “Y-yeah…” she muttered.
“Once you’re in here, there’s no way out.”
Science Fiction and Fantasy Box Set 1: The Squishies Series Page 1