“Quiet, dear,” Miss Dorrod said gently, “this does not concern you.” She faced Mama. “This concerns only you, Miss Edwards. Pangaea is gravely concerned that you are not providing for Clara enough.”
“No!” Clara cried. “You can’t talk about my mama like that! She gives me everything I need. She’s my best friend in the world.”
Miss Dorrod gestured at Clara. “You see, Miss Edwards? The child is very distressed. She acts out at school, and she argues with teachers. I only want to help you, and I only want to help your child, but I must have your cooperation. So I ask you both now: please come with me to the Security Center, where we can sort all this out. To take the necessary steps.”
“Of course,” Mama agreed. “Of course we’ll come. But I must phone Clara’s school, to let them know she’ll be late.”
“No need,” Miss Dorrod interrupted. “I have already notified them, and they will excuse her for the day.”
~
The door marked Edwards opened, and the Food Distributor stepped aside to let the people pass: two women with a girl entered the lobby and exited the front door. The Distributor recognized the mother and the girl, but he did not recognize the second woman.
Another apartment door marked Smith opened, and a woman stuck her head into the hallway. She was still dressed in a pink bathrobe.
The Distributor tipped his hat. “Good morning, Miss Smith.”
She smiled at him. “I knew I heard you! I’ll just take my ration box now, thank you.” She snatched a box from the pile on the cart. “Oh, look! There goes Miss Edwards and her daughter. And who’s that other woman with them?”
“I don’t know,” the Distributor said, shrugging. “I was unloading my truck when I saw her go inside, and then she went into the Edwards’ place. Then a short while later, they all left together. I suppose she’s a friend of Miss Edwards, but I’ve never seen her before.”
~
Clara had never been to the Security Center; she only knew it from pictures in newspapers and books. But as soon as they neared the building, she recognized it instantly: a large cage-like building of glass and iron bars. There were no soldiers or guards; the only sign of ‘security’ was the fountain of a lady, protectively cradling a globe in her arms. From the globe poured a steady stream of water into the fountain basin as the lady watched, her face fixed in eternal serenity. But whether the woman was at peace or half-asleep, Clara could not tell.
As they approached the door, Miss Dorrod suddenly turned around. “Miss Edwards, you must go to a separate location to complete the necessary paperwork.”
Mama’s grip tightened round Clara’s hand. “What do you mean, necessary paperwork?” she asked. “You said we would sort this out here. You never said anything about us being separated.”
“It is not for me to decide,” Miss Dorrod said tersely. She pointed to a truck parked beside the building. “It it for them to decide. They’ll take you there, in that truck. In the meantime, Clara must come with me.”
Clara felt Mama’s hand begin to shake in her own. Mama never shook like this, much less showed any sign of fear—no matter how difficult things became—and this new fear seemed to flow from Mama’s fingertips into Clara, wrapping itself round her heart and squeezing mercilessly. “Mama, please don’t go,” Clara begged. She squeezed her mother’s hand so she would not have to feel that terrible trembling anymore. “Don’t go. You can’t go!”
Mama knelt before Clara and grasped both her hands. “Listen, Clara,” she whispered. “Listen very closely to me. I have to leave with those people, but I will be back. Just a few hours, and this will all be sorted out. But while I’m gone, you must listen and obey what these people tell you. Do you understand me? Everything they ask you to do, you must do it. Trust them. Trust them to take care of us.” She stood up and kissed Clara’s forehead. “I love you.”
Terror filled Clara’s heart, and she wrapped her arms as tightly round her mother as she could. She had always believed her mother, and trusted her words—that everything would somehow sort itself out, that everything would eventually come out right. But today, all that comfort had crumbled to nothingness. Today, somehow she already knew: no happy ending was coming, no matter how long she waited.
Mama stepped away from Clara and headed towards the truck.
“Mama, no!” Clara screamed. She tried to run after her mother, but Miss Dorrod caught her arm and held her back. “Let me go, you scurus!” Clara shouted. “Let me go!” She struggled to pull her arm away, but Miss Dorrod held her fast.
“It may be a very long time,” Miss Dorrod said, her voice strangely calm. “It may be tomorrow morning, or it may be days. The best thing for you is to come with us, and wait. All of us must wait for one thing or another, you know.”
“I don’t want you!” Clara cried. “I want my mama! I want her back!”
Miss Dorrod sighed irritably. “Must you be so selfish? Must you be so difficult?”
A sharp pain stabbed through Clara’s hand, and her vision went black.
~
“Ladies and gentlemen of Pangaea!” the television host gushed, tossing back her blonde curls. “Welcome back to Evie’s Place, delivering you the latest news with my own fun twist. Now we turn to our guest, who you’ve all been waiting for: the legendary Dr. Lucusta.” She turned to her right, and the camera swung out to reveal the guest. He was a handsome man of about forty, with a full head of dark hair and blue-green eyes. “We’re deeply honored to have you on our show, Dr. Lucusta.”
“Great to be here, Evie,” Dr. Lucusta said, beaming widely. “Always happy to see you.”
“Professor,” Evie continued, “you are such a fascinating person. When most of us think of a scientist, we picture a hunched, sickly man with thick glasses. But here you are: a scientist, so handsome—”
“—So single,” Dr. Lucusta chuckled, winking.
Evie giggled. “But how do you do it: work so hard and be so brilliant, but also take care of yourself so well?”
“Well, clearly you know the secret of that, Evie. Why don’t you tell us?”
“Oh, please!” Evie laughed. As she glanced to her right, she caught the eye of her producer off-camera. He frowned sternly and whispered, Get on with it. Evie cleared her throat and shuffled her stack of papers nervously. “But enough of my nonsense already!” she babbled nervously. “You came on our show tonight to make a special announcement: a certain request.”
Dr. Lucusta nodded gravely. “Yes, I did. An urgent request.”
“And for whom is your special request?”
“It is not for Pangaea,” Dr. Lucusta continued. He leaned toward the camera. “It is for you non-Pangaeans: for the Outsider.”
“Oh!” Evie giggled awkwardly. “I must say, you’ve caught me by surprise, Professor. No one ever talks about that sort of thing on my show!” She looked searchingly at her producer, and he nodded approvingly: Make an exception, he whispered. Evie whirled back to face Dr. Lucusta. “But for you,” she said, beaming widely, “talk about anything you like. We’re always open to hear what you have to say! Go on.” She gestured at the camera. “Speak to the Outsider. Deliver your message.”
“Listen closely, my Outsider friends,” Dr. Lucusta continued, his eyes steadily focused on the camera. “I know your country is not yet part of Pangaea, but I know that many of you want to be. I know that many of you are listening to this channel in your homes right now, wishing you were a part of us. And so I am telling you directly: do not lose hope. Do not abandon your quest to rejoin your brothers and sisters of Pangaea. We will wait for you, no matter how long it may take, no matter how far it may seem. There is no ocean too rough, no rift too deep that we will not cross to reunite you with our family. Pangaea will yet be one, and you will be there to witness that day.”
2.
As Clara opened her eyes, she almost instantly shut them again. Her head felt very heavy, and her ears were ringing slightly, as though they were plugged with cott
on. Very slowly she pulled herself upright and glanced around.
She was in an office—a deafeningly quiet office. Where is the radio? Clara wondered. Every room and street she ever knew had a radio. And although she had never been able to hear the music especially well, this strange new silence was terrifying, as though someone had turned off her own heartbeat.
Across from her was a desk, where a man sat. He had a full head of white hair, and intelligent dark eyes. In his hand he held a pen, which he kept clicking open and shut, open and shut…so it clicked like a clock. He stared at her intently. “So,” he finally spoke. “You’re Clara?”
“Who are you?” Clara stammered in shock.
“Answer the man’s question,” a woman said sternly. “You’re being very rude.”
Clara looked to her left. Miss Dorrod was seated beside her, in a chair.
“Again, I ask you,” the man said. He continued to click the pen open and shut. “So you are Clara Edwards?”
“Yes,” Clara said.
“Well, Clara,” the man continued, “I am Dr. Frederick Canidia.” He laid the pen onto his desk.
Clara rubbed her head tiredly. “What is this place? Why did you bring me here? I want to go home.”
“Yes, in due time,” continued Dr. Canidia. “But before you leave, I have some other questions for you.”
Clara could hardly think; her head still felt heavy. How could Dr. Canidia possibly expect her to answer questions now?
“So tell me,” he continued. “What interests you most?”
“I-I’m not sure. I haven’t read very many books.”
“Why not? Don’t you go to school?”
“Yes, of course I do!” Clara sputtered, rather insulted. “I just didn’t like reading.”
“Well, is there anything you like, then? Anything in particular that makes you happy?”
“My mama.”
Dr. Canidia rolled his eyes. “Aside from that. What else makes you happy?”
Clara paused for a moment. “Well, I guess I like Tuesdays. That’s when the Public Mothers would give us each a paper and pencil, and let us draw whatever we wanted, however we wanted it. I used to pretend that if my drawing was good enough, the Public Mother would let me draw another one. But she never did.”
Miss Dorrod took Clara’s hand and stood up. “We will leave Dr. Canidia now. This was a very big honor for him to meet with you; usually he does not bother talking to children. Say thank you.”
“Thank you,” Clara mumbled. “When am I going home?”
Miss Dorrod did not answer.
~
“She had a remarkable test score,” Dr. Canidia spoke into his phone. He examined Clara’s test paper on the desk before him. “The highest number I’ve ever seen. She will be headed to your Special Unit, placed under your instruction.”
~
Miss Dorrod took Clara’s hand and led her out the door, to a wide hallway. At the far end of the hall was a huge window from floor to ceiling, which flooded the hall sunlight. “Where are you taking me?” Clara demanded. “Where’s Mama? Is she waiting for me?”
“Silence,” Miss Dorrod said sharply. “You ask too many questions.”
Clara fell silent, but she was very angry. Well, if Miss Dorrod won’t tell me where I am, Clara decided, I will figure it out for myself. As Miss Dorrod led her along the hall, Clara’s eyes traveled along the walls. There were dozens of doors, all closed, each marked with a number: 204…206…and so on. Was this a hotel? Was it a storehouse? Anything might be hiding behind those doors; and that was a terrifying thought indeed. Maybe they’re just empty rooms, Clara tried to assure herself.
Miss Dorrod paused before two big metal doors, and pressed her finger onto a plastic box. It beeped, and the doors slid open. Miss Dorrod led Clara inside and pressed the button B.
The elevator dropped downward.
When the doors opened again, they had reached a room that looked like a large warehouse. The ceiling was unfinished, so that huge wooden beams and pipes lay exposed along the ceiling. Dozens of bunk beds were lined up in rows. And then Clara noticed: there were children in many of the beds. They were all girls, like Clara; some were her own age, but some were slightly older, and some were younger. All of them wore blue sweaters and khaki skirts, like a school uniform. “Come with me,” Miss Dorrod commanded, leading Clara forward.
A girl with brown braids jumped up from her bed, and approached Clara and Miss Dorrod. She did not speak, but followed quietly behind them as they walked.
“Leave us alone, Bertie,” Miss Dorrod said fiercely.
Clara glanced back over her shoulder at the girl. “Bertie?” Clara asked urgently. “Your name’s Bertie?”
The girl did not reply.
“What is this place?” Clara asked the girl. “Where are they taking me?”
But Bertie just stared blankly at Clara and did not respond.
Miss Dorrod abruptly halted before the back wall, in front of a door. She grabbed the knob and opened it, but what was on the other side—Clara could not tell. The room was completely dark.
“Inside,” Miss Dorrod snapped, shoving Clara forward.
Clara tumbled into the darkness. But before she struck the floor, something caught her from behind, and jerked her backward.
“Who’s there?” Clara cried. She felt a cloth wrap over her eyes and tie at the back of her head. “Let go of me!” Clara shouted. She tried to pry the hands off her shoulders, but it seemed that for every hand she removed another pair grabbed her again in its place. A sudden pain shot through her left arm. “What is that?” she cried. “What did you just give me?”
No answer came.
~
Dr. Lucusta smiled at the computer screen before him. Pangaea Journal of Psychology, 7(2), with a Featured Article by Odwert Lucusta. He loved reading his own articles over and again, but especially this piece. It was one of the first he had ever written as a young graduate student for Dr. Canidia. No graduate student had ever published an article in the Pangaea JP without earning his PhD, but Dr. Lucusta’s piece received a special exception from Dr. Canidia. The journal was available only to the innermost circles of psychologists who had passed a rigorous application process, but these elite few were very impressed with the young prodigy’s work. Overnight, Dr. Lucusta became a sensation, receiving job offers from every corner of the globe.
He scrolled down through the article to the last few paragraphs.
“…And then comes the process of terror. You can accomplish this through presenting a frightening image, or by blocking every sense but the hearing. (When the subject can only hear sounds, his imagination will unravel into chaos.) But just before the subject descends into irreversible confusion, you must inject the memory eraser: the Nepenthe. In this manner, you plant the sense of total dependency into the subject’s unconscious. He realizes that his entire existence depends on you alone; whatever he wishes to do, he cannot do so unless you approve. Whatever he believes, he cannot believe it unless you believe so too. His will bends to your will.”
~
“Do you remember?” a voice was saying. “Please say you remember who you were—don’t be like the others!”
Clara pulled her blanket over her head. Who is talking? she wondered. Every muscle in her body ached, and she desperately wanted to fall asleep again. If that person would just stop talking…
“Do you remember anything?” the voice pressed again.
Clara threw her blanket off her head, ready to shout at whoever was keeping her awake. As the blanket fell from her eyes, she found herself staring directly at a girl, squatted against the far wall.
The girl was about Clara’s age, with dark braids and solemn dark eyes. In her hands she held a dark blue bundle against her bent knees.
“Who are you?” Clara demanded.
The girl sighed tiredly and shook her head. “You forgot,” she grumbled. “Of course.”
“Well, that’s rude!” Clara snapped. “
How am I supposed to know your name if I never knew it in the first place?”
“Not just you,” the girl continued. “All of you. After you get the Nepenthe, you forget everything.”
“What are you talking about?” Clara snorted.
The girl shrugged. “Nevermind. You wouldn’t understand.”
The conversation did not make any sense, and Clara wondered if she were still asleep, lost in some strange chaotic dream. But with every passing moment, Clara realized she was not dreaming at all; this unfamiliar room, the dozens of bunk beds, the rambling girl…all of it was very real, and yet Clara could explain none of it. She had no idea how she had come here or who any of these people were, much less herself. “My head,” Clara murmured, grabbing her ears. “It’s…something is wrong. I can’t…I can’t remember anything.” Panic began to rise in her chest. “I…I don’t even know who I am!” she fell to the floor, and grabbed the girl’s hand. “Please! You’ve got to help me! I can’t remember!”
The girl squeezed her hand comfortingly. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “No one ever remembers. I had hoped that you would, but I was wrong.” Her eyes strayed past Clara, as though she were staring directly into the past. “But I remember. No matter what they did, no matter what they tried, they couldn’t wipe my memories.”
“What do you mean?” Clara demanded. She grabbed Bertie’s shoulders. “Who wiped our memories? Who am I?”
The girl looked back at Clara. “Your name was Clara.”
Clara glared angrily. “You mean, it is Clara.”
“And my name was Bertie.”
“Stop talking like that!” Clara shouted. “I am still here! We are still here. How long have I been lying on this bed?”
“About two hours since they put you there. I tried to wake you, but you wouldn’t come to.” She shoved the bundle towards Clara. “Here. This is for you.”
Clara unwrapped the bundle. It was a blue sweater and khaki skirt.
“That’s your uniform. Put it on.”
The uniform proved to be terribly uncomfortable. The sweater was scratchy, and the khaki skirt was too big. It kept slipping down. “I can’t fix it,” Bertie apologized. “I don’t have a safety pin. We’re not allowed to have sharp things here.” So Clara held her arms tight at her sides, to keep the skirt from falling.
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