I picked up the pace and when I came to the last corner he had turned and I watched him ascend a set of steps. I hurried to catch him. On the platform, I examined the lit glass that housed the train station.
I noticed a courtyard that seemed to be the central point of the town. No one sat on the park benches to enjoy gardens of flowers. It dawned on me that the flowers were likely artificial because it was not quite seasonal for these flowers to be in bloom. Neatly trimmed hedges edged these gardens. These, too, looked too perfect for them to be real. Artificial Flowering Cherry Blossom trees gave a soft elegance to the courtyard, but it was the middle of April. The cherry trees were not quite blooming in my Edgefield and would need at least another week.
“You look different today.” The well-dressed man glanced at his gold watch and tapped his foot. He glanced again at his Rolex seconds later.
“Different? Good or bad?” I curved my lips into a sincere smile, but he didn’t make eye contact, apparently not expecting a response. Dark circles loomed under his bloodshot eyes. He glanced at his watch and frowned. His jaw clenched and he tapped his polished, glossy shoe on the glass tile. He muttered to himself and glanced at his watch again.
Instead of asking him the many questions I had formed in my mind, I remained quiet. This place weaved a dark web within my heart and the pain of some unidentified loss stung, but the intrigue grew.
A soft hum stole my attention. A sleekly designed train made of dark gold metal, like the Lexus, and glossy silver windows came into view. I had a fleeting moment to reminiscence about the trains from home: black, sooty, loud and smelled of oil and charcoal.
“Lavender,” I said, aloud, as I took the time to enjoy the scent from this train.
The man frowned at me, the creases around his tired eyes were deep and at his sad reaction, I watched the train slow to a silent stop.
At the musical sound of the train’s whistle, which was not like the loud shrill whistles my trains at home made, I studied the occupants of the train while I ran my fingers over the red velvet seat. Everyone was dressed so elegantly.
Back home, clothing was utilitarian black and greys because they hid the dirt. But not one person, even though I must have stood out like a sore thumb, took even a moment to notice me. They were busy on their phones, hard at work already, reading and sending emails, reading stock reports, reading the news.
Everyone looked serious. Even the man who had rushed me now ignored me, making no indication that he even knew me at all, that is, until he pulled the soft tassel to signal the train to let him off; he took a second to glance at me.
Each occupant on the train, including this man, seemed stressed and exhausted. A yawn from this person, and then from that one. Even the eleven-year-old boy who had sat next to me at the last stop looked like he hadn’t slept at all.
When the train stopped—actually stopped to let us off unlike those at home—the distracted man departed, without making eye contact. The young boy tugged at my wrist and suggested that I follow him through the train doors.
The boy’s mother tersely remarked, “Work harder today, Colton. You were home too early yesterday.”
I stared down at him with a frown, and then the train signaled with music that the doors were closing. How would I figure out where I was expected to go?
Colton raced away and when he realized that I wasn’t following, he called, “Saige! Come on!” Was I supposed to be following him?
“Why are you dressed like that? You look like one of those…criminals from south side,” he said, as he looked me up and down. He didn’t slow his pace.
“Oh?” Who? I changed the subject. “Where are you going today?” I asked him.
The boy’s eyes narrowed at me, and he smirked as he dodged pedestrians. “The same place you are…same place we’ve been going all week. This assignment ends next Thursday. You’ve gotta move it. We gotta get to work.”
To work? At eleven years old? “Right, I know. I meant what will you be doing?”
“Same thing I did yesterday.”
“And what was that again?”
“Another big day of cleaning. Sanitizing toilets mainly. A little bit of this and a little of that.”
Colton crossed the street. The geometric shapes in the coloured glass made up the entire line of buildings. Lit billboards lined the tops of the buildings with advertisements to make women and men feel important, how to dress for the job, how to decorate your house. Colton grabbed my forearm and dragged me along behind him.
“Hurry!” he said. “Or we will be late.”
A passerby bumped into my shoulder so hard that I spun around. “Sorry,” I said, even though I hadn’t been the reason for the collision, but the woman didn’t even make eye contact. I didn’t know how to navigate through the crowd where people acted like tanks running over each other to their destinations.
Colton rolled his eyes and took my arm again. Stress swept over me. The only people speaking were those speaking to someone at the end of the phone, no eye contact, no talking, no smiling…absolutely, without a doubt, no socialization.
Colton stopped on the step of a small coffee shop with a golden door. He waited a moment and then held out his hand to send me in. “Hurry, get your coffee. You are running out of time!”
“Coffee?” I had never needed coffee back home but his eyes darted from his watch to the street, and the tension grew. I rushed in. The cafe was decorated with French Provincial style furniture and large shimmering mirrors, pearl-like sparkling display cases. Gigantic bouquets of plastic flowers, a scent hanging in the air like smoke, smelled as scrumptious as paradise.
“Lady!” I shook my head from distraction and rushed to the counter. “Want the usual?”
I nodded. Do I even like coffee? The lady made the coffee, rushing through the motion with a weight of exhaustion enveloping her; I could see it in her posture. As the cup poured, she closed her eyes for a moment. She spilled a drop of coffee onto her white, leather skirt and grimaced. She handed me the coffee with little attention and scanned my arm. She swiped my arm with the wand again.
“Why is your scanner not working?” She grunted.
Customers standing behind leaned over to see. They are going to find out that I don’t belong here. The crowd grew, scowling and glancing at their watches.
“What’s the problem?” Colton rushed from the door, pushed through the crowd and leaned into the counter.
“Her scanner isn’t working,” the woman snapped.
“What? Why?”
I bit my lip and smiled at the lady behind me as an apology, but the lady rolled her eyes, impatiently. Colton pushed past me and held out his arm. “You owe me,” he said to me. His arm lit up for a moment, a green light shone brightly. A monotone woman’s voice stated, “Paid.”
I took my coffee and my attention fell onto the screen which displayed the price: $18.75. I took a sip of it. It was too hot and tasted awful. I would no longer drink coffee; I couldn’t pay for it anyway.
The glass walkway was lit even in the daylight for beauty not for the usual reason: darkness falling. The soft instrumental music played above us and then Colton signaled for me to step onto the people-mover the sign called it, and I studied those around me. No one appeared to enjoy the music as they were too busy talking on the phone or texting.
“I’m tired,” Colton said.
“Are you? How come?”
He glanced at me. “Why aren’t you more tired. You’ve been complaining that you’ve not had a day off in months.”
“Months?”
“I think that’s what you said. Ten hours a day. For months. And yet you look rested. Explain that one.” He scoffed at me.
“I can’t…” I smirked at him. “Does everyone work like this?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, does everyone work this hard…every day…all the time.”
“Ah, yeah.” He studied my eyes. “Mom says that’s the way of the world. I hate it
when she says that. Hate it so much. I mean, I’m too tired to work ten-hour days.”
“So, kids work ten-hours days?”
He stared at me.
“I know,” I said. “I know how it is.” I looked away from his confused eyes. “It just seems like it’s not worth it.”
“Well, Mom says that we wouldn’t have such beauty without the work.”
“When do you—we— see our families?”
“We see them after work.”
“But if we are getting home after that long of a day and we are exhausted, when do you have quality time with family?”
“What do you mean?”
“Time spent together…having fun.” I laughed.
“Well, you find the time, I guess.”
“Do you find the time? With your mom?”
“Not much. But she helps me with the homework. That’s when we see each other.”
“Do you see your other family members? Siblings.” I cleared my throat. “Did you say you had siblings? I can’t remember.”
“My brother works out of town. They called him out to work there. He didn’t want to, Saige. You know that.”
“So, you must see your mom for like ten minutes…before you go to bed. And what did you say about school?”
“I do my homework, Saige. Right when I get home.”
“But when do you go to school?”
“Go to school? Why are you asking all of these strange questions? You’re acting funny.”
“Well, I just want to be clearer…sometimes I find it hard to know who to ask the questions that confuse me…”
He stared at me again. Waited. “Look, we are going to be late for work and you will have to stay longer. Suit yourself. But I have homework tonight. And if you really don’t know, I don’t go back to school until the winter. Right?”
“Right. Okay. Sorry. Just sometimes I don’t pay close enough attention, that’s all.”
“Really?”
“Well, when do I have the time?”
“True enough!”
A woman walked onto the conveyor belt next to me, almost knocking me into Colton. Her deep wrinkles spoke volumes of the time she had spent working.
In my apparent daydreaming and observing, Colton had called out my name numerous times as I had ridden past my workplace.
“Saige!”
I followed as he raced towards a tall, intimidating building of white iridescent glass standing at attention, demanding a day of work from me, even though I had no idea where to go or of what I was in charge. What were my responsibilities?
Colton had scurried through the door before I had even reached the steps. But then I heard a car screech and an elderly lady had tried to cross the street and the car was in too much of a hurry to wait for her. The car horns blared. I hurried to her and took her by the elbow, giving the drivers a dirty look and held out my hand. I helped her cross the street safely.
“I’m sorry that I am wasting your valuable time.”
“Are you serious? It’s not a waste of time to help you across the street. I am very happy to help.”
The drivers made aggressive gestures at me but I waved them off.
“Thank you, young lady. How sweet of you.”
“No problem. Are you alright?”
“Yes, I would have been late to work if it hadn’t been for you.” I frowned. Work? A woman of her age should be in her retirement years, gardening and crocheting and playing Bridge with her friends.
“Thanks again.” She used her cane to navigate around the pedestrians and no one seemed to even try to avoid bumping into her. I wanted to help her but I realized that I would lose Colton if I didn’t rush back. I ran up the steps to the building—thought about how difficult it would be for an elderly man or woman, or a person in a wheelchair, to access the building. Another woman rushed past me, pushing me aside.
I reached for the rose-shaped handle and pulled. Immediately, there was an overwhelming sound of bustling people, talking over one another in exasperation, convincing and debating.
I could see a reception desk beyond them, so I took a breath and pushed my way through the crowd.
I read the name tag of the lady behind the desk so that I could greet her.
“Good morning, Rayna.”
“You running late?”
“Sorry, I helped a woman to cross the street safely.”
“Why? Here.” She handed me a folder. “You must go!”
“I am not sure which…elevator…”
“Your assignment is on the tenth floor this week. You’d better move it!”
I met a crowd of people dressed in suits at the elevator. The button was illuminated. The screen of a phone displayed the time, 5:25am.
A man hollered from behind, “Hold it right there! Freeze!” Men pointed guns at me. The crowd moved away, leaving me alone.
“Drop the purse! Hands up!”
Another man, “You have the right to remain silent…”
“What have I done? I haven’t done anything! Wait. What’s happening?” My arms were yanked and my body dragged towards them.
“Saige Anderson, you are under arrest under the criminal code #45432.”
My last name was Finch, not Anderson.
“What? You’ve got the wrong girl!”
The man held up a photo. My mouth gaped open when it was my face in the photo.
Someone leaned in and touched my arm. “I would be quiet if I were you.” Colton’s eyes grew wide. “Don’t say a word. If you are innocent, they will let you go…”
“I haven’t done anything,” I whispered back as the men pushed me against the rough wall next to the elevator. The wall scraped against my cheek. One of the men placed his knee between my legs, kicking them apart to search me.
Peeking around the man’s shoulder, Colton whispered, bending over to meet my eyes. “What did you do?”
“Was it the scanner?” I whispered.
Colton narrowed his eyes at me. “Should it have been?”
My arms were twisted behind my back, my scarf loosened and a knee pressed into my spine. The slap and click of handcuffs on my wrists.
I let out one last grunt and they pushed me through the exit doors.
All eyes were on me.
Fingers pointed.
Whispers.
Gasps.
Flashing lights.
The scarf flitted away in the wind.
Chapter Three
“What do you remember about the day you were arrested?” the warden asked. He pushed his glasses off the tip of his pointy nose. His eyes were a shade of green that reminded me of my father’s. My thoughts drifted to think about my time with him before he died. Fishing and boating on Lake Brosrock and making wishes while throwing coins down the wishing well in downtown Edgefield. Swimming at the indoor pool. Even doing laundry at the mat when our machines were down.
“Nothing,” I said. “I think I was arrested because my scanner wouldn’t work.”
“Why isn’t it working?”
“Um…because, to be honest, I don’t have one.”
“Did you dig it out?”
“No, Sir. Like I said, I am not from here. I just showed up here.”
“You keep saying that. Miss Anderson, what you remember before April 13th, well Ma’am, it just doesn’t make a lick of sense.” Mr. Johnson’s beady eyes, set too close on his face, were fixated on me, and they indicated that he truly wanted to help me. He had asked so many questions of me that I was tired of trying to convince him.
“To speak my truth, Miss Anderson, I think you have likely hit your head while they were arresting you. Do you remember hitting your head?”
I shrugged.
“Of course, you don’t!” He laughed like a hyena. “You hit your head!” He turned to the door. “Atkinson?”
“Yes, sir?” Officer Atkinson appeared in the doorway, wearing a grey uniform, which included a pair of pants that were too short on him.
“Have
this young lady see Dr. McFadden about a potential concussion as soon as possible.”
“Of course, Mr. Johnson. I will make the request.”
Mr. Johnson printed something in my file.
“Officer Atkinson?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Dim the lights just in case. Rest her brain.”
“There’s no dimmer switch, Sir.”
“Well, douse the light!”
When the guard switched the light off, we sat in the pitch dark. “Well, now that’s too dark.”
Atkinson switched it back on. “Better, Sir.”
“No…” He sighed. “No one can say that I didn’t try, can they, Miss.?”
“No, sir. You tried,” I said.
He grinned at me.
“Want me to get her some sunglasses, Sir?”
Warden Johnson turned to face him. “Do you have sunglasses that you are willing to give to Miss. Anderson?”
“Yes, Sir. In my car.”
“Then, let’s do it!” Johnson wrung his hands and gleamed at me. “Takes a village!”
A guard barged into the interrogation room.
“Mr. Johnson. It’s him.” He held his hand over the receiver of an old portable phone.
“Him who?”
“Mr. Johnson. It’s X from the Paragon.”
Mr. Johnson’s face flushed and he looked terrified. He cleared his throat and wiped his mouth before taking the phone. He didn’t stand, his lanky body posed in a stiff posture while he spoke as if he was not only heard, but seen through that telephone.
“Hello, Sir. Mr. Johnson here. What can I do for you?” He glanced at me. “Yes, I’m in the middle of the interrogation with her now, Sir. Yes… I know about that… yes… She’s not right in the head right now. The answers to the questions I pose are…well… disconnected. Confused. She can’t remember anything before April 13th.”
Switched and Fears Page 2