The Trial (The Tree House)

by Shay Lynam

  “You shouldn’t ask questions,” the voice whispers back. I crush the side of my face against the bars, trying to see out. A wisp of white blonde hair hangs down between the bars from the window. Bony, pale fingers appear clutching the metal rungs. “It’ll just make them mad and you won’t get any answers anyway.”

  My cheek starts hurting so I turn around resting my back against the door and slide down to the cold floor.

  “What’s your name?” the voice whispers.

  I press my palm against my aching side feeling the raised edges of a bandage through the gray shirt I’m wearing. They must have replaced the one I ripped off. “Ben,” I reply through gritted teeth as the pain sharpens for a second. “What’s yours?”

  “Anna.”

  Chapter two

  Anna doesn’t say anything after that. Even when I ask if she knows where we are, I only hear silence. After a while, my back starts to ache from sitting back against the door and the hard floor is making my butt hurt. I wish I wasn’t here. I miss…I don’t even know what or who to miss.

  I only know two things for sure. My name is Ben and I was seriously hurt somehow and then fixed. That’s it. Other than that, my head is foggy. When I try to grasp even just one memory, it feels like I’m trying to watch a TV with terrible reception. I can see the movement behind all the static but not enough to tell what’s going on. It feels like so many things are just right on the tip of my tongue. Like I get the sense of a memory forming in my head and then it disintegrates leaving me with a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth.

  Anna’s voice breaks the suffocating silence. “Ben?”

  “Still here,” I mutter with my head in my hands. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she replies. “It’s just nice to hear another voice besides my own.”

  I get up again, arching my back until it makes a satisfying crack. “Are we the only ones here?” I ask looking out at the other barred windows. It’s not like I can see if there is anyone inside the rooms so I don’t really know why I bother.

  “If there are, they don’t say anything. I doubt we’re the only patients in the whole building though.”

  Patients. That word sparks a memory. I suddenly remember a diner.

  A folder.

  A letter.

  An experiment?

  Anna continues talking, breaking me out of the memory. “The only time I see anyone is when they bring me food. Or take me to one of their creepy, white rooms.”

  “White rooms?” I ask her, my hand coming up to touch my bandaged side again.

  “Creepy, white rooms.”

  I wonder how many of those rooms there are. There had to be at least twenty monitors behind the one way mirror I saw earlier. How many more patients could there be? And what are we here for? I wish there was someone that could give me answers. Judging by what Anna said though, it’s highly unlikely I’ll ever figure out what’s going on.

  Neither of us says anything for a while after that and I figure she’s done talking for now. There’s a bed against the wall so I go and lay down on the mattress. It crinkles like it’s full of crumpled paper and feels about like that too. There’s no pillow or blanket. Obviously, whoever put us here doesn’t care about making us comfortable. Other than the bed, there isn’t anything in the room. Besides a toilet. At least our necessary bases are covered.

  That man behind the window mentioned something about all my questions being answered. So when am I going to get these answers? What kinds of questions does he think I have? Obviously I want to know what I’m doing here and how I got here in the first place. But what else should I be asking? What else are they willing to tell me? I don’t have a chance to think of any more questions before my mind starts to wander and I close my eyes.

  * * *

  Dreams are just memories all smashed together. Places you’ve been, people you’ve passed on the sidewalk and things you’ve heard or read. I can’t remember anything before waking up on that operating table, so that’s what I dream about. And in my dream when I open my eyes, I see a dark shadow over me but before I can stir up a memory – a face or a name – it disappears in a puff of black smoke and I’m left with the same metallic taste in my mouth.

  The sound of a heavy door latching wakes me from my maddening dream and when I sit up, there’s a tray of goopy looking food on the floor. I didn’t even notice anyone bring it in.

  I don’t get all the way up since my side still feels like it’s on fire. Instead, I stretch my leg out and catch the edge of the tray with my toe. It slides easily across the floor, scraping the whole way over and I bend down to pick it up. Another sharp pain surges through me and I groan as I pull the tray up onto my lap.

  “You okay Ben?” Anna calls softly from her cell.

  I feel like my whole body is trying to pull itself apart and it sucks the air from my lungs leaving me feeling ill. All I can do is groan in reply and hope she doesn’t ask me any questions that require worded answers. I don’t know how it’s even possible, but the pain is getting worse and pretty soon I’m clutching my side in the fetal position – my tray has clattered to the floor – and I’m squeezing my eyes shut, gritting my chattering teeth as cold sweat soaks my clothes and fire tears through me. I’m beginning to fade.

  I can feel it.

  I want it.

  I just want the pain to end. Then just as I’m about to completely lose it, I feel a tiny pinch in my forearm and my ears are filled with the wailing cry of a siren. It only lasts for a second though before I’m completely out.

  * * *

  I wake up again the way I did the first time. With the sounds of beeps and blips from monitors and a light that just keeps getting brighter. It seems I end up somewhere different every other time I close my eyes. I really need to try to stay awake for longer than an hour.

  “You seem to be doing better,” a familiar voice says from down near my feet.

  I’m able to sit up better this time without a bunch of wires connected to me and I see the man from behind the window standing there smiling. He looks more pleasant than the last time I saw him. Then again I was a bit more scared and confused. Not by much though. I’m still pretty freaked out.

  “So are you going to answer my questions this time or knock me out again?” I ask keeping my eyes locked on his.

  The man smiles a bit wider and the skin around his eyes crinkles, making him look friendly. “Oh we didn’t do that to you last time, Ben. I warned you not to take out your IVs.”

  “Well, they’re in now,” I say and lift my arms to look at the needles in each crook of my elbows. This is the first time I notice the lump in my forearm and I remember that pinch I felt right before I blacked out.

  The man’s eyes dart to my arm for a second then meet my stare again. “Why don’t we get some food in you and then I’ll let you know what’s going on?” I feel my stomach tighten and I narrow my eyes. This guy doesn’t plan on telling me anything, I know that much. He takes a hold of my arm and I let him pull me into a sitting position onto the side of the bed. As I carefully get to my feet, I brace one hand on the bed and the other on a small metal table with scalpels and needles on it. “Alright,” the man says softly, “you don’t seem too steady yet, Benny Boy. Let me call someone in to help you.”

  As I watch him step toward the intercom on the wall, I snatch the scalpel from the metal tray and jam it against his jugular. The blade in my hand digs into his neck as I stare him down. “I don’t need anyone to help me,” I snap.

  The man barely reacts to the sound of my voice. He just stares back at me with his hands up in surrender. Then he smiles. It doesn’t surprise me. It seems like something a man like him would do. But what kind of man is he? He looks like a man who never lets up. A hard man. A big man – not that he’s very big – but big. Big like a concrete building.

  I feel like I can see a struggle going on within him. Should he try and disarm me or do as I say? Would I kill him? Could I do it? I think he thinks I could.
I think I could too. I press the scalpel harder against his skin, hoping it will help him make a decision. Instead of answering me, the man grins. “I knew I’d like you, Benny Boy.” Then just as quickly, his face changes to be more serious. “Now, put the scalpel down so we can talk.”

  “I don’t think so,” I mutter.

  “At least let me get someone in here to help –”

  “I can walk just fine on my own.”

  The man hesitates a second longer then lowers his hands slowly. “Alright then,” he says cocking his chin in mock disapproval. “Whatever you say.”

  I pull the blade away from his neck and I see him relax a little. With my free hand, I pull my IV out feeling a sense of dread as I remember what happened the last time I cut off my supply. Then the man tenses up again when I poke the scalpel into his back, urging him to open the door. I’m glad I’m at least wearing clothes this time around. I would feel, and probably look, a lot less intimidating with everything just out on display. “Walk,” I say and push the man out the door. He takes a left and the two of us make our way down the hall. Everything is white and fluorescent and reminds me of a hospital. When I see a couple nurses round a corner ahead of us, I realize we are in a hospital. As we get closer, the two women stop talking and freeze where they are. The man in front of me gives them some sort of look – I can’t see it since I’m behind him – and the two continue moving past us though now at a much quicker pace.

  I figure any second now I’m going to hear some sort of alarm sound and lights flash and then some guards will come and tackle me to the floor. Instead, we make our way through a maze of halls and doorways without being stopped. The only time I think something is going to happen is when a nurse or a doctor sees us and freezes. But then the man does something – gives them some look – to get them going again. He’s not wearing any white lab coat or scrubs like the rest are so he must be of some importance. Who do I have here on the end of my scalpel?

  Another left. Another right. Then I see an elevator at the end of the hall. We step inside and the man presses a button for the top floor. “Where are we going?” I ask as I make eye contact with the curious workers in the hall. I hold their stares until the doors close in front of me.

  He shuffles from one foot to the other. “To my office,” he says. “How’s your side doing?”

  Pain is beginning to seep back into my body like toxic oil seeping into the ocean. It’s not bad now but it will be in a very short while. “I’m fine,” I say coldly and try to concentrate on breathing through my nose. By the time we reach the top floor, I can feel my hands shaking and a cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. The elevator opens and a hallway stretches out in front of me. The door at the end looks like it’s a mile away and surely that’s the one we’ll be walking to. I urge the suited man forward and take a step out into the hall. My legs feel weak and shake causing me to falter but I quickly regain my balance.

  “Come on, Ben,” he sighs. “Let me help you.”

  “I’m fine,” I growl and poke him hard in the back with the scalpel. That had to have broken the skin. The man doesn’t say anything else and we make our way toward the door at the end of the hall. We pass empty room after empty room and I’m tempted to just make him go in one of them but I’m curious to see what his office looks like – more curious than I am in pain – which is a lot.

  Each step is more agonizing than the last. At one point I glance down and can see a spot of red on my gray t-shirt. Awesome. Only half way to go.

  By the time we finally make it to his office, it takes all I have to keep a straight face and try to focus my blurry vision on the key he inserts into the lock. With a click the door opens and the two of us slip inside. From what I can make out with my spotty vision, the place is really nice. A big dark wood desk sits in front of a huge window that overlooks the street below. From what I can tell, the sky is gray and the ground is covered in white.

  “Take a seat, Ben,” the man says and motions toward a chair in front of him.

  “Thanks,” I utter. “But I think I want to stand.”

  He shrugs. “Whatever you say.” Then I watch as he sits in the high backed chair in front of the window.

  There’s a name plate on the desk and I have to blink several times to make out what it says. Eli Scott. Another memory invades my mind. This man is well-known and very bad. But why? Whatever I read in that folder at the diner has to do with him. I know it does.

  “Why am I here?” I ask feeling sicker by the second.

  Eli looks at me with worry in his eyes, though I’m sure it’s not sincere. “I can get someone up here with an IV, Ben. Just say the word.”

  “I don’t want an IV,” I say trying to keep my voice steady. It hurts. All of me hurts so bad. “I just want you to answer my question.”

  The man continues to look at me like a concerned parent while I dig my fingernails into my arm. It doesn’t help. The pain in my side is too great and making my heart strain. Finally Eli opens his mouth with a click of his tongue. “You’re here to help me save humanity.” Now, confusion mixes with the pain and I blink hard waiting for him to continue. “I’ve been working on a few different projects that will better the world but I don’t know how to make them successful unless we test them first.”

  “Test them,” I repeat slowly. I’m having a hard time controlling my mouth. Fire is searing through me, scorching my veins, cooking my flesh. I blink hard again as more black dots begin to crowd into my vision. “So, I’m like…a test animal?”

  “Sure, you can call it that.”

  I feel a pinch in my arm like I did earlier and a loud siren starts screaming from Eli’s pocket. “What is this thing?” I ask weakly, barely able to move my arm so he can see what I’m talking about.

  “That’s your tracker,” Eli replies and takes a small tablet looking thing out of his jacket pocket. Then he turns it so I can see the screen. With my fading vision, it’s all a blur so I don’t know what he’s showing me. “It monitors your heart rate, brain activity, blood pressure.” Then he turns the tablet back to himself and touches the screen a couple times. The beeping stops. I open my mouth to say something but I don’t know what. I can’t think. I can’t see. I can’t stand the pain. “According to this thing, here,” he says matter-of-factly. “You’re going into shock.”

  And then I do

  Chapter three

  For the second time since I got here, I wake up in my little cement room. This time though, the pain in my side is almost completely gone and I’m able to get up off the bed without feeling like I’m going to throw up. The mattress crinkles and I half expect to hear Anna ask me if I’m alright but I don’t hear anything from her. Even when I whisper her name, she doesn’t respond.

  The sound of a heavy door opening down the hall has me on my feet and I go over to the barred window to see what’s going on. A couple of nurses are following after a man in gray scrubs similar to what I’m wearing and he’s pushing a wheelchair. Anna is slumped over in the seat groaning and mumbling something incoherently.

  “Hey,” I say out loud and one of the nurses glances at me for a second before returning her attention to a clipboard she has in her hands. “Hey,” I say again. “What did you guys do to her?” Still no one answers me. Instead, the man slides a keycard into a slot next to the door to Anna’s cell and I hear a beep and then a click as the door unlocks. The two nurses stay out in the hall while the man pushes the wheelchair into the room. He disappears for a few seconds before emerging again with the empty chair. I can still hear Anna murmuring from inside her cell. “Is she going to be alright?” I ask anyone that’ll listen.

  The nurse that looked at me the first time glances at me again then turns to the other woman. “I wish we could just keep them drugged so they wouldn’t talk to us,” she mutters without even caring that I can hear her. I step back from the window as the three make their way back down the hall and close the heavy door behind them with a clang. Immediately, I go back to
the door and grip the bars with my fingers. “Anna,” I whisper loudly. “Anna, can you hear me?” I hear her groan in response. At least it’s something. “What did they do to you?”

  “Ben?” she calls weakly. “Just let me sleep.” Then she’s quiet again.

  Feeling defeated, I slump back against the door. Eli told me in his office that I’m here to be a lab rat for whatever new thing he’s trying to perfect. Is that what Anna is here for too? Did she just get back from having something put in her so they can monitor the results? My hands clench into fists. Why didn’t I shove that scalpel into the man’s jugular when I had the chance?

  There’s not a whole lot to do in a ten by ten cement room and it takes me all of twelve seconds to explore the place. There’s my crinkly mattress and the metal toilet. And that’s it.

  The tray of food I didn’t get a chance to eat isn’t even here. They must have taken it when I blacked out. Now, my stomach is growling and who knows when I’m getting more food? Awesome.

  * * *

  I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here. Anna still hasn’t said anything and I’m not sure if she’s asleep or dead. What kind of experiment is Eli doing with her? How many of us are here and how long before some guy in gray comes pushing a wheelchair into my room? Maybe they’ve already started on me. I touch my side as I imagine what could be buried underneath these stitches. What if there’s some kind of bacteria in there or something that’s going to grow and eat its way out. I can feel my heart quicken as a scene from Alien pops into my head. I have to know what’s under these stitches.

  When I lift my shirt up to look at my side, a tingle flashes quickly through me exiting out of my fingers like electricity. For a second, I freeze expecting an excruciating pain to make me black out again, but I feel fine. Nothing else happens. My cut isn’t even bruised or gross looking anymore. It’s just a clean cut stitched shut with black thread. There’s a tiny knot on either end to keep it from coming undone. How am I going to take them out? Looking around the room again, I don’t have many options. Carefully, I pinch one of the knots between my fingers and give it a tiny tug. The skin pulls with it and a wave of nausea hits me sending chills up my spine and causing my forehead to break out in a cold sweat. I feel sick. I feel so sick. Closing my eyes, I breathe and wait. It takes forever for the nausea to fade but the cold sweat and tremors stay behind. Probably because I know what I have to do and I really don’t want to, but I need to know.