The Institute

by Kayla Howarth

CHAPTER NINE

  So much for those luxury apartments we see every year on that stupid tour. I always sensed a prison-like feel whenever we visited here, and now I know why—my instincts were right. I knew those apartments were not as they seemed, but I never imagined this.

  I guess I won’t be having that shower after all.

  My cell is even smaller than the room I was just in. It’s dark and dank, there’s a mouldy wet smell coming from somewhere, and the coldness of the cement floor bites at my feet. There’s a tiny cot on the right, and a toilet bowl and sink on the left. Great, I love peeing in public.

  There are some blue pyjamas on the bed. I can’t even be bothered getting changed—I’m just going to crash in my clothes. I throw the scrubs on the floor and crawl under the single thin blanket on my bed.

  My face is still stinging from my beating, and my eyes are still raw from my tears. All I want to do is drop off to sleep, but I can’t relax enough to let it happen. Was it really just a few days ago that I had Dad, my home, a life, a brother, and a boyfriend? I guess it could be longer. I have no idea what the time or date is.

  Everything got messed up because of that stupid tour of the Institute. All of my problems stem back to this place.

  Words can’t describe how upset I am over Drew. I never thought I’d be one of those girls who let herself be so blinded by a boy that she didn’t see how badly he treated her. How could I have fallen for his act?

  Actually, I know why—I fell for it because he never treated me badly, not once. We never even had a disagreement. Not really.

  I’ve never been this disappointed in myself. Before Drew, I had one concern and that was protecting Shilah. Now look where falling for a boy has gotten me. I’m in a cell with a swollen eye, unwashed, tired, and crying. I’ve never felt more alone. Or pathetic.

  “Oh my God, shut up, shut up, shut up,” someone nearby says.

  I don’t know what he’s referring to. It’s dead quiet in here. Great, I’ve been put in a cell next to the crazy person who talks to himself.

  “You can hear me?” the voice asks.

  I really hope he doesn’t talk to himself all night.

  “No, I’m talking to you, the new girl, the one who has never felt more alone.”

  “Me?” I ask. The voice doesn’t respond. Maybe I’m the crazy one.

  A buzzing noise startles me, and my cell door slides open. Sitting up on my bed, I cower on the end of it with my legs tucked up to my chest. All I can think is that they’re back to finish what they started. I think my fears are confirmed when a guard comes through the door, but he doesn’t drag me back upstairs like I’m expecting him to. He picks up the scrubs from the floor and throws them at me.

  “Get dressed, it’s meal time.” He stays, standing at the door until I comply. At least he turns around while I get dressed. When I’m dressed, he walks me out into a room full of other pyjama-wearing prisoners. They’re all in a line, waiting to be served their food at the end of the corridor where the kitchen must be.

  Now that I can get a good look at where I am, I notice a second storey of cells upstairs, as well. Counting how many people are in the line, I lose count around twenty-something.

  The guard walks me straight past everyone in the line, takes me right to the front, and cuts in. I can feel the stares burning into the back of my head. I’m guessing the guard doesn’t want me making any friends today.

  “Hi, Deke, we need an introductory meal—we got another new one,” the guard says to the tall, gangly man behind the counter. He nods and walks back into the kitchen. He has a long greying goatee that looks dirty, and it’s creeping me out that this man is preparing my food.

  He returns with a plate that has a small square of “food” in the middle of it. I use the word food quite loosely because it resembles a brick more than anything edible.

  “What’s in it?” I ask. The guard and Deke start laughing.

  “That’s not really your concern,” my guard says.

  “Well, it’s my concern if you expect me to eat it.”

  “We only have to supply you with food to maintain your health. It’s up to you if you eat it or not,” he replies. “Now move,” he says, pointing at my tray for me to pick it up.

  We walk back to where there are tables, round metal ones, and stools that are bolted to the ground on the main floor, just outside everyone’s cells. The other prisoners are already sitting at their tables, and it feels like I’m the new girl in school again. I have to choose where to sit, and I can’t choose wrong; this will determine my status for however long I’m in here for. I’m still trying to decide when my guard grabs my arm and escorts me to an empty table, right in the middle of everyone else, like I’m on display. He then stands three feet behind me, clearly sending the message that no one’s to come near me.

  I feel naked, exposed, as if I’m wearing a flashing sign that says “fresh meat.”’. I can feel the eyes staring at me, wondering what I’m going to do with the cards I’ve been dealt. Will I break down? No, that’s what they all want.

  I bite into the loaf of food I’ve been given, but I struggle to get it down. It’s chewy yet dry. How is it possible to experience two conflicting tastes at the same time? It tastes like I’m eating chalk, but I’m not going to let it get the better of me. I will finish this and hold my head up high … and then maybe run to my cell and throw it all back up.

  I keep nibbling at it, and I’m so close to finishing, but I’m starting to really struggle. I really wanted to give up a few bites ago, but I just keep telling myself to have one more bite, then another. Always just one more bite. My mouth is dry, and I could really do with some water right about now.

  “You can do it,” I hear a voice say.

  I turn to my guard who still towers above me. “Did you say something?” My voice comes out as dry as my mouth feels.

  He raises his eyebrow at me. “No. Are you done here?” He goes to take my tray away.

  “No, I’m not. I just thought you said something.” I take my tray back.

  “Well, I didn’t. Hurry up, I don’t have all day to babysit you,” he complains as I take another bite.

  “Look at the guy two tables to your right, light brown hair,” the voice says. It sounds like the voice from earlier. I look to my right and see only a table of women. “Sorry, my bad, you’re on my right. Look to your left.”

  To my left, there’s a table with two guys sitting at it, one blond who has his back to me and one with light brown hair, almost an ash blond, who’s staring at me out of the corner of his eye.

  ‘That’s me, hi’, I hear his voice. He gives a slight head nod, but nothing actually comes out of his mouth when he says it.

  Okay, I think I’m going crazy. “What the actual f—” I blurt out, but stop myself from finishing that sentence. The guy smiles.

  ‘Tate, my name is Tate. I think your guard is getting impatient, you better take another bite … and don’t worry, the food gets a little better after a while, not by a lot, but it’s at least edible.’

  Taking another bite of my food, I don’t take my eyes off Tate. What’s going on? Are you doing this? How can you know what I’m thinking? How can I know what you’re thinking?

  ‘Really? You don’t know?’

  Know what? Treat me as if I’m the slowest person on the planet because right now I feel like it.

  ‘Well, to simply put it: You’re telepathic.’

  Telepathic? That doesn’t make any sense, nothing like this has ever happened before.

  Taking the last bite of what they call food here, I manage to swallow it, just. When I look up from my plate, I see that I’ve had an audience this whole time. The other prisoners start cheering and clapping. I’ve impressed them.

  ‘Well, that was pretty awesome, I don’t think I know of anyone who has actually finished the whole brick on their first go.’

  My guard grabs my arm hard, just above my elbow, and drags me back to my cell. He
’s clearly not as impressed with my accomplishment as the others are. He shuts my cell door and leaves. The need to lie down is urgent. The brick is already not sitting right.

  So, can you still hear me? I ask as I crawl onto my tiny bed.

  ‘Yes.’

  I don’t really understand how this whole telepathy thing works.

  ‘Really? Are you sure nothing like this has ever happened to you before? It’s strange for someone to be brought in who’s unaware that they’re Defective.’

  They’ve started giving everyone blood tests. They’ve worked out how to diagnose a defect before any symptoms occur. Apparently it’s in our DNA—although until this moment I was sure the test was defective, not me. I’m definitely sure this has never happened before.

  ‘I don’t see how those tests would work. They don’t know what causes it, so they wouldn’t know what to look for.’

  Well, apparently, they figured it out. How did you know what I could do?

  ‘I thought you could hear me earlier, when I … umm …’

  Told me to shut up?

  ‘Oh, yeah. I’m sorry about that, I wouldn’t have thought it if I knew you could hear me. It’s hard having this ability sometimes. I’ve learnt to tune a lot of it out, but you were pretty loud.’

  Sorry, I didn’t realise there was a volume control on my thoughts.

  Tate laughs. ‘There isn’t, but the more emotional someone is, the louder their thoughts. You were pretty angry.’

  That’s an understatement. Angry doesn’t begin to cover it. How long have you been here for?

  ‘About two months… at least I think it’s been about that long, I really have no idea. You don’t exactly get a calendar down here. Someone informed on me, and I got arrested … Ha, arrested. More like abducted.’

  I smile at the fact we both called it the same thing.

  ‘I was thrown into a room, numerous rooms actually, and beaten senseless day after day, each day bringing a new form of torture to try to get me to talk, until one day they finally gave up. I can’t tell you how long it went on for, weeks I think. It’s so hard to tell what the time is when you’re inside all day. The only real indication is mealtime. We’re all down here because they made a mistake in arresting us, and now they need to bury the evidence. They think we’re all hiding our abilities, and we’re all guilty, when we aren’t. Well, most of us aren’t, but they can’t let any of us go now, not after what they’ve done. It would get out, how they really treat people here.’

  I sit up on my bed, stunned. Tears well up in my eyes, not only because I’ve just realised that I have more of what I endured yesterday ahead, but because I’ve just been told a harsh truth … I really am never getting out of here.

  Just the thought of being in this cell forever makes me want to break down and sob, but I refuse to get upset over what they’ve done to me. I will not give them the satisfaction. I need to be strong right now. I’m never going to make it in this place if I’m bawling every five minutes. I’m going to have to try focusing on not crying for once. I’m done with crying. I’m too angry for crying.

  I hear Tate apologise. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been ranting like that. The last thing you need is to be scared even more. It’s hard to accept what has happened when you’re thrown in here, but I promise you at some point it’ll get easier. It’s particularly difficult to see a light at the end of the tunnel in the beginning—their entire goal is to break you any which way they can. They try and beat information out of you, they isolate you from the others, make you eat tasteless bricks of food all in the hope that they can break you enough that you’ll bend to their every wish. But you have a bargaining chip now. Now that you know what you can do, you can use it to get what you want.’

  What do you mean?

  ‘They need people like us to do their dirty work. Do you really think they would risk the lives of normal people while interrogating highly ‘dangerous’ Defective people like you or me? You’ll find the majority of the staff here are Defective. The better the ability, the better the job. For instance, a lot of our guards are actually Defective but have been not so blessed in the ability department. You know the guard who just escorted you to breakfast?’

  Oh, so that was breakfast, was it? I was wondering what meal that was supposed to be.

  ‘Yes, it’s generally porridge for breakfast every day here … unless you’re on the interrogation diet, unfortunately that brick doesn’t ever get any tastier. But anyway, your guard Ty, he can literally hover two feet off the ground, that’s his whole ability. Not so impressive, right? So he gets thrown down here where he can feel superior against us. He’s out of the Institute’s way but is still doing his little part to make sure this place runs smoothly. Deke, the cook—he actually has a pretty cool ability—he’s telekinetic, he can move objects with his mind, but his biggest downfall is it’s quite weak, he can’t move very heavy objects, and he needs to be close for it to work. They tried training him, they tried to get him to harness his ability and make it stronger, but gave up when he wasn’t improving. So he was sent down here to work, just like Ty. Not all of the staff are cranky about it like Ty though, a lot of them are very sympathetic and will help you out any way they can, there’s just the select few guards who are living high on a power trip.’

  Is that why you haven’t told them what you can do? You don’t want to work for them?

  ‘There are many reasons I haven’t. The main one being that they would love to get their hands on an ability like mine, like ours. Could you imagine what they would make us do? My guess would be we would see the inside of a lot of interrogation rooms, only we’ll be the one asking the questions, not answering them.’

  How do you know all of this? I ask.

  ‘That’s a pretty long story. Short version? My cousin was arrested not long after me, but he’s decided to cooperate with them. He comes and visits me every day and tells me what goes on up there. Plus, it’s also pretty easy to listen in when no one realises you can hear what they’re thinking. I get a lot of information from the guards that way.’

  Oh, right, I guess you really would get the best insight.

  It’s obvious I’ve lived a sheltered, naïve life. I thought I was so knowing, so on top of things. I was even quite cocky really, thinking that I knew more than the others around me. Every year I’d be so suspicious of those tours, why we would have them, whether the information they were giving us was right; I knew they were hiding something, but I had no idea they were covering up this much. In my mind, it was black and white—if you’re Defective, you live at the Institute, you have no rights, no visitation, and no freedom. You’ll never see the outside of the Institute walls. I had no idea, no little inkling that there was a whole other world here.

  A world where you’re hired to find others like you, to bring them in to be beaten and tortured for information about their ability and what they can do. And if your ability isn’t valuable, you get sent to do the jobs no one else wants.

  What would they have me do if they found out what I can actually do? Would they send me out into the world like Drew? Or would they want me here, interrogating others? I don’t think I could handle doing that to someone. I’ve only been on the receiving end of it for a short time, and I want it to end. Inflicting this kind of pain on someone isn’t what I want to use my newfound ability for.

  Is that why Drew did what he did? They made him do it?

  ‘Who’s Drew?’ Tate asks. ‘Your boyfriend?’

  Oh, sorry, that’s going to be hard to get used to, remembering that you can hear everything I think.

  ‘No, I’m sorry, I have the habit of listening in when I guess I probably shouldn’t. You don’t have to talk about your boyfriend if you don’t want to.’

  Actually, I guess I can’t really call him that anymore … or if he ever was my boyfriend to begin with. It’s a really long story.

  ‘Well, I have nothing but time.’

  Short version? You k
now, it’s your typical love story—Boy meets girl, girl saves boy from a fiery car crash, they bond over the death of his friend, the disappearance of hers, they spend every moment thinking of each other, and spend every day they can together. Her brother is going to be arrested so her boyfriend offers to run away with her brother to protect him, to save him, only she’s the one who gets arrested, and when she’s taken in to be interrogated, she finds out he’s the one who put her there. It would make a best seller, don’t you think?

  ‘Wow. Just wow.’

  I still can’t believe I was that stupid, that naïve. I’m sorry I’ve just dumped a heap of emotional crap on you; I don’t even know you.

  ‘Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s actually been good to talk to someone again without actually having to talk.’

  I know what you mean. Well, not the whole not having to talk part because this is still really weird for me, but it has been good to talk to someone who actually wants to give me answers.

  ‘Well, I’m here if you need anything else.’

  I do have another question. How do I turn down everyone else’s volume? I have constant chatter in my ear now. It started off pretty quiet, but now it’s just getting louder and louder. I can’t even make out most of it, it just sounds like I’m in a really crowded room.

  ‘Ah, I remember when it first happened to me, it almost drove me nuts. I find filling my head with white noise usually does the trick … most of the time anyway.’