Gotta B

by Claire Carmichael

  ‘That sucks! Rick’s going to totally hate it there.’

  ‘I imagine he’d hate being locked up in a juvenile facility more,’ she said dryly.

  Once Tal was relaxed in the soft leather seat of his mother’s Mercedes, he felt terribly weary, as if all the events of the day had suddenly hit him. Marshalling the last of his energy, he said, ‘The first thing is to find out who set Rick up.’

  She gave an irritated sigh. ‘Don’t get involved. Leave it to the police to investigate.’

  ‘But you said yourself that the cops are happy to have Rick locked away as a mental patient. Why would they stir up trouble for themselves by keeping the case open?’

  ‘God knows I’ve got enough problems at the moment without having you playing amateur detective,’ she snapped.

  ‘You don’t understand, Mum,’ said Tal. ‘Rick would do anything for us. We have to do the same for him.’

  When Petra’s mother had picked her up from the police station, her expression had been so coldly furious that Petra had hardly said a word, not wanting to provoke a bitter argument.

  Now that they were home, her mother took her into the study and handed Petra her iZod. ‘Your father and I have agreed you can have your communicator back. This is not because you deserve a break. You don’t. It’s because in an emergency such as the lockdown at the school, we need to be able to speak with you in person, not rely on someone else to tell us where you are and that you’re safe.’

  Petra felt like kissing her iZod. Connected again! ‘Oh, that’s great, Mum. Thanks.’

  ‘Nothing else has changed. You’re still grounded. In fact, I’m extending the period by a month.’

  ‘A month? But Mum –’

  ‘Don’t waste your breath arguing. It would have been a different story if you’d stayed here this afternoon, and not gone haring off with the others to find Rick. Your impetuosity got you arrested.’

  ‘I wasn’t arrested. I was “helping the police with their inquiries”.’

  ‘Whatever you care to call it, the embarrassing fact remains that you were detained by the police. I had to physically push my way through hordes of media outside the station in order to collect you. I’m sure you’ll agree this is not good publicity for Garden Stuff. Your father’s still at work, attempting to repair the PR damage.’

  Hot tears burnt Petra’s eyes. ‘That’s all you care about, isn’t it? It’s Stuff! Stuff! Stuff! What about how I feel? What about Rick, locked up as though he’s raving mad, when he’s not?’

  ‘I can’t do anything for Rick at the moment, but I’ve already spoken with Thelma Lawrence to offer my support. As for your feelings, Petra, your father and I never fail to listen to what you have to say, but you can’t expect us always to agree with you.’

  ‘All right, you listen, but you don’t trust me. You and Dad monitor everything I do. It was okay when I was young, but I’m not a little kid anymore.’

  ‘It’s natural that we would want to protect you.’

  ‘Protect? Fine. But you’re smothering me.’

  ‘Let’s talk it over this Sunday in our family discussion time.’

  ‘What a great idea,’ said Petra sarcastically. ‘Let’s talk and talk until we’re blue in the face. It won’t make any difference. Nothing changes in this family.’

  There was silence for a moment, then her mother said, ‘When I was growing up, I remember feeling just the way you do. And my father said something I never forgot: “You don’t have the family you want: you have the family you’ve got.”’

  Rick panicked as soon as he saw his grandmother with Dr Renfrew and two orderlies in crisp white uniforms. Tears ran down Thelma’s face as she choked out, ‘Rick, dear, this is for your own good.’

  ‘Don’t do this to me!’

  Dr Renfrew nodded to the orderlies, who moved quickly to seize him. Rick struggled wildly. ‘I’m not going with you! You can’t make me!’

  The doctor stepped forward, a pneumatic hypodermic in his hand. Rick pulled away, but it was no use. He felt a faint sting on his arm and then a rush of calmness.

  ‘It’s the newest thing,’ he heard Renfrew say to Thelma. ‘A short-acting drug that almost instantly calms the patient without causing any sleepiness, confusion or loss of motor skills, although the ability to speak is temporarily affected.’

  A wedge of police officers cleared the way to the limousine. As questions were shouted and cameras darted, Rick walked tranquilly with an orderly on either side – Felix and Luis by their name tags. It wasn’t really necessary to guard Rick, because his body was far too relaxed to respond to his brain’s urgent commands to resist.

  Followed by media vehicles, the limousine drove smoothly across town. ‘There’s the centre,’ said Felix.

  Situated at the edge of Braidworth’s upscale industrial park, the subtly floodlit building was a graceful structure surrounded by beautifully landscaped grounds.

  However attractive it was, Rick thought, it was still going to be his prison.

  Already a knot of reporters was gathered at the front entrance. The limousine turned down a side road leading to the back of the building. The pursuing media vehicles were stopped by an electronic gate, which blinked off only long enough to let the limousine through.

  Unhindered, the air cams soared above the gate and zipped after them, to witness Rick being efficiently whisked out of the limousine and in through the back entrance.

  Inside, the soothing colours reminded Rick of the hospital’s psychiatric unit, although this was far more luxurious. His feet sank into the soft, beige carpeting, the neutral walls held what looked like original paintings – some abstract designs, but mostly peaceful landscapes or seascapes – and there were vases of flowers in pastel shades everywhere.

  They took a lift to the fourth floor. Rick walked compliantly between the two orderlies as they approached a sleek white desk with the sign SECURE WING PATIENT ADMISSIONS. Felix, who seemed to be the friendlier of his two escorts, said, ‘You’re going to like it here, Rick. Trust me.’

  Dr Renfrew had been right when he’d told Thelma that it was a short-acting drug. Rick could feel the tension returning to his body and he found he could speak again. ‘What’s to like about being a prisoner?’

  The other orderly, Luis, gave a sour laugh. ‘Sure beats what the cops would offer you, kiddo. Here you get your own room with attached bathroom. In police detention you get to share a cell with who knows what? An axe murderer, a sexual deviant? You name it.’

  Seated behind the desk was a stout woman with brassy blonde hair and an empty, professional smile. A name plate identified her as Gloria. She said to Felix, ‘Dr Unwin has already completed this patient’s admission details. I just need to check that he’s been body searched.’

  ‘The cops did that for us, Gloria.’

  Rick felt his face grow hot as he remembered the indignity of the strip search he’d been subjected to at the police station.

  ‘Very good,’ she said. She handed over a paper-wrapped parcel. ‘Tomorrow we’ll arrange hot meals with the kitchen, but for tonight here’s a packet meal for Rick. Please take him to room eight.’

  ‘How did she know who I was?’ Rick asked as they walked down a short hallway.

  ‘You’re famous, kiddo,’ said Luis with a mocking smile. ‘Pretty well the whole world knows you, at least for a few minutes more. Then someone else will do something outrageous and take your place.’

  SECURE WING said the sign. In smaller letters it advised, NO UNAUTHORISED PERSONS PERMITTED.

  As the drug wore off, panic flooded through Rick again. Once he was in the secure wing he’d be trapped. He looked around desperately. Could he get away from these two guys? Was it best to try to hide, or make a run for it? The media must still be waiting for something to happen. If he could get outside, he’d yell for help.

  Luis took his arm in a very firm grip. ‘Hang in there, Rick. You’ll be okay.’

  Felix stared into the lens of an iris re
ader and with a click the lock on the heavy white metal door opened. ‘After you, Rick. Let’s get you settled in.’

  He tried to remember the route they’d taken since coming into the building, but everything was fuzzy. The dull thud of the heavy door closing behind him filled him with utter despair. He’d been abandoned by Thelma. The doctors would keep him here forever.

  He had one hope, he told himself – his friends. And Tal’s mother worked for Farront. Maybe Tal would persuade her to do something.

  Room eight was pleasant enough, with cream walls and pale blue carpet. The bed had a darker blue quilt. The only other furniture was a small round table, a blue upholstered chair and a small chest of drawers. Inside the drawers were pale yellow cotton pants with a drawstring and matching top, identical to the clothes Rick had been told to change into when Felix and Luis had brought him into the room. They’d taken away his own clothes.

  There was no window, but a screen set into the wall mimicked an outside view of rolling green hills dotted artistically with trees. The sky was slowly darkening as it would be in reality and the grass rippled as if touched by an evening breeze. Rick expected there’d shortly be a soothing sunset depicted in pretty colours. Apart from watching the artificial view, there was nothing to do except listen to faint, bland music piped into the room.

  He’d eaten the almost tasteless cheese sandwiches in his meal pack and was sitting on the bed deciding whether to have a shower in the utilitarian little bathroom before going to sleep, when he heard a faint click as the electronic lock on the door disengaged.

  ‘Ah, Rick. How are you settling in?’

  Rick imagined the satisfaction of punching the smile off Dr Unwin’s face, but that would probably earn him another injection, or worse. He said, ‘I want to go home.’

  Carter Renfrew shook his balding head as he closed the door behind him. ‘Not possible, I’m afraid, until you’ve fully recovered.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’

  ‘I know you believe that,’ said Dr Unwin sympathetically, ‘but it’s common for depressed patients to deny they’re ill. After treatment you’ll realise what it’s like to be normal.’

  He wanted to scream ‘Let me go!’ but forced himself to sound cool and reasonable. ‘Look, I don’t need any treatment from either of you. Dr Stein’s my psychiatrist.’

  ‘Dr Stein is no longer involved with your case,’ said Renfrew. ‘Your grandmother has signed the papers to make Dr Unwin and myself your sole medical caregivers.’

  ‘Thelma can’t do that. I must have some say in who my doctors are.’

  Dr Unwin wore his understanding smile. ‘I don’t think you appreciate your situation, Rick. First, in the law’s eyes you’re too young to make medical decisions for yourself. Second, you’re extremely fortunate not to face the courts as a terrorist. Being admitted to the centre as a patient is a far preferable fate, I assure you.’

  ‘I’m not a terrorist. Someone else made those threats.’

  Dr Renfrew put a fatherly hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s quite possible that you don’t remember doing it, Rick, but the evidence is clear.’

  ‘What evidence?’ Rick demanded, shaking Renfrew’s hand off.

  ‘We’ll approach the issue during your treatment,’ said Dr Unwin.

  ‘I refuse. I won’t cooperate.’

  Dr Unwin’s smile evaporated. ‘Get this straight, my boy. You don’t leave the clinic until Dr Renfrew and I agree our treatment has been successful. If you aim to go home soon, you’ll cooperate. If you’d prefer to stay here indefinitely …’ He shrugged. ‘Your choice.’

  ‘I want to see Thelma.’

  ‘No visitors until you’re appreciably better.’

  It was hopeless. No matter what he did, he couldn’t escape. He took a deep breath. ‘If I agree, what sort of treatment are you talking about?’

  Dr Unwin gave him a small, satisfied smile. ‘That’s much better, Rick. Have a good night’s sleep. We’ll talk over the details tomorrow and begin your regimen as soon as possible. You’ll be back home before you know it.’

  As the doctors moved towards the door, Rick said, ‘This regimen – what will you do to me?’

  ‘Nothing to be worried about,’ said Renfrew with a dismissive gesture. ‘A few simple tests, a brain scan, perhaps mild medication.’

  ‘That’s all?’

  Dr Unwin smiled. ‘That’s all.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  Tal had been so exhausted when they’d arrived home that he’d had a bowl of soup and gone up to bed. Before going to sleep he’d checked his text messages. Allyx sent her love and said how much she missed him, Petra exuberantly advised everyone her mother had caved and she had her iZod back, Jennie and David both said they were in big trouble with their parents, who didn’t appreciate the notoriety that came with being featured in the national media and everywhere on the web.

  Tal slept in and came down for a late breakfast the next morning. He poured himself a glass of orange juice and commanded the wall screen to display a digest of the local weekend news. The major item was the capture of Richard Lawrence, alleged teenage terrorist.

  Yesterday Tal had watched from the house as Rick and Rob had walked slowly towards the waiting cops. Rick had been roughly seized and thrown to the ground before his hands were handcuffed behind his back. Seeing it from the camera’s point of view gave Tal quite a different perspective. The edited close-ups made the whole scene even more dramatic than it had seemed to him at the time.

  Tal found it unsettling to view himself exiting David’s house, followed at intervals by the others. He hadn’t seen this yesterday, but as Petra left the house she’d stuck her tongue out at the camera. Her parents were going to love that!

  The screen switched to a sleek black limousine speeding past media trucks and reporters. The crawl at the bottom of the screen announced that Richard Lawrence, allegedly responsible for Friday’s terrorism red alert at Braidworth High, was now a psychiatric patient at the new Farront Centre, under the joint care of the famous Dr Carter Renfrew and the eminent Dr Howard Unwin.

  Tal put slices of bread in his mother’s space-age toaster and attempted to hit the correct sequence of buttons to produce acceptable toast. He was puzzled: why, even before Rick’s arrest, had Dr Unwin and Joe Villabona been so keen to admit Rick as a patient? Did it have something to do with Rick being a disconnect? Maybe it was because Rick was a disconnect who had a history of depressive episodes, so he might be more likely to suffer CWSS.

  Perhaps it was a strategy to head off legal action by Rick’s grandmother. A smart lawyer could probably persuade Thelma to sue Farront, claiming that the stress of being disconnected had driven Rick to lose his mind. Thelma’s case would be weakened if a jury heard she’d accepted Farront’s offer of free medical care for treatment that would otherwise be very expensive.

  He rescued his toast, which was burnt in the corners and still white in the middle. He tossed the slices, deciding to have fruit salad instead.

  Tal tried to visualise what being a patient in the psychiatric wing of The Farront Centre would be like. His image of mental hospitals came from graphic e-novels and horror movies, so in his mind’s eye he saw Rick strapped to a table with dozens of wires attached to his head. Villabona, perfectly groomed, stood coldly watching while Rick struggled to free himself. Creepy music played in the background. Meanwhile, wild-eyed Dr Renfrew stooped over a control panel, finger poised to send electricity zapping through Rick’s brain.

  He chuckled aloud at his fantasy. Reality would be entirely different. Rick was likely relaxing in a comfortable room, glad to be away from the cops and their grotty station.

  ‘Rob was in jail all night,’ said Tal’s mother, coming into the kitchen. ‘He’s just been released and is going straight home to get some sleep.’

  ‘Rob was great with Rick yesterday,’ said Tal sincerely. ‘I really think he may have saved Rick from being target practice for the cops.’

  His
mother raised an eyebrow. ‘So Rob’s not so bad, after all?’

  ‘Not so bad,’ he conceded.

  ‘You okay to get your own lunch? Victor is recovering well, so he’s being released from hospital this morning. I’m going to pick him up, take him home and settle him in.’

  ‘No problem. Have you heard how Marcia is?’

  ‘Victor says she has a broken nose and two black eyes, but otherwise she’s fine. Marcia’s been badgering the police to find the hit-and-run driver who caused the accident, but they haven’t even got a suspect yet.’ She sniffed. ‘I smell something burning.’

  ‘Your toaster burnt my toast. It always does. I think it’s possessed by an evil spirit.’

  She laughed. ‘You represent the next step in evolution, right? But you have trouble operating a toaster. It’s a worry.’

  His mother’s smile disappeared when he said, ‘Mum, about Villabona. At the cop shop yesterday – what was that all about?’

  Her expression grew bleak. ‘Basically, Joe’s influence on Audrey is growing every day. Before he joined the company, Audrey had no problem with my relationship with Rob. She took it for granted I’d make sure my professional and personal worlds never overlapped. Even when FinagleAlert began to investigate Tacitcomm, Audrey still accepted that I kept my private life with Rob entirely separate from my work.’

  ‘And Joe Villabona changed her mind?’

  ‘He’s done more than that. I didn’t see it at first, but from the time Joe joined Farront, he’s been working to drive a wedge between me and Audrey.’

  ‘Why?’ said Tal. ‘How does it help him?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She rubbed her forehead fretfully.

  ‘If Villabona has something to hide, he’d hardly like having a colleague with links to FinagleAlert around, would he? The last thing he’d want is someone snooping into his business.’

  ‘You could be right. I’m positive Audrey’s ultimatum about Victor’s appearance on FinagleAlert came direct from Joe. And now he’s well on the way to persuading her that Rob is using me to cause trouble for Farront. From things that Audrey’s said, Joe’s suggesting that Rob is seeking material for an exposé of Farront’s business practices. Rob’s also supposed to be on the lookout for trade secrets to sell to Audrey’s competitors.’