by Stevie Barry
No, this was good. This was real, not something out of a storybook. They had -- maybe literally -- all the time to see where it went, since they were so thoroughly stuck here. No need to rush anything.
He just hoped it would be a while before Von Ratched figured it out. What he might use it for, Ratiri didn't want to know.
----
Von Ratched was far too busy to give much thought to the inmates outside of F wing. When he'd finished with Phil he sent for Wrigley, his second most dangerous patient.
He couldn't pin as much blame on the kid as he could on Lorna. Not only was the boy mildly tranquilized during the escape, he'd been a little slow to begin with, and remained traumatized about what he'd accidentally done to his girlfriend.
And he offered a refreshing lack of resistance, sitting hunched on the exam table. His thick glasses magnified his eyes to something unnaturally huge, his tow-colored hair a mess. A tall lad, skinny as a beanpole, who twitched occasionally. His records indicated he had mild cerebral palsy, which slightly complicated Von Ratched's ability to experiment on him.
That didn't matter right now, though. For the present, the kid's power had to be leashed by something other than drugs, a procedure that was in itself an experiment. Von Ratched had never tried this before, and was immensely interested in discovering whether or not it would work. Either way, it would tell him something about how these abilities worked.
"Relax, Wrigley," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you. I know you could not help most of what you did during the escape." He knew damn well that some of it was deliberate, but the boy really didn't have much control over his ability.
Of course Wrigley didn't believe him, but that was only to be expected. No matter -- he really wasn't out to hurt the boy, not this time.
"Just sit still. This should not take long."
The boy's mind was a confused jumble, and not just from the sedatives -- he really was a little slow. Like Geezer, his memories were fuzzy things, often indistinct, though his discovery of his ability was unfortunately clear. His girlfriend had been a rather pretty brunette before he'd accidentally set her on fire, and her screams still rang in his head every night. He was naturally a very gentle soul, which made it all the worse for him. If this procedure succeeded, he'd probably be grateful, if he knew it had been done. If all went well, he wouldn't.
Von Ratched's intent was to make him forget he had the ability -- make him forget everything that had happened since he manifested it. It would be a drastic excision of memory, one that might damage him, but it was worth the risk. If it worked, Von Ratched would keep the boy in isolation and tell him he was in a real hospital. If it didn't work…well, that would be unfortunate, but it would at least supply some interesting data.
Deeper into Wrigley's mind he went, back to the days before his pyrokinesis made its appearance, and carefully wiped everything that had come after. This wasn't the first time he'd taken so much of a person's memory, but in those cases he'd hardly cared how much damage he caused. This had all the precision of conventional brain surgery.
Before he finished, he gently eased Wrigley to sleep. He'd monitor the kid's dreams for a while, adjusting if necessary, and see what happened when Wrigley woke.
When he was finished, he took the boy to a room that greatly resembled an average hospital room. The walls were a soft tan rather than white, with a standard adjustable bed. No television or window, but odds were good Wrigley wouldn't notice. He had a severe allergy to peanuts, and Von Ratched would tell him he'd accidentally ingested something with a trace amount of nut. If his ability remained dormant, he would be convinced he'd signed on for a long-term study. If not, he'd have to go into a coma for a while, so Von Ratched could analyze the result.
The boy's vitals remained steady, his neurological results consistent with someone in deep sleep. Now all they could do was wait.
Wait he did, for what seemed an interminable amount of time, jotting down notes in a small spiral notebook. It was three in the morning before Wrigley woke, blinking dazedly. He opened his mouth to speak --
-- and the cardio monitor burst into flames. Damn.
Von Ratched immediately severed his consciousness again, and doused the flames with a fire extinguisher. The stench of burnt plastic filled the room, stinging his sinuses and coating the back of his throat. The monitor sizzled slightly as the white foam coated it, and Von Ratched gave an irritated sigh. So much for that idea -- but it told him something about these abilities. He would have to repeat this trial with other subjects, and see if he obtained the same results. Meanwhile, it was time to adjust his theory about these gifts.
He left Wrigley to sleep, and returned to his apartment. Its calm soothed his annoyance and sharpened his curiosity. After fixing himself a gin and tonic, he took a notebook from the shelves.
These abilities appear to be as intrinsic as I suspected. Subject 27 retained his even when I forced him to forget he had it. Those of us who control ours would appear to do so through willpower, with little to no organic assistance. They may be manipulated by outside sources, but my results with Wrigley would indicate they cannot be turned off by simple manipulation. I will work with him further, and repeat the experiment on several subjects, but I believe this is why I failed to shut off Lorna's telekinesis. If we do not use these abilities, they use us.
He set aside his pen and sipped his drink, the bitter gin washing away the unpleasant taste of plastic. Quantifying this anomaly looked more difficult than ever. While he detested the word 'magic', it remained the only term that applied. He'd known for years these abilities were not genetic, and that according to science they were impossible, but in all his weeks here he'd made no headway in divining the cause, the source. Perhaps he needed to cease being so careful with all his subjects. Perhaps it was time to sacrifice a few.
----
Both Lorna and Ratiri slept like the dead, and when they woke, it was to the unpleasant discovery that Von Ratched had emerged from his lair. The fact that they'd all known it would happen sooner or later made it no less unnerving, since there was no way of knowing who he'd go after next.
It should have been amusing, how small everyone in the cafeteria tried to make themselves, but there was nothing amusing about Von Ratched. His eyes scanned the echoing room, lingering on no one, and that only made the collective tension worse. It was like a horrible game of roulette.
Lorna shivered. It was damn cold in here, and she wasn't the only one wearing her bathrobe like a coat. The concrete walls leached all heat from the air and she found herself thinking of her half-sister's home in Ireland. It was always warm there, whatever the weather, and often overrun with children. Her four nieces and nephews had friends over more often than not, especially during the summer holidays, when the windows were open wide on all but the chilliest nights. They adored their Aunt Lorna, who sanctioned things their mother would never dream of allowing. Hell, half the time she instigated it. Thirty-three though she was, she was still new to the whole 'responsible adult' thing, and frankly she hadn't been very good at it. The memory made her so homesick she could almost smell the clean Irish air, rather than the aroma of stale food that permeated the cafeteria.
She was so lost in thought that Ratiri kicked her in the ankle. We're getting stared at. I think this might be a bad day to be us.
Somehow she avoided glancing in Von Ratched's direction, but she couldn't help frowning. She was not in the mood to deal with his bullshit today -- she wanted to go back outside, to work with Ratiri in the fierce, cold sunshine. While she couldn't exactly pretend she was free out there, at least she could enjoy being out of this godforsaken building.
Peace, she told herself, but it didn't work. Already she was angry, and the bastard hadn't even said a word to her.
Beside her, Ratiri shifted uneasily, and she looked at him. What? she asked.
His aura's…different. All the strain, the worry, was back in his face, and Lorna silently cursed Von Ratched with every invecti
ve she knew in any language. Ratiri had been as close to relaxed as she these last few days, and all in an instant that was gone.
How?
It's got red in it.
Red, so far as she knew, visually signified someone was pissed off. Ratiri had said there were dozens of gradations of each color, all signifying something different, and even he hadn't figured out what all of them meant. Christ. If he tries to take it out on us, I swear I'll bite him.
Lorna, you don't get it. He never has color in his aura. Ever. Even when you attacked him last, it only wound up with grey pain. Something's seriously wrong with him.
You mean, more than usual? She guzzled her tea, now outright scowling.
A lot more than usual. We might be in serious trouble.
If we are, then so is he. Lorna could match anyone temper for temper, and if Von Ratched thought he was going to take it out on them, she'd gladly make his day even worse. Even if it meant she'd be in a lot of pain later.
Sure enough, as soon as breakfast was over, the bastard came to their table. "Lorna, I would like to see you in my office," he said, and she couldn't help but glare at him.
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Mother. Allanah, I'll see you later." It was a promise to Ratiri and a threat to Von Ratched.
She followed him into the relatively less chilly hallways, as always having to jog to keep up. Ratiri automatically shortened his stride so she didn't have to do that, but of course that would never occur to Von Arsehole here. "So what's this about?" she asked, not bothering to hide her annoyance.
"Duncan," he said, shooing her into his office. "And how unfortunately…attached…you've grown."
Warning bells went off like a symphony of air-raid sirens in her head. What? "The hell?" she demanded, crossing her arms. After the chill of the cafeteria it was almost too warm in here, though her mounting fury wasn't helping. Was he really going to waste her time like this?
Von Ratched shut the door, his expression extremely odd as he turned to face her, and she wished she had Ratiri's gift with auras. "I am sending you back to room with DaVries," he said, and there was an undercurrent of viciousness in his voice.
"No."
That single word caught him off-guard to an extent that almost made her smile. "What?"
"I said no," she repeated flatly. "Ratiri and I are sticking exactly as we are. I've conceded a lot, Doctor, but I'll not cave on this. Try to force it and I'll make your life so much worse than hell." Weirdly, there was something almost happy in this anger, and that made no sense whatsoever. She ought to be panicking, and some faint recess of her brain wondered why she wasn't. "You think I was bad before -- I could be so much worse. And this time you couldn't get in my head to stop me."
He'd gone completely still, his expression unreadable, and Lorna wondered if anyone had ever threatened him so bluntly. His eyes were like ice, his whole posture so rigid she wondered if he was actually going to hit her. Jesus, what crawled up his arse and died? And yet he didn't say anything -- probably, she thought, because he knew she was right.
"I could kill him," he said at last, very softly. "You know that."
"I'd kill you," she retorted. "And you know that. Christ, why d'you care? Does the thought'v anyone in this hellhole actually being content really offend you so much? I knew you were a twat, but even I didn't think you were that petty."
A vein was actually twitching in his forehead. She hadn't thought that could happen in real life. "You know nothing, Lorna Donovan."
"Then either enlighten me, or let me out. If you really feel the need to fuck with someone's life, pick another bloody target. I. Will. Not. Let. You." She drew herself up to what passed for her full height. "You need a life, Doctor. Maybe you should work on that."
Still he didn't hit her, though he looked more than ever like he wanted to. Lorna wondered what it would take to drive him to actual violence, and then wondered why she thought the idea was anything short of suicidal.
It’s not suicidal, she thought. Not as you are. Not anymore.
Von Ratched was quiet for nearly a full minute, just staring at her, but she was still too angry for it to make her more than a little uneasy. Her rage was so strong it made her skin prickle, sharpening her already keen vision, but she kept a tight rein on it. She'd promised both Geezer and the Lady she wouldn't try to kill Von Ratched, and it was a promise she meant to keep, however difficult that might be.
"Lorna, I did not mean for you to grow so attached to him," he said at last. "What I did to him is something I have never before tried on a human subject. For all I know, his altered DNA might start to break down. He could die within months."
She felt the blood drain from her face, but her eyes narrowed. "You'd better make sure he doesn't," she said. "I’m only cooperating because'v him. Anything happens to him -- anything -- and you'll see just how horrible I can be. You've no idea yet how miserable I can make your life."
Dammit, she couldn't let her dread take her over, couldn't let it kill the wrath that kept her afloat. Odds were good Von Ratched was lying, that he was trying to lay groundwork that would allow him to kill Ratiri without her automatically blaming him. Well, she wasn't going to buy it. Even if Ratiri did die as the result of whatever was done to him, it would still be Von Ratched's fault.
He stepped forward, invading her personal space to a degree he had to know she wouldn't like, but she refused to retreat. She wasn't about to do anything he might construe as weakness, no matter how unnerved his proximity made her. She didn't know what to make of the way he was looking at her -- all she knew was that she didn't like it. Anger, of course, and something creepily close to possessiveness, but he had to be smart enough to realize she had him at an impasse. He of all people would know what she was capable of with her curse, and by now he had to realize how much damage she was willing to do, if pushed to it. Lorna had sworn she wouldn't try to kill him, but if anything happened to Ratiri, she had no reason to keep that promise. Without concern for his safety, there was no reason for her to cooperate.
Once again Von Ratched was quiet, and she suspected his silence was calculated to unsettle her. Well, fuck him. He was the one who had given her something to fight for -- why the hell would he try to take it away? He knew her, for God's sake, had been around her long enough to know what would happen if he took away the only thing she truly cared about.
"Well?" she said eventually. "Are you going to say anything else, or will you sit there and try to stare me out'v countenance until hell freezes over?"
"You have not won this, Lorna," he said, and his tone chilled her. "You will get what you want for now, but do not expect it to last."
"You'd better make sure it does, or I'll make your life worse than hell, Von Ratched," she retorted. "For however long it lasts. I'm not afraid to die here, if it means I can take you with me. Don't fuck with me, arsehole. Ratiri's a good person, but you know what? I'm not. And you don't want to find out how nasty I can be."
She tried to brush past him, but he grabbed her arm. "Watch yourself, Lorna Donovan. This is not over."
"No," she snarled, "it's not. And it won't be, so long as you're alive."
He let her go, and she stormed out into the hallway. Who did he think he was? He ought to know better than to believe he could control her. Nobody controlled her, and never had.
She wasn't lying. She wasn't an inherently good person, but people like Ratiri made her into one. And if anything happened to him, she wouldn't have a morality chain any longer, no fetter for her occasionally murderous temper. If Von Ratched underestimated that, she didn't care what she'd promised Geezer or the Lady -- it would be the last thing he would ever do.
----
Well, that had gone even worse than Von Ratched had anticipated.
He shouldn’t be doing this. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this, because she really was a time-bomb...but so long as Duncan was alive and unharmed, she wouldn’t go off. So long as
his safety rested upon her good behavior -- well, half-decent behavior -- she would at least make some pretence of cooperation.
And yet there was that thing, that thing behind her eyes. The thing she now kept leashed. How long could she sustain that? How long, before she let it loose again?
----
Ratiri wasn't surprised to see a lot of red in Lorna's aura, when she stomped out into the yard. She was absolutely livid, but she had just dealt with Von Ratched.
He didn't ask about it. She needed a chance to vent her frustration on the hard ground, and she did -- so vehemently she broke the handle of her shovel. It splintered with such a loud crack that a few people near them jumped, and she looked at the half she still held like she wanted to drive it into Von Ratched's kidney.
"Do I even want to ask?" Ratiri murmured. Even with her tan, her face was pale with rage, eyes burning like stars about to go nova.
We're getting out'v here. I don't care what Geezer says, we are leaving. Tomorrow night, if we can. I don't care if I have to hijack a pilot, we are getting out'v this damn place before he can hatch some other kind'v plan. He wanted to send me back to room with Katje, control us just because he can, and fuck him. I'll talk to her and Geezer and Hansen tonight, and see if they want to go with.
Lorna, that's--
She glared up at him with such ferocity he actually took a step backward. It's going to happen, and I don't care if I have to kill someone to do it. I know what he wants, and I'm not playing this bloody game any longer. He said he won't kill you, but I'm damn sure he'll try something else, and I won't let that happen. And if you lot resist me, I swear I'll play you like marionettes if it'll get you out.
He stared at her. There was a ruthlessness, a viciousness about her that was disturbingly like Von Ratched, and for the first time he found himself afraid of her.
But he knew what Von Ratched wanted, too, and it was only a matter of time before he grew impatient. The bastard wanted more than Lorna was probably aware of, and it would be best if she never found out.