The Dociles (The Secret Archives Trilogy Book 1)

by Valerie Puri

  She put her hand out to brace herself against the blue glass and leaned on it for support. It felt warm against her palm. In the past, when she had come across this material, a docile was always on the other side doing the menial task assigned to it. Why was she in a docile enclosure?

  Peering through the transparent wall of her cell, Belle saw what looked like a wide hallway which stretched as far as she could see in either direction. Lining either side of the corridor were enclosures like hers. She tried to count them but quickly gave up. There were just too many of them, possibly hundreds.

  Panic set in as she realized this docile enclosure was her prison. Her hands began to tremble, and Belle felt her lower lip quiver. She had to get out of this place. Belle flung herself at the unbreakable glass and pounded on it with clenched fists. A harsh scream escaped her throat as the muted thud of her fists taunted her futile efforts. When her hands and arms ached unbearably, Belle sank to the floor with uncontrollable sobs.

  Not even a full-grown man with all of his strength could break this blue glass. There was no way that Belle’s small fists could do any damage. Belle surrendered to her dire situation, and her sobs softened.

  Her eyes stung from crying and tears distorted her vision. She pulled the neckline of her sweater up over her face and used the fabric to dry her eyes and face. She sat there for a moment with her face hidden and her hands pressing her sweater to her eyes to soak up any fresh tears. When she pulled her sweater back down, Belle let out a horrified shriek.

  A figure with yellow eyes stood against the glass in the enclosure just across from Belle. She didn’t notice it before; it must have been concealed in the shadows at the back of its enclosure. This figure didn’t look as gaunt as the other dociles she had seen. The skin was grey, yes, but its body still had meaty flesh on the bones, unlike the typical emaciated appearance of the dociles. Belle was puzzled by the peculiar appearance of this docile. Something about it was familiar.

  Belle squinted her eyes trying to get a better look. She studied the docile for some time. It had a shapely feminine figure, and wore a blue dress. Belle wondered where she had seen that dress before. She gasped stale air and clapped her hand over her mouth in shock when she realized who she was starting at.

  Removing her hand from her mouth, Belle asked hesitantly, “Mrs. Townsend? Is that you?”

  The figure remained still, and the neutral expression remained unchanged. Belle was not certain if she could even be heard through the dense blue glass. The yellow eyes stared at Belle, making her feel uneasy. Slowly, the figure’s head began to nod up and down.

  With great pain, Belle pulled herself up on her knees and pressed her hands against the glass to get as close as possible. “Mrs. Townsend,” Belle said in disbelief, “what have they done to you?”

  Mrs. Townsend pointed at Belle with a slow, deliberate gesture and brought her extended index finger to her greenish lips.

  Belle nodded. “I won’t tell them anything, Mrs. Townsend.”

  With that, the decaying form of Mrs. Townsend turned around and disappeared into the darkness of her enclosure. Belle stood upright and banged on the blue glass with clenched fists. She had to get Mrs. Townsend to come back. She had to understand what was happening to her teacher.

  “Wait,” Belle shouted. “Come back. You have to come back. What are they doing to you? I have to know.”

  There was movement from the cells that neighbored Mrs. Townsend’s. Before long, dozens of yellow eyes were fixed on her. Every blue glass enclosure that Belle could see, except Mrs. Townsend’s, contained a pair of yellow eyes. The grey skeletal bodies of dociles were visible in the faint light as they moved forward, struggling to use their stiffened limbs. Matted, brittle hair clung to their grey scalps. In either direction as far as Belle could see, grey faces with gleaming yellow eyes were fixed on her.

  Belle backed away, wedging herself into the rear corner of her cell. If only she could become liquid and escape through the pores of the concrete that pressed against her back.

  Belle had never seen so many dociles before, and a nauseating thought occurred to her. Only a few days ago, Mrs. Townsend was alive and well. Now, she appeared to be undergoing some sort of transformation. Belle was deeply shaken by the thought that Sash and the man in the goggles could be turning people into dociles. She wondered if this same fate was in store for her. Tears slid down her cheeks.

  41

  Night had fallen. Thick clouds blocked out the moon. Steady wind pushed the clouds, creating an ever-changing tapestry overhead of dark patches with silver edges. Periodically, the hiding moon peeked out through small breaks in the clouds, and intense beams of silver light poured over the ground before the wind slid another cloud in front of the moon, throwing the night again into darkness.

  Jennie shivered as foreboding surged through her body. The wind carried a foul aroma, making her feel like vomiting. Hardly able to see in the dark, she walked along an alley lined with brick buildings. Her feet knew the way as she had taken this path countless times. Her fingertips gently touched the coarse bricks as she walked. She could feel a change in the air and knew she was approaching the town square.

  She stopped in the shadow of the building and looked up into the sky. The wind carried away the massive cloud which had cast her in darkness. Moonlight shone down into the square making it look serene and peaceful. The water cascaded like liquid silver from the horse’s mouths into the shimmering pool below. The area was deserted. Everything was still and quiet save for the fountain splashing. Even though Jennie could not see anyone, she still could be spotted if she crossed the square in the moonlight.

  Jennie waited until a large cloud moved into place over the moon, blocking out the brilliant light. She sprinted across the square to Uncle Albert’s apothecary shop. The display of bottles and distillations in the storefront windows stood like shadowy sentries, only watching as Jennie rushed past and entered the side alley.

  An uneven cobblestone tripped her, causing her to careen into the recessed alcove on the side of the shop. Unable to slow down in time, she crashed into the door. Hot pain shot through her shoulder with the impact. Worried that someone heard the noise, she held her breath and waited. The night was silent. She was safe, for now.

  Trying to erase the pain, she rubbed her shoulder. It was all she could do to try and clam her nerves. It might have been her mind playing tricks on her in the dark, but she thought she saw the symbol of the rearing horse branded into the wooden doorframe. As instructed, Jennie rapped gently on the door three times. It opened a crack, but no further.

  Jennie spoke the password Uncle Albert had told her, “truth will find us all,” and she was permitting entrance. She crossed the threshold, and the door shut and locked behind her. The familiar fragrance of ginger root, lavender, sage, and other herbs was stronger in this part of the shop. Jennie assumed the side entrance must lead to Uncle Albert’s storage room.

  In the dark, Jennie heard shuffling footsteps pass her. A door opened in front of her, and dim candlelight spilled into the small area where she stood. In the light, Jennie could see a small narrow hallway with old dingy coats and aprons hanging from hooks that lined wood-paneled walls. Uncle Albert smiled warmly at her while he waited for her to enter the larger room.

  “Come, my dear Jennie,” Uncle Albert said softly. “Our guest awaits.”

  Jennie walked through the door into the room which lay beyond. Uncle Albert followed her into the room and closed the door behind them both, sealing them into the windowless storage room.

  Rows of towering shelves lined the perimeter of the room. An old ladder was precariously balanced against one of them. Arranged neatly on each wooden plank were beautiful glass jars and bottles. They contained an assortment of herbs, strange looking roots, and tinctures. Each bottle had yellowed slips of paper boasting the names of the remedies Uncle Albert stored here.

  In the middle of the room was a huge wooden table overflowing with piles of scrolls,
books, and blank sheets of vellum. A massive iron candelabra filled with lit candles was placed in the center of the vast surface. Positioned in front of a threadbare cushioned chair at the head of the table were an inkwell, feather pen, and vellum.

  Scrolls and books were stacked in leaning piles on the floor all around the room. It was a maze to navigate, but the old man did it with little effort. Jennie moved forward into the room, careful to not knock anything over.

  She found a worn wooden chair at the side of the table and took a seat. Anticipation gnawed at her. She was trying to imagine who the Truth Seeker she was about to meet could be. It might be anyone in the town, someone she only saw in passing or even someone she had known for years, like Uncle Albert. While she pondered, Jennie stared meditatively at the hot wax as it dripped down the side of the candle, slowly cooling on its decent. Each small drop of wax combined with those that went before, creating a mass that would soon be so heavy it would break free from the candle.

  “Now that you are here, Jennie, I would like for you to meet someone.” Uncle Albert sat down on the threadbare chair. “Actually, I am sure you have met her at one time or another, but not in this capacity.”

  Her. So, it was a woman. Jennie wondered if it was a classmate; could it be someone she sat next to for years? When did this woman realize the truth of the Commune? Was it thrust upon her as it had been thrust upon Jennie? She was eager to find out who this woman was. Even though Uncle Albert did not pause while speaking, Jennie implored him with her eyes to speak faster.

  Uncle Albert went on, “She has been involved heavily in our movement. Without her, we would not have our connected network of Truth Seekers united under one name, one cause. We would still be just isolated groups of people working alone and talking in shadowy rooms like this one.” Uncle Albert made a gesture with his arms to the large, windowless room. “She brought us together, and she inspires us to continue growing our numbers of trusted people so we can enact change.”

  “Albert, you give me too much credit,” someone said behind Jennie.

  Jennie turned. A tall, beautiful woman emerged from the shadows and crossed the room to sit in the wooden chair across from her. Jennie found herself looking into a pair of stunning green eyes. She knew those eyes. Those eyes belonged to Ethan. And Elder Marlene.

  “Hello, Miss Caraway,” Marlene said, “Welcome to our cause.”

  42

  Jennie had seen Marlene Saunders many times, but she struggled to recall ever hearing her speak. Marlene’s voice rang out crisp and clear, reminding Jennie of the brass school bell’s toll. Jennie had never been this close to her or Elder Victor before. She studied Marlene’s skin for lines, wrinkles, or any sign of aging. There were none. Marlene wore the face of a youthful woman, yet her eyes reflected the wisdom of many lifetimes.

  Jennie shifted in her chair. Victor was an Elder, and he was involved in terrible things. Marlene was also an Elder, but could she be that different from Victor? Jennie bit her lower lip as she tried to figure out how the two leaders of the Commune could be such opposites. Were they really opposites or were they working together and this was a trap?

  “I understand your hesitation, Jennie,” Marlene said. “You probably did not expect to find me here tonight. My position as an Elder allows me access to restricted information and those who wish to stop us do not suspect me. However, it also means I am doubted by new Truth Seekers I meet because of my proximity to those with questionable motives.”

  Jennie studied Marlene. “How can I trust you? During the Emergency Commune Council, you just sat there and listened to Victor’s lies about Mrs. Townsend. She didn’t wander off and leave the Commune. She was taken by Sash. I was the last person to see her before he took her off to who knows where.”

  Marlene looked at Jennie for a long while before she began to speak. Her tone was gentle and non-threatening. “You knew the truth. Why didn’t you stand against Victor?”

  “I…” Jennie stammered. “I had to protect what Mrs. Townsend entrusted me with. If I called out Victor’s lie, who would stand with me?”

  “You were afraid.” Marlene stated it as a fact and not a question.

  Jennie’s cheeks flushed. “What could I do? It was more important that I keep what Mrs. Townsend gave to me secret. That’s what they were after.”

  “And so you remained silent. You let Victor propagate his lies.”

  Jennie looked from Marlene to Uncle Albert. Both were starting at her, as if evaluating her. She didn’t like being scrutinized in this manner. There was something almost accusatory in Marlene’s words. As if it were Jennie’s fault that Victor is able to continue to mislead the people.

  Her response was louder than she meant it to be, but she had to make herself clear. “One person isn’t enough to change anything. If I spoke up, I would be the next one to disappear. But you,” Jennie pointed at Marlene, “you actually have the ability to change things. You’re an Elder and Victor’s equal. People would listen to you.”

  “I was just as angry when I heard Victor make that false announcement. Imagine what would have happened if I stood up to refute everything Victor said. What would the people have done if I told them Victor had instructed Sash to abduct Eleanor?”

  “Chaos.” Uncle Albert said. “There would have been complete chaos. Understand, Jennie, the difficulty in handling that situation. The Truth Seeker’s numbers are growing, but there are still not enough of us to reach everyone in the Commune. There are still people who have no idea there is anything sinister going on. Those people would have panicked. The situation would have been uncontrollable for both Victor and us.”

  “I know Eleanor is your teacher and you care about her. She is a good person and is fortunate to have someone like you on her side,” Marlene added.

  For a moment Jennie believed Marlene was capable of motherly love. Something in her tone was soothing and comforting. It felt genuine. Jennie could not understand how the woman who sat before her today, who seemed to genuinely care, could be the same woman who abandoned her son as a baby in the forest seventeen years ago. Jennie would have to find the right time to confront Marlene about Ethan. For now, she had to focus on getting some answers.

  “You speak of her in the present tense. Mrs. Townsend is - is dead, isn’t she?”

  Marlene glanced sideways at Uncle Albert who was shaking his head. Jennie watched with uncertainty, as the two seemed to be exchanging silent dialog with small gestures and looks. Marlene’s eyes fell back on Jennie’s. Those eyes pierced directly through her, reading her, finding her innermost secrets. She shifted in her chair again and tried to avoid Marlene’s unwavering gaze.

  “It is time you are made aware of everything happening here in the Commune,” Marlene said in her smooth, musical voice.

  43

  Sash walked through a dark side street toward the town square. No one dared to cross his path. He relished the informal curfew the people imposed upon themselves. Fear of the dark and fear of Sash kept the townspeople and those filthy undesirables indoors at night. The Order saw a difference between the two: the undesirables were trouble, and the rest were there to be controlled. To Sash, they were all the same.

  The cold air ripped through his lungs as Sash inhaled deeply; how he enjoyed the night air, his one simple pleasure. Tonight something was different. The air smelled rank to him. He rationalized the odor was probably from him spending too much time in the processing sector.

  Goggles probably reeked of the half-dead dociles he spent all of his time with. That wormy little man never left the processing sector in the bowels of the Commune. Sash wondered when Goggles had last seen the light of day or, as Sash preferred, the dark of night. The only thing that man ever saw was his blazing white lights and concrete dungeon. At least Goggles knew his place, unlike the undesirables.

  Sash passed by the darkened apothecary shop as he emerged into the square. Everything was quiet. His eyes scanned the perimeter of the square, hoping to spot an undes
irable or two. He had enjoyed breaking up the secret meeting between the man and the woman, Madam Marie, the other night. He could still feel the weight of the cold stone in his palm as he smashed it into the woman’s skull. Sash wondered if the woman had survived the blow, but he was too proud to give Goggles the satisfaction of asking. The man had gotten away, and he hoped the undesirable would be foolish enough to show up here again.

  He was disappointed that the square was completely deserted. He crossed the square and trudged up the wide stone steps of the Sanctuary building. He threw open the pair of heavy wooden entrance doors and let them slam loudly shut behind him. The building was dark. Walking past the large Commune Council hall, he entered the cold stairwell. The hollow space echoed with his heavy footfall on the tile steps.

  On the third-floor landing, Sash heard voices from further down the corridor. The meeting was about to begin. He strode down the wide hallway and slipped inside the interior meeting room. As usual, two small oil lamps sat in the middle of the empty table. The light cast tall shadows on the walls, giving the appearance of elongated fingers poised to grab the people settled around the room. Sash took his seat next to Victor’s vacant chair at the head of the table.

  It was odd that Victor wasn’t here yet. He was always the first to arrive. Sash squinted around the table assessing the attendees. One of them must know something.

  “As our Commune Elder and leader of the Order, Victor always stresses punctuality. It is in our interest that we commence with the meeting.” Isaac Fenske stood, his gruff voice silencing the subdued discussions around the table.