The Dociles (The Secret Archives Trilogy Book 1)

by Valerie Puri

  Sash found Isaac’s deliberate use of Victor’s passion for punctuality against him insulting. In the near twenty years Sash had known Victor, he had never been late – not even once. Something must have happened for Victor not to be here, Sash thought. His jaw tightened in distaste. Order brother or not, Sash was not compelled to like this fool, Isaac.

  Having silenced those in the room, Isaac sat down. “Brethren, we gather on this eve to forward our progress in the implementation of our grand plan. In recent months, we have successfully rid the Commune of a great number of undesirables.”

  Around the table, the others muttered their approval at the success – the success which Sash and Victor were responsible for, not Isaac.

  “We have been able to disrupt the Truth Seekers’ organizational structure, effectively severing their communication networks. Without their ability to join together, we are able to address the small independent cells with ease.”

  With every word Isaac spoke, Sash grew to detest him more. This fool boasted about Sash’s work as if he had organized it all. Isaac had never lifted a finger to aid in the execution of the plans Victor formulated, and Sash carried out. Yet, he was claiming these victories as his own. He glowered at Isaac with his crooked nose.

  The door to the meeting room flew open and slammed against the wall with a loud crack. Plaster dust crumbled to the floor from where the doorknob punctured a hole in the wall. Victor strode in standing tall. Fury twisted his face into a hateful scowl.

  “My brothers, we have a traitor in our midst.” Victor’s voice boomed with anger. He pointed a finger at the opposite end of the table where Isaac sat.

  Sash followed the invisible line from Victor’s extended finger to Isaac’s chair. Sash smiled, leapt from his seat with eager, clenched fists and rushed across the room to Isaac.

  “Traitor.” Sash cried out. He swung his fist and it connected with Isaac’s throat.

  Isaac gripped his throat and coughed as he toppled backwards onto the ground. Sash jumped on him, pinning him down. He hammered his angry fists into Isaac’s face over and over again. Each time he made contact, increasing amounts of bright red liquid would pour out of Isaac’s nose and mouth.

  Except for the wet crunch of Sash’s fist striking Isaac, the room was entirely silent as the Order members looked on with stunned dismay. Whether shocked by Isaac being a traitor or by Sash’s actions, he didn’t care. The Order never wanted to hear the details of how Sash accomplished his work, but tonight it was playing out right before their eyes.

  Isaac passed out and his pathetic whimpering could no longer be heard. He stopped squirming in a feeble attempt to escape. Sash stood up and turned to face the Order seated around the table. All eyes were on him. He couldn’t make out the expressions of the others in the shadows, but the oil lamp starkly illuminated Victor’s face– he was smiling.

  44

  Victor dismissed the Order with instructions to reconvene tomorrow night. No one objected. Victor looked into each of their eyes as the members filed out of the room. Some of his brothers met his eyes with approval, and some stared blankly through him, unsure of what had just happened. Giving them time to let tonight’s incident sink in would further secure Victor’s place of power. Everyone but Sash left the room. Sash bent down to pick up Isaac, intending to carry him away.

  “Leave him,” Victor said. “Come with me.”

  He left the meeting room and Sash obediently followed. Victor climbed the winding staircase to his quarters. In the study, he lowered himself into his favorite chair by the fireplace. Victor extracted a handkerchief from his robes and tossed it to Sash.

  “Don’t get blood on my things.”

  Sash grabbed the cloth out of the air and wiped the red from his hands as he sat in the chair across from Victor. The fireplace was fully alight and the wood crackled violently in the flames. The fire provided ample light of course, but in the warmer months the heat was brutal. Soon Victor would have his quarters powered with electricity and no one would dare oppose the privileges he allowed himself. Not unless they wanted to become a docile.

  “You did well, Sash. I can always count on you to do your best.”

  “I was only too glad to wipe the smug look off Isaac’s face.” Sash smiled down at his reddened hands. “How did you discover he was a traitor?”

  “I didn’t,” Victor said in a lighthearted voice, almost a laugh. “Isaac’s loyalty to the Order was never in doubt. His thirst for power – my power – needed to be dealt with. So, I made an example out of him.”

  “You were late on purpose?” Sash asked.

  “Yes,” Victor stated. “I knew Isaac would not be able to resist seizing control of the meeting if I were late. As expected, he assumed my role as the Order leader in my absence. Our brotherhood has no room for people like him. We all have our purpose, and we cannot pursue the role of another member.”

  “Do you think the others will believe Isaac was a traitor?”

  Victor laughed. “Of course, they will. They will believe Isaac was a traitor because I said he was a traitor. There are no lies between brothers in the Order.”

  “Unless they come from you.” Sash smiled.

  “You are very perceptive, Sash,” Victor said. “I’m glad I can rely on your unwavering loyalty to me.”

  Victor rose from his seat and took the bloodied handkerchief from Sash. He tossed it into the fireplace. He stood with his back to Sash, watching as bright, hungry flames consumed the cloth until all that remained was ash. The intensity of the fire ebbed and returned to normal as the ash crumbled, and fell between the burning logs.

  “Now,” Victor said, his back still to Sash. “If you would be so kind as to deliver Isaac for processing.”

  45

  “What do you mean they’re creating more dociles?” Jennie couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  “Mrs. Townsend wasn’t killed after Sash took her,” Uncle Albert explained. “She was taken in for what they call processing. This is where they start the procedure to turn people into dociles.”

  None of it made any sense. Jennie always wondered how the first dociles came about, but she assumed they were some passive offshoot of the lemerons.

  “Dociles don’t bite people, so how could more of them possibly be made?” Jennie asked.

  “Science. They create dociles by way of science. Many years ago, I —” –Marlene’s voice broke, and sorrow flashed across her face. As soon as Jennie registered the emotion, it was gone, replaced by Marlene’s cool demeanor. Marlene cleared her throat and continued.

  “Many years ago, I discovered a shadow society operating within the Commune - they call themselves the Order. They are the ones responsible for all of these disappearances. I observed them for years from afar, always careful not to reveal my intentions to them. The ability to create dociles was lost for hundreds of years, but the Order rediscovered it, and perfected it.”

  Jennie paled and the nauseous feeling returned to her stomach. The more she learned the worse it got. The group of people who were after her and Belle had a name. It made them real.

  Jennie wondered just how many people were in this Order and if she knew any of them. Had they watched her? Had they overheard her talking? Jennie shuddered with unease as she felt invisible eyes spying on her from the dark corners of the room. She tried to dismiss the feeling and focus. She knew the three of them were alone here. It was safe.

  “Seventeen years ago, I uncovered their plan to remove all undesirables from conscious society. You see, that is how they refer to us: undesirables. We do not fit The Order’s mold of what they consider useful – or obedient,” Marlene added. “Our scientists are currently exploring ways to turn the dociles back into humans. The Order has taken this scientific research and distorted it to learn how to create more dociles. That is their plan for us: to turn us into obedient, mindless dociles who are under their control. When I found out The Order’s intent, I vowed to do everything I could to stop them. To
do so, I had to make great sacrifices to protect those I care about most,” Marlene fell silent, and sadness filled her eyes.

  Ethan. Jennie thought as a wave of understanding spread over her. Marlene didn’t want to give Ethan up. She did it to protect him. She wanted to go to Ethan right now and tell him his mother didn’t abandon him. Marlene only wanted to ensure that he was safe.

  “One of the Commune scientists found out how the Order was defiling his research and he spoke out against it,” Uncle Albert stated. “His protest triggered the chain of events which led you here.”

  “I don’t know any scientists though,” Jennie said.

  “You know his wife,” Marlene said. “The scientist’s name is James Townsend. His wife is Eleanor Townsend, your teacher.”

  Jennie’s mouth fell open. “I had no idea Mrs. Townsend’s husband was a scientist. If he was taken too, that explains why she chose to teach the forbidden topics in class. She was rebelling against the Order, wasn’t she? Just like you – like us.”

  “It would seem that way, yes,” Uncle Albert said.

  “Mrs. Townsend gave me this before she was taken away by Sash.” Jennie reached into her bag and extracted the leather book with the faded gold horse emblem. “This is your journal, isn’t it Marlene?”

  Marlene’s eyes widened. “You shouldn’t have that,” She stated in an alarmed voice. “It’s dangerous.”

  “Why did Mrs. Townsend have it?” Jennie persisted. She had to know how she fit into this and how she can get Belle back.

  “Is that from the Secret Archives?” Uncle Albert asked.

  “Yes. That’s where Mrs. Townsend got it,” Jennie replied.

  “Jennie, if you are found with that…” Uncle Albert said.

  “Uncle Albert, Sash took Belle. He was looking for this.” Jennie brandished the book.

  Uncle Albert’s face sank into a solemn expression. “Oh, my dear. I’m sorry to hear about Belle.”

  “Why are they interested in this book, Marlene?” Jennie asked.

  “If they control the information, they wield the power,” Marlene said plainly. “I trust you’ve read it?”

  Jennie nodded.

  “Then tell no one. Put it away and never speak of it again,” Marlene instructed, giving Jennie a warning look.

  “So, what you are telling me is you won’t help me get Belle back? She was taken because Mrs. Townsend gave us this book. We owe it to Mrs. Townsend to save Belle. If we don’t, then the Order will have succeeded in silencing us.” Jennie heard her voice growing louder and shaking with frustration. “I can’t let them turn her into a docile.”

  “We cannot afford to run a rescue mission every time one of us goes missing,” Marlene shot back. “If we did, then even more of us would be taken. We would reveal our individual identities to the Order and they would hunt us down. Our only protection is our anonymity.”

  “My dear Jennie,” Uncle Albert said. “over the years, our work has been slow and methodological, but we are making progress.”

  “Progress? What progress?” Jennie asked incredulously. “Within a week three people have gone missing, presumably taken by the Order. And have either of you been to the wall lately?” Jennie looked back and forth between Uncle Albert and Marlene with challenging eyes. Neither of them spoke.

  “Well, you might want to. I would not call hundreds of lemerons gathering just outside the wall ‘progress’ if I were you.”

  Uncle Albert’s mouth fell open and Marlene’s eyes widened. Jennie gathered her things and left before they could say anything further. In the dark little hallway, Jennie felt all of her earlier hope and eagerness evaporate. Despite having received valuable information about the Order and their awful plan, Uncle Albert and Marlene would offer no help. The Truth Seekers were achieving just that: they were only seeking, not doing. Jennie had to take action. She had to do something.

  As Jennie entered the dark side street, she had to stand still for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the moonless night. The clouds parted, illuminating the area in a silver glow. She was about to step out of the shallow recess when she saw a massive shadow slowly staggering along the passage in front of her. Petrified, she didn’t move. She hardly dared to breathe. The figure stopped abruptly and turned toward where Jennie was standing.

  To her horror, Jennie saw that the distorted figure was a man carrying a body over his shoulder. The pale face of the man shone brightly against the darkness. Jennie could see a menacing sneer spread across the pale, beady-eyed face. Jennie had to stifle a scream when she recognized Jacob Sash.

  46

  The penetrating chill of the concrete bench seeped into Belle’s muscles as she lay staring up at the ceiling. The coldness permeated her flesh and numbed her aching body. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on anything other than being a prisoner in this wretched place. She didn’t know where she was or how long she’d been here. The passage of time was marked only by a steady drip of water echoing in the hallway outside of her concrete cell.

  Belle imagined the water droplets freezing in the frigid atmosphere of this place. She pictured a slender icicle gradually forming, growing larger and stronger with each solidified drop. The dripping continued, destroying her fantasy. The water was not remaking itself into something strong. Instead, it was falling into nothingness.

  Drip. Drip. Drip. The dripping became louder, and faster. Belle opened her eyes and listened to the change in the echo. Her brow furrowed in concentration as the sound grew closer. Water drops don’t move. This was something else. Footsteps. Someone was coming.

  Belle sat up with strained effort. She swung her legs out and put her feet on the floor. If Sash had come for her, she wanted to face him head-on. She would not give him the satisfaction of him finding her lying down.

  Belle stared into the hallway, waiting for Sash to appear. A figure appeared in her peripheral vision. She turned her head to face Sash. To her surprise, she saw the man with the tinted goggles staring in at her. She didn’t know if she should feel relieved it wasn’t Sash, or if she should be just as worried about this man with the strange goggles.

  The oversized round goggles hid his eyes exaggerating the man’s narrow face. Bony hands stuck out from the sleeves of his crisp, white lab coat like the ones Belle had seen doctors wear. His short brown hair was unkempt and stuck out in every direction. What little pale skin was visible gave the impression he hadn’t seen the sun in ages.

  “I brought you food and water.” The man pulled a foil packet and canteen from his oversized coat pocket. When Belle did not react to his offer, he stammered, “I – I thought you might be hungry or – or thirsty.”

  The constant churning of acid in Belle’s empty stomach was a painful reminder that it had been quite some time since she’d eaten. For some reason, this strange man was thinking about her wellbeing. It was ironic since she recalled seeing his face during Sash’s torture session with her. If this man was so concerned, then he should have done something to stop Sash from inflicting pain upon her. Perhaps he had though; Belle couldn’t be sure. She didn’t remember much of what happened, and her memories of the event were hazy.

  Not wanting him to take her silence for refusal, and risk him walking away with her food and water, Belle said, “Yes, I am.”

  This seemed to please him. He smiled at her and opened a small pass-through window at the bottom of the blue glass. He slid the food and water through the opening before closing it. Belle hadn’t noticed the outline of the window in the glass before. It looked just large enough to fit her hand through, but no more. Despite the small discovery of the opening, she didn’t feel any better. It did nothing to help her escape from this oppressive concrete room.

  Belle eyed him watching her as she approached her meal. Scooping up the foil packet and water, she made her way back to her bench and sat. It was uncomfortable to have him staring at her like this, watching her every move with anonymous eyes cloaked by the tint of his goggles. Hunger overwhelmed h
er. The neatly wrapped food emanated warmth in her hand. Turning her attention away from him, Belle ripped open the foil packet. She could have cried with delight as she examined the contents.

  A buttery roll of bread, bright yellow corn-on-the-cob, green beans, and a fried lentil cake were all beautifully displayed before her. Belle eagerly ate with her hands, starting with the lentil cake. It felt amazing as it reached her stomach, warming her from within. She closed her eyes and let the pleasure of tasting the flavorful food overwhelm her.

  “The lentil cakes are my favorite too,” the man with the goggles said.

  Without thinking, Belle’s garbled reply came through a mouth full of food. “It’s delicious.” She realized her rude blunder too late and swallowed her mouthful. Even though she a prisoner, she could still retain her manners. “Sorry, It’s delicious, thank you.”

  The man laughed. “No need to apologize. If anything, I should be apologizing to you. No one asks to be brought down here by Sash, and they certainly don’t ask for what I do to them.”

  Belle lowered the bite she was about to eat. “And what do you do to them?” she asked, already able to guess.

  “I give them a new purpose.” He said, “I remake them.”

  That confirmed it. Whatever was happening to Mrs. Townsend was because of this man. He was responsible for her transformation into a docile. He seemed strangely proud of himself and of what he was doing. A chill ran down Belle’s spine as she thought about the dozens of dociles she had seen in the neighboring enclosures. They were all people just like her once, and the man standing before her was the reason why they were no longer human. He did not strike her as someone who took pleasure in destroying people, like Sash. It was just the opposite. He appeared pleased with his ability to create, even if it was creating subdued monsters.

  An idea formed in Belle’s mind. This man created the dociles, if she befriend maybe he wouldn’t want to turn her into one. He might even let her go if she executed her plan correctly. She forced herself to appear relaxed and continued to eat the food he had brought her.