Persona

by Amy Lunderman

  “It will last.” Her father tells her. “I have faith in you Moira. Besides, you still have a while to come to terms with all this. We’re not leaving until next month.”

  Moira only stares at him with wide eyes. A month, she thinks? A month to pack up her life, a month to accept that she’s going to be at new school for her junior year, and a month to come to terms with her worst fear ever? And worst of all, only a month to adjust her sleeping pills? Not going to happen. Her face goes hard, her blood runs cold, and in desperate act of defiance she crosses her arms in a ‘no way’ fashion. But her act goes unnoticed.

  Her father and step-mother leave the room.

  As they pass by her though, her dad lightly touches her head. It’s supposed to be a comforting gesture she knows, but all she feels is the betrayal of it all. When Moira is finally alone, she tries to see all this from her dad’s point of view. But how can he even want to go back? She’s not the only one whose life has never been normal because of the facility. Her dad had it rough even before she was born. With heavy thoughts, she lays her head down on the table again, and tries not to be afraid.

  ***

  May 2011

  Peter Fletcher heaves the cart through the door and is pleased to see his patient still asleep. He hates it when she wakes crying and confused. Pushing the heavy cart beside her bed, he pulls the stool over and sits down. After turning the monitor on, he begins tapping onto the keyboard, and the small screen comes to life. He types in some commands before turning to the woman. He pulls down the sheet covering her, so that her stomach is exposed. Grabbing a bottle of gel, he smears it onto her, and then reaches for the Doppler stick. She doesn’t even twitch as he moves the stick onto her stomach, but he’s not paying attention to her. All he cares about is what is showing on the screen. At first the image is blurry. Then he can make out an arm, a leg, and the head.

  A smile warms his usually cold face.

  He reaches for the volume button on the keyboard. A soft whooshing sound fills the room, his smile becomes a full out grin. He moves the stick around the woman’s belly some more, and when he is satisfied at what he finds, he puts the stick away. He hastily covers the woman back up without cleaning the gel off her, turns off the computer, and walks over to the head of the bed.

  Fletcher leans over the woman and whispers in her ear, “I thought you’d like to know that you are having a bouncing baby girl Bethany. Are you thrilled?”

  He pauses, and then chuckles softly when he gets no response from her. “No comment? Well, aren’t you a tough crowd.”

  Going back to the cart, he whistles to himself as he rolls it back out of the door.

  ***

  September 2028

  Moira sits in the backseat of her stepmother’s minivan and tries to ignore her half-sister giggling beside her. Distracting herself with an old Flyleaf album with her ancient IPod mini definitely helps. For the last half hour Annie has been texting her friends and going crazy for the latest Disney boy hunk. It’s pretty disgusting, Moira doubts she was ever this crazed over cute boys that she’s never ever meet. But that’s preteens for you, always their own individual personality. Sighing, she gazes out the window. She still can’t believe that they are on their way to New York right now. The van is packed to the brim.

  Her father is behind them with his own truck also packed with more belongings.

  Her dad used to tell her stories how you could get from Rhode Island to New York in less than six hours. She never believed him of course, it can’t be possible with all the checkpoints stationed at every State line. She would tell him this constantly. And he would only counter with saying that years ago there weren’t any checkpoints. Moira finds it hard to believe that there was ever a time when cars could just drive freely down the highways and streets. All she’s ever known are the traffic jams and the incredibly slow process of annoying checkpoint guards scanning the passports of every person.

  Moira stifles a shiver as she wonders what would happen if she were ever caught by one of the guard’s for being illegal. Her father always assures her it would never happen. Her paperwork has always been legit. But she finds it hard to fathom that it could last forever. Maybe it’s just written in her dna that she’s a constant worrier. Whatever the reason may be, it’s undeniable from what the news programs advertise, when people are caught and arrested. None of it makes her feel very safe. If caught, most people just get a ticket and have to pay a large fine to the city they are going, and that’s it.

  However, if you get caught and happen to be infected with MBS?

  Now that’s a different situation all together.

  People with MBS get arrested rather easily these days. It makes Moira paranoid with her every movement. She can’t really remember exactly what happens, but that’s mostly because nothing is ever discussed about it. Imagination is the worse evil when it comes to these things. And the people in charge know it. She’s heard rumors at her old school though. People like her were all brought to a separate prison and treated like terrorists. If that’s true, then her imaginative worst fear is a pretty real thing. This thought makes her reach into her messenger bag, for the tenth time to touch her passport, and like the other times she relaxes when it’s still there.

  She’s about to lean back into her seat, when a candy wrapper come’s flying in her direction from the front seat and hits her in the head. She looks up to see her half-brother Damon turned in his seat watching her with a smirk on his face from the front passenger seat. She’s not surprised by his attempt to aggravate her, as the younger sibling it’s practically a rule that he act this way, even if he’s only one year younger than Moira. She figures that fact is simply because he’s a boy and most of them are pretty lame. Glaring at him, she quickly retaliates by grabbing the fallen wrapper, and chucks it back at his head. It doesn’t even come close its target.

  He just hits it aside. It gets his mother’s arm instead.

  Caroline turns to glare at them, “Will you two, be decent to one another at least for the drive? Please?”

  “Whatever.” Damon spits out as he gets comfortable in the seat again.

  Moira tries to relax in the seat and block out everything, but it’s hard to do when irritated. They haven’t even got to the first checkpoint leaving RI yet, so there is still a ways to go for the drive. But being ticked isn’t the best way to spend a cramped car ride. So she kicks off her flats and pulls her legs up under her, wiggling to get comfy on the leather seats. Closing her eyes, she cranks up the volume to her mini and doses off.

  Too soon she wakes up to someone hitting her leg, and out of reflex she kicks at them. Her foot connects with soft flesh and causes a high pitched screech. They hit her again. She opens her eyes to see Annie clutching her arm, looking like a wounded bunny.

  Chuckling, Moira says, “Oh, I’m sorry Ann. I didn’t hurt you did I?”

  “Only a little, but I’m okay I guess.” She pouts.

  Moira notices then that the van isn’t moving. They are no longer on the road. In fact, they seem to be parked in a driveway of a very large old looking yellow house. Caroline and Damon are already out of the van checking it out from the lawn. Moira leans around Annie to get a better look at the new place. All she can think is that they had better get a maid, the house in enormous.

  “It’s pretty wicked, right?” Annie squeals with excitement. She then opens her door and jumps out.

  “It’s wicked all right.” Moira says to herself.

  As she slides out after Annie, something falls to the ground. It’s her passport. Surprised, she can’t believe she didn’t wake up from the checkpoints. Her sister must have gotten it out of her bag for her when they reached them. She’ll have to talk to her about snooping later. Right now though, her dad coming over to her from his truck parked behind them, otherwise she’s let the kid have it.

  “All right guys, lets unload the cars.” Her dad calls out to them. “I need to get going to work. So chop chop while you got some back-
up.”

  As Moira and her siblings let out a collective groan, he goes right to the back of the van and opens the hatch. Moira walks back to help him. She does wonder why he’d have to go to work now though. It’s already late in the afternoon. Her step-mother goes over to him and must say basically the same thing to him, because he just retorts that its business stuff, like they know what that is. But it appeases Caroline, so Moira has no choice but to go with it. So, working together, they get the van unloaded in a timely fashion. Apparently they have movers coming to unload the truck, so that’s a relief to Moira. But then her father is gone before they know it.

  Not that she cares at this point; the hunt for the best bedroom is an easy distraction.

  ***

  October 2011

  Peter Fletcher storms into the operating room. He’s instantly assaulted with loud moaning screams. He sees that the room is in disorder and that at least ten of his nurses are trying to hold Bethany down to the bed. She’s thrashing, kicking, and is almost getting free of the women holding her down. He goes over to his RN Dana, who is unsuccessfully trying to see how dilated Bethany is. She keeps getting pushed back from all the movement Bethany is doing around on the bed.

  “Dammit people!” Fletcher yells. “Act like you all know how to do your jobs! Be competent and get her strapped down already!”

  He signals for the guards at the door to come in and assist. Two men go to the head of the bed, each hold a shoulder down. Once she is stilled, the nurses are successful in strapping her arms and legs. Bethany’s uncontrollable sobs turn into mewling. Fletcher notices that her eyes are flashing from light green to a deep emerald as if changing the channel again and again. He sighs. It’s a pity he never tried to study her. He has to wonder if maybe she would’ve been an interesting experiment. But as her fair brown hair darkens, he knows he’s getting the better experiment out of this little exchange.

  There is no pity in that, at least not on his end.

  He calmly walks over to the beeping fetal monitor. The shrill noise panics him, but he’s not a man that loses control. “How is the baby Dana?” He asks.

  “It seems to be in distress.” Dana goes to Bethany’s side and is feeling around her swollen belly. “The mother’s stress is causing it to decline Sir.”

  Bethany spasms as another contraction hits her, when she screams her teeth change into pointed tips. Blood falls out of her mouth, she must have bitten her tongue, and Dana has to move aside as Bethany’s hands clench and unclench revealing claw like nails. She’s struggling to get free again. Fletcher starts to get frustrated when the fetal monitor indicates the baby is slowly fading. He can hear his staff trying to get her to calm down, while Dana is arguing about the baby’s health. He understands that Bethany is causing harm to the baby. He has to decide quickly which of them is more important.

  It really doesn’t take him that long to decide.

  Without pause, he goes over the one of the guards that is back to the door. He reaches for his handgun strapped to his side, pulls it free, and turns back to the room. Walking over to Bethany he lifts the gun up to her head and pulls the trigger. She goes still. Everyone in the room is stilled into silence. The monitor continues to wail it’s insisted beeping.

  “Get the baby out.” Fletcher says as he goes over to the guard and returns the gun. “Now Dana, before the infant is lost would be optimal.”

  By the time he turns back around, he hears the first cry of Bethany’s baby. He smiles as he walks over to where Dana is cradling the infant. He reaches out a hand and gently touches the baby’s cheek.

  “I think we should call you Moira.” He says.

  The baby coos in response.

  Chapter Two

  September 2028

  Hearing the beeping noise of her alarm clock, Moira rolls over in her bed and hits the snooze button. With a tired sigh, she rolls back and snuggles into the blankets. She has to get up soon to get ready for her first day of school. That alone just makes her want to stay in bed even longer. Yawning, she wishes she hadn’t stayed up so late unpacking her room. The movers had arrived shortly after they room hunted. She then spent the rest of the evening organizing with her family. That really only gave her a short time to do her room, since it was a Sunday that they arrived.

  Why her father insisted they move the day before school is beyond her, she blames Caroline.

  Tossing aside the blankets, Moira sits up in her bed, and takes a look around her room. She definitely feels satisfied with it. Plus the fact that she kicked her sister’s butt in rock paper scissors the night before basically makes her like the room just on principal. The room is pretty big. With a bay window at the back wall, her four poster bed fits perfectly with her matching dresser and deck, all of which are dark mahogany wood. She never had the chance to get up her curtains though. So the room is shining with early morning light. Stretching, she stands up and heads to her walk in closet across the room.

  She can’t help feeling a little disappointed at what greets her from within. On first days of school she likes to dress up, but today is different. She’s going to be the new girl. And it doesn’t settle well with her. Blending in has never been her thing. It’s usually just come naturally. But now she’s not sure what will make her not stand out. That’s not the only thing that worries her. She hasn’t been uncomfortable around new people since she was seven, and doesn’t know what will happen with her Persona. Knowing the rules doesn’t make it any easier. It’s strictly forbidden to use ones Persona in public. But it’s mostly reserved for under aged students in school.

  Not really caring anymore, Moira just grabs a pair of skinny jeans and a light camisole.

  Thinking she might need cover if control becomes an issue she snags a hoody. Not seeing one hanging, she reaches into a box at the bottom of the closet. As she does, another box in the back falls onto its side and spills its contents. She bends down to pick them up. Then freezes at what she sees, its pictures, and old ones by the look of them. All of them are of her father and mother before she was born. Moira was wondering where she packed those. Picking up one that catches her eyes, it’s one of her mother. She’s standing in the sand at a beach. A wave splashes her feet making her laugh. Her mother looks so happy and carefree and for once Moira see’s that they really do like mother and daughter.

  Her father tells her all the time they look alike, but Moira never feels beautiful like her. But she can almost see it now. She can’t help wondering if her mother ever had the problem of hiding who and what she was. She doubts it, but it’s a nice thought to have something in common with the stranger that is her mother. Dropping the picture onto the floor with the others she stands up, grabs the closest hoody at the top of a box, and goes off to get ready.

  By the time Moira makes it downstairs, she knows she’s running late. Caroline and Annie are already in the kitchen putting breakfast together. Her father is nowhere to be seen. Silently, she just goes into the kitchen to grab something simple. When she sits down at the counter with a pop tart, Damon is making his way into the kitchen. Looking at him, Moira can’t believe that they are related. He’s completely opposite of her, with his dark hair and eyes. But then he does take after his mother and not their father. Annie is a mixture of the both of them it seems, with her light hair and dark eyes. Damon greets his mother and Annie, but studiously ignores her. She wonders when the instigating switched to animosity between them, but it’s always been this way since she came home when she was seven. He’s only one year younger than her. It might have something to do with her being so different. Not that they’ve ever shared in any way about their feelings.

  Avoidance is the key in this family.

  Damon grabs his mom’s van keys and heads for the door without offering her a ride. She knows right off that she’s destined for the bus. Moira finishes off her breakfast and runs for the door, only stopping to grab her messenger bag and slip on her blue flats before she hurls herself out the door. Good thing she studied the
bus route schedule that they had for Annie the night before. Living in Wilmington, it’s kind of back woodsy, so the houses are spaced apart on this end. It would’ve been one heck of a walk. By the time she makes it to the end of the road, the bus is just pulling up, and Moira sighs in relief. There are some other kids her age climbing on when she walks up, but they don’t pay her any attention.

  The bus fumes overwhelm her senses and she cringes. The bus is already full when she climbs on. Everyone is consumed with one another. A shyness she’s never felt before overtakes her as she makes her way towards the back not looking at anyone. The only available seat is almost at the last row of seats with the cages. Now she knows there is no way to blend in if she’s sitting back here. Its reserved seating for the Persona challenged.

  It’s the same everywhere. All public transportation has separate seating where people are immersed. In this case, the back two rows are blocked off with cage type bars. It doesn’t have a door, so the middle is open. It must have come across as inhumane to have a door, as if it’s not already inhumane. As usual, the seats in front of the cage are empty, as no one likes to sit too closely to them. Well…mostly. There is one guy sitting behind them.

  He regards her with interest. She does the same and notes that he’s the same age as her. He doesn’t look that all that friendly though. In fact, he looks like an older version of her brother, all dark and menacing. Not a good combination. Not wanting to come off as afraid, and not caring what anyone thinks, she sits down in front of the cage. Feeling the eyes of the guy behind her, she gets uncomfortable. Nervousness flits through her, but not all of it is because of the daggers from the boy. She is getting closer to the school too. And the beginning of the end, dramatic yes, but still true. She can feel her skin tingling the more nervous she gets. Not good. Biting the inside of her cheek, she tries to ignore it. When it persists, she bites her cheek harder tasting blood, and flips up her hoody for the rest of the ride.

  They make it to the school in about the most awkward forty minutes of Moira’s life. She gets off the bus as fast as she can. She revels in getting lost in the group of anonymous bodies, and makes her way to the entrance. Gazing up at the school as she goes to the door, she can’t help finding it odd that with a small town that they have a large high school. She comes to a stop inside the door as the group in front of her slows down. She peers around the skinny cheerleaders and see’s the metal detector inside. A security guard stands at irritated attention at the door. Her blood runs cold. She can’t believe they have a metal detector. Not even her old school in a city had one. What could they be looking for? It’s not like people like her can stuff they’re teeth and nails in a Prada bag. Or even evidence of lying, like false records, even if it’s impossible.