Shackled

by Ray Garton

  3

  They finally met again in what had come to be called the lunchroom, because lunch was the only meal they were allowed to have outside their rooms.

  At least, it was the only meal Samuel was allowed to have outside his room.

  By the time the two of them met again in the lunchroom, Lacey had been having all her meals in that room for some time.

  Since she'd first met with Dr. Jacqueline Melton, everything Jacquie had said made perfect sense. It was almost as if she'd been thinking those very things but had not known it. And ever since she'd started telling Jacquie that she thought all those things made sense, she'd stopped receiving visitors ... like Jesus and the clown and Santa Claus and the pope.

  That made her feel better.

  Suddenly she had lights when she wanted them. She could find her way to the bathroom when she needed to ... the nurse-woman began to speak to her — and pleasantly, at that — and they began to give her halfway decent food instead of that mush-crap they'd given her when she'd first arrived.

  After a number of visits with Jacquie, Lacey began to think, Yes, this is where I belong. These people really are on my side. Maybe I really have been brought to the right place. Maybe I should listen to everything Jacquie has to say ... because she's the first one who's ever really talked to me ...

  When she saw Samuel in the lunchroom (Lacey had begun to think of it as the cafeteria, because she was one of the few who'd been allowed to eat every meal there), Lacey picked up her tray and went to his table, set it down and took the chair across from him, smiling.

  "Hello, Samuel," she said happily. "Remember me?"

  The boy's head was bowed low above his humble meal — a bowl of pale, mushy substance, a hunk of bread, and a cup of water — and it took a while for him to respond. Finally, his head rose slowly and his heavy-lidded eyes looked at her. They widened gradually as his mouth curled into a weak smile.

  "Hiii," he said in a hoarse, unpleasant voice.

  "You okay, Samuel?"

  He didn't answer for a long time. He looked down at the food again, then slowly and sadly looked at her and finally asked, "Would you call me Sammy?"

  She grinned. "Sure, if you want. So, Sammy ... are you okay? You look so sad."

  He nodded slowly. "I don't wanna ... be here."

  Lacey reached across the table and covered his small, dark hand with her larger, light one, and said, "I know it's rough at first, Sammy. I hated it, too. I mean, I really hated it. But, you know what? Lately, I've been thinkin' different."

  Samuel frowned. "How come?"

  "Well, y'know, the people who run this place — " She looked up at the ceiling and shrugged. " — whatever this place is, have taught me a lot of things that make sense. Before I came here, I was living at home with my parents ...”

  Lacey told him then everything about life back home, about the things her father had done to her ... and all the things her mother didn't do while worshiping the Jesus in all those pictures on the walls.

  The boy frowned at her silently for a long time, then finally asked, "What ... does all that mean?"

  "Well, I always wanted to get back at my dad. And when I couldn't get back at my dad, I wanted to get back at my mom for not doing anything. But because of all the things my mom told me about Jesus — while she was ignoring all the things my dad was doing to me — I thought it was wrong to get back at them. But the people here have told me otherwise. Now I know I should have done something. In fact, he wouldn't have minded if I'd killed them. Both of them."

  His frown grew deeper. "Who? Who wouldn't've minded?"

  Her smile became a grin. "Satan. He says it's okay to stand up for ourselves. He's the only one who says that. And that's why I think I'm in the right place, because I've finally found a god who makes sense. See what I mean, Sammy? Y'see what I'm saying?"

  His eyes became very sad beneath the frowning brow. He shook his head ever so slightly. "Nuh-no. No."

  "Oh? Well, how come, sweetie?"

  It took him a while, then: "Muh-my daddy's a pruh-preacher. For Jesus. And guh-god. And I've a-always buh-been told that Suh-Satan's ... bad. Evil. He's the devil. He made war in heaven because he thought he was better than god and he and his angels were sent away so that — "

  Suddenly the boy stopped and lifted a hand to cover his mouth, his eyes darting all around and sparkling with fear.

  "Oh, Sammy, honey," Lacey said with quiet but genuine, sincerity as she squeezed his little hand, "don't be afraid. You're okay. You're my friend. And I'm yours. So you're just fine. But let me tell you something, Sammy. You're in the real world now. God doesn't work in the real world. I know it's gonna be hard, but you'll just have to ... well, give up all that stuff now. You're not going back home. And once you just start thinking about it ... once you just do as you're told, then ... well, you'll be glad you're not back home anymore. You'll be fine. Really." She grinned again, then began to eat.

  On the tray before her was a hamburger, a few french fries with a spot of ketchup beside them, a small salad with a bit of ranch dressing on it, some water, and a cola over ice in a tall glass.

  As Lacey began to eat, Samuel's eyes left hers and moved down to stare at her food for a long moment. He glanced down at the bowl of mush before him, then looked again at Lacey's meal, puzzled.

  Lacey took a bite of the hamburger, put it back on the plate, and as she chewed, she looked at Samuel as he stared at her food. Her chewing slowed and she leaned forward, whispering, "Would you like a french fry?"

  His eyes widened. He nodded.

  She picked up a big one, dipped it in the ketchup, and handed it to him slyly.

  "Y'see, Sammy," she breathed, "if you do just as you're told ... if you go along with things ... you get better food. You get good food. So don't punish yourself, okay? You're too nice. You're too good. You're a good boy! Just do what's good for you and forget everything else. Especially god. Because, Sammy honey ... you're more important."

  Samuel bit into the french fry with gusto and closed his eyes as he chewed slowly. Once he'd eaten it, he stared once again at Lacey's meal, ignoring his own.

  "You're gonna have to eat your food, sweetie," she whispered. "Really. You can't get along without some food."

  "But this is so ... yucky."

  She thought a moment as she chewed. "Tell you what," she whispered. "If you promise to eat what you've got there, and if you promise to do what I said before ... to go along with things ... to forget whatever you've been told by people before you got here ... then I'll give you a bite of my burger. Okay?"

  Samuel frowned at her. He frowned at her for a long time, then leaned back in his chair, away from Lacey and her deliciously tempting food, and wrapped his fingers around his spoon. He scooped some of the mush into his mouth, swallowed, licked his lips, then shook his head.

  "No, that's okay," he said quietly, suddenly focusing his attention on his meal ...

  4

  Lacey thought about little Samuel for some time after lunch. She was no longer confined entirely to her room. She was allowed to roam the halls at certain times, allowed to visit with some of the others she'd met recently, others her age, male and female, who had once been just as afraid as she but who had since become just as comfortable in their new surroundings as had Lacey. The pills that Jacquie gave her certainly helped. They made her feel so relaxed, so at ease ... they made everything feel all right. Even so, they did not interfere with the classes she and the others were required to attend; she remained alert and able to concentrate on what she and the others were being told by Jacquie as she stood before them in front of a long blackboard.

  The only time Lacey felt afraid now was during the sessions with Jacquie when they talked about Lacey's father ... when all the memories cut through her pleasant state and burned in her mind, in her chest. But something good even came of that. She remembered how horrible things had been at home, and realized again and again how lucky she was to be here in this place known to
her only as the complex, rather than back there ... with him ... and with her.

  Lacey didn't know how long Samuel had been there — she still hadn't quite figured out how long she'd been there, although she no longer cared — but it was pretty obvious he was not adjusting to it well. In fact, after she'd talked with him in the cafeteria, she didn't see Samuel for a long time.

  That made her just a bit sad. He was such a cute little boy ... such a frightened, sweet little boy ...

  "You know, Lacey, you're doing very well," Jacquie said during one of their sessions. The doctor was leaning forward over her desktop, smiling at Lacey, who sat in the big chair in front of the desk. "I don't think it will be long before you'll be going places."

  Lacey's eyes widened and she leaned forward, too, resting her elbows on her thighs. "Really? What ... kind of places?"

  Jacquie tilted her head and cocked a brow. "Well, I don't know yet ... but we'll find out, won't we? I do know this: Some important people are very impressed with you, Lacey. They're impressed with your progress and your adjustment."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, really. And that usually means there's a reward somewhere in the near future."

  "Then ... you think things'll be changing for me?"

  "I think there's a very good chance. But right now, I'd like to ask you a few questions about something else."

  "Questions? Like what?"

  "There's a little boy here in the complex who seems to like you a lot. He's a little black boy. His name is Samuel. You've been seen in the cafeteria with him. You seem to get along with him. But what I want to know is ... what do you know about him?"

  Lacey frowned and leaned back in the chair. "Well, I think he's scared. He's shy and afraid. Really afraid, I think."

  Jacquie thought about that for a while, then asked, "Do you think that you might be able to calm his fears."

  "Well, he likes me, I think, but ...”

  "That's what I mean, Lacey. He likes you. Do you think you could get him to at least go along with things? Follow the rules?"

  Lacey's frown grew even deeper.

  "You see," Jacquie said, "Samuel is not ... well, he isn't responding to our usual disciplinary measures. In fact, he's been posing quite a problem."

  Still frowning, Lacey asked, "I haven't seen him in the cafeteria for a while. I thought maybe he was being ... well, um ...”

  "Disciplined, yes. We don't like to do that, as you know. You and I have discussed that during our sessions. But, unfortunately, when we have someone who shows no signs of adapting to our way of life here, we have no other choice. Samuel's background is the main problem, I think. He was raised by a Christian minister who has programmed the boy like a computer." She closed her eyes a moment, then shook her head sadly, touching the tip of a graceful index finger to her lips. "It's a shame, really. We have work for him to do, very important work. But he won't let us teach him anything."

  Then she was silent, as if waiting for Lacey to speak.

  "Well, um ... is there something you want me to do?"

  "Would you, Lacey? It would help us a lot. And it would help you, too ... if you know what I mean. Would you mind going to him? Talking to him? Maybe someone he likes would have better luck than people toward whom he feels hostile. You could go to his room, maybe? I don't know what kind of state you'll find him in. He stopped taking his pills, so we had to start giving him shots. I suppose the shots are best, anyway. Lately, he's been so near hysteria that he's been completely impossible to deal with."

  Lacey nodded slowly. "When would you like me to see him?"

  "Don't worry, I'll work that out. Sometime soon, I suspect, so go to your room and stay there awhile. I'll send someone to take you to him. Okay?" She smiled, then stood.

  Lacey stood, too, saying, "Okay, I'll wait."

  "And remember ... you have good things coming. Important work to do."

  Lacey smiled, nodded, then left the doctor's office ...

  5

  Dr. Corbus sat in the darkest room of his quarters, his face bathed in the blue glow of his computer screen as he read over the messages on one network after another. As he read, he jotted notes on a pad beneath a small black desk lamp. He wore a pair of black-framed reading glasses — the kind with the long, narrow lenses that settled halfway down the bridge of his nose — which looked incongruous between the sinister haircut and goatee.

  In the room's dark silence, his pen made dry scraping sounds as it moved over the pad, like the legs of a cockroach scuttling over a hard floor.

  Sandalwood incense burned somewhere in the darkness, its tip glowing a speck of reddish-orange as it sent its aroma throughout the room.

  His desk was massive and excruciatingly neat. What stacks of paper there were had been stacked rigidly, so that they looked like a solid block. Books were stacked neatly as well. The ashtray — made from the top of a human baby's skull — was cleaned each time it was used so that it never looked used.

  There was a soft knock at the door. It was the knock of a small hand, a child's hand ... a sound Dr. Corbus liked.

  "Yes?" Corbus called.

  The door opened a foot and a small blond boy slid his head into the darkness. "Dr. Melton is here to see you."

  "Oh, good, send her in, send her in." As the door opened farther and she walked in, Dr. Corbus pushed his chair away from the desk and stood, then flipped a switch on the wall, turning on two of the lamps in the room. "You'll have to excuse the darkness. I prefer to work in the dark whenever possible. But I certainly don't want to force anyone else to have to stumble through it blindly."

  "I hope I haven't disturbed your work."

  "Oh, no, no, this is hardly work. Just looking over the messages on the computer networks."

  "Really?" She turned to his computer, looked at the screen, then moved toward it. "Which network is this?"

  "It's one of ours, the one here in Los Angeles. I believe I mentioned it to you just a couple of days ago. It is the reason I'm so concerned about our little black minister's son."

  "Yes, I remember you mentioning it, but ... I don't remember the connection."

  "Ah, well," he said, stepping past her to the desk and reaching for one of the neat stacks of paper. It appeared so neat because it was computer paper, pages and pages and pages of computer paper still joined together. He lifted a few pages, thumbed through them, then pulled the top layer back. "Right here," he said. "You see, sometimes I'm on the network during the day and can answer the questions immediately. Other times, I must go over them the next day and answer them accordingly. But here, right here." Dr. Corbus pointed to a line on the page as she looked over his shoulder:

  WANTED: small black pup, male, skinny, trained or disciplined, loid services, permnt. #634-12

  Then he pointed to another line:

  TO #634-12: msg received—possibilities. #666-13

  "I was referring to this exchange," he said. "It was first made over the on-line system in Palm Springs, but I'm sorry to say that I was so busy that I ignored it for a while. Then it showed up on this one. I would like very much to fill this order."

  She frowned as she read the lines, then looked at him and said. "Well, surely we have others who ... in fact, I'm certain we have others who would fit that description. The boy is a problem, no question, but I'm sure we'll get past that. I just don't understand why you want him disciplined immediately so you can fill this order with him. Given a little more time — "

  "Let's just say I would like to be rid of the boy. Orders like this don't exactly come in on a regular basis. I know this person quite well," he said, pointing to #634-12. "We've done business before. I would prefer to get the boy out of here quickly and make a very large amount of money doing it. And, of course, there's always the added pleasure of turning a Christian pastor's boy over to a client. So." He dropped the stack of connected pages back into place and turned to her, joining his hands before him. "I hope you've come with good news."

  "Yes. I have. The
girl is willing to talk with him. I'm taking care of it this afternoon."

  "Good, good. I'm very happy to hear that."

  She bowed her head a moment, then looked at him with a hint of troubled darkness in her eyes. "I don't really agree with you, Dr. Corbus, but ... I won't say any more. I'll just assume that you know what's best."

  He grinned. "Oh, thank you so much, that's very flattering. And, if I may say so ... that's very wise."

  "I should be going," she said, turning away and heading toward the door.

  "Uh, may I assume that this will be taken care of shortly?"

  She turned to him again, her hand on the doorknob. "Well, I'm not sure what to tell you, Dr. Corbus. All I know is that the boy likes this girl very much. And she's willing to talk to him and tell him anything we want. Her behavior has been exemplary, and she wants very much to please us."

  "Good. Did you tell her about things to come?"

  "I hinted."

  "That's very good. R.C. is terribly interested in her. He's been watching the surveillance tapes. He likes the look of her and wants her for his magazine. And for himself, I believe," he said with a chuckle. "Shall I tell him she will be ready soon?"

  "Yes, I think she will. Not immediately, because we want to use her to get to the boy. But soon. She's doing very well."

  "Ah, good. Thank you very much." He smiled at her for a silent moment, then nodded and said, "You may go."

  She returned his smile, opened the door, and left his office.

  Dr. Corbus smiled at the door for a few seconds, then returned to his chair and picked up the telephone. He punched in a number rapidly from memory, then leaned back in his chair and waited.

  "Hello?" a male voice said on the other end of the line.

  "Hello. How are you?"

  There was a long silence, then: "I didn't think I'd ever hear from you."