Shudder

by V. J. Chambers

  “Fuck you.”

  He shrugged. “Let’s just not speak. If we’re quiet, they’ll get bored and let us out.”

  “Fine.” She tucked a bite into her mouth.

  Boone chewed. He sighed. “I’m not trying to mean or anything. You have this crush on me for some reason, and I don’t want to encourage it.”

  “I don’t have a crush on you,” she said. “You kissed me.”

  “I was half crazy,” he said. “I hadn’t had water in days. I would have kissed anybody.”

  She stabbed her food. “I thought we weren’t talking.”

  “We aren’t.”

  They sat in silence for the rest of the meal, only a few minutes. When she finished, Grace took her tray to the food door. She started trying the doors again. Boone was done eating in a few more minutes. He started trying doors as well.

  Bartholomew cleared his throat. “I don’t think we’re having a lot of success here.”

  “Give it time,” I said. It would work. They needed to be stuck together for longer. Wait. Did I want it to work? I was so confused.

  After rattling every knob, Grace went back to sit down. “We’re stuck.”

  Boone kicked over a chair. “Why would they do that? Why would they lock us up together?”

  “Same reason they put the stuff in our food, I guess,” said Grace. “They’re hoping we’ll...” She made a hole with her fist and began jamming her forefinger in an out of it.

  “Don’t,” said Boone. He went to the food door. “You think the food was drugged? How soon after we eat do you usually feel it?”

  “Soon,” said Grace. “But I don’t feel anything yet.”

  In the control room, I asked Bartholomew, “You didn’t drug it, did you?”

  “Of course not,” he said. “I’m following your lead. You said it needed to feel ‘real.’”

  Good. That was good. Well, maybe it was. Maybe they’d both feel better if they could blame the agent instead of themselves. But it was too late now.

  “Me either,” Boone was saying.

  Grace folded her arms over her chest. “You know, I don’t get it.”

  “What?”

  “You’re a teenage guy, right? You’re supposed to be into sex. Like with anyone, at any time. So what’s the big deal?”

  Boone’s jaw worked. “Let’s not talk about this.”

  “No. What’s wrong with me?”

  “You’re like twelve.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Try fourteen, shit for brains.”

  He looked at her. “You’re really fourteen?”

  “Really,” she said. “How old are you, anyway?”

  “Seventeen,” he said. “I’m still too old for you.”

  “Three years is not too old,” she said.

  “It is when you’re fourteen. You shouldn’t even be thinking about stuff like that when you’re fourteen,” said Boone.

  She snorted. “You thought I was twelve.”

  “You’re kind of short.”

  “I’m normal sized.” She put her hands on her hips. “Tell me you didn’t think about ‘stuff like that’ when you were fourteen.”

  “That’s different.” He settled down on top of one of the tables, sitting Indian style.

  “Why is it different? Because I’m a girl?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “You sexist douchebag.” She got up and went to the door. “Every time I talk to you, I wonder why it is I have a crush on you in the first place.”

  “You said you didn’t have a crush on me.”

  “I don’t. Maybe I did, at one point. But I don’t anymore.” She tried the handle, which didn’t make any difference. Then she banged on the door with the flat of one palm. “Let us out!”

  In the control room, Bartholomew chuckled. “I’m not sure how well this is working.”

  “Give it time,” I said. “Important things just happened. Boone knows how old she is now. He’s going to need to digest that.”

  Back on the monitors, Boone had gotten up and crossed the room to Grace. He put a hand on her shoulder. “When has that ever worked?”

  She rested her forehead against the door. “Never.”

  He took her arm and led her back to one of the tables. They sat down. Boone showed her a half-grin. “We’re always trapped down here, anyway. It doesn’t make that much difference.”

  “I hate it here,” said Grace. “You know, if we were out in the regular world, we’d both be in high school. You’d be a senior, and I’d be a freshman. And there wouldn’t be anything weird about us dating.”

  Boone leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, but that’s not what they want us to do. You know they don’t want us to just ‘date.’”

  She inspected her fingernails. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I think we’ve spent the whole conversation explaining to each other why we aren’t actually interested in each other.”

  “Grace, they’re trying to breed us. You know what that means, don’t you?”

  “I’m not stupid, unlike you.”

  “So, you don’t want that, do you? You think you’re ready to have children?”

  “No.”

  “Because I’m not. And even if I was, I wouldn’t want them here.”

  I got up out of my chair in the control room. “Unlock the doors.”

  “I thought we were waiting it out,” said Bartholomew.

  I shook my head. “No, that turn in the conversation killed it. It made it too real. Cut them loose. We’ll have to do something else.”

  “ Too real?”

  “Yeah. There’s no way they’re going to be feeling romantic when they’re thinking about having children.”

  “That’s what we want them to do.”

  I laughed. “I know that, but people usually don’t like to associate babies with sex.”

  “That seems rather silly,” said Bartholomew, “when that’s the purpose of sex.”

  I shrugged. “Human nature.”

  “You’re the expert, Miss Jones.” Bartholomew typed on the keyboard. I wasn’t able to see what he’d typed this time either, but I thought I made out the letter “O.” The number sequence could have been the same as the lock sequence. If I played my cards right, I’d have more time to observe what he was doing. “You aren’t simply feeling some tugs of conscience are you? Guilty because you’re manipulating them?”

  Actually, I hadn’t been. I hadn’t given it a second thought. I’d been concerned with completing the task for Bartholomew, nothing more. Instantly, I did feel guilty. My realization must have shown on my face.

  Because he smiled. “Good.”

  I looked down at my manacled hands, ashamed.

  He put his hand on my back. “I imagine you won’t feel like sharing your next step at this moment. You’ll need time, overnight maybe, to decide it’s worth it to tell me.”

  I didn’t want to tell him anything, of course. But I was glad he was giving me time, because I had no idea what the next step should be.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The monitors were showing people alone in tiny cells. They all looked haunted, bored, and dead inside. I forced myself to keep looking at them. I had to help them. “The next step is to make Boone and Grace work together somehow. They need to be in danger, and they need to have a way to save themselves that involves working together.”

  Bartholomew was behind me. “That’s quite inventive. I’m impressed.”

  I kept my eyes on the monitors. “It worked for Jason and me.”

  “Using your own experience. Even better.”

  I gestured at the monitors casually. “Are they just outside, in the other rooms on the hall?”

  He laughed. “Are those images bothering you?”

  I shrugged. “I was only curious. I never hear anything, so either they aren’t close to me, or they’re all very quiet.”

  “Oh,” said Bartholomew. “Actually, the walls are just lined with soundproof material. There are two hallways like the
one you’re on. It’s where we keep all the isolated immortals. General population is at the bottom of it all, in the basement.”

  I pretended not to be interested in the information he was feeding me. “Well, keeping out the sound was a good idea. You’re smart to have thought of it.”

  He smiled. “Otherwise, they’d know they weren’t actually alone. That would defeat the purpose of isolation, wouldn’t it? It also allows us to be relatively compact. Most of the operation is underground, except for some offices above.” He pointed at the ceiling. “It’s best if we aren’t too conspicuous.”

  Oh, yeah, Bartholomew. Keep talking. Tell me everything. “Then you do a good job keeping everything hidden. I guess this is a remote location as well.”

  He shrugged. “Not so remote. We wouldn’t want to be entirely cut off from the world, would we? We do rely heavily on solar power and generators, however. It would be hard to explain the amounts of power we use here if anyone came looking and there were records. It was useful in the blackout after the solar flare as well.”

  The blackout? He’d just let me know that we were on the east coast. I was almost giddy with the amount of things he’d revealed to me, but I did my best not to let it show.

  “Boone and Grace,” he said.

  Dammit. “Yes?”

  “I thought you’d be interested to know that they’ve been much more cordial to each other since last night’s incident. They don’t seem to be actively avoiding each other anymore. That’s very good news.”

  I forced myself to smile. “It is.”

  “I’ll get started on working out a scenario like the one you’ve described,” he said. “I assume you’ll want to observe it as well?”

  Did I? What if this actually did work, and I ended up with a six-camera view of two kids bumping uglies for the first time? Did I want to see that? “Of course I’ll want to observe.” If I said no, I lost the ability to try to get information. Which I needed.

  * * *

  Bartholomew didn’t come back for two days, and when he did, he didn’t take me to the control room. Instead, he was just in my room when I woke up, standing at the foot of my bed. “Good morning,” he said.

  I threw my feet over the side of the bed. “Where have you been?”

  He clasped his hands together. “I must say that we’ve had a bit of an issue trying to implement the scenario that you suggested. I ran it by some of the others that I work with, and they feel they need more information from you about it. They’d like to ask you some questions. I’m going to take you with me to meet them. Upstairs.”

  My eyes widened. I was going to see more of this place? That could only help my escape plans. “Fine with me.”

  “I assumed you wouldn’t mind,” he said. “However, they don’t trust you.” He sat down on the bed with me. “You have to understand that you are technically a prisoner here, and they worry that you aren’t working to help us. Of course I told them that I thought you were doing a first rate job, and that you even seemed to be enjoying it, but they weren’t convinced. They demanded that I take precautions.”

  Precautions? What did that mean?

  “I’m very sorry,” he said, grabbing me by either side of my face.

  “What are you doing?”

  He wrenched my head sideways. I heard a snapping noise.

  * * *

  I awoke in a heap on the floor of my room. Bartholomew helped me to my feet, and he offered me a small glass of blood. “Drink this, just to be sure you’re all right.”

  I took the glass. “What did you do?”

  “I had to kill you.” He put his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. “I’m sincerely sorry. But the others felt it was the only way we could be sure of you. You see, now you must have the blood at least once a month if you want to stay alive.” He gestured to the glass. “Go on. Drink up.”

  I didn’t. “What do you mean, kill me? I’m not dead.”

  “No,” he said. “I killed you with the immortal blood in your system. So, you aren’t dead. But you will be in a month if you don’t get more blood. That’s the way it works, I’m afraid. Don’t worry too deeply about it, my dear. I’ve died before myself. It’s only worrisome if you don’t have a supply of blood, and we have plenty here.”

  I stared at the glass of blood. I was dead ? If I didn’t drink this stuff, I’d cease to exist? “I can’t leave.”

  “No,” he said. “You’re dependent upon us. This helps them trust you a bit more, you see?”

  So, if I got away from this place, I’d never be able to go for more than a month without drinking blood. I was just like the monsters who kept us here. They had turned me into one of them.

  “Drink,” he said.

  I didn’t.

  “Oh, don’t look so shocked,” he said. “Nothing’s changed. Not really. Look at the bright side. You’ll never age.”

  I wanted to dash the glass of blood against the concrete floor, shatter it into a million pieces. But instead, with shaky hands, I raised it to my mouth and downed it. The most perverse thing about it all, I realized, was that I was actually starting to like the taste.

  * * *

  “You won’t have to stay down here anymore,” said Bartholomew. “So that’s a positive, isn’t it?” He was leading me down the hall in the opposite direction of the control room. He hadn’t bothered to handcuff me.

  I felt numb. So I wasn’t going to be locked up. Did I care?

  He reached into his pocket and took out a ring of keys as he walked. “I think you’ll find you’re quite happy here, after you’ve had a few decades to adjust.” He stopped walking at the end of the hall.

  A few decades? I wouldn’t be here that long. I had to get out of here. Get us all out of here. I could do that, even if it meant I didn’t survive once I was out. I wouldn’t let them keep Jason locked up here.

  Bartholomew stuck one of his keys into a slot on the wall, and the wall (which looked like a typical dead end) slid aside like a sliding glass door. Behind it was an elevator, the door opening for us. He ushered me onto the elevator and pressed the button for the fifth floor.

  “Does this elevator go down to general population?” I asked, my throat dry.

  “Why yes, of course,” said Bartholomew. “After a bit of time, perhaps you can even assist us when we go down to draw blood. You are quite handy with a gun, as we saw.”

  I would never do that. Never. But I was realizing that this turn of events was working to my advantage, and I needed to make sure he couldn’t tell that I was going to use all my newfound freedom to get the hell out of this place. I touched my greasy hair. “Bartholomew?”

  “Yes?”

  “Does this mean I’ll get to take a shower?”

  He laughed. “Certainly, my dear. In fact, I’ll let you do that before we go to see the others.” He punched the button for the fourth floor, and the elevator lurched to a stop.

  We got out on a hallway that looked quite similar to the others I’d seen. However, there were framed pictures on the gray walls and the doors were spaced further apart. He opened a door to our right.

  I stepped inside a studio apartment. There was a kitchenette tucked in one corner, a living area with a couch and chair, and a full-sized bed against the far wall. Bartholomew padded over the carpet and opened a door. “The bathroom is in here,” he said, showing me a room with a stand-up shower and toilet. “There’s a closet right here.” He opened a door. “You should find clothing that will fit you there.”

  I looked around. “No cameras?”

  He patted me affectionately on the arm. “No cameras.” He started out. “I’ll be waiting for you. Try not to shower for too long. They are waiting for us.”

  * * *

  I met Bartholomew in the hall in about fifteen minutes. My hair was still wet, and I was wearing black slacks and a black shirt, the uniform of the armed men, and fearfully reminiscent of the Sons. I was amazed that the doorknob turned easily in my hands. “You aren’t going
to keep me locked up in here?”

  “There’s no need for that,” said Bartholomew. “Of course, you won’t be able to simply leave. You need a key for the elevator.” He jingled his keychain at me.

  Part of me wanted to tackle him right then, wrestle the thing out of his hands, and make a run for it. Jason , I told myself. Wait until you can get to Jason. I fingered the hem of my shirt. “Why all black?”

  “You’d prefer something sunnier? Bright yellow, perhaps?” He stepped back inside the elevator, and I followed suit.

  “Well, no, it’s only that the similarity to the Sons of the Rising Sun is a little eerie. And you had Moretti’s book, too. There’s some kind of connection.”

  “The book was a dead end,” said Bartholomew. “If it had been important, I wouldn’t have put it in the general population library.”

  “Dead end?” I said.

  But the elevator stopped, and Bartholomew ignored my question as we stepped out into a large room where the sun poured in.

  The sun. I hadn’t seen natural daylight in so long. I looked around. It appeared that I was in a normal office building. We were standing in the foyer. The door to the outdoors was only three feet from me. Certainly, I could take Bartholomew down and get there. It wouldn’t prove much of an obstacle, even if it was locked. It was made of glass. I gaped at it.

  He touched my arm. “Perhaps someday soon, we can go for a walk. Would that please you?”

  He was talking to me like I was a small child and he was a doting grandfather, offering a desired toy. I squared my shoulders. “I’m only surprised. The security in the rest of the building is so much more... thorough.”

  “Well, no one comes up here who’s a threat,” said Bartholomew. “Come along.” He took me by the arm and led me to a large room, flanked by windows on either side. There was a long table in the center, and several men—also wearing black—sat there. Bartholomew pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit. He sat down next to me. “Well,” he said to the men, “I’ve brought her.”

  The men all looked at me as if they could see through my clothes, and I realized they’d probably all watched me have sex with Jason. Heat rushed to my face. I set my hands on the table. “Bartholomew says you wanted some clarification on my idea.”