Jaden Baker

by Courtney Kirchoff

  Feel it?

  Yes. Pain. But you will get out of here one day.

  How? Jaden couldn’t see a way out.

  People make mistakes.

  You’ve said that before. What does that mean?

  The same way Dalton made a mistake. You just have to wait.

  This man is different. He doesn’t trust me, and he hates me.

  He likes hurting you. It doesn’t matter what you do, he will find a reason to hurt you.

  I know, thought Jaden. He won’t ever let me go.

  No, he won’t. But you’ll escape one day. I promise.

  Who are you?

  The boy grinned again. Do you want me to help you?

  Yes, Jaden thought. Yes I want you to help me out of here.

  Good. Promise you’ll listen to me.

  Who are you?

  It’s almost time. I’ll be with you soon. And then the boy hummed the old song.

  Who are you, he asked again. Jaden put his hand on the grate protecting the mirror, and his reflection did the same. The boy had gone, the humming remained.

  fourteen

  It never got completely dark here. The light buzzed above him, faded to a dull blue. With no barrier to hide behind, there was also no privacy. So Jaden lay in the corner, under the mirror, facing away from the light. Buzzing, the annoying non-brightness and non-darkness, and the impossibility of camouflage made sleeping a difficult task.

  There was a crack in the padding in the corner, Jaden picked at it. Maybe he could pull out some stuffing and swallow it, blocking his airway, depleting his brain of oxygen, leading to death. Yes. That was a good plan. If only he had decent fingernails to peel the protective layer off the pad. It would expedite the suicidal process.

  He was tired. It was a rare night. His pain level was low to medium, tolerable, still there. The privilege of sleep had been granted to him, but he couldn’t rest. His eyes drooped as they stared at the peeling plastic, watching his fingers pinch and trying to tear the stuffing from the floor. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to dream.

  Jaden had never had a good dream, at least he couldn’t remember any. Lately, if he had any dreams at all, they would be of his mother, of the last time he saw her. She’d tried explaining something to him he refused to understand, something he still could not grasp. It was “in his best interest.” How giving him away could be in his best interest, he still didn’t know.

  The elevator engaged, but Jaden didn’t turn. He brought his fist back to his chest. It was late and he would pretend he was sleeping.

  Whoever had come in was quiet. He didn’t walk into the cell, he stayed on the elevator. Was he checking to see if Jaden was sleeping? Just in case, Jaden made his breathing deep, heavy, and loud.

  Padded footsteps. He’d come in.

  Jaden rolled to his back and watched as a stranger came toward him. In his hands were a baton and set of handcuffs. A lecherous expectation was on his face. Hollow wolf-eyes stared hungrily.

  Jaden’s stomach pitched and rolled. The stranger was young, with shoulder length brown hair, and a long, pallid face. His visit was not allowed, Jaden was sure of it. The only person who ever came down here was the old man. Never anyone else.

  The young stranger crept closer, his movements slow and calculated.

  Jaden kept his face blank, while his insides stung and writhed in anxious pain. He followed the man’s movement with his eyes, watched him come close. The man leered, standing above Jaden. The handcuffs glimmered in the dull light.

  There was no one watching in the observation room. This man, this new stranger, had abandoned his post to pay Jaden a midnight visit.

  The elevator had not raised itself. An interesting conundrum, one Jaden didn’t concern himself with at present. His focus was on the man standing over him, handcuffs dangling from one hand, a baton in the other.

  As Jaden’s eyes flickered to the alcove, the young stranger dove, grabbing a wrist. Jaden tried running, but he was weak; adrenaline could not help him. The stranger threw Jaden into the corner. He lowered his hips and struck at the man, but missed. In retaliation, Jaden received a punch to his gut, making him double over. Still fighting, flailing his arms, the stranger, his hot breath on Jaden’s face, managed to lock Jaden’s hands. And in a fluid movement, he took his baton and shoved Jaden’s neck against the wall, choking him.

  Jaden grabbed the baton in his shackled hands, trying to push it away so he could breathe. He tried kicking out, but the depletion of oxygen made most movements impossible.

  “Now,” the stranger said, beads of sweat on his face, his heavy breathing a toxic fume, “you’re going to do what I say.”

  Jaden gasped, and tried pushing on the baton, but his opponent was strong.

  “It’ll be our little secret,” the man whispered, grinning. “You got me?”

  He had lost his dignity and pride. His freedom and power had been taken from him. Jaden had sacrificed so much to appease Dalton, in hopes he may one day free himself. He gave the old man any remaining power. Jaden had suffered. He’d been scarred permanently, both body and mind. Even suicide had been stolen. What this man wanted was the one thing that had not been ripped from him, the one thing he had not given away. It was all he had left.

  “No,” Jaden wheezed. And in the back of his mind, memories recalled and spliced together. Every time, without exception, Jaden had been shocked, no one else touched him. In fact, whenever Jaden was in the throws of electrocution, the handlers kept their distance. They didn’t want to complete the circuit.

  If his collar was turned off, he could stop this man’s heart. If it was turned on, set to automatic, then all Jaden had to do was try to stop the man’s heart.

  “What did you say?” the lech asked, pushing harder on the baton, further constricting Jaden’s already limited airflow.

  Jaden took his chained hands off the baton, grabbed onto the stranger’s wrist, and reached out his mind to grip the man’s beating heart.

  Electricity shot through Jaden, and he was excited to hear the other man scream. Both fell, but because Jaden was used to the pain, he recovered faster.

  While catching his breath, Jaden grabbed the fallen baton.

  Noting activity, the man scrambled, trying to collect himself and fight back.

  But Jaden was up first.

  He cocked his arms, wrists to his right shoulder, like a pro batter in the world series. With a snarl on his face and in his throat, Jaden swung the baton as if all bases were loaded and he had two strikes and three balls against him.

  The baton made contact with the lech’s temple, the sound a satisfying thwack. His head spun, and he fell, as if in slow motion. Jaden swung again, and this time a mist of blood sprayed, dusting the wall, his hands, his shirt.

  Knees hit the floor first, then the thighs, torso and head. Eyes opened, staring blindly at the wall. One final ragged breath passed almost soundlessly across the parted lips of the would be rapist.

  Jaden dropped the baton. “I said no,” he mumbled, staring at the man’s bashed skull. Blood pooled, first around the man’s head, then flowed across the floor, following the indentation of the body.

  As he watched the blood move, Jaden wondered where he was going to sleep tonight, now this sick dead man bled all over his sleeping area. He couldn’t sleep with handcuffs on, so Jaden squat and searched the warm body for keys, finding them in a back pocket of the dead man’s trousers. He unlocked himself, then tossed them on the body, along with the key. In another pocket he found some kind of controller, a numeric keypad on it. It probably controlled the elevator. Jaden should’ve kept the man alive. He could’ve tortured him for the code.

  Jaden pressed random buttonsthe elevator did not move. He didn’t know how many numbers it took, or in what combination. Before sitting in the opposite corner, Jaden chucked the remote onto the body.

  It was a strange thing. Jaden killed a man. But all he thought about was how there would be a blood stain where he preferred sleepi
ng, that it would be inconvenient and unsanitary. In trying to wrap his head around his recent action, his mind swerved, worrying about how soon the body would smell, and how it might make him sick.

  “I killed a man,” he said aloud, hoping that would do something. It did. He’d killed someone without permission. A member of the staff was dead, and it was his fault. What would the old man do?

  He would be angry. Jaden would be punished. If he had been burned and abused for mouthing off, what would happen to him for killing someone, even if it was to protect himself? He crawled for the toilet and made it just as his chest constricted and he hurled into the bowl, vomiting every last partially digested item in his stomach, and then dry heaved when it was empty.

  Jaden couldn’t rest or sleep—there was a body in the cell with him. He stared, his arms wrapped around his shins, chin on his knees. It was impossible to close his eyes.

  The reaction to the dead body went remarkably like he’d imagined. Someone, a man Jaden had not seen before, came inside and saw the body, then immediately went back up the elevator. Some time passed, then the old man came, escorted by two men. Without looking at Jaden, the three of them examined the body. They spoke in low whispers.

  Jaden rocked back and forth, eyes staring, blinking automatically. Sooner or later, the old man would come to him, ask what happened. The truth would be told, Jaden guessed it wouldn’t matter. Explanations never mattered.

  Three sets of eyes looked at him. Jaden did not meet them with his own. He had killed a man, and unjust punishment was sure to follow. Blunt force trauma. That’s what homicide detectives would have said. It was a crime scene. He was the perpetrator. Like mother like son.

  The old man, hands in his pockets, sauntered over to Jaden, stopping in front of him. Jaden stared past him, stared through him. What would his mother say if she knew he killed a man, just like she had? This wasn’t murder, it was self-defense. He would have raped him, and Jaden would not let that happen.

  “Stand up,” the old man croaked.

  Jaden followed the command. There was a tingling, numb feeling in his hands and feet; he was light-headed.

  The old man pointed with one hand to the elevator. “Go.”

  Nodding, Jaden walked calmly to the elevator, joined by Malcolm. At the top floor, Jaden was lead into a room D, hands placed behind his back like a criminal, cuffed, and instructed to sit and wait for “the boss” to come and speak with him. Malcolm paced, his arms folded across his chest, a distracted expression on his face. He looked at Jaden every now and again, but kept mostly to himself. The two were silent for hours.

  When the old man came in, Jaden’s empty stomach twisted. Malcolm stuffed his hands in his pockets and moved himself into a corner of the room, as the old man stood before Jaden.

  “Rest assured,” he began, his voice stern, “the remaining staff will not enter that room without my permission. Hoganoff’s intentions were clear for all to see, and his death is quite the warning to any who had similar fantasies.”

  Jaden glanced at the old man. His face was hard to read.

  “However,” he added, his eyes boring into Jaden’s, “the idea that you are somehow the scales of justice is laughable.”

  There was poison in Jaden’s mouth. He knew he would regret speaking, but it was impossible for him to keep his mouth shut.

  “I’d kill him again,” he said, staring up at the old man. “He deserved that death. I wouldn’t let him touch me.”

  The old man scratched his chin and nodded to himself. “I see. After all we’ve been through, you still think you have the capacity to make decisions. Well, we have some work ahead of us.” He sighed and rubbed his face. “So we’re clear,” he said, his voice rougher than usual, “you don’t get to make decisions. Now,” he said, examining his watch, “I have to plan what to do with you, to get it through your skull that you are my property, and that I decide what happens to you.” With a stern frown, he walked out, leaving Jaden alone with Malcolm.

  The stone cylinder in the middle of the room had a sharp edge. If Jaden could move fast enough, he could smash his head on it, kill himself. But as he eyed it, and shifted his weight, Malcolm walked to it and leaned against it, as if reading Jaden’s thoughts.

  He envied Hoganoff, the dead man. Life was done, it had ended swiftly.

  Maybe this ulcer would kill him. Even if it was slow, as long as the end came, Jaden would be happy. Because after he endured what the old man planned, Jaden was sure the only useful therapy would be death.

  * * *

  fifteen

  Jaden hummed the same tune he heard in his cell, as Sam dressed the burn on his abdomen. The burn hurt intensely, even after Sam had done so much. Jaden wondered if it would always plague him. For now it burned and itched at the same time. The song he hummed was some sort of child’s melody, he wished he knew the words to it. How had it gone?

  Sam spoke to him, but Jaden didn’t hear him. He was in the park, walking through a patch of trees, watching the birds. They sung in Sam’s voice, but had no words. When the stars came over the horizon, Jaden rubbed his eyes and opened them to his dark cell.

  The padded floor had been changed out. It was gray. But the walls and ceiling were still pink. He lay under the mirror, keeping flat on his back to not disturb the burn. The bed in the infirmary was softer, but this would have to work. With his pillow under his head, Jaden tried getting back to the woods of the park, to the birds in the trees. Shutting his eyes, Jaden continued the tune in his head.

  He wasn’t bothered the next day or the day after. He was left alone to eat in peace and total silence, thinking about the boy in the mirror, and the song he hummed. Hoganoff’s face interrupted his thoughts once.

  Strange things started happening after the second day. As he was leaving the toilet, feeling slightly better, he heard the motor for the elevator and watched as the old man came down.

  But then he was gone.

  It happened again later that day. Jaden rose from a restless nap and saw the old man entering his room. When Jaden got up, the man was gone again, like he’d vanished.

  Another time he was showering, but couldn’t remember undressing, yet his clothes lay on the floor, neatly folded.

  Great chunks of time disappeared. One second he would be standing, the next getting up from sleeping. It made no sense, and it unsettled him.

  He lay awake thinking about the missing time. Was he losing his mind? Or was something unexplainable happening?

  He lift his shirt to look at his chest and stomach. There were no new injuries, in fact he was healing. His stomach didn’t hurt as much, the burn had stopped burning, his back was better. Jaden flexed his fingers and those too were looser than before.

  Time was passing.

  Jaden rubbed his face, trying to wake himself. Maybe he was going crazy. It would make sense. He’d killed a man and been branded for it.

  You’re not crazy.

  “Then what?” Jaden whispered.

  From the corner of his eye, Jaden saw something moving in the observation mirror. He found his reflection, only he did not see himself.

  I’m tired of this game, Jaden thought. What are you?

  Don’t you mean who?

  You won’t tell me who, I’ve already asked. You’re my imagination playing games with me. Who and what are you?

  The boy cocked his head to the side, as if thinking. Call me Seth.

  Jaden frowned as the boy smiled.

  Okay. Seth. But what are you?

  Seth laughed soundlessly. I’m your best friend, didn’t you know?

  Tired and not in the mood, Jaden turned away from the mirror.

  Seth stood in front of Jaden, body and all, wearing the same grin as before.

  Jaden jumped in fright.

  “It’s okay,” said Seth. His voice sounded like Jaden’s only smoother.

  Jaden’s heart thrummed and he backed into the mirror. Seth did not move.

  “I’m hallucinating,” Jad
en gasped.

  Seth shrugged. “I guess I can’t convince you otherwise. You shouldn’t be afraid of me, even if I am just a hallucination. I can’t hurt you, and I never would anyway.”

  “But you came out of the mirror. I’m going insane.” It was like looking at a calmer, happier version of himself. This wasn’t normal.

  Seth grinned. “You’re not going insane.”

  Jaden walked forward, and Seth did the same, like he was still a reflection. Jaden extended his hand out to touch Seth. Seth grabbed Jaden’s in his own. Seth felt solid, felt…real.

  “I don’t understand,” Jaden breathed. “You can’t exist.”

  “Says who?” asked Seth. He patted Jaden’s shoulder with his fingers. “Don’t I feel real?”

  “But you look just like me. You sound just like me.”

  “In point of fact,” Seth whispered. “But I’m not you.”

  Jaden shook his head repeatedly, trying to clear it. Something was wrong. Of all the things he could hallucinate or imagine, he had conjured up himself, only with a different name and no collar. Maybe the old man slipped him some drugs.

  Seth laughed. “The old man has a name, Jaden. Do you want to know what it is? I know it. He’s been keeping it from you on purpose. Everyone else has to call him ‘sir’ whenever you’re around. Mostly. But for you, he keeps it secret.”

  Jaden raised his eyebrows.

  “He does that too. You’re picking up his mannerisms,” Seth said. He sat on the floor. “Don’t you want to sit down?”

  His hallucination didn’t float. He caused an indentation in the padding. Jaden sat across from Seth. How could this be happening? Maybe he was dreaming.

  “You’re not dreaming,” said Seth.

  “How do you know what I’m thinking?” Jaden asked.

  “I know everything about you. I’ve been here the whole time.”