by Cady Vance
“Does that look like what we’re doing with you, Thora?” he asks.
That sucks the breath right out of me. I let the question hang in the air because there’s no way to answer without making myself look like the crazy one.
“You can see I’m only trying to help you. We gave you your treatment, and then you’re going home. Both you and your brother.” He shakes his head sadly and scratches the collar of his dark blue doctor’s gown. “Who told you this? To make you so paranoid about us? Was it Lucas? We’ve been having trouble with him for years.”
I glare at him.
“Okay, I see.” He smiles at me again, and I want to rip those curved-up lips off his face. “Well, I can assure you that any ideas he put into your head are unfounded and inaccurate. He has trouble with hallucinations, just like you.”
“I don’t believe you.” I narrow my eyes and try to ignore the thumping in my chest. “He told us everything. How we die. How you bring us back to life. And how you’ve basically used him like a lab rat.”
“You’ve never died, Thora.” The doctor takes a step closer to me and leans down to look into my eyes like he’s some kindly grandfather. I grimace. He smells of mildew and the wood chippings used for gerbil cages. “You just have a terrible, rare case of insomnia. You don’t die. You pass out. You need the treatment to heal you. That’s all there is to it.”
“Stop lying to me,” I say, but my voice sounds a bit weaker now as my mind is clouded with confusion. It’s hard to pick the right from the wrong with everything this doctor is saying. About Odin. About hallucinations. About going back to Connecticut. I know I have hallucinations, but I also know what I saw. I close my eyes and desperately try to find the truth. To snatch it from the spiraling mist of deception.
“I know you want a way to explain your condition,” the doctor says, taking a step toward the door, “but the truth of the matter is we still haven’t determined a cause for your insomnia. When we find that, then maybe we’ll find a cure. And then you can live a normal life.”
“A normal life,” I mutter. Yeah, right. A normal life in a Clinic until they find the fucking cure.
“Now, if you have any more questions before your parents arrive, push that buzzer on the side of your bed, and a nurse will get me.”
“Wait,” I say as he turns his back to me.
“Yes?” His hand hovers over the doorknob.
“I want to speak to Doctor Jeremy,” I say. At least he’d give me some truth. He’d know what to do. “The psychiatrist from my Clinic.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible.” The doctor keeps his back to me so I can’t read his expression. “He’s no longer with us.”
My heart skips a beat. “What do you mean? Where is he?”
“I can’t divulge that information.” The doctor turns the knob, and I’m desperate to find out more from him before he escapes into the hallway.
“But where are my friends? What have you done with them?”
“They’re here,” he says, turning back to face me. The skin around his eyes cracks when he smiles. “Just like Odin. And they’ll be going home to their parents as well. No experiments.”
The door shuts loudly behind him. I scoot back onto the bed, pulling my knees up to my chest. It can’t be true, what the doctor said, though I desperately want it to be. Odin is alive? I shake my head and drop my cheek onto my knee. I have to see for myself. I have to find Odin.
The door cracks open again, breaking me free from my thoughts. A young male nurse peeks around the corner, smiling. When he sees I’m alert and awake, he bustles inside with a tray of food.
“Thought you might be hungry after your treatment.” He motions for me to move my legs out of the way so he can push my food tray up to my bed. “You know, Aiden says you’re a trooper, but I bet you’re starving.”
My entire body stiffens into a popsicle stick. “Aiden? Is Aiden okay?”
“Of course he is.” The nurse smiles as he slides the food before me.
“Where is he?” I know my voice sounds hard, but I don’t care.
“Calm down,” he says. “The doctor mentioned you might be a little edgy about everyone’s well-being. He’s fine. He’s here at the Clinic.”
My shoulders slump with relief. I’m glad Aiden is okay. And then I feel my shoulders clench up with tension again. I can’t be sure everyone’s safe like he’s saying, not when they’re claiming Odin is alive when I know I saw him die. But I also can’t ignore that the doctor was right about one thing, at least. I’m fine. No one is poking me with needles anymore, not after they fixed me. And if I’m fine, it’s hard to believe Aiden and Florence aren’t.
Still, I have to make sure myself. There are too many potential lies being tossed around, and the only way to discover the truth is to see things with my own eyes. And I can’t sit here until tomorrow wondering if Odin is alive. I have to see him now. I have to see my brother breathing. I have to feel his familiar hug. I have to find my brother. Now.
“Now, enjoy your breakfast. Make sure to eat and drink up to get your strength back. You were pretty weak when Lucas brought you in.”
“Lucas brought me in?” I ask. The moments leading up to my Collapse are too fuzzy for me to remember the details.
“Well, he alerted our security team when you Collapsed, and they brought you in, but yes, it was Lucas.” The nurse cracks a grin. “We had to practically pull him away from your side. He means well.”
The nurse turns to exit the door with a smug smile still hogging his face, and I feel another burst of anger at his words. These people are not the good guys.
“Probably because your Sleeper guys gave me a million bruises tonight chasing me down.” The words slip from my lips before I can stop them.
The nurse stiffens, faces me and and rolls his eyes. “If they were rough with you, it’s because they had to be. Our Field Workers were instructed to stop you and bring you in no matter what.”
I snort. “Field Workers? That what you call kidnappers?”
“Our Field Workers ‘retrieve those who are in danger to themselves’. Maybe, I don’t know, teenage girls running around New York City when they might pass out at any moment? I bet that sounds familiar. And if you aren’t in a safe place when that happens and get treatment as soon as possible, there can be serious consequences to your health. I don’t mean to scare you, but it’s the truth. I’m not going to sugarcoat it like the Doc.”
He closes the door behind him, and the sound reverberates in my brain, along with the squeaking sound of the food cart rolling onto the next room. I stare down at my eggs, bacon and toast, and even though my stomach rumbles like thunder, I’ve never felt less like eating in my entire life. I pick up the glass of orange juice and stiffen when a small slip of paper flutters into my lap.
With trembling fingers, I extract the note from my lap and turn it over to see an unfamiliar script. Don’t drink the juice. My breath catches. That’s all the paper says. I quickly glance up and around me as if I’m being watched, as if whoever placed this here is waiting for my reaction, as if the doctor will come barreling in at any moment to remove the offending note from my grasp.
I eye the juice before sniffing the yellow liquid sloshing around in the glass. It smells of citrus, of summer, of sunshine. But I know better than to tempt fate. This place is a mask hiding something terrible underneath, no matter what the doctor says, no matter how normal the nurse acts, no matter how I’m not getting stabbed with needles at this very moment as some sort of horrible experiment. This place, these people, are wrong. I need to find my brother and my friends and get out of here before the illusion falls away and the nightmare really begins.
Twenty-Nine
The Clinic is intended to feel like a second home to your child with movies, books and comfy common rooms.
- The Galvanism Handbook for Parents
My feet are more sure on the cold floor when I escape the bed this time. I think of the film, Independence Day, a
nd the President’s big speech I always found kind of cheesy until now. We will not go quietly into the night. We will not vanish without a fight. I square my shoulders, slip my hand around the doorknob and twist.
The loud clicking of the knob sends a shudder through me. I hold my breath, waiting, hoping, praying no one heard it. The sound blends into the buzzing of outside the room: the squeak of rubber soles against the floor, the clatter of food trays as the nurse pushes the cart down the hall and the crackle of the intercom paging the doctor.
I ease the door open a bit more and peer into the hallway, ready to bound into bed again at the sight of anyone heading my way. I figure if I’m caught, I can always use the water bottle machine excuse. If they’re hellbent on keeping up appearances, then they won’t mind if I leave my room for some aqua, even as confined and regulated as this place seems, a lot different than the Connecticut Clinic. For the first time ever, I almost appreciate my local Clinic’s mask of coziness.
But everything is not okay.
The hallway seems empty as the nurse pushes the food cart around the corner and out of sight. I step into the hall, fingers pulling my door quietly shut behind me. I look one way and then the other, seeing only an empty food cart and an abandoned IV machine.
A female nurse trots out of a room. I back down the hall, away from the nurse, hoping and praying she doesn’t see me. When she moves into the next room without glancing my way, I stop and let out a breath of relief.
I see I’m standing before the room right next to mine. To the right of the door, there is a plastic paper tray holding a blue folder. Curiosity overwhelms me. I take one more glance behind me at the empty hall before snatching the folder from its place. Maybe this is Odin’s room. The thought consumes me.
Before I flip the folder open, I see a name typed onto an attached adhesive label. Lottie Yates. Disappointment weighs me down as I ease a paper from the folder contents and scan personal data like age, location, height, weight. For some reason, I feel like I’m reading someone’s diary. At the top of the sheet, it says, “Voltaic Treatment, Basic.”
Basic? I crinkle my eyes together. The room’s door flies open, and I take a step back. Bloodshot gray eyes hidden behind shaggy brown bangs stare at me accusingly.
“What are you doing?” the girl, who I can only assume is Lottie, asks.
“Um…” I hold up the folder and open my mouth to try to explain to her I’m not some snoop, just trying to find answers and get out of this place.
Heavy footsteps echo down the hall. We both whip our heads toward the sound. The doctor from earlier spins around the corner. He’s turned to a nurse at his side. They’re talking quietly.
“Get back inside your room,” the girl hisses at me before shutting her door in my face.
Heart pounding, I back up, eyes trained on the doctor heading my way. I scrabble at my doorknob and push into my room. I ease the door closed but don’t shut it all the way to avoid that horrible clicking noise the doorknob likes to make. I peek into the hall, keeping my breath prisoner in my throat, hoping they aren’t coming for me, as if they somehow know I’ve been sneaking around in the hallway.
Their echoing footsteps and their murmuring voices pass by my door without event. I wait, the sound fading as they make their way down to the other end of the hall. After they disappear from view, I wait a beat longer and then swing my door open, snatching my own file from the plastic container. I flip it open and scan the words.
Thora Green, Voltaic Treatment, Deluxe.
I snap the file shut. What the hell does that mean? Deluxe and Basic. I’ve never been aware there were levels to our treatment, as if my treatment is somehow more involved than the one for Lottie. Then, I think of how bloodshot her eyes looked, how panicked she seemed. I shake my head. This is something I can figure out later. Right now, I need to focus on finding my brother, finding out if he’s really alive.
I slip out into the hall and move past Lottie’s room and to the next door. I scan the name, but it isn’t Odin or Florence or Aiden. I move across the hall to check the doors there, but neither of those are my brother or my friends. There are only two more closed doors on this hall, and my stomach rolls up into tight knots. What if they aren’t here after all?
I eye one of the two remaining closed doors. My heart squeezes when I don’t see Odin’s name on the front, but I find myself still flipping open the file anyway. Jane Jones, Voltaic Treatment, Basic. So, another Basic one here. Just like all the others except for me. I freeze when I scan the personal data and the handwritten note at the bottom. Has an unhealthy attachment to music.
It could be a coincidence that another insomnia is addicted to music, but I find that hard to believe. This must be Florence. Or Jane, as the folder says. For some reason, I’m not surprised Florence would assign herself another name. I turn the knob and push open the door. Florence is curled up on her bed, body shaking with sobs. My heart both soars and squeezes at the sight of her.
“Florence?” I whisper after moving to her side.
She rolls over and blinks up at me through tears. Her eyes are red and puffy. Her fingers are curled over her ears. I can’t help but notice the glaring absence of her earbuds. The pain in her eyes is almost more than I can bear, and it makes my blood boil to think they’d do this to her.
“Thora, they took the music away. I can’t think straight without it. The world is too jumbled.” She squeezes her eyes tight. “Please make it stop.”
I feel helpless. All I can do is stand here and watch her suffer. For once, I am the strong one. She’s depending on me, and I don’t know what to do.
“We’ll get it back,” I say. “Listen to me. I know it’s hard, but you need to pull yourself together enough for us to get out of here. We’re in the Clinic, Florence. We need to find Aiden and Lucas and go.” I don’t mention Odin yet. I don’t know how to without sounding as crazy as I feel.
At the sound of Aiden’s name, her eyes blink rapidly, like she’s trying to snap herself out of her haze. She pushes herself up slowly, as if the strength has gone out of her arms, and leans back into her pillows.
“You haven’t seen him?” she asks.
“No, I found you first.” I glance over to her open wardrobe and notice hers is absent of clothes as well.
“What about Lucas?”
Confusion about Lucas ripples through me. I hate they’ve made me doubt him even the tiniest bit. “We have to find him, too.”
“Okay.” She scratches at her ears. When she meets my eyes, I can see the pain wriggling inside of her. “I need my music, Thora. I know I seem kinda nuts right now, but I need it.”
“I know.” I wish there was something more I could do, but all I can give her is hope. “All you have to do is make it a little longer without it. You can do it.”
“Okay.” Somehow, my words are enough. She pushes herself off the bed, teetering a bit before steadying herself against the side table. “What’s the plan then?”
The doorknob clicks. Florence’s eyes fly wide, and I do the first thing that pops into my mind. I fall flat to the floor and scrabble under the bed, pushing aside the crisp white sheets hanging over the side like they’re a tent. I pull my bare feet in behind me, curl up into a ball and freeze.
Rolling wheels creak into the room, and a pair of black shoes stops only inches from where my palms lay flat on the cold tile. I want to inch my fingers back, but I’m afraid of moving even my pinky finger. It’s one thing to get caught strolling down the hall. It’s another for them to find me hiding under my co-conspirator’s bed.
“How are you feeling, Jane?” the nurse from my room asks in a fake pleasantly happy tone. I want to slap the fake out of him.
“I feel like shit. Give me my fucking music back.”
I can’t help but smile at hearing the old Florence. I silently cheer her on.
“When you’re done with recovery, you’ll get your iPod back.” I hear the squeal and light clunk of the nurse adjusting the tray
on her bed. “It’s only a day.”
“You’re fucking delusional if you think robbing me of my songs is going to make me recover faster.”
“It’s not my decision, Jane,” the nurse says with a sigh. “You can bring it up with the doctor when he makes his rounds this afternoon, and maybe he’ll be inclined to return it to you before tomorrow. For now, here’s your meal. Make sure to eat and drink up as much as you can so you recover quickly.”
I bite my lip to hold back the urge to fly from under the bed to warm Florence not to drink the juice. I don’t know what they’ve put in the drink, but they must have done something to it if I got that note from…someone. And I have a feeling if Florence drinks it, it will seriously jeopardize our escape.
Florence snorts. “Sure thing, mindless minion.”
I hear a sigh, the heavy tread of footsteps, the squeaking of wheels and the light click of the door shutting behind him. Before the door is fully shut, I shove the sheets aside, scrabble out from under the bed and jump to my feet. I snatch the drink from Florence’s tray and hold it over my head, hoping she hasn’t taken a sip yet.
“You can’t drink this,” I whisper-hiss at her.
“Seriously chill out, friend. I didn’t drink it,” Florence says at regular volume. “What’s the deal with this juice?” She waves a slip of paper like the one I got with my drink. “Did you put this here?”
“No, I don’t know who did.” I set the glass on her tray before plopping into the armchair by her bed. It’s about as comfortable as a hard subway seat.
“Lucas?” she asks, poking a long nail at a crispy piece of bacon.
“I don’t know,” I say. “If he can leave notes on food trays, why hasn’t he come to get us out?”
“Well, regardless, we can’t wait for him to come riding in on his white horse. I say we make our move now while they think we’re souped up on whatever the fuck this shit is.” She wiggles the orange juice in the air.