by Laura Preble
Again, I don’t know what to say. I just nod.
“I will see to it that you are reassigned to kitchen duty. Do you have a problem with that?” After Paul just got shot in the head over a sore finger? No. I have no problem with that. I shake my head.
“Great.” Ashburn grabs my elbow gently as if we’re a couple of old friends taking a walk. “I wanted to talk to you alone also, because there are a few things that might seem confusing to a new guest. I’m here to answer any questions you might have.”
Shit. I’m afraid to ask any questions. I don’t want my forehead perforated. I stare at him like a dumb animal.
“Come, come, you must have some questions.” Ashburn frowns at me, as if he distrusts my silence.
“I did…”
“Yes?” He gets his handheld ready to record whatever I say.
“What do we do when we have to…uh..defecate?”
He arches his eyebrows. “You personal counselor didn’t explain that?”
“No.”
He sighs heavily, as if this is a huge burden on him. He taps angrily on his device. “Luke, was it?”
“Yes, doctor.”
He nods. Now I’ve gotten Luke in trouble. I should just shut up.
“Sit, Sebastian.” He gestures toward a straight metal chair. I sit and he pulls his swivel chair up to me. “To answer your question: defecation is handled twice weekly at the evacuation center. We use colon cleansing to assure that all of our guests have nutritional and digestive health. So, no need for you to concern yourself with that.” He crosses his arms. “A few more things to note. Our goal is rehabilitation, not incarceration. We want to help you renew your ties to God, and to reorient you so you can fit into society productively. We have many methods by which to accomplish this, but if you have a cooperative attitude, things move much more quickly.” He leans toward me confidentially. “We work on a…well, a point system here. If you give information about another guest’s misbehavior, you earn points. If you help us identify waste or perversity, or flaws in the guard system, you earn points. Points can be accumulated and traded for niceties at the end of each week. If your tips result in an arrest, you earn even more.” He beams at me, a snake eyeing a mouse. “It’s for everyone’s good. Our goal, remember, is redemption.”
“Redemption,” I murmur, as if I agree. I don’t.
“Now, let’s go on into the visual reorientation. I think you’ll find it quite interesting.” He gestures for me to go first into the dark room.
The other men are already strapped into chairs with metal clamps. Ashburn puts me in a chair next to Abraham. Restraints pop out of the chair and snap down over my wrists and ankles. “Ready,” Ashburn calls to someone.
Something whirs behind my head, and some tight-fitting halo-thing settles onto my skull. I can’t help it—I tug against the restraints like a chained animal. Abraham whispers, “Just sit still.”
Another smaller whirring noise, and something is dangling in front of my eyes—no, not in front. It...it’s grabbing my eyelids. Something is grabbing my fucking eyelids! I scream— I can’t help it.
Something pricks my cheek—a guard with a syringe. I feel my face go numb.
“It really works best if you don’t fight it,” Ashburn says from behind me. “Enjoy.”
A movie screen lights up. I have to watch it. I try to blink, but I can’t. I can’t even move my face at all, not my lips, nose, eyebrows, eyes. Images of men and women flash on the screen. Kissing, holding, fondling each other…and I think of Carmen…and then shocks like a hundred hot knives jolt me against the restraints. A smell of burnt meat—I can’t see them, but the other men, too, they’re being tortured. More images, women, men, sex, jolts, jolts, burning, I think I’m crying, but I don’t feel the tears on my cheek.
I don’t know how long this goes on—my jumpsuit is wet. The screen goes blank. The restraints pop off and retract. The clamps release my eyelids and I blink gratefully, wiping moisture from my still-numb cheeks. Ashburn is back.
“You all did very well. The guards will escort you back to Delta for a brief rest period, then it’s to work.” He smiles at me in particular. “See, Sebastian? Not as bad as you thought, eh?”
I try to stand, but my legs give out, and I slump to the floor, hit my head on the metal edge of the chair, and then—nothing.
In my dream, a snake is biting my leg, over and over again, with electric fangs. “Stop!” I yell—a guard with a shock stick grins and gives me one more blast in the thigh.
“Work time, sweetheart,” he grumbles. “Let’s go.” The other men are already out of their bunks, dazed. Abraham’s dark face, though, is calm, almost serene. We march on again, same as yesterday, except this time the guards separate me, Abraham, and Noah, whose shark-eyes are deader than they were yesterday. Bit by bit, bit by bit…they steal souls. That’s how they do it. They only take a grain at a time, but it’s enough. Eventually, I guess, you have nothing left.
I won’t let that happen. But even as I think that, I know that I’ve already lost something, a small piece of myself. What will happen after more days, more weeks? I won’t think about it.
“Kitchen duty,” a guard announces, opening a door and shuttling the three of us into a steaming stainless-steel cooking area. Guess the reformers don’t like to do their own dishes. Other men in orange jumpsuits scrub with big industrial sprayers, stack dishes, and mop the floor. A tall, bald man comes forward. “This is Jon, head of the kitchen detail. He’ll tell you what to do.”
The guard salutes Jon, who salutes back. He has a hawkish nose, and one slate-blue eye. There’s a sewn-shut hole where they other one should be. He consults an electronic tablet. “Sebastian, Abraham, Noah.” He checks us as we each signal to answer to our names. “You’ll be scrubbing dirty dishes. Follow me.”
We go through a labyrinth of white tile and steel, through an almost tangible cloud of pine disinfectant scent, into a huge room adjoining the dining area. I can see all the first shift people eating lunch out there. Where are the women? Jon hands each of us a white apron, and says, “Scrub all the food off the plates and down the disposal.”
I ache all over. I don’t know if I can stand up long enough to scrub dishes, but I guess I’ll have to try. Jon checks on some other workers, then walks back through the labyrinth of cleanliness.
Abraham leans into a plate and scrubs, but as he does, he whispers also, barely audible above the water. “He’s with us.”
“Who?” I whisper back. Abraham’s eyes go wide, and he clamps his lips shut, I guess to tell me I’m too loud. I scrub too, bending as if to really put some elbow grease into this beloved job.
“One-eye.”
Charles, the Korean guy from therapy, pushes a wheeled cart full of dishes into the kitchen through a swinging door, like we worked in a restaurant or something. He and Abraham trade glances, and Abraham motions for me to switch places with him. I do.
He starts to take dirty plates off the cart, but I notice that wedged in between two is a small piece of paper sticking out just so he could see it. Quick as I see it, it’s gone. Plates stacked, ready to scrub. Paper? What paper?
Charles makes a big deal of clanging plates together, causing some of the men to glance over at us. Are they waiting to turn people in? I remember what Ashburn said. You can get points for turning in perverts and people who violate the rules. Would they do that? I guess. I think I’ll be quiet.
As Charles reaches the bottom of the cart to get the last rack of plates, Abraham bends down too, to help. I hear them whisper, but no one else can because Abraham left the sprayer running. They talk for almost a full minute, and with each second I wonder if a guard will walk in, or if someone is listening, or has a camera turned on us or something. I just scrub.
Maybe they can tell me where Carmen is. Just the thought of her — I ache and feel this tearing in my chest, like someone ripped it open. What will it be like after a week of this “orientation?” Or a month?
Abraham stand
s, eases plates into the metal sink. Charles wheels the cart back out.
“I need your address,” he whispers, working the sprayer. Then he drops a plate on the floor, and it shatters into a hundred bone-white pieces. “Pick that up,” he yells at me. I bend down to do what he asks, and see the paper there amidst the pieces. I grab it, palm it, as a guard stomps up.
“What happened here?” the guard growls.
“New guy,” Abraham says, snarling in my direction. The guard gives me an unenthusiastic zap with his shock stick, then walks away. As he does, Abraham grins.
After the work period, we go back to the bunks to read. I again flop onto my stomach and this time, trembling, lay the note out between the bindings of the bible. It begins, in faded charcoal: “Chris—”
Chris. For a split second, I don’t remember that that is me. Shit.
Chris—
I am safe. Trust the men. Have faith.
Carmen
A note from Carmen. I bury my face in it, try to smell her scent in this paper, try to imagine her fingers scrawling those eleven words. I eat it like a sacrament. This is all I needed. My soul burns, restored; anger, frustration everything that’s numb bruned away. I have to get out.
I barely sleep. I turn, trying to block the buzzing lights, and dream of dark hair and soft hands.
It seems like no time has passed before a guard comes into the dorm again, pokes me with his stick. “Come,” he says. From the bottom bunk, Noah stares blankly as I climb down and walk away.
They take me to Luke’s room. “Sebastian,” he says, greeting me at the door. The guards leave us alone. “I wanted to check on you. How are you?”
“Fine.” Automatic response. The same thing I’ve said all my life when people ask.
“Sit.” I let my body sink into a tan velvet chair. He reaches into the refrigerator, grabs a bottled water and a red apple. “Hungry?”
I nod. He gives me the food, and I practically inhale it.
“Sebastian, you know that not every guest has a one-on-one counselor like you have.” He sits opposite me in a matching chair. “We have a special interest in you.”
I finish the water, but say nothing.
He smiles. “You have some information, and we need it. If you tell me, I can make things very pleasant for you here.” He stands next to me, runs his fingers through my hair. “Very pleasant.”
Again, I say nothing. Of course, it’s a trick.
“For example, if you tell me what I want to know, I could arrange a visit. Between you and your…love interest.”
I swallow hard. He can’t mean Carmen. Can he?
“I know it seems…counterintuitive. If we’re trying to reorient you, why would we ever let you see someone who might undo what we’ve done? But,” he strokes my cheek, “I think that if you can help me, I can help you. One little visit won’t set you back too much, I think. Especially if I’m there to…help.” He returns to his chair. “So, can we count on you?”
“Of course.” There is no other answer I can give if I want to get out.
“Excellent.” He pours himself a cup of coffee, and it smells amazing, reminds me of home. Home…David, Warren, Jana…Andi. It seems like someone else’s life. I guess it was. “I know stimulants are off limits, but…how about just a half cup?” He hands me a delicate china cup filled with amber-brown liquid. “We need to know about McFarland. What did your contacts do with him?”
Shit. I have no idea. What can I tell him? How can I see her? “I was with him in the cabin—”
“Yes, yes we know that.” Impatient. “What happened in the woods, though?”
I sip more delicious coffee. “Someone probably took him.”
“Probably.” Luke’s voice has an unpleasant edge. “Probably? You must know more than that.”
Think. Think. What can I give him so I can see her again?
“We met once in the woods near my house. Maybe they took him there.”
Luke shakes his head. “I need to know exactly where he is.” He says it slowly, so I’ll be sure to understand.
“I just don’t know.”
He eyes me suspiciously, takes the cup from my hand, and grabs my wrist, pulling me up from the chair. “Go back, then. You won’t see her again. She might be dead already.”
All I can think about is bashing his head in with something, anything. But I remember her note: I am safe. Trust the men. Have faith. She’s not dead. “I’m sorry I can’t help you,” is what I say.
Luke grins, closes his eyes, and walks me to the door. “I won’t be seeing you again, Sebastian. Sorry. I wish I could’ve helped you.”
I turn to him. “My name is Chris.”
Back to the kitchen. I’m beginning to forget what time of day it is…with no windows it’s almost impossible to know. You can’t tell from the food; it’s basically either oatmeal or soup or something else weak and flavorless. Endless dishes and spoons.
Abraham lifts plates from a cart, turns the water on full blast. “Memorize these numbers,” he whispers.
I arch my eyebrows at him.
“Thirty-two, four, sixty-six, eleven, seven. Repeat.” He leans into a plate and scrubs. I repeat the numbers.
A guard stalks into the kitchen as if looking for something. “Where is Sebastian?”
I raise my hand.
“Come with me.” I trade looks with Abraham as Charles wheels more plates into the kitchen. I shake my head only slightly and follow the guard.
I’m surprised when he takes me to the therapy room. Ashburn is alone. “Sebastian, come in,” he says genially. “Sit in the chair there. Luke tells me that you’ve been uncooperative.” His voice takes on the tone of a disappointed parent.
“I really have no idea where McFarland is,” I say, but Ashburn puts his fingers to his lips as if he’s hushing a child.
“I do understand that, Sebastian.” He moves his chair closer to me. “I need something else from you, actually.” He pushes a few buttons on his stupid handheld device, and then sits back. “In a few moments, I am going to ask you to make a phone call. It seems that one of your parents—” he consults his screen again…I swear I am going to smash it one day— “Warren? Yes. Warren apparently has called in some favors trying to get you released. He’s asking some questions we’d frankly prefer not to answer. I want you to call and reassure him.”
“What?”
“I just want you to make a brief phone call, to let him know that you’re being treated well.”
I’m stunned. He would let me call Warren? If I could get him on the phone…I could get him to understand…no. Too risky. But how can I tell him I’m ok? He’d know I was lying, even if I said I was fine.
“Well? I’m waiting.” Ashburn blinks at me. “There’s an incentive, too.” The door opens, and—
Carmen.
Carmen!
I jump to my feet. No thought occurs except to hold her. We collide and try to melt into each other, to fade away into nothing, to evaporate from this room, this place. She’s thin, so thin I feel bones beneath the rough fabric. If I squeeze too tight, I’m afraid I’ll break her. We kiss, deep, like breathing oxygen again after being denied breath; her head is shaved bare like mine, her hands rough like mine from working, and —
Guards pull us apart. Ashburn shakes his head, disgusted. “I will never understand it,” he says. “It’s just not normal.”
“Chris,” Carmen says my name. Her hollow eyes, still blue but now in deep shadow, shine with love. It feels real again.
“No speaking,” Ashburn barks. A guard ties a gag around her mouth as she struggles.
“Stop it!” I scream, bolting toward the guard even though I know I’ll get a shock. I pound on the black-beetle vest and helmet, and even when he zaps me, I keep hammering at him, trying to get her free. “Let her go!”
Tears glisten on her cheeks, and I reach out to smooth her dry hair as two more bastard guards pull me back.
“Now, are you ready to make th
at phone call?” Ashburn asks, straightening his coat and glasses. “Such a fuss.”
Breathing hard, I nod. “Will you let her go if I do?”
Ashburn shakes his head. “Well, no, of course not. She’s dangerous. I can’t let her go. I can let her live, though.” A guard pulls out a black revolver and puts it to her head. She screams behind the gag, sobs in small, pitiful gulps, and all I can do is watch. Ashburn hands me the phone, the number already ringing. “I’ll be listening. Make it convincing.”
“Hello?” Warren’s voice. His voice. I can’t speak. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
“Warren?” My voice sounds strangled. The guard cocks the gun. “Warren. It’s me. Seb—Chris. It’s Chris.”
“Chris!” The relief floods the line. “Oh, Jesus. I’ve been so worried about you. They wouldn’t let me talk to you, or see you…they said it was part of the treatment, but—how are you? Do you know when they’ll let you out?”
I stare at Carmen, shaking. “Not sure. I’m fine, though. It’s all fine.”
“Chris?” Warren knows me too well. He knows I’m lying. “Tell me the truth now. Are they treating you well? I really want to know.”
“Sure.” My lip trembles, and I desperately try to keep my voice from cracking as Ashburn stares at me intently. “It’s great.”
There’s a huge pause. “Well, I’m glad to hear it.” Warren clears his throat and his voice becomes lighter, almost happy. “I’ll bet you can’t wait to get home, though, huh? Jana says you probably miss walking in the woods, huh?”
“Yes. I do miss that.”
He pauses again. “Well, you just get better. We’ll see you soon, I’m sure.” His voice is strained; I can hear it, although I’m not sure Ashburn can. “I love you, Chris.”
“I love you too.” I try not to sob out loud. I don’t give the phone back right away; I hold it like it’s my last connection to what was real.
“Well done,” Ashburn says, taking the phone from me. “Say goodbye to your friend. She needs to go back to the women’s guest home.”
They’ve taken off the gag now, and the gun has been put away, but she’s still pale and shaking. I take her in my arms, envelop her, try to pretend no one else is here. And I whisper in her ear, “Have faith.” Eyes shining, she nods, smiles, and kisses me again, deeply, before the guards pull her away and take her out of the room. Our eyes lock until I can’t see her anymore.