Grey

by Kayley Barratt

  Chapter 33

  I creak open the door to the medical waiting room, peaking through the gap first before I push it open and I step inside. There is just one member here, sat on a chair against the far wall; his head is up, his eyes wide, but he just stares into the air—showing no sign of movement or life. The same woman as before is still here, working at the reception desk, her hand moves at sixty miles per hour against a long sheet of paper. I look along her desk and then I see a set of keys placed beside a stack of files that are piled up next to her.

  I approach her cautiously, clearing my throat before I speak. “Hi, I’ve been sent to clean the infirmary.”

  “Don’t care,” she mumbles, not even glancing up.

  I lean sideways, tenderly running my hand along the counter until I feel the keys rub against my palm. I cover them with my hand, bringing it up to scratch my nose and then I drop the keys into the pocket of my gown.

  “I’ll just go and clean it then,” I say.

  “Mhm,” she says.

  I walk around the desk and I twist the doorknob of the side door; stepping out into the long, silent corridor. I rub my lips together, my dedicated eyes scanning the wall of doors. I pace forwards and then I come to the first door. I twist on the doorknob and it swings open with no problem. I glance inside, only to find it’s just an empty, white room with a bed, ventilator and storage cupboard.

  I close it, moving on to the next.

  Every door is the same—leading to an empty room. There isn’t even any air vents that the sounds could have passed through. Whoever or whatever was in these rooms are now long gone. I close the last door and then I hear the door to the infirmary open behind me. I widen my eyes for a moment, my back still turned to the door.

  “What are you doing—” the familiar, deep voice begins.

  I turn.

  “Here?” Elijah finishes, his tone changes as his eyes meet mine. “Elizabeth.”

  “Elijah,” I say, swallowing down his name. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” he says back. “Why aren’t you with your group?”

  “I was sent here to clean medical,” I say, my eyes awkwardly going down. “So… I’ll need to um…”

  He stares for a moment, before realising and moving out of the doorway. “Oh. Yeah. Go ahead.”

  I walk forwards, caressing my neck as I pass him. “Thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  My hand falls onto the door and I open it slowly, before turning around again. “Listen, about last week, I—”

  “Not here,” he says.

  “Then where?” I demand quietly. “When? This needs to be said and I need to say it now. I’m sorry for what happened, I’m sorry if I did something wrong.”

  He gives me a stern look and then he launches at the door, closes it shut and pulls me back into the corridor. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says. “I was the one that… the way I acted, it wasn’t me, it wasn’t like me. I don’t know why I did it.”

  “Really?” I say, my eyebrow raises. “You don’t know why you did it?”

  “Okay, well, I know why I did it. But it doesn’t change anything. I am your leader and you are a member.”

  “This isn’t school, Elijah,” I retort. “It’s not the teacher and student scenario.”

  “No, it’s worse.”

  “Based on unethical rules,” I say. “Yes. So, what happens next? Are you just going to keep on helping me and saving my life while still in denial?”

  “In denial?” he questions, his eyes narrow slightly. “What am I in denial about?”

  Me.

  “Nothing,” I say, forcing out a smile. “I’ve got to go; the infirmary needs cleaning.”

  “Wait, but—”

  I don’t hear the end of that because I push on the door, storming into the next corridor and I leave Elijah’s irritating voice behind me. But I can’t help but smile a little. Because I haven’t answered him, he’ll still want an answer, which means he’ll seek me out to get it. I’ve left the conversation on its own cliff hanger and it’s the key to getting closer to him, it’s the key to shutting this place down.

  I reach one of the doors that leads into the main medical facility—I peek through the glass frame, my eyes scrolling across the wall of beds, patients, curtains and ‘doctors’. Instead of walking through it, I take a detour and I turn right, walking around a bend that leads to another corridor. There is light at the end of this one, because the outside world is shining through a glass-framed door. Well, the compound is. Not the outside outside. I walk closer to the sunlight, basking in the heat that beams through the particles of the glass and then something catches my attention. Not something, but someone. Him.

  Duncan.

  He is locking the door to one of the cabins that we’re not allowed inside, his face turning in both directions as he almost sniffs the air. He drops the keys into his pockets, proceeding to walk down towards the compound while adjusting his collar.

  I wait until he disappears around a corner and then I slowly lift my eyes towards the cameras as I step outside into the hot air. One will point at the door of the cabin in exactly forty seconds. I fight with what to do for a moment, my fingers pricking together at the seed of my gown—but eventually, I’m taking off towards the cabin, with no thought to anything else. I take out the keys from my pocket, fiddling with them as the sweat and panic makes them slide through my grasp. I, eventually, gain control, sticking one after the other inside the hole, while rushing to beat the camera that will be directly pointing at me in less than five seconds. I panic further, reaching the last key, which slides inside the keyhole and clicks it open. I dive inside the room, slamming the door closed behind me and locking it with no awareness to my bearings.

  I take deep breaths, holding a hand to my chest as I calm myself. I glance around the room, suddenly curious. I’m in another one of Duncan’s OCD offices. It’s a square-feet office with one small window, a desk so organised that it looks like it hasn’t been touched in decades, and shelves and shelves of books.

  I push a loose strand of hair behind my ear before walking over to one of the bookcases. I look over the first shelf, reading over every title in seconds. Once I’m done, I pick whichever one stood out to me the most and I go for the one that was untitled. It’s a thick, blue book that weighs heavily in my hands. I open the first page, expecting text, but I find it blank. The next page is the same and the next, and so on. The entire book is blank.

  “What are you hiding?” I whisper to myself, my eyes scrolling to his desk. And then, an idea occurs.

  I carry the book over to his desk, placing it on top as I pull out his drawers and I gently unearth a rectangular-shaped UV light hidden under a perfectly stacked pile of files. I place the UV lamp onto the desk and then I move across to the window, pulling the blinds shut so the room falls into darkness.

  I take a seat at his desk, taking a deep breath as I switch the light on, watching it turn a fluorescent blue. I bring it closer to the book and suddenly, words begin appearing, as if by magic. The words make no sense, as they’re not in any sequence, so I adjust the book so the light picks it up from the beginning of the page.

  My body freezes as the words turn into names. There is a list of names that run all along the page, just names, female names… but the dates.

  I run my finger across them. They are placed beside each name.

  Ebony Clifford 1982, Belinda Richards 1984, Carolina O’Hare 1985, Susan Bing 1985, Danielle Crawford 1985, Katherine Singer 1985, Julie Donald 1986, Amanda Knight 1986, Tabitha Bowen 1987.

  There are dozens of them. Are all these women victims of this cult? What happened to them? I continue to the next page, my eyes squinting as I move the page along the UV. And it’s only then that I see an answer.

  I widen my eyes at the words before me. Terrified, I close the book, rising from the seat in a deep shock that leaves me staring down at it with shivers running through every vessel of my body. I couldn’t have read that
right, there must be a mistake.

  This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. I repeat to myself.

  I spin around, my heart pounding in my chest. I take some breaths, letting the shock gradually run to my toes, and then I pluck up the courage to sit back down and I go back to that page. Even though it terrifies every part of me, I stare down at it again, with my teeth digging into my fingernail.

  Amelia Sanchez, 1998.

  The year I was born. My mother. These aren’t women that were taken to the unknown, these were women that gave birth.

  Here.

  My mother was a member.

  Chapter 34

  I can’t stop staring at her name; even though it’s permanently lodged into my temporal lobe, even though I will never forget it even if I wanted to, even though there’s no possible mistake of what I am reading. I just can’t stop staring.

  I still bite on my nail, trying to swallow down the sudden nausea. I have to look away, I have to. I look towards the darkness across the office—glaring into the tight shadows with no thoughts at all.

  My mind becomes blank. There is no knowledge, no memory, no information, no personality, nothing. Nothing but my eyes; staring at those shadows. Eventually, I snap myself back into my body, looking away from the darkness and back to the fluorescent blue light. My head rolls back down and I look at her name again. The shock has already befallen me, taken me and isolated me—this time, I am more focused.

  It doesn’t make any sense. My mother was a high school teacher. She studied in college, she was qualified; I saw her certificates that she kept hidden away in the attic. Her being a part of this cult makes perfect sense, but it doesn’t.

  Was it all a lie? Including the things she didn’t even tell me. She never told me that she was a high school teacher, not directly, I just assumed. Her certificates and awards ranged back thirty years—the way she taught me when I was home-schooled was professional, despite her robotic personality.

  What if it’s just a coincidence?

  I turn the next page, moving the UV light to the beginning and more names fill up the page. Only, these are the previous names, beside other ones.

  Ebony Clifford – Joanne Davidson. 1986

  Belinda Richards – Margaret Howding. 1987

  Carolina O’Hare – Katherine Devereux. 1989

  I look for her name again, flicking through pages in seconds, until I finally find it.

  Amelia Sanchez – Katherine Belle. 2000

  I rub my finger across the names and then I pause it at the date. I was two years old, why can’t I remember anything from when I was two? My eidetic memory goes back as far as four, when my mother would hit me if I gave her attitude, but everything before then is blank, which is common, but there must be something.

  There is nothing else written on the pages, even if I turn page after page, heading deeper into the book—there is just names. Duncan is smarter than I thought, he must keep another book somewhere, one that wouldn’t be easily picked up on a shelf even if it was blank.

  Suddenly, I hear voices coming from outside the cabin. I pull myself up immediately, turning the lamp off and rushing to place it back inside the drawers beneath his desk. I stand with the book in my arms, biting on my lip in frustration as I hear a key turn inside the door. I bolt over to the bookcase, placing it back inside and then I turn, looking for somewhere to hide.

  Shit, the curtains.

  I run over to the curtains, pulling them open, just as the door handle slides downwards. I don’t have any other choice. I slide behind one of the thick curtains, directly in the sight of anyone that will pass the window.

  The door opens. I place a hand over my mouth as footsteps creak inside.

  “Hm.”

  “Problem?”

  “Something isn’t right,” says a voice that sounds like Duncan.

  There is a silence and I squeeze my hand tighter around my mouth, feeling my blood pressure rise indefinitely.

  “Perhaps, you would like it dusting?” says a gentle female voice.

  “Are you saying my office isn’t clean?”

  “No, no, not at all.”

  “I’ll have you whipped, woman! Get out of here.”

  I hear feet scurrying away in fear, and then I see Duncan around the curtain, approaching his desk and running his hand along it.

  “She was only offering her services,” says another voice, a male.

  “Yes, well, she insulted my office. My office is in perfect condition. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes,” says the male, but I sense the fear too. “Perfect. As always.”

  I hear the irritation in his voice and I smile. The leader moves around the office, his body suddenly becomes visible through the gap but he has his back to me, blocking Duncan from view. I discreetly move myself further along the window, becoming painfully aware that anyone could see me at any moment, but the pathway looks empty. For now.

  “What is it you wanted to speak to me about?” Duncan says in a bored tone.

  “I did what you asked, I upped the dosage.”

  “And?” Duncan says, suddenly interested. “Any change?”

  “None,” the male says with a sigh. “They’re still foaming at the mouth and displaying irregular, neurotic behaviour.”

  “Still?” Duncan questions, his voice slightly raises in frustration. I hear him sigh, and then there is a small silence, before he takes a breath. “Very well. Discard them.”

  “I’m… sorry? Discard them?”

  “Do I have to repeat myself?” Duncan shouts. “Discard them! Kill them! Remove them from the experiment. If the devil hasn’t de-possessed them yet, then he isn’t going to. I cannot help them anymore, they are to meet their maker.”

  “And what of the bodies?”

  “I own a crematorium. Keep them in the sanctuary until sundown and then load them in the truck.”

  “But how am I supposed to…?”

  “I don’t care how," Duncan says.”Just do it!"

  “With all due respect, Pastor, you must bless them beforehand.”

  “Oh. Right,” Duncan says, now quiet. “Let’s do this quickly, I have meetings soon.”

  I hold my breath as they both walk past me, heading to the door. For a moment I think one of them has spotted me, because I don’t hear the door close, but then it slams shut and I hear the lock click. I remove my hand, stumbling out of the curtain with a heavy pant. I see shadows begin to approach the window and I move slowly to the side of it, watching as Duncan and the dark-haired leader stroll by, with no care in the world of what they’re about to do. They’re going to kill people. They’re going to turn their bodies to ash so they’ll never be found, so they’ll never be remembered. None of us will have a clue who they even are, or were.

  All thoughts of my mother are placed to the back of my mind as this new information circles around the front—bright and glowing in bold letters.

  Discard. Kill. Load. Crematorium. Experiment. Sanctuary. Kill.

  I take out the keys from my gown and I run over to the door, I unlock it in a panic and I step out into the light, not caring if any cameras are on me. I lock it behind me and I begin walking down the street, and then I’m jogging and then I’m running.

  I reach the compound a few seconds later, I stick to a wall, watching as group A continues to patrol the grounds in the distance. Carol is still out here, sweeping the street with her head down. I try to get her attention but she doesn’t look up.

  And then, I see Elijah.

  He stands against a planted tree with his arms crossed. One look at him sends my blood cold and my eyes just slightly narrow as I storm across the compound towards him. He sees me coming, he turns, uncrossing his arms, alarmed that I’m not slowing down.

  “Elizabeth,” he says. “Why are you-?”

  “Shut up,” I say. “You’re going to tell me everything.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Cut the bullshit,” I
snap at him. “They’re killing off members from group D, right now.”

  “What?” he whispers. “How do you know that?”

  “That doesn’t matter,” I say. “It’s happening and they’re getting rid of the bodies tonight. Did you know Duncan owns a crematorium?”

  “A crematorium?” he says, acting oblivious. “No, I didn’t know.”

  “Stop lying!”

  He looks around, scouring the surroundings, before gripping my arm and forcing me around the tree. “I’m not lying,” he says in a deep, serious voice. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  I look into his bright green eyes and I resist the sensation to melt—I remain angry, I remain hard, I remain breathless. “Did you know what he was doing to them?”

  “Yes,” he says.

  I lean back, startled. “And you do nothing?”

  “What would you have me do?” he questions. “Call the police?” he laughs for a moment, his eyes rolling to the sky and down again. “If he does own a crematorium, then there’s no evidence of foul play. There’s no evidence of anything. Even if I could do anything, he’d find a way out of it, he has insurance for everything. It’s dangerous here. There is more going on than you think.”

  “Then tell me,” I plea. “Please. I found this book… this book of pregnant women.”

  Elijah scratches his temple, blinking for a few moments as he takes a deep breath. “You were in his office?”

  “You’ve seen it?” I gasp.

  “Of course, I’ve seen it,” he says. “One of them was my mother.”

  “And one of them is mine,” I say. “Her name is in that book. None of this makes any sense, I need to know the truth. Elijah, please.”

  “Okay,” he says, his eyes gently entwine with mine. “Okay.”

  I wait for him to say something else, to elaborate, but he just stares around the compound. “Are you going to tell me?” I demand.

  “No,” he says, he looks back to me. “I’m going to show you.”

  Chapter 35

  I hang my head down, putting on the show that Elijah is leading me somewhere against my will as I stick closely to his back. We pass leaders that walk right past us, not even bothering to look, like they’re lost in a daydream of where they are. He takes me around the ancient assembly chapel and informs me to keep my eyes down until we’re out of the sight of cameras.