Middle Ground

by Katie Kacvinsky

  She slid inside her room and shut the door. I realized I wasn’t breathing and suddenly my lungs kicked in, clawing for oxygen. I stumbled forward and the elevator doors opened and I ducked inside, grateful to escape that hallway and that girl and that stare, that awful, hateful stare.

  Dr. Stevenson was waiting for me when I walked in, the seat already pulled down. She moved quickly to unwind the cord around a MindReader.

  “Lucky for you I had an open session today.” She handed me the MindReader and told me to put it on.

  “Did I do something wrong?” I asked.

  “What do you define as wrong?” she asked me.

  Great, I thought. Mind games, just what I need. “I haven’t broken any rules,” I said. Then I remembered what I’d said to that staff worker. He probably ratted me out.

  “Students normally have only one counseling session a week, but the Eye has informed us you’ve been leaving your room several times a day. You even addressed another girl in the hallway on your way down here.” She opened up a compact, revealing the orange tablet. I took it and placed it on my tongue.

  “Didn’t the staff tell you, no talking to other students?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry,” I said honestly. But I couldn’t argue anymore. My mind started to float out of my head and toward the ceiling. My thoughts were light and I didn’t have the energy to reach out for them and yank them back. I could see the screens and then I was standing in the hallway on my floor. I recognized it because all the room numbers were in the 400s. I looked around, confused, wondering what the point of the session had been if she’d kept me only a few minutes. That was supposed to be a punishment?

  I heard something rattle, and a wheelchair turned the corner and came toward me. I recognized the same gray-haired doctor pushing the same girl I’d seen a few weeks ago, with her head down and her hair falling over half her face. I walked toward them and as the wheelchair approached, the girl suddenly stirred and sat up straighter. She reached her pale arms out like she needed my help. I leaned down, and just as I did, she sprang out of the wheelchair and leaped at me, like a jumping spider.

  The hair was swept away from her face to reveal skin that was so thin and tight it was translucent. I could see the outline of a skull underneath. Her eyes were black holes. I screamed and backed against the wall as her fingers reached for my neck; she opened her mouth, and the skull’s teeth came at me. I shoved her shoulders away, but all I felt were bones. I tried to run but my feet slid and slipped and I fell to my knees. The girl was behind me, clambering after me. Her nails clicked against the hard ground. I crawled and scrambled toward my room, screaming for someone to help.

  Something chased after me, hissing and pulling at my ankles. Pointy skeletal fingers clawed at my skin, gashing my legs. I heard an animal behind me growling and snapping its teeth, and I kicked and jabbed my way to my room. I slammed the door shut with my foot, panting and whimpering on the cold floor. The animal hissed and cried behind the door, clawing at the metal. I leaned back on my shaking arms, trying to catch my breath. My heart was thrashing. I pressed my hand against my chest and focused on my breaths and that’s when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I heard something flutter. I turned and there was a girl standing in my room, next to my bed. I recognized her. It was the girl I’d tried to talk to in the hallway.

  “It’s you,” I said, my voice shaky. “What are you doing in here?” She smiled at me. But it was a maddening smile. Her sunken eyes were black. She started to laugh and the laugh turned into a snarl as she lunged at me, her arms raised above her head and a silver blade clenched between her hands. I reached up and caught her skinny wrists and the blade stopped an inch from my forehead.

  ***

  I shot straight up in my bed and barely caught the scream in my throat. I panted for air in the blackness. I instinctively grabbed at my chest to feel my drumming pulse, to remind myself I was alive. I wiped sweaty hair out of my eyes and rolled up into a tight ball and started to cry. I cried because the images were still there; they were real, as if I were living someone else’s memory. I curled up as small as I could. Maybe if I made myself tiny enough I’d disappear completely. Maybe then I’d be left alone.

  I turned my wall screen on and looked for a program to design rain. I turned my ceiling into a thick gray storm front. My speakers sprinkled the patter of drops around my ears. It sounded like a chorus of tears. I let it drown me. I rolled up again and felt freezing cold, but the cold was not outside or around me. The cold was inside. I was chilled to my core, like my chest was an icebox. My thoughts hung like jagged icicles.

  Chapter Twelve

  When I couldn’t stand the headache any longer, I forced myself out of bed and changed into clean scrubs. I put my hand on the metal door handle and was about to push down when an image flashed in my mind. A girl’s skeletal face. A knife diving at my head. I snapped my hand away from the handle like it had burned my fingers. I pressed my hand to my heart and felt it hammering as if it were right there directly underneath my skin, as if it had escaped its cocoon of ribs. Then, as quickly as the image had seized me, it dissolved, leaving me feeling merely scared and vulnerable. I rested my forehead on the door and tried to kick the feeling out of my mind.

  “What the hell is happening to me?” I whispered, my palms flat against the door. In my mind, buried deep inside, I knew that wasn’t a memory. I knew it was just a nightmare, just fiction. I couldn’t let my fears run my life. I forced myself to move. I forced myself to fight back.

  I opened the door a crack and listened for any unusual noise but heard only the humming of the lights and the churning of the food station around the corner. I remembered the hot coffee, and it made me think of my mom and Baley, my chocolate Lab, and home. I clung to that memory of love and support and let it swallow me. For a moment I felt brave. I wanted more of that feeling—maybe it was hope, or love. I followed it and held on to it like a rope and let it guide me.

  I moved down the hall with as much life as a zombie. I dragged my feet to the food machine and ordered three waters and slammed one of them in a few desperate gulps. Already, the details of my dream were blurred. Mentally, it was fading. But my body was still jolted by the shock. My shoulders were tense with panic.

  I heard steps approaching and fear made me jump. My half-closed eyes flew open and my pulse hammered. I grabbed the counter. My first instinct was to hide. I recognized the tall, gangly staff worker as he came around the corner, but when he saw me he kept his distance, as if he knew better than to approach me too fast. He gave me a few seconds to calm down. It looked like he was used to this kind of reaction.

  “Out of your room again?” he asked.

  I let go of my grip on the counter, and my heart relaxed. “I’m catching on it’s not very common around here,” I said, my throat raw.

  “You don’t look very good,” he said.

  I laughed darkly. I hadn’t looked at myself in days. I could only guess how disheveled I’d become. It’s hard to care about your body when you’re losing your mind. I rubbed my head and shook it back and forth. The small movement made me nauseated.

  “Come on,” he said to me. I grabbed the water bottles and followed him wordlessly. Instead of escorting me back to my room, as I’d assumed he would, he opened the storage closet next to the food machine. A light switched on, and when the door shut behind us, he scanned his finger to open another door in the back of the small room. A blinding streak of light filled the doorway.

  I held my hand over my eyes to shield them from its intensity. I winced as my eyes adjusted and then I followed him onto a small wrought-iron balcony, crudely constructed, as if it had been an afterthought once the building was completed. It was a narrow space that looked out to a desolate shipping yard on the other side of the electric fence. The view was nothing spectacular, just the abandoned dockyard, dusty and brown and sprouting weeds. I slowly raised my hand into the air to feel the warmth of the sunshine. The air smelled dry
and it moved and circulated like a breeze.

  “What program is this?” I asked, and gulped in a breath of fresh air.

  “It’s not a program,” he said. “We’re outside.”

  I smiled my first smile in weeks. It felt strange to wear the expression. I was using muscles I’d forgotten I had. We sat down on the metal grating.

  “Aren’t you worried someone will see us?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I’ve haven’t seen a person on this side of the grounds for as long as I’ve worked here. I think staff used to smoke out here, but no one uses it anymore.” He rested his elbows on his folded knees. “My name’s Gabe, by the way.”

  I lifted my head to the sunshine and took a long drink of water. I listened to the breeze, the way it stirred the air, and I reached out one of my hands so it could tickle my fingertips. I could feel Gabe watching me, but I hesitated, unsure what to say to him. I wanted to confide in someone. My mom used to tell me you should trust people until they give you a reason not to. But I stopped believing that because the people I should have been able to trust let me down. I was starting to think I could only trust myself.

  I decided to test Gabe. To see if he trusted me.

  “Gabe,” I said, “can the Eye see that we left?”

  He shook his head and looked right at me, his eyes focused on mine. His eyes were light blue, with a darker ring around the iris. They were deep and calm, like water. He seemed to be studying my eyes as well, probably because it was just as rare for him to make eye contact with people as it was for me. “It only monitors the hallway; it can’t see the storage closet, around the corner. Not that I should be telling you this.” It was a relief to hear honesty. I took a chance.

  “I’ve been having nightmares,” I said. I assumed he already knew this; I wasn’t telling him anything new. I was just opening up a window in my mind and giving him a little peek inside.

  He nodded. “It’s just a stage. They’ll go away after a while, once you adjust to being here.”

  I thought about the word adjust. He made it sound so simple, but to me the word meant giving in. Breaking down. Losing the fight.

  “Does this happen to everybody?” I asked him.

  He nodded. “It’s part of the transition process. It’s a normal reaction to the detention center.”

  “Normal?” I repeated.

  “Sure,” he said. “Think of all the changes you’re going through. Your life’s been completely uprooted and thrown off balance. You were separated from your family, from your past, from everything. Change is a huge stress on the body. That’s what causes the nightmares. It’s like posttraumatic stress disorder.”

  I took another sip of water. “You know, if I wanted to hear a load of psychological bullshit, I would have just asked Dr. Stevenson.”

  Gabe shifted next to me. “You have a lot of nerve, you know that?” he said.

  I nodded because my nerve was all I had left and it was hanging on by a shaky fuse, ready to disconnect. “I’ve never had nightmares in my life,” I said stubbornly. “Why would I suddenly start having vivid nightmares that I instantly forget when I wake up?”

  His mouth tightened. “I don’t know. I’m not a psychiatrist.”

  We were both quiet for a few seconds. I knew Gabe was holding something back. He knew more than he let on. He didn’t trust me yet.

  “What’s your theory?” he asked. “About the nightmares?”

  I sighed and rubbed my forehead.

  “I can’t think straight long enough to have any definite theories. It’s like my brain’s asleep half the time. But I know they’re giving me some kind of a drug. And I know I’m hallucinating. Except my mind thinks it’s real. I can feel the pain in my nightmares. I physically and mentally experience it. I can’t draw the line between dreaming and reality anymore. It’s like they’re force-feeding memories into my head. Then, when I wake up, a switch turns off in my mind. I can’t remember any details.”

  “Why would they force you to have nightmares only to have you wake up and instantly forget? What would be the point of that?” he asked, as if he’d been wondering this for years but had never had anyone to talk to about it.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But my friends could help figure out what’s going on.” I met Gabe’s eyes and took a chance. He didn’t look away.

  “What could your friends do?” he asked.

  “They could study me, take blood tests. Give us some answers. Something isn’t right in here and you know it.”

  I was taking a huge risk. Gabe could be working at the DC to spy on students, to draw out anyone still trying to rebel. But I had a decision to make and I decided to put my faith in someone I barely knew. I was gambling with my life but at this point I had nothing to lose. My life didn’t belong to me inside here.

  He hesitated and it gave me hope.

  “Gabe, I know you can help me. You must be allowed out of here once in a while? You can contact my friends. They’re going to try and break in here anyway, even if you don’t help,” I added, because I never stopped believing Justin was looking for me.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, really? Who are your friends? The leaders of the digital-school protesters?” His tone was sarcastic but I nodded.

  “Yes,” I said.

  He looked out at the dusty gravel yard. “If you try to break out of here and it comes back to me . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “I won’t run away, I promise. I need to get outside the gates, just for a couple hours.” I leaned forward. “Please, help me. You don’t agree with this place. I know you don’t, or you wouldn’t be sitting here with me right now.”

  He looked conflicted. He stared down at his hands and slowly nodded.

  I told him he needed to contact Justin Solvi. “He has to know I’m okay.”

  Gabe perked up when the words came out of my mouth. “You’re friends with Justin Solvi?”

  I nodded. “You’ve heard of him?”

  “You could say he’s a household name around here. You know how much the government would love to arrest that guy?”

  I smiled. “They haven’t had much luck.”

  He shook his head. “Somehow his record is always clean. There’s rumors and stories but no trail. It’s like trying to track a ghost.”

  “He exists, believe me,” I said. “You’ll never find him. He has no online identities. These days that does make you a ghost.”

  “I’ve been following news stories about him,” Gabe said. “I know he inspires a lot of people to fight digital school, but look where it gets them. Right here,” he said.

  “He’s trying to intercept people before they make it this far,” I said, defending him. “He’s trying to help.”

  He was quiet for a few seconds. “You should get back to your room,” he said. “The Eye keeps track of how long you’re gone.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Time for some more brain-busting?” I asked Dr. Stevenson at my next appointment. I was so exhausted I could have curled up on the cushion and fallen asleep, but I did my best to look energetic. I couldn’t accept the idea that she was winning.

  “How have you been feeling?” she asked as she read my pulse.

  I wondered why she bothered asking. Couldn’t she plug me in and see for herself? Wasn’t that the point of her convenient technology?

  “I’m fine,” I said simply.

  “Any questions for me?”

  I shook my head.

  “Any concerns?” she pressed.

  I focused my eyes on hers. She had small, narrow eyes the color of wet sand. She tried to use them to make me buckle, to spill my mind. But I’d grown up with a father whose eyes were like bullets. I was trained to deflect the blow.

  We watched each other. I had hundreds of questions but was certain she’d give me phony answers. Why do I have these nightmares that seem like you’re planting a mechanism in my brain to activate fear? Why do I wake up drenched in sweat? More absurdly, why can’
t I remember details once I wake up? Where are my memories going? Why are you filling my mind with experiences that aren’t my own, with memories I would never want?

  I decided to answer her with something she didn’t expect.

  “There is one thing that’s bothering me,” I said. She nodded like she knew what was coming. She was waiting for me to mention the nightmares.

  “I miss being around people,” I said. “I miss my friends. I wish we could at least interact with other inmates.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but then hesitated and instead of speaking nodded slowly. I knew what the hesitation was. She was surprised.

  “In a few months you’ll be able to socialize again. You can make new contacts and chat all you want.”

  I shook my head. “I miss being face-to-face with people. It’s so much more intimate.” I paused and had to fight a smile in response to the deep frown on her face. This, she didn’t expect. “And I miss being outside,” I added. “I miss the sun.”

  Her eyebrows pulled together. “Well, we have programs to simulate sunshine. There’s virtual tanning or weather programs you can download. Sunexposure.com is a good one. Sunstreaks .com is another popular choice.”

  I shook my head again. “It doesn’t compare to the real thing.”

  She thought about this for a second. “You’re right,” she said. “It’s much better than the real thing.”

  My mouth fell open. Did she seriously think programs that mimicked nature were superior to nature itself?