by JM Butcher
Hayden’s breathing speeds up. I break in. “He kicked you out?”
“That would have been the generous thing to do,” Hayden says. He takes a deep breath. “Maggie, I didn’t cut my own eye out.”
I close my eyes. My normal coping mechanism of shutting off my feelings doesn’t work without taking T-Blox. My eye twitches. “You don’t mean…”
“My dad cut it out.” He says it so nonchalantly. So matter-of-factly. Like it doesn’t faze him. But I sense that he’s burning inside.
The self-pity that has built up throughout my life disappears after those five words. I want to put Hayden’s head on my chest and stroke his hair like he did for me this morning. I want to let him soak my shirt with his tears. Hayden doesn’t cry, though. He stares straight ahead, as if paralyzed by the memories he’s dug up.
“He didn’t do it,” Hayden chokes out, “to hide my thoughts. He did it to punish me. When the government approached him after my chip signal went off, he told them that I cut it out. My dad disowned me. It was the only way to save face and to save his company. He and the government made a secret deal to overlook it all—as long as I was out of the picture.”
I say, “Jack told me that you did it to yourself because you are dedicated.” This probably is the inappropriate thing to say. Hayden pours his life out to me, and I question his story. I’m so stupid sometimes.
“He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know a lot of things,” Hayden replies. “Nobody at the camp knows. Only you.”
I feel guilty for the warmth that overcomes my body. It’s nice to know someone’s deepest secrets, and even more so to be the only one. It creates a connection, a bond. The darker the secret, the deeper the bond.
As much as I want to take his pain away, his pain is relief for my years of irrelevance. His pain heals my pain.
Water on water. Violence on violence. Terror on terror. Pain on pain. Can it actually work?
“Thanks for sharing that with me,” I say. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”
Hayden chokes out a laugh. “I’m sure it was harder to hear than to say.”
“I’m being serious, Hayden. It means a lot.”
“You know what, Maggie,” Hayden says, “you’re all right. I don’t care what Gia says about you.” He nudges me with his head.
I softly punch his gut. “Don’t make me beat you down again.”
“You’re right. I need to watch myself around you. Who knows when you’ll snap?” He cracks up at this one. I punch him a little harder this time.
We sit back in our seats, arms wrapped around each other, and watch Billy and Makayla run around the field.
I could sit like this all night.
Chapter 14
I understand those parents who no longer want to be the guardians of their Unfavorable children. You worry you lack the preparation to monitor your problem children. You are afraid that, as parents, you might fail to keep your children from hurting our great nation. You are afraid for your own lives.
Branches of government have joined together to come up with a solution. We set aside a budget for the construction of Juvenile Unfavorable Homes. A separate budget has been set aside for structural maintenance and the salaries of the Keepers who take on the guardianship role of all JUH residents.
If you have an Unfavorable child who is under the age of eighteen, you qualify to release your child to one of our Homes. We promise to take care of your former children and watch them grow into mature, responsible adults.
Thank you. Thank God. Our United Republics of America will persist.
-President Lionel Washburn
I’m already awake in the morning when Gia shows up to my room. I feel well rested, even though I didn’t sleep well last night. It was the first stress-free moment I’ve had in a while. I feel conflicted about the moment with Hayden. Knowing that Tyler is okay, and that Dad might be alive, makes me less guilty for letting myself have fun and be vulnerable with someone else.
Now, though, it’s time to focus.
Before Gia makes a smart-ass comment, I demand. “Take me to the Suits. Take me to the Suits who kidnapped me.” This is something I have to do.
I somehow feel rejuvenated and have a strange confidence that I’ve never felt before.
“We don’t have time for that, princess,” Gia responds. “Johnny and them won’t be far behind us.”
“They can wait, then,” I snap. “Take me to the Suits.”
“Fine.” Gia gives me a patronizing salute, but it doesn’t bother me.
Jack told me that I could punish the careless suits. The carelessness that led to a bullet in Dad’s chest. Punish them in any way that I see fit. I intend to decide what I see as fit, right now.
The tunnels are completely deserted except for Gia and me. The same type of purplish fluorescent bulbs lights the tunnel to the Suits’ quarters. Either the White Coats who built this place were very unoriginal or Jack spends his resources elsewhere. A little color would brighten the place. Maybe some neon hologram arrows to direct traffic.
Gia presses her middle three fingertips against a pad to open another set of metal doors. If so many people have access, why is there even a lock?
“Here we are,” Gia says. “Go explore, but be quick. I guarantee all the Suits here will jump at the opportunity to hand over their brothers to you.” I leave Gia at the door and march into a room filled with several tables. Doors line the walls, presumably leading to the Suits’ living quarters.
There are only six Suits in the room. Four at one table, two at another. Before I walked in, they were enjoying an early breakfast. Now, all six male Suits drop their forks, eyes glued to me as I approach them. None of them look like they could be older than twenty.
Two of the Suits wear eye patches. Neither of them look like the ones who broke into my house. One Suit has a glass eye. None of the remaining three have a swollen eye from my elbow.
If not focused on my personal mission, I might be frightened by the faces of the three others. Their left eye sockets are empty, nothing other than a droopy eyelid that sinks into the socket. If the two eye-patched Suits removed their covers, I imagine they’d look the same.
Jack said all of the Suits are dedicated. Considering all six of them are missing one of their eyes, I’d say they all fit the bill. I can’t decide if I think these men are beyond insane or if they are courageous. Not because they seek to save Probables, with or without consent, but because they gave up half of their sight for what they believe in. Hayden’s was removed for him, but these six sacrificed themselves willingly.
To be free.
“What’s up, y’all?” Gia says. She evidently didn’t wait by the door. “Here, we have Maggie. Maggie Gordon. Most of ya already know who she is. Ya might have seen her at lunch. Some of ya maybe have even been acquainted with her already. She’s got some questions for y’all. Please make this quick.” Gia walks back to the entrance, leaving me to fend for myself.
“Yeah, I know you. I saw you at that school,” one of the eyeless Suits says. He’s the one I bumped into in the hallway. He was wearing a patch then. “Sorry about this. I would’ve covered this thing if I had known I’d have company.” My intuition suggests that he’s being sincere.
“Ha! What the heck, Linus?” says the glass-eyed Suit. “She’s here to meet the boys who shot her daddy. Don’t show her no respect.” This Suit stands up and walks toward me. He’s muscular and much taller than me. The scar from his eye socket reaches down to dimple in the middle of his cheek.
“Hey, pal,” I say holding my ground, although the perspiration and buckling knees are about to kick in. “You trying to intimidate a girl? Which one of these guys you trying to impress?”
From the back, one of them yells, “Bubba be scaring you if Johnny wasn’t protecting your pretty little self.” All of them laugh except for Linus.
I cross my arms to make myself look bigger. “Well…” I say.
“Well what, prissy?” Bubba snarls.
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“You know why I’m here. Where are they?”
Bubba puts a toothpick in his mouth and laughs. His scar bounces up and down like a vein pumping blood from his cheek to his eye.
“Where are they?!” I yell. Nobody answers. Bubba just stares and the rest return to their biscuits and gravy. “Hey! I asked a question!”
Bubba finally speaks. “Little Miss Maggie, you aren’t going to find ‘em here. Even if they were here, nobody gonna help you. I don’t care if you are Tara Gordon’s daughter. Come back with Johnny. Otherwise, be on your way.” He walks back to his table and resumes a conversation with his fellow Suits.
I follow closely behind Bubba. As he sits down, I flip his tray onto the floor. “Hey, Bubba.” To my surprise, he doesn’t get up. Nor does he clean the gravy that plasters his pants. He just glares at me with his one eye. “I’ll be on my way. But I’ll be back. Tell your boys. I will bring Jack if I need to.”
Walking to the door, I see Gia’s eyes open wide. She’s in shock. She shakes her head as I get closer. She has the widest grin on her face. Gia gives me a little shove out of the room. It’s not a malicious shove.
“Damn, hotshot! That was hot! I ain’t ever seen anyone stick up to Bubba like that! He ain’t ever hit a girl, but I thought ya was gonna be the first!” Gia throws her arm around my neck and pulls me to her. “Ya would’ve whooped him, I bet. Linus may have had to help ya. He’s a good guy. But dang, the look on Bubba’s face!”
We share a laugh on our way to the Think Tank. I’m not friends with her, but I appreciate the little show of respect.
“To the Think Tank,” I say. “I hope they haven’t been waiting too long.”
Gia laughs again and pats my back. “You’re all right, hotshot.”
I don’t need her approval. But any goodwill from Gia is a great accomplishment.
The Think Tank. Whatever that is, let’s do it.
***
The confidence that I had in the Suits’ quarters wears thin as Gia and I climb single-file down a set of creaky, wooden steps. I don’t recall a time in my life when I was claustrophobic, but my lungs aren’t responding well to this narrow and musty stairwell.
“You okay?” Gia asks from in front of me.
I’m not okay. “Yeah, I’m good.” My panting echoes throughout the tunnel like the whistling of a train warning everyone to clear the tracks.
“Good.”
After walking down what seems like six flights of stairs, I see a bluish light seeping underneath a door. The others apparently are already here. Gia opens the unlocked door, and I follow her in.
The room is bright. Very bright. The walls are made of spotless white tile. Even the grout between the tiles is white. The floor is a dull white color. Unlike the tiles, it doesn’t reflect any of the light coming from above. It’s amazing that one small light bulb implanted in the middle of the black ceiling can be so blinding.
A large screen hangs on one of the tile walls. In the corner of the room, Makayla types frantically at a computer station. There are no wires or outlets. The intricate machine powers itself.
Jack and Hayden stand next to a chair in the middle of the room. It reminds me of one of those antique salon chairs—a comfortable black leather finish with a built-in spherical dryer. I highly doubt the strange head piece dries my hair, though; it must be a thinking cap. A thinking cap. Literally. I force out a nervous chuckle.
On second thought, the chair looks less like a salon seat and more like a torture device. The arm and extending leg rests have straps attached to them. Attached to the headrest is a collar-like apparatus. More like a black choker with silver spikes on the side. I can picture Olivia wearing something like this to school. The choker, though, looks like it wraps around the forehead, not the neck.
While Jack makes adjustments to the chair, Hayden gazes at me with a worried look on his face. He asks, “You sure you want to do this?”
I don’t answer the question. Instead, I say, “You’re going to strap me into that?” The answer obviously is yes, but I hope that showing anxiety will persuade Hayden to save me from doing this. My efforts are for naught.
Hayden says, “Don’t worry. I’ll be right here. It won’t hurt. I told Johnny we’re going to start you off with a trial run. If it’s too much for you, we won’t make you continue. We aren’t going to make you do anything against your will. Promise.”
I nod.
“Gia,” Jack says while completing the final preparations, “we are going to need you to leave. The fewer distractions, the better this will work.” Jack doesn’t seem like the person to care about distractions; he probably doesn’t want Gia to know about the process. He wants to keep her in the dark about the Thinkers.
“Yes, Johnny,” Gia says. As she’s leaving, she puts out a closed fist, “Go get ‘em, hotshot.” I bump knuckles with her. The little show of acceptance calms me down some.
“Okay,” I say as the door closes behind Gia. “What exactly am I doing?”
Jack looks at Hayden. “How about you explain?”
Hayden takes a deep breath and reaches for my hands. “You’re going to experience someone’s night thoughts.”
I should be interested. I should be curious. I used to be so excited at school to hear Billy talk about his thoughts, but I can’t envision this being the same. And if I have to get into a torture chair to experience someone’s thoughts, I’d prefer to pass.
Hayden explains, “Kay is going to pull up someone’s thoughts. Then, the computer will send them through the thinking cap.” It really is called the thinking cap. How lame. “This mechanism will send the thoughts through your brain and upload them onto your chip.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I stop Hayden. “So you’re erasing someone’s thoughts and giving them to me?”
“No,” Hayden answers. “We aren’t erasing anyone’s thoughts. But you will share them. They will be a part of your memory.”
“Memory? So the thoughts will become mine?”
Jack says, “You will be able to distinguish yours from the other person’s, but yes, the thoughts will be etched into your mind. As long as the chip is behind your eye, you will not ever be able to shake them.”
I don’t quite understand the point of this. “Why can’t the person tell me the thoughts? Or, why can’t you just tell me? Can’t I just read them in words on a screen? Why do I need them saved on my chip? How does a chip even save someone’s thoughts?”
From the computer station, Makayla responds. “The chips are kind of like a computer hard drive. That’s how the White Coats monitor your night thoughts. The thoughts are saved onto the chip, and the Coats run a program that opens the drive. We hack the hard drive and have the messages sent to us rather than through their program.” She makes it sound so simple.
“Still,” I say, “you have that program that puts all the thoughts together. Why can’t I just read them? Now that I’m not on T-Blox, I should be able to retain the information, right?”
“Sure,” Jack replies. “But it will not be as personal. Plus, this way, it will be like you are having the thoughts yourself. They will be a part of you. Your chip has very little stored memory on it. It is an empty hard drive.”
That makes sense to me. I’ve only had a couple experiences with night thoughts. If what they’re telling me is true, my chip has plenty of storage space for added thoughts. I have so many questions. How is memory saved? How is this useful? How much memory does one chip hold? I choose to keep quiet so as to not sound stupid.
Jack continues, “Right now, we want to give you an idea of the suffering that someone who has been chipped went through. Before you can develop thoughts that can be useful for intel, you need to have more thoughts. You need to experience their thoughts in order to generate your own.”
Makayla walks away from the corner computer station and joins the party. She says, “I told you your mind is untainted. If we tell you the thoughts, they will be corrupted by our reiteration. By giving
you direct access to the thoughts themselves, you will formulate your own natural responses. Your emotions will be natural reactions to these thoughts. If your chip was already filled with loads of information, your emotions may result from previous experiences. We want the most organic responses as possible.”
That’s why they need someone who has been on T-Blox. They don’t want past night thoughts, emotions, and experiences affecting the results. I’m like the control group in a science experiment.
There’s still something they have yet to address. “And how will this help me help you?” I ask.
Makayla answers. “Because your responding thoughts will be pure, we will know if we’re doing the right thing. If we are helping people. If we can help people. How people want to be helped. We’ll do this by reading your thoughts, your intuitive thoughts.”
Hayden says, “This is your chance to make up for lost time. This is your chance to see the world how it is. This is your chance to share a connection with people that the three of us never will be able to do. This is your chance to think.”
To think. Thinking has ruined lives around me in a matter of days. Is all of this worth the damage I might cause? Do I even want to understand or share a connection with other people?
Yes, I do. That’s why I listened to Billy at school. I want to know what and how other people think. Right? I convince myself it’s true.
I ask, “What if I flip out? What if I’m worthless? What if I wreck everyone here?”
“That will not happen,” Jack responds. “Like I have told you multiple times, you are Tara Gordon’s child.” He winks at me as if he takes pleasure in knowing a secret about her that I’m not privy to.