Inside

by Kyra Anderson

  “He did not cry or scream. He appears to be in shock. Starting tomorrow, we will pipe in a recording of a heartbeat monitor to see if his reactions hold true to someone suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.”

  Dana turned to me, his eyebrows high as I looked away from the book.

  “I know that wasn’t in his file.”

  “Why are you so happy?” I growled. “Does that not make you sick?”

  “No.”

  “Did you watch this happen?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I have to admit, and I’m sure you agree…it’s quite fascinating.” He closed the book and tapped the cover, his eyes going distant. “No one understood what made him so different…no one could have predicted anything he did…” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “What a fascinating creature your uncle was.”

  I stared at him, unsure what to say in response.

  “Time to wash you up.”

  * *** *

  Dana returned the following day with the book again.

  But before he continued my uncle’s story, I had to get through the horrible task of undressing Dana once again. I was also forced to remove his belt. He was gentler than before, but I still hated it and it was still painful.

  When it was over, he smiled.

  “Something tells me you want another chapter of your bedtime story.”

  I noticed that he did not bother to tie me up as he grabbed the book from the desk. Before I could think that it was an opportunity to attack him, I realized why. He was purposely putting opportunities in front of me, because that would give him another reason to harm me and take away any kindness he had been giving. He had control over the entire situation—over my entire life—and I had to be very careful how I worked with him, now more than ever.

  With the tone of the past two days, I was beginning to think that I could get out somehow, that I could get close enough to Dana to make him lower his guard and then run and live my life in some remote area of the globe, far away from him and the Commission of the People.

  Dana resumed his position on the bed, flicking through the entries quietly as I waited, genuinely interested.

  “Ah,” he said suddenly, “this is where it gets really fun. September twenty-ninth. Subject four-eleven forty-one has responded most peculiarly to the recorded heartbeat. At first, he screamed and ran around his cell, trying to smash the walls but then collapsed in the corner, rocking back and forth.

  “We have played this recording at random intervals for the past six days and nights, seeing if the reactions remain the same. On the seventh time the recording was played (September twenty-seventh), the subject fell to the ground and grabbed at his chest. I called for him to be brought to the table and assessed by the doctors to be sure of his health. Upon being strapped to the table, he bid everyone goodbye and then went completely still.

  “His reactions to pain are now extremely fascinating. His muscles flinch and his brain fires accordingly; however, his facial expression does not change.

  “It has been two days since the subject has spoken, eaten, or shown further reaction to social interaction with the other experiments, doctors, or even me. I discussed with my assistant that he was currently in power over us and he was getting attention. This was his strength over us. Therefore, the idea was brought forth that his masculine identity should be taken.

  “Two of my doctors and one of my assistants sexually assaulted him and broke him out of his coma-like state,” Dana read on. I closed my eyes, feeling the bile rise bitterly to my mouth. “His reaction to the assault was pleading and crying, finally ending with him begging for death. However, as soon as the assault was over and the doctors moved to take him back to his cell, he snapped one of their necks and was quickly shot with sedatives to keep him from harming others.”

  “Over the next week, the team plans to perform seventeen different tests on him, several in one day, to test the physical limits of his body, since he seems to be somehow immune to the testing thus far.”

  Dana turned to me.

  “So? What’s your critique? I think this man likes to talk to himself far too much in his narrative.”

  “How can you possibly…you were there for all of this, and that’s what you have to say?”

  “Little Lily, this man is dead,” Dana said, lifting the book for emphasis. “Both of them are.” He shrugged. “Generally, when a writer is dead, that is when his work is analyzed, so that it is impossible for the readers to ask the writer what he meant by his work of art.”

  “Work of art? Are you fucking kidding me?” I snapped. “This was a horrible sadistic jackass!”

  “All writers are horrible and sadistic,” Dana chuckled. “Haven’t you seen what they do to their characters?”

  “This was not a fictional character!” I burst. “This was a living, breathing human being!”

  Dana shrugged, getting off the bed.

  “It made for good material.”

  I groaned and rolled my eyes.

  “You are fucking impossible.”

  Once again, he washed me and chained me up. This time, though, I dared to ask him a question as he was redressing.

  “What time is it?”

  He glanced at his watch before righting the collar of his vest.

  “Three.”

  “In the afternoon?”

  “In the morning,” he clarified. “I’m busy cleaning up your mess through the day,” he teased, tying his tie, glancing in the small mirror on the desk, his hands quick and skilled. “I don’t have time to play with you during the day. I go see Eyna, and then I come to see you.”

  I let out an indignant snort.

  “You sure went through a lot of trouble to get me only to put me second,” I snarled. He turned to me, grabbing the book and slinging the jacket over one shoulder.

  “Then do something that will make you first.”

  He left.

  More hours passed as I fumed, trying to wrap my mind around what Dana had seen my uncle endure under the orders of Bryant Morris.

  How could a man sleep at night when he had ordered that a human be tested on just to see if, and when, he would break? While Dana had often talked about changing people and how he was fascinated by the change, he had never said that he tested on someone just to torture them.

  Did that mean that Dana was a better person than Bryant Morris?

  I shook my head violently at the thought.

  Even though Dana had been a test subject himself and had been tortured by Bryant Morris as well, he had stood by and watched as my uncle was tortured and raped. That made him far, far worse.

  Several hours and one forced meal later, it was time for the third round of undressing Dana. This time, I unbuttoned his pants and unzipped his fly, but still, he did not remove his pants. I did not scream this time.

  He grabbed the book and sat on the bed easily, excited to continue reading the horrors of my uncle’s torture.

  “You seem a little too excited about this,” I noted dryly.

  “You are interested, too. You can’t deny it.” He flipped through the pages. “Otherwise, you would be using this time to try and kill me.”

  I blinked at him before my eyes hardened.

  “But if I do that, then you go back to being even more of an asshole. It’s not interest, it’s self-preservation,” I growled.

  “You’re starting to catch on.”

  “October eleventh,” he started. “After worrying we were going to lose four-eleven forty-one, he has started to make a recovery. His heart rate is back to normal levels and he has shown signs of consciousness and comprehension of our voices, though he has yet to speak.

  “However, once again, his body has shown no change as a result of the tests. His muscles show no measurable change, nor does the composition of his blood, apart from the anomalies first noted in the study of the subject. The components of his brain seem to be firing at an extremely rapid pace over extended periods of time, and the areas
in which there is activity are far larger than an average man his age.”

  Dana turned the page.

  “October fourteenth,” he read. “One of four-eleven forty-one’s compatriots had their first turn on the table today. In an attempt to gauge a reaction, I had him brought to the lab to see his friend be tested on.

  “He had the most unusual reaction when he saw his friend. Rather than tense up or glare at me, as he had done before, he began comforting his friend, telling him that he was about to be reborn and that he should not be frightened.

  “Then, the subject attacked Dr. Bowers by slashing his carotid artery and studied the blood as Dr. Bowers bled out, playing with the blood before he was removed from the lab and taken back to his cell. He was beaten an electrocuted as punishment. His testing will be postponed for ten days for his shattered arm to heal.”

  “Fuck…” I whispered.

  “Yep,” Dana agreed. “He certainly killed a lot of employees…” Dana sighed shaking his head. “Of course, a lot of the male scientists raped and mutilated him, so I guess it made sense that he would want some revenge.”

  “And you did nothing?” I whispered. “You didn’t interfere during any of this?”

  “I tried.” Dana shrugged, his eyes distant as he closed the book. “He wouldn’t let me. He was stubborn as a fucking mule, that one. He insisted that he would do everything himself and that he would die before he allowed any of the tests to affect him.”

  “You think it was willpower that kept him from being affected?”

  “No.” Dana shook his head. “There were things that were different about his blood, about the composition of his cells. Willpower can have some effect over the testing, but the body gives way at some point.”

  “But none of the tests affected him.”

  “Not true,” Dana corrected, offering his hand to me to lead me to the bathroom. “They did not affect him in the way everyone expected, but he changed. He became stronger, started breaking through the cell walls and even broke the restraints in the lab. It was just not what everyone expected.”

  Dana washed me and was rinsing my hair out when I finally asked my question.

  “Did you really try to help him?”

  “Of course,” Dana said. “I hated Bryant Morris and I wanted him dead. I kept telling him to let me help, but he refused. He wanted that revenge for himself.” Dana sighed and pulled the plug on the drain. “So, I sat back and watched the fireworks, for a while.”

  “What do you mean?” He took my hands and stood me up before grabbing the towel.

  “You’ll have to wait and find out,” he said mysteriously.

  I thought it over for several hours. For some reason, nothing seemed out of the ordinary with these conversations Dana and I were having. Nothing was weird about him bathing me after violating me, or discussing what happened to the fabled experiment of the Commission of the People. It was not normal, nor was it routine, it was simply reality.

  Which was why I was surprised when the door opened what seemed like several hours before Dana was due back.

  And it took everything in my power not to shout in relief when I saw Clark run into the room, carefully closing the door behind him.

  “Clark,” I whispered, watching him dart to me. He was dressed in the Commission holding cell blue pants and shirt with his number on the left side of his chest.

  “Shh…” he hissed, standing next to me. “I only have a few seconds before the guard comes back.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Clark reached behind him and pulled a gun from the waistband of his pants. I stared, wide-eyed, as he shoved it under the mattress.

  “It’s Sean’s,” he answered my startled gaze. “I stole it. Listen, take whatever opportunity you can. Shoot Dana in the fucking head. We might not be able to take the Commission down, but we can at least kill him.”

  “Are you insane?!”

  “Just do it!” Clark hissed. “I’m going in for blood work tomorrow to start my testing. I hope I don’t see you back there…”

  “Clark…”

  “Just kill Dana and get it over with,” Clark whispered. He looked at me, tears in his still-bruised and bloodshot eyes. “I’m sorry…”

  And he ran out. I listened, wondering how he got Sean’s gun and how he had managed to slip past everyone to get the weapon to me. But I heard nothing outside the door.

  For the next several hours, I could feel the gun under the mattress. Dana had left me untied so often and I had told him that I was not stupid enough to try anything because I knew he had the upper hand. However, if I was quick enough and he was far enough away…

  The problem was catching Dana off-guard while my hands were free.

  I ran through the way our meetings generally went. Perhaps when he was reaching for the book…or when he was reaching for the restraints to refasten them…

  He was almost always in close proximity, which made it harder for me to get the gun pointed at his head for the one shot I would have.

  Remembering the planning that went into breaking out the experiments, in our parade reveal, and in the different attacks throughout our revolution, I began to feel that same set of nerves fire up, preparing me for something dangerous.

  Dana walked into the room, his eyes pensive, focused on the ground as he walked to the desk and removed his jacket, setting the book and pocket watch in their normal spot before stopping, his eyes distantly staring at the ground.

  He was still for several long, tense moments.

  “Dana?” I finally whispered.

  He shifted his eyes to me and then reached up, unlinking his cuffs and then pulling his tie from his neck. He took off his vest as well, laying everything meticulously over the back of the chair with the jacket before kicking his shoes off as he undid his belt.

  I watched, confused, as he undressed in front of me, moving easily, fluidly, without a stumble in shifting his weight as he pulled off his trousers, standing naked, folding the pants over the chair as well.

  My eyes could not help but travel over his body as he turned to me and climbed onto the bed, but he did not sit on top of me as he normally did. He unhooked my wrists before sitting next to me, crossing his legs and sighing heavily.

  “There are eighteen scars on my body,” he said. “Find all of them, and I won’t rape you today.”

  “You want me to find eighteen scars on your body?” I blinked, stupefied by the request. I had studied his chest on the last three occasions, but I did not find a flaw on his skin.

  “Yes.”

  I briefly wondered if he was in his Dormant State again. I sat up and moved closer, my eyes dropping to his neck and looking around his collarbones and pectoral muscles, but there were no flaws. My eyes drifted over his left shoulder and then down his arm. I thought I saw a small bulging of skin on the inside of his elbow, so I carefully reached out, moving slowly so as not to startle him—or myself. I turned his arm and saw the dotted scars over the vein inside his elbow.

  “Track marks…” I whispered. I looked up at his eyes, confirming he was in a Dormant State. “Were you a drug addict?”

  “No,” Dana corrected. “That’s what happens when you fight the needle on the table.”

  I blinked, barely remembering my knowledge of his resistance as an experiment. I glanced at the needle-made scars and ran my thumb over them.

  “How many scars does this count for?”

  “One,” Dana smiled.

  I picked up his arm and turned it over completely, where I saw two long scars that ran from the bottom of his wrist to half way up his forearm.

  “Oh my God…”

  “You asked me if I was willing to be an experiment,” Dana whispered, looking over the scars. “I was extremely unwilling at first. Unfortunately for me at the time, I missed the major veins and they were able to stitch me back together.”

  I grabbed his other wrist and turned it over, seeing one similar scar on his right arm. Then I looked
up at him, expecting to see pain and torture in his eyes as he recalled the suicide attempt, but there was none. There was calm, a deadly quiet in his eyes as he watched me.

  “Two…three…four…” I said, running my fingers over the scars. He nodded slowly, his hands dropping to rest on his thighs, my eyes following the motion. I saw the large, wide scar that ran along the inside of his right thigh.

  “Five…” I breathed, touching the warm, rough flesh before my fingers retreated quickly.

  “That was from Mark,” Dana said. My heart broke. “During his first little rebellion. He was the only experiment to ever attack me and draw blood.” Dana sighed and shook his head. “Such a pity he had to be put down. He was special…”

  I swallowed hard to keep my tears back before my eyes fell to the next small scar, not far from the large slash on his thigh, that was clearly made by a bullet.

  “Six.”

  “You know what that’s from,” he said with a chuckle. “Same damn chink…”

  Ignoring my thoughts of that day and how that had put Mark in Dana’s sights, leading to his death in the trench, I searched for other scars on his right leg bending my neck to look at his knee and calf as he remained cross-legged, and then I turned to his left leg.

  “Two more bullet holes…” I whispered, touching the small, round scars on his left calf. “Seven and eight,”

  “Sean,” Dana said. “The first and only time I truly frightened him. He put two bullets in my leg and then avoided me for months.” Dana chuckled and shook his head. “That was at the beginning of our relationship.”

  “Relationship?”

  Dana smiled and waved his hand, shaking his head.

  “We’re not in love,” he assured. “I just enjoy teasing him.”

  Ignoring the questions I had always had about Dana’s bizarre interactions with his head of security, I searched for more scars.

  “I…I don’t see any more…” I whispered, my voice trembling.

  “You haven’t looked at my back, yet,” Dana said, chastising me for not thinking to look there before.