The Pain Colony

by Shanon Hunt

  Whoops. The last word came out with a bit too much emphasis.

  “Ah, baby, you’re such a perfectionist. And I love that about you.” He pulled her off the bar stool, spun her around, and pressed her back against the wall, kissing her hard on the mouth.

  She folded instantly. Another failed attempt to regain her dignity. Maybe dignity was overrated.

  “Austin Harris?” A deep voice came from behind them.

  Mortified, Allison wriggled out from his grasp and turned away to put some space between them.

  “Yes?” Austin asked. “What can I do—”

  “Dr. Harris, you’re under arrest for identity fraud and conspiracy to commit securities fraud. You have the right to remain silent.”

  She spun around. “What?”

  The deep voice had come from a stocky man with a cleanly shaved head. He wore a sensible gray suit and red tie, and he held out a badge prominently identifying him as FBI. His dry, croaky voice reminded Allison of Vin Diesel’s portrayal of the human-alien Riddick, and his monotone delivery of Austin’s Miranda rights made him seem just as intimidating. Standing beside Agent Riddick was another suit, much taller and sporting a thick blond 1970s mustache. He eyed Allison briefly before scanning the empty bar, stopping at the bartender, who busied himself organizing clean glasses in an obvious attempt to avoid the confrontation.

  The whole scene was a cliché straight from a CSI episode; it had to be a joke. She examined Agent Riddick’s badge, searching for a tell, before realizing she had no idea what a real badge looked like.

  Austin stoically listened to his rights, nodding slightly. She desperately searched his face, but it held no readable expression. She instinctively backed up, not daring to utter a word, fearful that whatever this was would be made worse by drawing attention to herself.

  “Do you understand these rights?” Agent Riddick concluded.

  Austin nodded. His face still showed no sign of emotion, fear or otherwise.

  Agent Mustache stepped forward, pulling handcuffs from his pocket.

  “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, will it, Dr. Harris?”

  Austin’s expression finally changed to a brief, sad smile. “No, of course not.”

  He followed them to the door.

  “Austin!” She couldn’t let him go like this, with no explanation. What was she supposed to do?

  But he didn’t turn back.

  Instead, Agent Riddick turned and acknowledged her with a slight nod. “Ms. Stevens.”

  She stood alone next to the bar, her heart still drumming between her ears, and stared as the door banged closed, the dangling Come Again! sign swaying back and forth.

  Chapter 3

  “Layla, you can come in now,” Dr. Jeannette called from her office.

  Layla put down her copy of Little House on the Prairie and walked carefully but with purpose into Dr. Jeannette’s office. She took a seat on the soft brown leather sofa, straining to sit upright. She really didn’t like the cushy, pillowy sofa. It was impossible to make a good impression half reclined, and her legs were too sore to cross.

  Dr. Jeannette noticed her discomfort. “How about we sit at the table.”

  She offered a hand to help Layla up, but Layla pushed herself out of the sofa and moved to the rigid armchair angled next to a small round pedestal table that held only a small box of tissues.

  “You’re my best adapter to pain, Layla. You should hear the others complain about the soreness and bruises.”

  She knew this to be true already. She could hear their suffering during devotions. She eased into the chair while Dr. Jeannette poured two cups of green tea. She admired her therapist’s grace as she moved across the office. Dr. Jeannette was fit, not thin and frail like Layla, and she appeared strong, healthy, and worry-free. But most important, she knew that Dr. Jeannette genuinely wanted to help her.

  “Thank you.” She graciously accepted her teacup.

  “Of course, my dear. How are you doing this week?”

  “I think very well. I’ve been spending extra time in meditation group and yoga. I’m getting stronger. My weight is up to one sixteen now. That’s almost a whole pound this week, and I got my period.”

  “That’s excellent! Congratulations. Dr. Jeremy must be thrilled.”

  She slid forward on her chair. “Oh, and remember that cooking contest I was going to enter, over in the rec center? Well, I did enter, thanks to you not letting me back out, and I won third place. It was the curry. Curry’s such an intense flavor. Hard to beat.”

  Dr. Jeannette beamed. “And how have you been progressing with your past memories?”

  “Um, okay, I guess.” She picked at a hangnail on her thumb.

  “Can we talk a little about your father today?”

  “Um, sure.” Her eyes remained fixed on her hands. She’d practiced several ways of describing the beatings, but none of them sounded convincing. “Um, my father was a mean, horrible, abusive man. He, um, used to come home drunk and he would, um, you know, hit me.”

  Dr. Jeannette sighed and removed her glasses, setting them gently on the table. Layla had seen this nonverbal response many times before, and her eyes filled with tears. It was the wrong answer. Dr. Jeannette wasn’t happy with her progress.

  “Layla, let’s do the chant together.”

  She reluctantly lifted her eyes, willing the tears back. “A poisoned life cannot be purified until it is fully understood. As an impure, I must acknowledge, accept, and despise the poison inside of me so that I can be free of it.”

  She dropped her eyes back to her lap. She felt Dr. Jeannette staring at her, pitying her.

  “I know how difficult this is. I do. I’ve seen so many before you struggle to accept their pasts, unable to learn how to despise them. I promise you’ll get there—but you have to work harder, Layla. You have to listen to what I’ve told you about your poisoned life. You have to feel the pain he caused you. This isn’t just an exercise in telling me what you think I want to hear. You need to feel it. Believe it, down to your core.”

  Layla’s nose ran, and she plucked a tissue from the box on the table. She knew her inability to remember her childhood trauma was holding her back from progressing.

  “Let’s talk about something else. This will make you happy.”

  Layla searched her face hopefully.

  “Last week during your hypnosis, you told me a fun story. You were maybe eight years old, or at least that’s how old your voice sounded to me.” Dr. Jeannette let out a small chuckle.

  “Really? What was it?”

  “Well, okay, let’s see. How did it start? You were at a birthday party for one of your classmates. It was at a roller skating rink. You were holding hands with a friend, skating around the rink, when your friend fell down. She pulled you down too, and you both giggled madly. Do you remember?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could, hoping the memory would pop right out of her unconscious mind and project itself onto the backs of her eyelids like a movie. But all she could picture was a large oval cement floor with kids smiling as they skated around the circle, as though she were looking at a picture in a book.

  “It’s okay, my dear. So then neither of you could stand up. Your skates kept rolling out from under you every time you tried to stand, and that made you laugh even harder. What happened next is the best part. Another group of girls who were also holding hands tripped over you while you were trying to get up, and they fell on the floor with you.”

  Layla giggled. Just the idea that she might have been part of this silly group, invited to a roller skating birthday party, made her feel so normal, so human.

  “And all of you just gave up trying to get up and just lay on the floor and laughed and laughed. All the other kids had to skate around you.”

  She wanted to hear more. She wanted the story to go on forever.

  “See?” Dr. Jeannette put a hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. “I told you not every moment in a poisoned l
ife is bad. There are happy moments, too. And this is why I think you’re special, my dear. You have all this beauty inside you. Your foundation is rich and complex. And when you’ve released the poison during your purification, you’ll be able to help so many others become pure just like you.”

  The words gave Layla chills, and her resolve returned. She would work harder. She would do whatever it took.

  Dr. Jeannette stood up and held out her hand. In her palm was a small white tablet. “Now take your pill and finish your tea so we can begin today’s hypnosis.”

  She swallowed the pill with the last gulp of the now lukewarm tea. She got up and took a step toward the sofa. Then, changing her mind, she turned back to Dr. Jeannette and hugged her tightly.

  Dr. Jeannette laughed and hugged her in return. “Hey, what was that for?”

  She bounced on her tiptoes. “I’m just feeling really optimistic about my future.”

  ***

  Layla left Dr. Jeannette’s office feeling refreshed. The weather had grown quite a bit cooler, so she slowed to a stroll toward the yoga studio, enjoying the light, arid breeze carrying the peppery smell of sagebrush. She hummed a tune. She wasn’t sure if it was a song, but it didn’t matter. She felt better than she had all week. Dr. Jeannette’s sessions had a way of giving her a new outlook.

  She swerved over to the fruit stand, where her slightly pudgy friend Nicole hovered over the snacks. Layla selected a pear as Nicole grabbed her arm and pulled her to the side.

  “Layla! Oh my god, I have to tell you something—two things, actually. Are you ready? One, I’ve been selected for purification. I’m. Starting. Purification!” She danced an excited jig. “And two, I’m being considered for a position outside the Colony with a sponsor, and it might be New York. A sponsor in New York!”

  Nicole had always dreamed of going to New York and living among its tall buildings and flashing neon billboards. This was the perfect outcome for Nicole.

  “Wow, that’s amazing,” Layla said, trying hard to sound as enthusiastic as she should have felt. But in truth, she was crushed. Nicole had been at the Colony only a few months. She’d completed the same inductee program Layla had. But it wasn’t right that she should get her call to purification first. Layla was a model inductee. She was completely engaged in her daily schedule, she lived and breathed by the Colony’s code of ethics, and she was so ready for purification.

  “I know. And Brother James told me I’m like one of the fastest inductees to progress through the program.”

  Layla stepped back, wanting to escape this conversation.

  “Anyway, I have to run now. Dr. Jeremy says I need to have a physical before I can start.” Nicole rolled her eyes. “Like I could be any healthier.”

  She grabbed Layla in a hug, then skittered off without a goodbye.

  Layla looked around to make sure no one was watching, then tossed her unbitten pear in the trash can.

  ***

  Layla lay unmoving in the sensory deprivation tank for what must have been hours. Long durations in the tank were forbidden, but the staff trusted her after all these months, and they turned a blind eye to her extended sessions. She’d hoped that the isolation might help, but her poisoned life would simply not come to her. She tried to focus on the individual features of her dad’s appearance, as she’d been told to do. He had dark blond hair, Layla, a bit darker than yours, but thinning on top. He had a bald spot. No good. Nothing. He had a small gap between his front teeth, and you told me he had bad breath. Still nothing.

  Why was this so hard? What was wrong with her?

  Anger got the better of her and her muscles involuntarily contracted, disrupting her motionless state. Irritated, she dipped her towel into the salt water and spread it across her face, reveling in the sting of the salt in her eyes and the bitter taste in her mouth. Release the pain.

  After what felt like another hour, she finally knew what she must do. She left the new recruit center and headed uphill toward the administrative building, where she hoped she would find Brother James.

  ***

  Brother James looked up from his journal with his customary warm smile when Layla knocked. He swept his hair to one side and pulled on his black-rimmed glasses over eyes that appeared impossibly blue. She blushed and dropped her gaze, but only for a second before she remembered her newfound resolve. She lifted her chin and took one step toward his desk, then stopped, second-guessing herself. She stepped back just a bit and began picking a new hangnail.

  Maybe she should just accept that she wasn’t meant to be pure. She should just leave the Colony and go back to her poisoned life, whatever that was.

  She frowned. Dr. Jeannette would scold her for being self-critical. She gathered her strength again and stepped forward, holding her arms stiffly at her sides.

  Brother James still hadn’t spoken. He waited patiently.

  “Brother James?”

  “Hello, Layla. To what do I owe this lovely visit?”

  She blushed again and glanced away. She hadn’t stepped into Brother James’s office in a long time, and it felt smaller. His shelves were lined with medical books and journals and stacks of folders. More books and journals were stacked on the floor around the perimeter.

  Brother James was obviously an extremely busy and important man and certainly had no time for her. Her confidence waned again, and she stalled.

  “Um, are you, um, working?” It was the dumbest question she could have asked, and she grimaced in disgust.

  “Yeah, a little. I’m just reviewing the profile of a new recruit. Come here, let me show you.”

  She took one step closer. Why was she so terrified to be close to him?

  Brother James got up with his folder and walked in front of his desk. He stood next to her, holding the folder open. “This is Kelly. She arrived yesterday. Here, take a look.” He held up the file with a photo so she could get a good look.

  She gasped. The girl in the picture was only about twelve years old but so emaciated that Layla couldn’t believe she was able to stand up on her own. Her face, turned upward and directly into the camera, was gaunt and ashen, her eyes sunken. She appeared mournful. She looked like she might be dying.

  “What happened to her?” she breathed, unable to turn from the image.

  “She was found on a busy city street, staggering around aimlessly in only a long shirt with no identification or money. Our recruiters saw her and offered to help. They had fruit and sandwiches in the truck and a warm blanket. She accepted, and we brought her here.”

  “Is she sick?” The emptiness in Kelly’s eyes unsettled her.

  “Sort of. Kelly’s a drug addict. She’s in the infirmary now, getting treatment for her addiction. Our doctors are trying to remove the poison from her.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “When she’s able to join the group, I hope you’ll befriend her. You have so much love to give, and you could really be a good mentor for her.”

  “But what about her parents?”

  “She’s nineteen, so she can make her own decisions.”

  She leaned in closer to the picture, incredulous. Kelly looked like a child.

  Brother James closed the folder and lifted her chin so she would meet his eyes. He spoke to her in a serious tone. “Do you see how important our work is here at the Colony?”

  She nodded.

  “All your friends and all these people who live and work here are here on their own accord, to try to make a better world for you and Kelly and everyone else who had a poisoned life. We have doctors and therapists and nutritionists and exercise instructors, and they’re all here because they believe in making a pure society.”

  “I understand.”

  “And you have an important role in that.”

  “Purification.”

  “Exactly.” He smiled, and her courage returned.

  She cleared her throat, even though she didn’t need to. “I came here to ask for your help. Dr. Jeannette says the Father will not allow my purifica
tion until I can remember my poisoned life. Will you perform another cleanse? I think it might help me release my memories from my unconscious mind.”

  “Of course, beautiful girl.” Brother James enfolded her in his arms, and for just a moment she indulged the warmth. The comfort. The faintly musky smell of his linen shirt.

  Then she pulled away, embarrassed and ashamed. Please forgive me, Father.

  Chapter 4

  Allison glanced at the clock: 4:22 a.m. She rolled over in bed and opened her laptop—she’d slept with it again—and scanned her emails, desperately looking for Austin’s name. Nothing. She snatched up her phone. No messages. It was Thursday morning, a full forty-one hours since she’d watched Austin escorted out of the tavern, and she hadn’t heard a word from him. The arrest hadn’t made the local news, and apparently no one at the office had even heard. She’d come home yesterday before lunch to wallow in self-indulgent misery. How could he do this to her?

  She scrolled through her texts. She’d sent him twelve texts since Tuesday, not one of them answered, not even the embarrassingly truthful one from last night at 10:42 that read, “Austin, please, PLEASE! I haven’t slept. I haven’t eaten. I can’t stop crying. I don’t know what to do. PLEASE!”

  God, she sounded like a pathetic jilted girlfriend.

  She hurled her phone across her bed. Was it really possible he’d had no opportunity whatsoever to contact her? She was certain he wasn’t sitting in a jail cell somewhere. People like Austin Harris didn’t do time, not even overnight time.

  Her swollen eyes stung as she rubbed them, and her stomach churned with dread. She pulled the blanket over her head and tried to sleep.

  ***

  The phone was vibrating. Allison jerked awake and dug frantically through the blankets, her heart hammering. There it was—on the floor. She grabbed it and instinctively swiped to accept the call before she noticed the caller ID.

  “Al, where the fuck are you?” Ryan. Damn it. Ryan Garner, Quandary’s chief business officer, was barely thirty with all the maturity of a frat boy. He was likable but not nearly experienced enough for his position, as evidenced by his greeting.