The Pain Colony

by Shanon Hunt

“Allison Stevens.”

  “Allison, it’s Kiran. I’m sorry for the delay. It’s been a crazy day. What’s going on?”

  In her concern over Jakob’s progression, she’d completely forgot about Kiran, and now she scrambled to decide what to say. “Oh, yeah, right. Thanks for calling me back. What’s been so crazy?” She could hear traffic in the background and appreciated that he’d called her back from his car.

  “The FBI have been all over me about accessing Austin’s personal records and information in hopes of finding him,” he said. “They’re drowning my team in paperwork. We don’t know where he is. Damn him for doing this. He’s really gotten himself into a huge mess.”

  “Yeah.” She tried to sound sympathetic, but she had her own problems. “I’m sorry about all that. I’m sure this must be hard on you.”

  “So what can I do for you?” Kiran obviously didn’t need her sympathy. He sounded irritated and impatient.

  She decided to stick with the known invoice. “The auditors found an invoice and I was trying to track down some information, but—it’s like I’m going crazy. I can’t seem to remember it. I was hoping you could jog my memory.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Spiragene? It’s a company that does DNA origami. It looks like we contracted with them to do some early research work for us.”

  “DNA origami? That’s a new one for me. I don’t think I did the contract.”

  “They have a nondisclosure agreement with us.”

  “They probably had their own lawyers draft it.”

  “You don’t know them at all?”

  “Sorry.”

  One more approach. “Okay, one more thing. Can you look up the status of a patent that we probably filed?”

  Kiran was silent, but Allison could still hear the sounds of his car.

  “Kiran? You there?”

  “Pick up your handset, will you?”

  She picked up the handset, frightened by his change in tone.

  “Listen, Allison.” His voice was low and quiet. “Things are really unsettled at the moment. I don’t know how to say this to you gently, so I’m just going to say it. Do not dig around Quandary’s documents looking for anything out of the ordinary. At this point, with the FBI and SEC so ignited over Austin’s business dealings, anything that doesn’t look like business as usual will set off a lot of fire alarms. We’re already buried in trying to figure out where the real fires are. And there are some very real fires, Allison. Do you know what I’m trying to say?”

  “Yes.” Allison heard the message loud and clear, the gravity driven home by his conspiratorial tone. “Of course. I get it. Thanks. I’ll see you soon.”

  She hung up and sat still. Did Kiran know about Spiragene? Did he know Austin had signed her name? Was he trying to protect Austin?

  One thing was certain. She wouldn’t be asking for Kiran’s help again.

  Chapter 21

  Beep … beep … beep … beep. The machine next to Dad’s hospital bed keeps a steady rhythm. I stand next to the bed looking at him. He’s half lying, half sitting, smiling at me.

  “It’s okay, you can touch them.”

  I very gently poke the heavy white gauze bandages that cover the two stumps where his legs used to be. He moves them slightly, and I jerk my hand away.

  “Gotcha!” he says, but I’m not in the mood for joking.

  “Does it hurt?” I look into his eyes.

  “A little. But—come here, Butch—I’ll show you.”

  “Daddy,” I whine with exasperation. I hate it when he calls me Butch.

  “See this?” He points to a small remote control. “This little button controls the medicine, up there in that bag. See that?” He points up at a bag hanging from a large metal pole with wheels at the bottom.

  I nod.

  “When I push the button, a little bit of medicine that makes my pain go away trickles down through the tube and right into my hand, here.” He points and follows the tube down to his hand, which is covered with white tape.

  I don’t know how it gets into his hand, but I don’t ask.

  “Once it’s in my hand, it moves through my blood to the parts that hurt. I don’t use it very often, though, because the medicine also makes me veeery”—he yawns loudly—“sleepy.” His head drops to the side, and he snores softly.

  “Daddy?” I ask, concerned.

  He opens his eyes. “Gotcha again!”

  I give him an eye-roll.

  Mom walks into the hospital room carrying a cup of coffee, a bottle of water, and a small can of fruit juice for me.

  Dad beams. “Just what I wanted. Did you load that coffee with a shot of Bailey’s?”

  “No, but if you’re a good boy, I’ll sneak you in some Taco Bell later. Your favorite …” She opens the bottled water and hands it to him.

  “Keeps me regular. What can I say?”

  Beep … beep … beep … beep. The machine continues its rhythm. I step closer to it, watching the pattern on the screen.

  “What does this do?” I ask, taking a sip from my can.

  “That’s a heart rate monitor. See the little spikes that pop up every time it beeps? That’s my heart beating. How does it look, Butch? Am I still alive?”

  “I guess so.”

  Mom drops into a chair across the room and picks up a magazine.

  Beep … beep … beep … beep. I watch the spikes intently. I put my hand on my chest to feel my own heart rate.

  Beep … beep … beep … beep. The rhythm picks up, the spikes come faster.

  “Mike?” Mom says from her chair.

  Beep beep beep beep. The spikes come even faster now.

  “Mike?” Mom repeats, now sounding concerned. She gets up from her chair.

  Beepbeepbeepbeep. The beeps become a high-pitched alarm. I stare at the monitor as the spikes form into what looks like a mountain covered in trees.

  “Mike!” Mom shrieks.

  I finally turn to look. Dad’s body is jerking on the bed, flopping around like my goldfish, Honey, when she accidentally jumped out of her bowl and landed on my desk.

  ***

  Layla’s eyes flew wide open and contracted painfully as she looked into the bright florescent lights in the ceiling. She closed her eyes and turned toward the beeping.

  Beep … beep … beep … beep.

  She opened her eyes to a squint. A heart rate monitor stood next to the bed. A hospital bed. She closed her eyes tightly in a desperate attempt to return to her dream, to see what would happen to her dad. But it was over. The memory was already fading. She grasped at whatever images she could. Her mom shrieking. Her dad pretending to fall asleep. The can of fruit juice. She replayed the conversation with her dad, trying to commit it to memory before the dream dissipated forever.

  Beep … beep … beep … beep.

  “Oh, look who’s awake!” A tiny nurse with a squeaky voice arrived with a tray of soup and crackers. She set it down on the table beside the bed and dramatically swooshed back the drapes, letting sunshine pour into the room. “You’ve been out like a light for nearly three hours. How are you feeling?”

  The nurse pressed a button on the side of the bed, and Layla’s head begin to rise. Once she was mostly upright, the nurse rolled the dinner tray table over her lap.

  “Fine.” Layla’s throat was dry, and the word came out like a scratchy whisper. She took a drink of juice from a box with a thin bendy straw. Her bladder was about to burst. “I have to use the bathroom.”

  “I’ll bet you do! We’ve been pumping fluids into you all day.”

  In the bathroom, she refreshed her memory again. Mom yelling “Mike!” over and over. Dad crowing “Gotcha!” It might have manifested as a dream, but Layla knew it wasn’t. It was a memory, a real memory from her unconscious mind. Her dad had been a double amputee. How had he lost his legs?

  “Layla?” the squeaky voice called from outside the bathroom. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

  “Coming.”


  The nurse helped her crawl back under the blanket. “Dr. Jeremy will be coming to check on you in a few minutes. Meanwhile, eat up. We need to get some meat on those bones of yours.”

  Layla gave her a weak smile.

  “Thank you,” she said, lowering her eyes respectfully.

  ***

  The clock beside the bed read 5:25. Dr. Jeremy had been kind enough to remove Layla’s IV earlier today, but he hadn’t discharged her, much to her dismay. She wanted to go back to the residence hall. She felt captive in the small room. She wasn’t ready to face Brother James or Dr. Jeannette, and every time she heard footsteps outside her door, she panicked.

  She tried to focus on her book, Pride and Prejudice, but her mind wandered constantly. What was purity, anyway? What did the purification process entail? Why hadn’t she asked these questions before? Of course, she would never literally ask. Purification and purity were not to be discussed, period. But why hadn’t she been curious until now?

  Did the pures have special powers? Could they heal sick people? Did they die? Why were the pure superior to the impure, as Madeline had—

  The necklace! She shuffled to the closet and rummaged through her pockets. It was gone. She sagged against the wall and clutched her stomach. She’d lost it. Or perhaps the nurse had taken it from her. Inductees were not allowed nice things.

  She crawled back into bed and pulled the blanket over her head, beginning to doze, trying to recreate the picture of the hospital room and her mom and dad. But the picture just wasn’t coming. All she could see was the backs of her eyelids, dark but with black rectangles the size and shape of the fluorescent lights above her bed.

  They started fading.

  Don’t you quit on me, Butch! You’re almost there!

  Layla jolted awake and flung the blanket off her head. Daddy?

  “Layla, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” Dr. Jeannette sat beside her bed, adjusting a bouquet of flowers in a vase.

  Layla’s stomach flip-flopped. “I feel much better.” Even she could hear the tension in her voice.

  Dr. Jeannette looked at her intently.

  She tried to relax and sound casual. “I’m sorry for getting sick in your office.”

  Dr. Jeannette shook her head reproachfully. “Dr. Jeremy says you were severely dehydrated and undernourished. How many times have we talked about this? You’ll never be pure if you don’t build your strength. Dr. Jeremy is extremely disappointed. It seems you’ve lost two pounds. You haven’t been following your nutritional plan, have you?”

  “I’m sorry.” She looked down. How many times in a day did she apologize to someone?

  A porter strolled into the room.

  “Ah, perfect!” Dr. Jeannette said in her animated way. “Please set it right over here.”

  The porter brought over a steaming teapot and two small teacups with saucers. He removed Layla’s tray of uneaten soup and set the tea onto her table.

  Dr. Jeannette poured green tea into both cups. “Dr. Jeremy said he wanted to keep you overnight, so I thought we could pass some time by finishing our session.” She smiled. “I remember how excited you were to tell me all about your vision.”

  Her smile spread into a sneer as she leaned closer, so close Layla could see the steam from her tea. Above the cup, Dr. Jeannette’s eyes never left Layla’s face.

  Chapter 22

  Layla diverted her gaze to her own steaming cup of tea. Her stomach lurched.

  Don’t you quit on me, Butch. You’re almost there!

  She smiled and drained her cup to the halfway mark, refusing to let her stomach muscles clench in disagreement.

  Don’t you quit on me, Butch.

  “That’s my girl,” Dr. Jeannette said, still eyeing her. “Green tea has so many health benefits, you know. And a girl like you, so thin and anemic, needs all the help she can get, right?”

  Despite the tightly stretched smile, the tone of her voice had become tart, and her eyes bore into Layla’s like shards of glass. But Layla didn’t shy away. She felt something that wasn’t familiar to her. She felt knowledgeable. She felt worldly. Madeline had described her as “superior.” Was Dr. Jeannette pure? When Layla was pure, would she be superior to Dr. Jeannette the same way she would be to Madeline?

  Don’t you quit on me, Butch.

  I won’t, Daddy. She could do this.

  She gently set down her tea.

  “Well, Layla, tell me. I can’t wait to hear!” Dr. Jeannette crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap.

  Layla threw her hands to her sides, fingers splayed widely, in the kind of dramatic gesture that Nicole would use. She leaned forward in the bed and shifted her weight so that she could cross her legs. “Dr. Jeannette, it was the greatest experience of my life! I can’t believe how real the vision was, and I can’t stop thinking about it. The images, they’re so colorful and … wow, I couldn’t wait to tell you.”

  “So tell me,” Dr. Jeannette said with a hint of impatience.

  “Well, what I was going to say yesterday before the, um, accident, is that the vision wasn’t exactly like you described.”

  Dr. Jeannette’s smile remained, but Layla saw the tilt of her head change.

  Don’t you quit on me, Butch. You’re almost there!

  She grasped at the first thing she could think of. She knew it was weak, but she spoke with as much enthusiasm and conviction as she could. “My dad. My real dad. He didn’t have blond hair. He had light brown hair. He had a giant forehead, with hair only way in the back.” She indicated on her own head. “And he didn’t have a gap in his teeth, he had a tooth missing. This one.” She pointed to her front tooth. “That’s a bit different from what you told me.”

  Dr. Jeannette was a statue in her chair.

  She continued quickly. “Anyway, that’s not the important part. That’s the vision. He had come home drunk, as usual, and he stood in my bedroom doorway. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, and it nearly made me sick. Uh, I feel like I can still smell it, even now.” She turned away from the tea, which was now actually making her feel nauseated. Funny how this all seemed to work. “And he said, ‘Come here, Layla.’ But I could feel deep inside that he was going to hurt me, so I picked up a …”

  Her mind went blank and panic flooded up within her, but she closed her eyes and an image appeared. “A box. It was a lunch box. It had Scooby-Doo on the front, and it was made of metal, and I had loaded it with rocks. It was my weapon. I had built it as a weapon because I feared him so much. And he moved in on me like he was going to grab me. I swung the lunch box at him and hit him in the head.” She mimicked the swing from her bed. “He fell back. Then I got up, and I ran. I left the house and ran down the street. I didn’t know where I was going, I just kept running. My feet were killing me because I was barefoot, but I couldn’t allow the pain to stop me. I just kept running to escape him.”

  She stopped, panting. Her eyes were focused on the wall, her face flushed. She stared at the wall for another couple of seconds until she had the courage to look at Dr. Jeannette.

  Dr. Jeannette was staring at her intently, studying her face. She didn’t speak, and her face held no expression that Layla could read. Layla held that piercing gaze as long as she could, then dropped her eyes to her lap and waited.

  Dr. Jeannette finally spoke. “Interesting.”

  Just the one word, slowly and thoughtfully.

  Layla sat back against her pillow, wanting to put some distance between the two of them. Dr. Jeannette knew she was lying. She’d failed. Dr. Jeannette wrote something in her notepad, but Layla couldn’t read it from her bed.

  Dr. Jeannette’s eyes narrowed. “You said that in your vision, you’d filled up a lunch box with rocks. Correct?”

  She felt herself cower. “Uh-huh.”

  I failed, Daddy. I didn’t make it.

  “And what did you say was the image on the box?”

  “Scooby-Doo. You know, the cartoon?”

  “Right. Yes, I certain
ly know Scooby-Doo. It was a cartoon on TV when I was young. I used to love that show.” Her smile fell away when she looked back at Layla. “What I find surprising is that you know Scooby-Doo. You’re a lot younger than me, and it wasn’t a popular show when you were growing up.”

  Layla, too, was completely mystified by where she’d gotten the idea of a Scooby-Doo lunch box. She didn’t remember watching the cartoon, and she certainly didn’t remember seeing it on a lunch box. Where had that come from?

  “Do you remember where you got that lunch box?”

  A sour taste filled her mouth. Why was her therapist tormenting her?

  “Layla?”

  She looked up, steeling herself. “No, Dr. Jeannette, I don’t know the cartoon, and I don’t know where I got the lunch box. It was just there, and I’d filled it with rocks. It was a weapon. I don’t remember where it came from.” She couldn’t have forced a more genuine answer, because this part was the truth. Yet she knew it would only get her in trouble.

  Dr. Jeannette didn’t smile, but she didn’t look angry or disappointed either. She made more notes. Finally, she closed her notepad and stood up, towering over Layla. The sides of her mouth turned up slightly, but in no way did it look like a smile.

  “Well, then. Maybe in our next session, you’ll come with a new vision. A vision that includes more information about your surroundings and more details about your past poisoned life.” Dr. Jeannette articulated the last words very clearly and slowly. “Remember, Layla, a poisoned life cannot be purified until it is fully understood.”

  Layla didn’t respond.

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” She reached into her pocket. “I found this on the floor in my office bathroom.” She handed Layla a necklace with a large opal in a ring of diamonds. “Secrets like these should be hidden very carefully. You wouldn’t want to get caught. You could be expelled. Do you understand?”

  Layla’s stomach dropped. “I understand completely. Thank you for your wisdom and guidance.”

  She respectfully dropped her gaze before Dr. Jeannette turned away and left the room.

  She stared at the door for several minutes. The rules of the Colony were becoming clearer and clearer every day. Dr. Jeannette didn’t want the truth. She wanted a story. One that she insisted was real. Layla took a deep, ragged breath and pulled her blanket up to her chin.