by Kelli Kimble
“It’s got to be some kind of trick,” she said. “They told me nobody would get hurt.”
I smacked her hard across the face. “Wake up, Talika. They are lying to me. To you. Everything they do here is for them. They don’t care about us. They’re probably going to kill us all, once they get whatever it is they want.”
“No. They promised me.” She backed away, her hand pressed to her cheek. “They said they’d make sure we got good jobs, and a nice place to live. They said they’d make sure Marve and I could be married someday.”
“Marve? You did all this so that you could marry Marve?” I scrambled from the cot and pushed her onto hers. “The boy who couldn’t even give you the time of day? The boy who pretended like we were invisible? The boy who is nothing but a jerk? You gave away the lives of your best friend and someone who worships the ground you walk on so that you could maybe marry that piece of crap?”
“Not maybe,” she said, sniffing. “They said they could make it happen for me.”
“Against his will? Is that what you want? A jerk husband that was forced to marry you?”
“Of course not. He’s not a jerk. That’s just your opinion.”
I sighed. “Whatever. I can’t believe we were ever friends.”
She didn’t comment, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t expecting an answer. I went back to my cot and pulled up the covers. I willed myself to fall asleep; I was exhausted. But, every time I started to drift off, I’d hear the sounds of Elton begging or screaming, and I’d jerk awake. Were they going to kill him? What could they possibly hope to get out of him by treating him that way?
In the morning, I was stiff with fatigue. Our clothes and breakfast arrived as usual, and I went through the motions, dreading the moment when someone would come for me. But, nobody did. Instead, they took Talika. I prowled around the room. Occasionally, I tried to open the door, but it was locked. Once, a woman opened the door and telepathically asked if I needed to use the facilities. But, I recoiled from her and told her, No.
Talika returned several hours later; her eyes were red and puffy. I didn’t have the chance to ask her why. The woman who brought her back motioned for me to follow her, and I did. She took me to the lab, and although the hallway seemed to telescope away from us, we came to the door, and she saw me inside. Faith was at the console, and I ran to her and clutched at her arm.
Are they going to hurt me, like they hurt Elton? I asked.
Her eyes were sympathetic, but before she could answer, Mrs. Darit appeared. “Take your seat, Nimisila,” she said. She was smiling in the same way she often smiled in the classroom. It was plastic-looking. I wanted to smack it from her face.
“What are you going to do to me?”
“We’ll repeat yesterday’s experiments,” she said. “We had some success, didn’t we?”
I glanced at Faith. She nodded and smiled. “Yeah,” I said. “I guess we did.”
“Right. I’ve decided to recreate that success today. I can see from your brain scans we are really close, Nimisila. We only need to provide you with the proper motivation.”
Faith’s expression faded. The two of them squared off at each other, a silent conversation going on between them as Faith made agitated gestures. Mrs. Darit seemed unperturbed. Faith looked past Mrs. Darit to me, set her shoulders, and left the room. Her meaning was clear; she didn’t want any part of whatever was about to transpire. The fear that had grown quiet at the sight of Faith uncurled again, sending shaky tendrils into my arms and legs.
Mrs. Darit’s eyes shifted to the chair, then back to me. I moved towards it, as if I were running through maple syrup. My feet could barely lift themselves from the ground. But, I managed to get to the chair and sit in it.
She snapped the tray into place and produced the feather. “Now. We’re going to repeat yesterday’s experiment, with support.” She nodded, and the other lab workers moved over to stand around the chair. “Then, when we’ve achieved that, we’ll try again, without support, and we’ll continue that test, until you can successfully move the feather. Easy, right?” Her expression appeared friendly and encouraging, but her voice had a slight edge to it.
“Okay,” I said. She put the sensors and fobs in place on my forehead and chest, and we began. It took only two tries to get the feather to move with the support of the other lab workers. We repeated the success probably a dozen times, before Mrs. Darit dismissed the workers. My head throbbed with the effort, but the relief in the room was palpable, as they moved away to allow the second round of unsupported tests. It seemed a little odd they were relieved; after all, it was not their problem if I didn’t move the feather.
Mrs. Darit moved the experiment on, before I could give it too much thought. “Go ahead, Nimisila. In your mind, imagine how you felt when you had previous successes. Imagine that as best you can, okay? Go on.”
Again, it took several tries. But, I was eventually able to move the feather without the support of the lab workers. I slouched into the chair, sweat pouring off me. The sensors on my chest had lost contact an hour ago, and Mrs. Darit had removed them. She was intent upon some readout from my brain, but she didn’t comment on it. “We’re going to pause now,” she said. “I want to do a scan of your brain and see if we can detect any changes.”
“Could I have lunch first?” I said. My throat was dry and scratchy, and my voice came out in a croak.
Mrs. Darit didn’t answer. A lab worker rolled over the exam table with the halo device on it. She removed the tray from my chair and assisted me onto the table’s surface, raising the head of the bed so that my head could go inside the halo.
“Really, I’m feeling a little weak,” I said.
“You’re a strong girl, Nimisila. You don’t need to stop for a meal right now,” Mrs. Darit said. “Now, hold still. You remember how I told you this machine could do damage if we do too many readings, right? So, let’s get it right the first time.”
I closed my eyes and tried to remain perfectly still. Mrs. Darit was clearly not going to have any qualms about turning my brain into mush. The halo started to hum, and I quieted, willing my body to stay motionless. The stress of the earlier tests must have taken their toll on me, though. I fell asleep during the test.
◆◆◆
I woke to Mrs. Darit, shaking my shoulder. It took a huge effort, but I finally got my eyes to open. My head lolled to the side to meet her gaze. She looked excited, and I took that to be a good thing. “Here’s a sip of water, that’s a girl,” she said, raising a glass to my lips. I was both starving and thirsty, so I drank from the glass greedily. “Easy, there. Let’s not spill.” Her statement had echoes of the classroom in it. It gave me a pang of desire for the days before whatever had been done to me. When the glass was empty, she helped me stand and led me back to the chair. “Climb up, dear,” she said.
“Couldn’t I just have lunch?” I asked.
“There’s no time right now. We’ve got to keep things moving,” she said. She snapped the tray in place and positioned the feather. “All right. You know what to do.” She crossed her arms and looked steadily at the feather, ignoring me.
My stomach growled, but a voice in the back of my head told me I’d better keep my urge to eat to myself for now.
I concentrated on the feather, and the test began. I was able to move the feather about every other time I tried. It wasn’t easy, but I felt as if it was getting to be a familiar feeling.
Eventually, Mrs. Darit produced the paper dog and set it on the tray instead. The dog moved about as frequently as the feather at first, and then it started moving every time I tried. Once, I even flung it so hard that Mrs. Darit had to go hunt for it under some piece of equipment.
Late in the evening, Mrs. Darit called a halt to the tests. She said I’d done very well, and she asked a lab worker to take me to my new quarters.
“Can I have dinner there?” I asked.
“You’ll be given something to eat there, yes,” Mrs. Darit said.
“Wait!” I called out, pounding my palms against the metal door. “It’s dark in here.”
The light switch is to your right. Go ahead and turn it on, the worker said.
I groped along the wall, until I found it. I flipped it, and the lights above flickered to life. One of them needed to be replaced, and it made a gentle ting-ting-ting sound in time with the flashes of light it put out.
Your dinner is on the table, the worker explained. Also, there is a locking mechanism attached to a board on the table. You are to understand fully how to operate it tomorrow. Practice with it however you see fit. I’ll be back to collect you in the morning.
I approached the table. There was a lock mounted on two boards that were, in turn, hinged to a third board. The lock held the two boards together, and once unlocked, they could swing open, like a set of doors. The lock was a simple, bolt lock; the bolt was L-shaped, and if I lifted the tail of the L, the bolt could slide free of its housing, allowing the two boards to open outwards. I played with it for a minute, before turning to the dinner tray.
I lifted the cover. It was a single piece of bread. A glass of water was also on the tray. Confused, I picked up the plate. Was the food underneath? But, no. That was it. A piece of bread. My stomach was gnawing at me, so I ate it. I wanted to pound on the door and demand I be brought something real to eat. Pride kept me at the table. I sat there, fidgeting with the lock, until I was too tired to sit up. Then, I got into bed and let sleep deliver me from my growling belly.
◆◆◆
In the morning, the worker brought me a change of clothes. When I asked about breakfast, she ignored me. She stood to the side and waited while I changed, not even bothering to avert her eyes. There wasn’t much of me to look at, but I still would have preferred privacy.
She led me back to the lab. In addition to the chair, there was a large, white box on a platform with wheels near the instrument console. I cast a glance at it and went to the chair to sit. Mrs. Darit attached the sensors and fobs without remark. But, she didn’t snap the tray in place.
Nobody spoke to me until the doctor arrived in the lab. Mrs. Darit gave her a cursory nod. The doctor went right to the box and looked inside. She motioned to a worker. “Get this hooked up, would you?” she said. She gestured to a green hose, coiled on the floor. The worker screwed one end of the hose to a nozzle on the box and took the other end behind the equipment in the back of the room. The doctor came over beside Mrs. Darit. “It’s all ready,” she said. She looked at me and drew her thin lips back in what was probably supposed to be a smile, exposing her teeth and some of her too-pink gums.
Mrs. Darit clasped her hands together and squeezed. It was something I’d seen her do occasionally at school—right before she grabbed her pointer stick and started whacking a misbehaving kid across the knuckles with it. I gulped. Whatever was coming, it was likely to be uncomfortable.
Mrs. Darit came over to me and put her hand on my upper arm. She wrapped her fingers around my bicep with a firm grip and pulled me towards her, out of the chair. I stood up, my legs shaking. She guided me towards the box. A worker pressed a button that lowered it almost to the ground.
“I’m going to need you to get in the box,” she said. “Yes, climb in right there and lie down. Just like that.”
I did as she told me. The sides and bottom of the box were plastic and rigid. It wasn’t very comfortable.
“Now,” she continued. “A liquid agent is going to flow into the box there, from that hole.” She pointed towards the spot where the hose must have been hooked on the outside. “I’m going to close the lid and lock it. The locking mechanism you practiced with last night . . .” She paused and looked me in the eyes. “You did practice, didn’t you?”
I nodded. A dark sense of what was to come crept over me.
“Great. The locking mechanism you practiced with . . .” She stopped and winked. “. . . will be locked here, on the outside of the box. Then, the water will begin to flow. You’ll have about 45 minutes to unlock the lock, before the air inside the box will be completely replaced with the liquid.”
Fear made my arms and legs feel like dead weight. There was an audible pop inside my head; as if the box were made of fire, and I’d just been thrown into it, my body rebelled. I scrambled and clawed; I got my torso out of the box before I was pushed back inside. Then, my lower half flowed out, and screams I couldn’t have imagined in my worst nightmares exploded from my mouth. But, I was quickly pressed back into the box by many hands, and the lid slid shut.
“All right, Nimisila,” a tinny voice said from above my right ear. It was the doctor. “The box is locked. I want you to focus on unlocking the box. You can get out, as soon as you unlock the box.” There was a muffled sound. “Queue the liquid.”
A liquid that felt like oily water began to flow into the box. I pounded my hands on the lid. I screamed as loudly as I could, then switched to broadcasting my scream. If I had to suffer, then everyone present was going to have to live my panic along with me.
I began to paw around, searching for something, anything that could help me. But, the box was more or less coffin-sized, which meant I couldn’t reach anything below my mid-thighs. There was nothing to feel, anyway. I tried to stick my finger in the hole where the water was flowing in. But, it was sharp, and I gasped when I felt the fresh sensation of my skin being cut open.
“You’re wasting time,” the doctor said. “You’ve lost a good five minutes on panic. You could already be out of the box.”
I stilled myself. She was right. I didn’t want her to be right, but she was. I could get myself out of this if I wanted to.
In my mind’s eye, I pictured the lock. It was shiny, and it felt cool and smooth when I touched it—except for the tail of the bolt, which was marred by a tiny bur of improperly-shaped metal. I imagined lifting the tail and sliding it out of its housing. I thought about the weight of the tail, and how it would resist just the tiniest bit, until it lifted all the way to the position where the bolt would be free to slide. I thought about the sound; how the metal grated on the metal; how I felt the vibration in my fingertip. I thought about how my hand would smell metallic when I took it away.
I clenched my fists and muscles. I screamed from my mouth and my head.
But, the lid didn’t open.
I reasoned that maybe it wouldn’t open on its own; maybe I needed to push it up, once the bolt was free from the housing that held it in place. But, the lid held firmly against my hands.
Mrs. Darit, I can’t do it. It’s not working, I said. I need the sound.
“You don’t need their voices,” Mrs. Darit replied through the tinny speaker. “You have your own voice. You almost have it; the sensors say you’re nearly there.”
I redoubled my efforts. The water was up around my shoulders. If I could have seen inside the box, my stomach and knees would have looked like islands rising up out of the dark water. I had to lift my head to keep my ears dry. I’d never liked getting my ears wet, not since I was little and had a raging ear infection that perforated my eardrum.
The water sloshed around me in waves while I contorted, trying to intensify and project my concentration onto the lock. I noticed my breath was ragged and huffy, and I wondered if my oxygen supply was dwindling. Could I have used it all up, already? Was there fresh air being pumped in somewhere I couldn’t see?
A fresh wave of panic came over me, and I again thrashed against the cover. “Let me OUT!” I banged my fists against the lid. The whole box was shuddering with the intensity of my effort. Would it fall off its platform? If it fell, would the water spill out and save me from drowning? I started to roll from side to side as much as possible. It felt like maybe the box was swaying, but I couldn’t be sure.
“Stop all that paddling around,
” Mrs. Darit said through the speaker. “You can do this. Stop letting the circumstances sway you from your objective.”
I started to cry. I was going to die in that box. I couldn’t keep my ears dry anymore. The only thing above the water now was my face: My chin, cheeks, eyes, nose, and forehead. The tip of my nose was pressed to the lid of the box. I couldn’t lift myself any higher. I had to get it open in the next minute or two, or I would drown.
Surely, they wouldn’t let me drown? I was, as far as I could tell, the most successful test subject they’d had so far. The doctor wouldn’t want to scrap it and start all over. Would she?
Anger spiked up my throat and shot clear through my brain, and a level of sharpness in my concentration flashed white. The lock felt like it was in my hand. I touched it. I manipulated it. The water covered my forehead and chin. I pressed my nose against the lid even harder. The lock’s tail flipped into the open position with a snap. My nose was covered. There was no more air. I thrashed once, then twice, and then the bolt slid out of the housing so violently that the box shook. I slammed my palms against the lid, and this time, it opened.
It. Opened.
I sat up, heaving in a huge breath, coughing and sputtering, as I tried to fill my lungs with air, instead of water.
The doctor and Mrs. Darit were standing at the foot of the box. The doctor had a look of smug satisfaction on her face. Mrs. Darit looked like I’d slapped her across the face with a dead fish.
“There, now. We knew you had it in you. See? You didn’t need anybody else’s voice to get you where you were going,” the doctor said.
“Can I get out?” I said. The water had felt warm as it filled the box, but now, it felt ice-cold. My teeth started to chatter.
A lab worker came over to help me out of the box. She handed me a small, kitchen towel. But, I accepted it. I rubbed the water off with brisk motions, then clutched the small towel to my chest with my arms folded in around it.
“Someone take her to her room,” Mrs. Darit said. “She needs a fresh change of clothes. Bring her back, though. There’s still more to do today.”
