by Kelli Kimble
If my eyes were ever capable of throwing darts, they were doing it right now. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to hurt her badly. How could they treat a kid this way? How could they treat anyone this way?
A lab worker draped another towel over my shoulders from behind, and she guided me toward the door, then down the hall to my room. A change of clothes was on my bed, and I put it on without even looking to see if I was alone or not. What did it matter? They didn’t value my life. Why would they care if I was naked or clothed?
When I was dressed, the lab worker reached for my elbow to take me back to the lab.
I pulled back. “I’m hungry,” I said.
I don’t have any food to give you, she said. When you come back here later, it will be waiting.
“Waiting, like yesterday? A piece of bread and a cup of water?”
Her eyebrows knit together, and she shook her head. No. Your dinner. It will be here.
“I’m telling you, what I had for dinner yesterday was a piece of bread and a cup of water. I wasn’t given breakfast; I’m pretty sure it’s probably past lunchtime now, and no lunch has materialized. I’m going to get bread and water to eat today. That’s it.”
I’m sure that won’t be the case, she said. She averted her eyes as she said it, then took me back to the lab.
“Good news,” the doctor said when she saw me. “The box is ready for another try. Hop on in.”
◆◆◆
I went in the box multiple times a day, day after day. A full meal never did materialize; occasionally, I was given a vitamin or an apple. But, most days, I was given a single piece of white bread, and a cup of water to drink. None of the lab workers believed me when I appealed to them for something more; they all thought I was losing weight because of the strain from the tests.
Days turned into weeks, then months, and after four or five of those, I lost count. I became resigned to whatever treatment they could dish out. I lacked the physical strength to do anything about it, anyway. I never saw Talika, Marve, or Elton. Even Faith disappeared from the lab. The lab workers rotated in and out frequently, and as soon as I came to learn the name of one, someone else took their place.
The only constants were the doctor and Mrs. Darit. Somehow, the doctor managed to hide her name from me. Not that it mattered; I didn’t want any reason to think of her as a human being. She ordered me into the box, whether I obeyed without question or dissolved onto the floor in a puddle of self-pity and tears. If I fought, I was beaten. If I asked questions, I was ignored. I came to think maybe I wasn’t enough of a person to even cast a shadow, and that’s how the doctor liked it.
Even after the thousandth submersion in the box, I couldn’t manage to unlock the mechanism any faster. Mrs. Darit felt it was my lack of urgency, and she sought ways to prod me along. Sometimes, the box didn’t fill with water. She tried snakes, mice, and spiders. Those increased my panic levels, but without the water, there wasn’t enough desperation for me to unlock the lid. Once, she allowed the box to fill, while also occasionally sending an electric current through the water. I nearly bit my tongue off when she tried that.
One day, it all changed. I don’t know what the catalyst was. She didn’t say. But, the doctor didn’t tell me to get in the box when I was escorted to the lab that day. Instead, she had me sit in the chair, and she snapped the tray into place. She set a version of the paper dog on the tray. “Go ahead and move that,” she said.
So, I did. Somehow—maybe because I was thankful to be outside the box, with a simple task, instead of a death-defying one—it came easily.
“Great. Now, move this.” She set a plastic cup on the tray.
Again, I easily moved it.
“Now, this.” She set a fist-sized rock on the tray.
I moved it.
“Uh-huh.” She looked me up and down.
I put a hand to my hair self-consciously; I wasn’t allowed baths or washing—other than my dunks into the box. I didn’t have a comb or a brush, and because I was so malnourished, my hair was falling out in clumps.
She went to Mrs. Darit in her corner, and they conferred quietly. I noticed a sandwich left unattended by a lab worker on a counter across the room. Could I get it without moving from my spot? I reached out to it in my head, and the sandwich quivered and flipped end over end off the plate and onto the countertop. Then, it shifted along the counter towards me. But, the lab worker noticed and stopped its progress. He picked it up and took a bite out of it, eyeballing me. Jerk.
Mrs. Darit materialized in my line of vision, causing me to flinch. “Ah, here we are,” she said. “You’re doing very well, Nimisila.”
“Good enough to be fed a real meal?” I asked.
As usual, she ignored my pleas for food. “We’re going to take a new step in your training today. It’s been a whole year of working in the box. Did you know that?”
I shrugged. What did it matter how long it had been?
“You’ve made some great strides. I didn’t want you to know, but in the beginning, we were manipulating the feather and the dog. You weren’t moving them at all.” She clasped her hands together and gave me a giant, fake smile. “You learned to do this, just because you believed you could. Isn’t that amazing?”
If I could have reached her and had the strength to do so, I would have punched her in the throat. I didn’t answer.
“Now, you’re able to move things with your mind, and we want to know just how accurate and strong your ability is. So, what we’re going to do today is a little bit of target practice.” She nodded to a worker, who wheeled out a giant bullseye.
The doctor produced a gun from her lab pocket. It was small and looked more like a toy than anything lethal. But, I didn’t doubt she’d kill me with it if she had the chance.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” the doctor said. “I’m going to shoot at that target, and you’re going to stop the bullet. Don’t just deflect it. We don’t want anybody to get hurt, now, do we?” She laughed, and the workers nearby stopped what they were doing and fake-laughed along with her. As soon as the laughter silenced, they began edging as far from the target as they could.
“You stop the bullet,” she continued, “and just let it drop harmlessly to the floor. That’s it. Easy, right?”
I looked back to the lab worker with the sandwich. He shoved the last bite into his mouth and licked his fingers.
“Right. Here we go.” The doctor pointed the gun at the target, shut one eye to aim, and squeezed the trigger. I’d never seen a gun up close, and I was unprepared for how loud it was going to be. It jerked her arm. The shot radiated out, making my chest rattle, like it had when I’d had pneumonia. Before I could even take any of it in, the bullet struck the target and embedded itself in the innermost ring of the bullseye.
The doctor looked to me and tsked. “You didn’t even try,” she said.
“I’ve never seen how a gun works before,” I said. “It’s faster than I thought it would be.”
“Mm-hmm. Yes, I see your point. How about this: I’ll back farther from the target and take a series of practice shots. You just study it. Figure out when and where to stop the bullet. We should be done with this test by lunch.”
“I get lunch today?” I asked.
She turned and marched to a new point, farther from the target. She repeated her actions from before, squinting one eye to get a good look at the target. I turned towards the target. I needed to know if I could trust the sound of the gun. If I heard it, was it already too late to stop it? Or could the sound be a signal to raise my invisible shield?
“Here I go,” she said. “Three . . . two . . . and . . .”
The shot rang out again. This time, the bullet pierced the center of the target before I heard the sound. So, I needed to watch her trigger finger. That was the only way I’d be able to stop it.
I moved closer to the target, then off to the side. It made me a little nervous to be openly available as a target, but really, my hold on the
will to live was tenuous at best. My starving body was in constant pain, always shivering with cold, and barely had the strength to keep me standing.
The doctor counted off another shot. This time, I was better prepared because I used the motion of her finger to decide when to try and block the bullet. But, it still sped by, unimpeded by my efforts. Half a dozen more shots rang out, each of them striking the target with a dull but rather satisfying whump.
The doctor stepped to a counter to reload the gun, and Mrs. Darit approached me. “You want to imagine the bullet being caught,” she said. “Like you’re just plucking it out of the air with your fingertips.”
I didn’t want her advice, but I did want the test to be over with, so I resigned myself to trying what she suggested.
It didn’t work.
A dozen reloads later, the bullets were still hitting the target.
The doctor came over to me, nudged the muzzle of the gun under my chin, lifted my eyes to hers, and stared me down. “I think you need some motivation,” she said. “You seem to learn new skills when there is an element of danger involved, no?” She nodded, satisfied with her idea. “Yes, you need some motivation. We’re going to break for lunch. You.” She pointed at a worker. “Take her to her room until the lunch break is over.”
“What about my lunch?” I asked.
The doctor sighed. “I am so tired of hearing you whine about your lack of food. Would someone give this girl something to eat already?”
The lab worker bristled. She’d escorted me before and knew I was always hungry, but she’d not believed they were intentionally withholding food from me. She seemed to think I’d made up stories of my treatment—even though she had been present at various times while they tortured me in the box.
She caught my arm in a death grip and pulled me from the lab, stalking the whole way to my room. When we arrived, she threw me in and shut the door behind me.
I smacked my open palm against the door. “She said to feed me!” I yelled. I pounded on the door several more times, before turning to the only other source of comfort I had: The dirty blanket and cot, which would provide me with minimal warmth until I had to return to the lab. I got under the blanket and pulled it over my head, needing to block out the outside world.
A short time later, I heard the door open. “It’s not time to go back,” I growled from under the blanket. But, someone stepped into the room and over to the table anyway.
I peeled back the covers.
It was Faith. I brought you lunch, she said.
I was so excited, I got tangled in my blanket when I tried to get up. I stumbled and fell against the table, sloshing precious soup onto the tray, which also contained a sandwich, a glass of milk, a cookie, and an orange. I didn’t bother with the spoon. I lifted the bowl of soup right to my mouth and drank it dry within a few gulps. I turned to the sandwich, and after sopping up the spilled soup with it, I started stuffing it in, chewing only as much as necessary, before chasing each swallow with a drink of milk.
Slow down, Faith said. You’ve got some time.
I’m glad to see you, Faith, I said. The last time I’d seen her was before they started putting me in the box. I thought she’d left for some other job.
She patted my arm. I’ve wanted to see you. They won’t let me. They think I’m too sympathetic to you.
You mean, you’re not a monster, I said, rolling my eyes. The last bit of sandwich disappeared, and I turned to the cookie.
She picked up the orange and began to peel it for me. She laughed. None of us are monsters, she said.
I eyeballed her. Not in the literal sense, I said.
In what sense, then?
Do you know what they’ve been doing to me? To Elton?
Sure. Telekinesis experiments.
‘Torture’ would be a better description. Did you know they’ve electrocuted me? Forced me into a box they filled with water, until I couldn’t breathe? I don’t even know what they’ve done to Elton. I only know they started hurting him before they started hurting me.
Her expression clouded. She finished peeling the orange and pushed the slices towards me.
“I can move things now,” I said out loud. I lifted a slice of orange to my mouth without touching it. It was unimaginably juicy. I closed my eyes to savor it.
Then, the experiments worked.
They worked, I said.
She appeared to be relieved, as if the ends justified the means. I didn’t comment further. I ate the orange slices in silence, while she piled the peels and dishes on the tray. Are you finished? They’re expecting you back in the lab.
I nodded. At one time, I’d thought Faith was an ally, someone I could trust. But, if she thought treating me this way to develop my abilities was just a means to an end . . .
I couldn’t finish the thought. I followed her back to the lab. We didn’t speak again.
“I hope you enjoyed your meal,” the doctor snapped as we entered. “Your high and mighty attitude is holding up the rest of the lab.”
Faith stopped short, and I ran into her back. She has the right to eat. She’s a human being with real needs. Her thoughts were broadcast to the room, and the silence hit me like a wall when everyone in the lab turned and stared.
The doctor looked at Faith, too, with an amused expression on her face. “A volunteer,” she said. She snapped her fingers, and a burly lab worker came over and put his hand on Faith’s upper arm. He jerked his head, indicating that she should follow him. They moved across the lab, and dread crept through me as he chauffeured her directly to the target. He strapped her to it; her arms and legs were spread like a giant, human-shaped star over the red circles.
My lunch launched out of my stomach with barely enough time for me to lean over a nearby trash can.
The doctor tsked. “See? Lunch. Wasted on the likes of you.” She produced the gun. “I think you can see where this is going.” She aimed the gun. “Get ready, Nimisila,” she said. Her voice was steely.
My knees felt like they couldn’t support a pillow, let alone my own weight. I staggered towards her. “No. Wait,” I said, holding out my hand. But, it was too late. She was already emptying the gun. I reached out with my mind to help Faith, but I couldn’t. I deflected two or three bullets, which ricocheted madly around the room. But, most of them hit home with strange thumps of contact.
Faith’s mouth made an “o” shape, and she struggled to hold herself up. There was blood, but I didn’t know where it was coming from.
Faith? I started to cry, and I staggered towards her.
But, Faith didn’t reply. Her body arched up once, and then sagged. She let out one long exhale, and then relaxed into stillness.
The doctor was reloading the gun. “I told you, you can’t just deflect it,” she said. “You nearly killed Ralph over there.” She gestured with the gun towards a lab worker, who was clutching a rapidly-spreading bloody spot on the upper arm of his scrubs. “That test wasn’t hard enough, I think. We need someone she really cares about, don’t we?” the doctor asked.
Nobody answered her, so I’m not sure who she was talking to. But, moments later, a worker escorted another person into the room. He had shaggy hair and was tall. He was wearing shackles around his wrists and ankles, and they were connected together in a four-point system that made it difficult for him to walk. He seemed familiar, but I couldn’t reconcile who it was.
“You remember Elton, right? Your little friend?” the doctor asked.
I snapped back to looking at him. He was looking everywhere but at me. But, she was right; it was Elton. He’d lost his chubbiness and gained a lean but muscled physique, and he was about a foot taller than the last time I’d seen him.
Apparently, they hadn’t been starving him.
Elton? I asked.
He flinched and turned his head slowly to look beyond me.
Elton. Please, just look at me. Are you all right? I asked.
Don’t let them manipulate you, he said. They want
to use me against you.
“Now, now. Enough with the secret chitchat,” the doctor said, then said to a worker, “Get him ready.”
I felt like a hand had closed around my throat. The worker was taking him towards the target, even as someone else loosened Faith’s body from it. He let Faith thump to the ground without any respect for her corpse. I choked back a sob. They were going to kill the only two people here that I even remotely cared about.
Be strong, Elton said to me.
Anger flared to life deep in the seat of my soul and burned through me, rampaging like rats fleeing from a fire. My focus sharpened; colors seemed brighter, and sounds seemed louder.
The doctor finished reloading and raised the gun at Elton. “Are you ready this time, Nimisila? You’d better get ready fast.” The movement of her finger against the trigger seemed infinitesimally small, and I was shocked to actually see the bullet as it propelled from the barrel towards Elton. I imagined having a bat or a paddle that I could use to hit the bullet, as if it were a baseball, away from Elton. I imagined being able to direct the bullet’s new trajectory.
It hit Mrs. Darit right between the eyes.
The doctor didn’t notice, though. She kept on shooting. I deflected bullet after bullet. The lab workers that were still standing began to run and scream. The gun was finally emptied of its ammunition, and everyone except for Elton, me, and the doctor were either dead or dying on the floor.
Elton let out a roar and flexed his arms. The leather straps around his wrists and ankles disintegrated into dust, and he tore away from the target. He bounded across the lab, straight at the doctor. Her eyes were wide, and she dropped the gun. She held up her hands and yelled for him to stop, but he kept coming. He pushed through the chairs, tables, and dead workers in his path, all the while, roaring like some wounded beast. He reached her and shoved her, and she fell onto her back and slid across the floor. Her head bounced in a series of muffled thuds.
He rushed forward, ready to set upon her again, but I stopped him. No. We’re going to end it like this, I said. I pointed to the box and threw back the lid. She’s going to find out what it’s like to be helpless inside a box while her air leaks away. She’s going to die slow.
