Ramble

by D. B. Goodin

  “You are correct about that,” Jones said as she pointed further down the hall.

  About ten feet from the cat, a woman with white hair was lying against a red wall.

  “Lindsey? Is that you?” Alice cried.

  The woman reached out. “Alice is that you?”

  Alice grabbed her hand; a white liquid ran down the red walls, and everything went black.

  Sometime later

  Alice’s cell door opened. She watched as her empty tray was removed. She felt drugged and drowsy.

  “How long have I been in here?” she said. “I want to see my attorney.”

  The door slammed with no answers. This had been the routine for a long time—days by now, she guessed. When her door opened for anything, she would try engaging in conversation. No one ever responded.

  Her head ached, and she couldn’t think.

  Alice closed her eyes.

  When she reopened them, she found herself in a white dress in a field surrounded by white carnations. A flapping sound surrounded her. She looked toward the sky, and a flock of white doves blanketed the sun until everything was black.

  More time passed. Food came and went. One day, the door opened. Once again, the tray moved—but Alice was prepared this time. She sprinted toward the door as fast as she could. She saw Jones picking up the tray. She kicked her in the face; Jones stumbled back and fell. Red blood spattered on the white walls. Alice heard Jones curse as she attempted to follow Alice into the hallway.

  Alice ran down the hall looking for an exit. The lights intensified and got brighter. She ran past several people dressed in white. None of them looked like police officers or prison guards; they resembled doctors or lab technicians. Many of them were young. No one stopped her.

  She opened the door to the stairwell.

  When we came in, we went downstairs, right? Into the basement? She searched her memories and found her answer. I must go up!

  She vaulted up the stairs, taking them two at a time; she got dizzy for a moment and grabbed the rail. She shook off the feeling, and then made her way up to the ground level. Everything everywhere was painted white! After what seemed like twenty flights of stairs, the stairwell ended. A single windowless door appeared before her. She expected it to be locked, but it opened easily, and it led to another hallway. She heard voices far down the hallway; she couldn’t tell where they were coming from, exactly, so she continued along the hall cautiously. She came to a junction; hallways were visible on either side.

  “She must not escape,” a man’s voice echoed.

  Alice hunched, trying to look around both corners at the same time. No one was in her immediate area. She took the hallway on the right.

  Alice noticed several doors on both sides of the hallway. She tried opening them as she maneuvered down the hall: all locked. The sounds of footsteps and angry voices were getting closer. The last door she tried opened into darkness.

  No bright white light, thank god! Alice thought.

  Alice bumped into something in the dark; it hurt so much that she had to put her hand over her mouth to avoid screaming. Moments later, as the pain subsided, the lights turned on. She was facing a man who looked oddly familiar. It wasn’t his scraggly jet-black hair, or his raccoon-looking eyes. Not even his black leather jacket, but rather a tattoo of a guitar with praying hands over it on his neck. He was sitting on a table against a wall.

  “Hello, Alice, remember me?”

  Alice had met this man before. She searched her memories in her foggy head, then found it: he had led a fake raid at her former employer’s club, Roxy’s! This man was a known associate of Elias, that insane priest she’d encountered in a field in New Jersey. It all came back in a rush.

  “Desmond?” Alice said.

  “It’s me, baby, and I’m at your service.”

  Alice tried to run back out of the room, but Desmond rushed forward and grabbed her arm. Although he was more than twenty years her senior, and even though she was scared and disoriented, she felt oddly attracted to Desmond in that moment. She was intoxicated by his presence. Staring at his sweaty chest, which was visible above the low collar of his shirt beneath his open leather jacket, awakened something in Alice that had lain dormant since Jamie. She imagined running her hands through the forest of chest hair; she wanted him close to her. The thought of sharing his breath was almost too much to bear. For the first time in a very long time, she wanted to give herself to another, and she didn’t know why.

  Then she snapped out of it.

  I must be delirious, she thought.

  “I’m not here to hurt you,” Desmond said. “I’m sorry about shoving you at the club, but it was just business. I’m on your side now.”

  Alice broke away from his grasp.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Alice said.

  “Would you believe me if I said ‘rescue’?”

  “Rescue me, from a police station?”

  “I thought you were smarter than that, Alice. I hope you’ve figured out that this is no police station.”

  “What the fuck is it then?”

  Desmond’s face lost all color for a moment.

  “It’s Brenton Morris’s reprogramming facility,” he replied.

  “His what?”

  “It’s where he sends influential people who he can’t kill to get their mind changed. I don’t have time to explain—we need to get you out of here first,” Desmond said as he cracked the door and peeked out.

  “Last I knew, I was at a police precinct in Central Park.”

  “There hasn’t been a police station in Central Park for years.”

  Desmond reached into his leather jacket, then produced a rubberized bracelet and handed it to Alice.

  “This is a tracker, just in case we get separated,” he said.

  Alice nodded as she slipped it over her wrist.

  “I have one too,” Desmond said as he rolled down his sleeve to show Alice. “Now, follow me and be quiet.”

  Alice followed Desmond’s lead as he crept down the hallway leading from his reconnaissance spot. He ducked behind a cart and motioned for Alice to do the same. A man dressed in a police uniform walked past. When the man’s back was exposed, Desmond struck like a viper. He sneaked behind the police officer, took a small handheld club from his own belt, and then hit the uniformed man on the back of the head; he went down. Blood pooled around the man’s head. The pair kept moving.

  Minutes later, after navigating several hallways that seemed to go on for miles, Alice followed Desmond until it ended. He opened a side door that lead out into the back of the facility. Industrial equipment surrounded them. They remained hidden for a long time before it satisfied Desmond that no guards were present. Alice recognized the familiar-looking courtyard. Night had fallen, and the light between the buildings wasn’t good, but she recognized the building where she’d had her robot encounter. In the distance, a man was smoking something near a gate. The smoking man’s back was toward them. Desmond produced a gun with a long barrel and shot the man dead. Desmond dashed over to the corpse and patted the man down, grabbed some keys, and then tried dragging him to a hiding spot.

  “This guy weighs a ton,” Desmond called. “Can you give me a hand?”

  Alice ran over and grabbed the dead man’s feet, and the two of them moved the body behind some wooden crates and scrap piled nearby.

  Desmond fumbled with the keys, but he was able to unlock the gate.

  They were free.

  But as soon as the gate opened, the sound of screeching metal echoed across the courtyard.

  “Behind you!” Alice cried.

  Desmond turned and saw a robot at least nine feet tall approaching him. Surprised, he stumbled back and shot the robot; the bullets ricocheted off the robot’s metal body. Several arms appeared from the robot’s back, making it look like a metal octopus. The robot opened its metal hands; blades resembling thin swords extended out of its palms. The arms flailed around, trying to stab Desmond.
Alice heard a humming noise overhead; it was a sphere—the same sphere from the darkened hallway!

  That fucking thing is real?

  The sphere squealed as it shone a light on Alice. She grabbed the closest thing she could get her hands on—which was a board she pried loose from a wooden pallet—and then swung it toward the annoying ball. The board struck, and the sphere crashed to the ground. A whining noise emitted from it. Alice was going to strike again when she saw something she didn’t believe. The sphere opened in several places, at least four legs extended out, and then it scurried away like a metal spider. It was fast; she tried whacking it again with the board, but all she saw was its tiny metal legs retreating into the darkness.

  Desmond screamed. Alice ran in his direction. Two of the robot arms were plunging sharp blades into Desmond’s chest while the other two pinned him to the ground. Alice heard the shouts of angry men behind her; she was caught between the robot massacre and the approaching men. She ran toward the robot, then crouched by Desmond’s side. The robot ejected one of its hand-blades and tried stabbing Alice with it; she dodged the blow. Grabbing Desmond’s arm, she tried to break him free from the robot’s grip, but every time she got close to freeing him, the robot’s free arm slashed at her.

  “Go!” Desmond said in a weakening voice.

  Alice hesitated; the robot plunged its freed blade into Desmond’s neck. He coughed up blood. Recoiling in horror, Alice knew he was done for.

  She ran into the darkness of Central Park. She heard voices and turned to see flashlights moving in every direction. She heard the howling sound of some animal; it didn’t sound like a dog. It reminded her of the videos of jackals she’d seen on nature channels. She kept running headlong into the darkness.

  Thirty minutes later

  Alice didn’t notice the droplets of rain until the ground had separated into rivulets of water. She didn’t know how far she had run, but it felt like miles. Despite her legs beginning to cramp and a stitch in her side, she kept moving; the sounds of the hunters, their mean animals, and the clanking of robots provided the motivation. The ground beneath the trees was dry. Alice made better progress as she got closer to the trees. The hunters continued their pursuit.

  Alice kept moving until she got to a softball field. She heard a vehicle nearby. She ran toward them, and then she saw it: the statue of Alexander Hamilton, a known landmark in Central Park, stood before her.

  She tried to move again, but she couldn’t move any further. Her strength had left her. She collapsed in front of the statue.

  Alice rolled on her back and looked up at the statue. Rain drizzled on her face. “Thanks for saving me, Alexander.” Alice wept.

  Moments later, a bright light enveloped her; a flying car was landing mere feet from her. All she could do was watch as she accepted her fate.

  Because of the bright lights emanating from the car, she couldn’t make out the figure before her.

  “There you are!” a man’s voice said.

  Brenton Morris?

  “No—get away from me!” Alice screamed.

  She attempted to crawl away from the approaching figure. She felt hands on her, but she didn’t have the energy to move.

  “Carry her into the car, Barry,” a woman’s voice said.

  Alice lifted her head to get a look at the newcomers. The piercing light from the vehicle still blinded her. Moments later, she surrendered to her exhaustion.

  Alice awoke in a strange room. She couldn’t tell where she was, but she was thankful that the walls were not white. She gazed around the room; it was large for a bedroom. She tried to sit up; the room spun. She steadied herself on a nearby table. The table rattled, and something crashed. Alice lay back down. She put her hands over her face.

  Alice awoke to several people she recognized staring down at her; Barry, Grace, and Lawrence were examining her as if she were on display at the zoo.

  “Where am I?” Alice asked weakly.

  “You’re safe at Queenie’s!” Grace said.

  Alice moaned as she rubbed her head. Her tongue was sticking to the roof of her mouth.

  “Water?” Alice said.

  Someone handed her a plastic cup. Alice gulped it down, then held it out for more. Someone filled it. She drank deeply.

  “How did I get here?” Alice said.

  “Lawrence has a sweet ride,” Barry said.

  “We were all worried about you, Alice. No one’s seen or heard of you since you checked yourself out of the hospital,” Lawrence said.

  “What?” Alice asked. “They arrested me. I didn’t check out!”

  Grace, Lawrence, and Nigel all shared a worried look.

  “Why don’t you catch us up, my dear,” Lawrence said.

  Alice recounted the entire story of her confinement at the police station—or rather, reprogramming facility—in Central Park. She paused when she mentioned the white room.

  “It was awful,” she said.

  She put her hands over her face, trying to hold back tears.

  Then Alice felt a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

  She heard muted whispers nearby. She removed her hands to see the small group of friends huddled nearby. Lawrence walked over and put a blanket over Alice’s shoulders. She wasn’t cold, but it felt good as she held it tight.

  “So, did you bust me out of jail or not? Did you send Desmond?” Alice said.

  “You were never in jail, Alice,” Lawrence replied.

  “Then where the hell was I?”

  “We believe you were being held captive. The only reason we could track you was because of the bracelet that Desmond gave you.”

  “You people need to catch me up on current events, because last I knew Desmond was a criminal, and then he busted me out of what I thought was jail. And now he’s dead because of it.”

  Alice tried to get up but fell onto the floor.

  “Whoa, you shouldn’t be getting up without help,” Lawrence said. “You experienced a lot in there, and your body is still in shock.”

  “Bullshit—I wasn’t in there long enough for that to happen.”

  This comment garnered more worried looks from around the room.

  “I think you should tell her,” Grace told Lawrence.

  “Tell me what?” Alice asked.

  Lawrence sighed. “You’ve been missing for two weeks.”

  “What? Are you shitting me?”

  “After your surgery, only family could visit you at the hospital. When we arrived, we were told that you had checked out against the doctor’s orders. We lost you until last night.”

  “How did Desmond find me?”

  “A few days after you disappeared, I reached out to Elias. He got in touch with Desmond, who is—was—an expert at finding people.”

  Alice sighed. “The cops—the fake cops, I mean—said that hundreds of people died after the E-Bomb explosion. Dozens of people threw disgusting items at me when I got dragged into that place. Did any of that happen?”

  “Scotty miscalculated the blast radius. It affected a wide area, but the loss of life was minimal,” Grace said.

  “What is your definition of ‘minimal?’ Any loss of life is too much!”

  “I confirmed a half dozen casualties,” Grace said. “Those people you identified as cops were actually actors. Someone went through a lot of trouble to try and make you think the worst.”

  “Yeah,” Alice replied, shaking her head. “The strangest part of the entire experience was the . . . white place. Everyone was dressed in white, and they served me white food. What the fuck was that about?”

  Lawrence paced about the room, then said, “It sounds like an attempt at sensory deprivation. It’s a strategy often used by the military on enemy combatants. Most don’t make it forty-eight hours, let alone two weeks.”

  “It felt like I was in there for a few days, tops.”

  “It’s a torture technique that makes the subject lose all track of time.”

  “Wait—my mother must be
worried sick. Give me a phone, quick—”

  Lawrence gave Alice a phone: an old-fashioned flip phone.

  “Let’s give Alice some privacy,” Lawrence said.

  Alice examined the phone. The device felt bulky and foreign.

  When was the last time I held one of these?

  Alice dialed her mother; she didn’t pick up. She tried yet again, but got the voicemail, so she left a message.

  “Mother, this is Alice, I’m okay. I’m calling from a phone number that you won’t recognize. I will wait a few minutes and try again.”

  Alice disconnected, then waited. She hugged herself and closed her eyes; she was tired, and it would be so easy to fall asleep. Flashes of red blood on white walls, and robots slicing open Desmond appeared in her mind’s eye. No matter how much she wanted these memories to go away, she could not make them go away. She covered her face and rubbed her eyes. The tears flowed.

  Moments later, she tried calling her mother again. She picked up on the second ring.

  “Alice? Is that you?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  She could hear her mother weeping.

  “Hey, don’t be upset. I’m back,” Alice said in the most reassuring tone she could muster.

  The problem was, she didn’t trust herself not to burst into tears.

  “Where have you been?” her mother said.

  “Central park . . . at a police station—I don’t know.”

  “Where are you right now?”

  “I’m with . . . friends. I’m safe. I’m coming home, but I need to find some answers first.”

  “Have you talked with Lindsey? She’s been worried about you too, call her.”

  I need to find out what happened to me, Alice thought. How did Brenton Morris kidnap me—if it was him at all? Then a realization hit her. Alfred! I hope Lindsey still has him.

  “I’ll try and get in touch with Lindsey. I will call you later, Mother,” Alice said as she disconnected.

  Then she called Lindsey. The call didn’t go through. She heard a series of fast, long tones.

  Her line must be busy, or it’s EMP glitch.