For Blood & Glory

by Cassandra Hendricks

  “What do you need, sir?” asked Blythe.

  “I need you to head over to the foyer. Someone spilled coffee all over the floor.”

  The elevator dinged and as it emptied Sefira tried her best not to make eye contact with anyone. After entering she turned and faced the lobby as others boarded behind her.

  The suited man’s back was to her, but Blythe’s forced smile was plain to see. Clearly, she was doing her best to conceal her irritation.

  “Um, sure. Where is it?”

  “I just said the foyer,” the man repeated, annoyed.

  “I’m sorry, I’m new. Let me grab a few supplies.”

  “Well, the supply room is that way.” He pointed in an easterly direction. “In case you forgot.”

  “Be there in a second, sir.” She walked off in the direction he pointed, while mouthing “Go.”

  “Could you press two for me?” a silver-haired lady asked.

  “Sure,” Sefira obliged.

  Oddly, there were only three floors to choose from and Sefira had counted at least seven levels. There must be more elevators. She pushed button number three as well.

  After the elevator emptied she got off. The third floor was a lot like the first. It was a reception area that was warm and inviting only not nearly as expansive. The room was shaped in sort of an “H” formation with two halls on each side of the main room branching off in opposite directions. The walls were painted a pale blue and decorated with pictures of intact families holding hands, fishing and walking through meadows. According to the signs, there were reception rooms and family waiting areas in each direction. A woman stood behind a long, white marble counter and South of her Sefira spied what looked like the frame of another elevator. Jackpot. Now I need to just walk in here like I own the place. The woman behind the desk smiled and nodded. Sefira nodded back. She was so focused on getting to that elevator that she didn’t notice the man in the blue lab coat until it was too late. Their shoulders collided, resulting in a clipboard and papers scattered over the polished floor.

  “I’m so sorry,” Sefira muttered as she reached down to help him gather his papers.

  “Not a problem. You must be part of the new resident team?” he asked, as he stacked the last of his papers together and fastened them to the clipboard.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “What’s your name? Your hair is covering your badge.”

  “Oh,” Sefira tucked her loose braids back in her bun. “Julie. And yours?”

  “Ken.” He stood looking at her, extending his hand. Sefira shook it. “Oh, you’ve got a purple badge—the elite team. My, my. The residents are getting younger and younger these days.”

  Sefira chuckled, trying to appear unfazed. “I’m not as young as I look. Oh, you forgot one.” Upon reaching down to pick up one more paper, she noticed its heading read “Med rounds.” It contained a checklist, one that included level C.

  “Where’s the rest of your group?” the man asked, tucking his clipboard securely under his arm.

  “My group? We’re on break right now, and I thought I’d give myself a little tour.” Sefira’s clever responses surprised herself.

  “They initially asked me to guide the tour. I’ve been with the department for over twenty-five years. I’m as seasoned as they get. Unfortunately, I had to decline the invitation. A few things came up and I knew I wouldn’t have the time. I’m making a few rounds right now; you can tag along with me if you’d like.” He pushed his glasses back on his long, broad nose, smiling.

  “Sure, I’d love to.” They headed past the elevator Sefira was initially headed to. It turned out to be a service elevator. Instead, they turned down a few corridors, arriving at a staff elevator. He used his badge to open it.

  “After you.” He held the silver door open for her as she entered; he followed. “What school did you go to?”

  Sefira blurted out the first school she could think of. “Georgia Tech.” She smiled, glancing at the buttons on the elevator panel. Just as she thought, floors 4 through 7 were available.

  “Ah, a Yellow Jacket. Isn’t that a coincidence?” Sefira tried not to sweat. “I went to Auburn, so I guess that makes us frenemies.” He laughed a little too heartily and pressed button number five.

  “Guess so.” She cut him off before he could ask any follow-up questions. “I don’t have much time. Do you think we could go by Level C?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Level C.” He chuckled. “I bet you can’t wait to get up there. You know, you guys are lucky bastards—excuse my language. You’re the first group ever entrusted with the honor. Your credentials must be impressive.”

  “Well, at least good enough to make the team.”

  “So how much have they told you about that level?”

  Sefira cleared her throat. “Not much as of yet.”

  “Level C is the finale. The things I’ve seen would blow your mind.”

  “Really?” Sefira’s heart began to flutter.

  “Of course. You’re dealing with real psychopaths there. You won’t find that stuff in textbooks. Aren’t you guys going up there today?”

  “Yes, but I was hoping you’d give me a little preview.” Sefira flashed her best smile.

  The elevator stopped on the fifth floor, and the doors opened. Ken didn’t move. He pursed his lips and pushed button seven. “I don’t suppose it would hurt. You’re already cleared. I’ll take you as long as you follow the safety protocol. These ‘people,’ for lack of a better word, are dangerous.”

  “So, I’ve heard. You won’t have to worry about me. You’re in charge, I’ll follow your lead.”

  He nodded.

  She decided to dig a little further. “Back to what you were saying about being dangerous. How bad are we talking?”

  “They’re so bad that they inspire full-on research. There’s a guy in there that used to be a successful dentist until he made himself a necklace out of his client’s teeth.

  There’s one in there that they call “Bob the Impaler”—you don’t want to know why. And there’s another one that claims to have regular conversations with God.”

  “That’s not that bad.”

  “Her god turned out to be a machete, and she introduced him to her children, her parents and her pastor. Keep in mind, I’m giving you the PG version of all of this.”

  “I see.” The elevator doors opened.

  “Welcome to C Wing.” Upon exiting the elevator they walked through a short corridor and happened upon a heavy metal door. Ken scanned his badge and entered a code into the panel mounted on the side of the door. “You have to scan your badge as well.”

  “Will it work for this floor?”

  “With my code, yes, it should work—as long as you have the proper clearance.”

  Sweat formed on the back of her neck as Sefira took the badge off of her coat and slid it through the panel, fully expecting lights to go off and an alarm to sound. She was relieved when a simple beep prompted Ken to enter his password again and the door slid open.

  Sefira was struck by the stark difference between this floor and all of the others she’d seen. It closely reflected what she had initially expected upon entering the building.

  Rough-hewn, slate-grey walls replaced the cheerful blue ones on the lower levels. The sharp sound of her shoes against the floor indicated the floors were different too. They were concrete now and without embellishment. A marked iciness imbued the air.

  Ken led her through a sterile corridor ending at a checkpoint. Immediately, a knot formed in her stomach and the hairs on her body stood on end.

  A conveyor belt and a plastic bucket were to their right. The doctor placed his things in the bucket and as it wobbled down the belt into an x-ray machine, armed personnel patted them down, then ushered them through a metal detector shaped like a door. Sefira tried to conceal the breath she’d been holding. Once cleared, they approached a counter.

  Ken leaned on it like a regular at a bar. “Where’s Lynn?”

&n
bsp; A tall woman with a short torso and long legs turned around, stacking papers on a long green countertop. “The new blond with the hour-glass figure? On lunch, so I guess you’re stuck with me?” She stopped stacking long enough to look at him with an arched eyebrow.

  Ken looked slightly uncomfortable, scratching his temple. “I need the meds for the following rooms…” He glanced at his clipboard, “1, 2, 7, 10 and 12.”

  “Sure.” Behind her was a wall full of numbered cubbies. She grabbed the contents of each cubby and placed them on the counter along with a sheet of paper. They looked like clear, ziplock bags with stickers on the front and all of the contents were different. Some had syringes, others pills, while others had a combination of the two. One-by-one, she picked up each bag of meds and called out a series of numbers while Ken consulted his checklist. After Ken confirmed the same numbers aloud she marked off her sheet of paper. When they were done she continued to scribble as she chatted with Ken. How’s it going today?” She asked in a most routine way.

  “Going okay. As you can see I have a Resident with me.”

  “I see.” She finished up, eyeing Sefira from the space above her glasses. “What’s her name?” She asked as if Sefira wasn’t standing there.

  “This is Julie—I didn’t catch your last name.”

  “Julie Barnes.” Sefira smiled.

  The woman didn’t say anything. She simply smiled and handed Ken a small tub filled with all the medication. “Enjoy.”

  Sefira started to follow Ken, when the woman stopped her. “Barnes.”

  Sefira turned, swallowing. “Yes?”

  “Sign in,” she said, tapping a paper on the counter.

  Only then did Sefira notice the clipboard for visitors. Ken waited for her and then they were off.

  “We’re going to visit a few rooms. I’ll go in, but I need you to remain outside. You can observe from the glass window.” He gestured toward a window within one of the doors. We’re going to Room 1 first.”

  “Who is it?”

  “His name is David Henry. Fifty-two-year-old male from the Bronx, New York. He’s a sociopath among other things—extremely intelligent man. He’d almost make you think he doesn’t belong here if you hadn’t read his file. I’ve made a little headway with him though.”

  “I assume his file is quite extensive.”

  “Horrific is more like it. Not to say that all sociopaths are horrific—that’s far from the truth, but you know that already.”

  “So,” she shifted her weight, “everyone in here has destructive tendencies, I gather.”

  “Of course. I thought you knew that this is a maximum security wing.”

  “Um, yeah,” she shifted, giving her best “I know” look. “I just didn’t completely realize how bad it was.”

  “Yep, if it weren’t for me, trust me, you wouldn’t be in here. These are the big guns. You can read about this stuff in school, but none of the bookwork does this justice.” He summoned a guard. “Can I get you to unlock this room for me?” he asked, barking orders. As the guard unlocked the room, Ken admonished her again. “Remember, stay a safe distance away from the glass.”

  Sefira nodded.

  The door opened and Sefira craned her neck to see Ken walk into a small prison cell. All of the walls were brown and bare with the exception of what looked like a torn page from a magazine taped to the northernmost wall. After the door shut, Sefira advanced to the window. A twin-sized bed aligned the west side of the room. Its sheets were tucked neatly into the mattress, and a lone pillow sat on top that looked like it had been fluffed to death. A small wooden chair was planted on the other side of the room. It looked out of place given how orderly everything else looked. There were what looked like metal hooks on the floor and the bed. Ken and the guard approached a man standing against the easternmost wall next to what appeared to be a shatter-proof mirror, a sink and toilet. He was wearing strange head-gear—a helmet with long screws protruding out of it. The man glanced at his bare wrist as if to check his watch.

  Ken retrieved a bag of meds from his tub as he spoke. “How’s it going today, David?”

  “The weather’s beautiful. I can’t complain. You here to give me my daily dose, Doctor?”

  “Yes.” Ken prepared the injection site and then the needle.

  “Good. You’re a little late, but I guess you made it nonetheless.” David let out a sigh of relief as he was injected. “Thanks, Doc. Hey, when you finish your rounds, come back. We can talk about Ms. Anderson over there. I have some ideas I wanted to bounce off of you as to why she’s not talking.”

  “Okay, sounds like a plan. See you later, David.”

  “Probably not.”

  “See,” the doctor explained to Sefira as the door clinked shut and the guard locked it, “that’s how it’s supposed to be. Nice, quick, painless. Stick with me and you’ll learn a thing or two.”

  “What was that thing on his head?”

  “Oh that? It’s a stimulator. It’s used to stimulate his brain. He’s part of a study, you see. All of these people are. I can’t go into details, but let’s just say we learn a great deal more using live subjects as opposed to lab rats.”

  Sefira was stunned. “I’m sure.” She swallowed. “Who is Ms. Anderson?”

  Ken gave her a funny look.

  “I heard the um—man mention her.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s right. She’s one of the few women in here. A special case, a little different from the rest. She killed a man. Claimed he was some type of alien or something. When I say killed him, I mean he was mutilated. Dental records didn’t even work.” He lowered his voice. “There used to be a doctor here by the name of Dr. Hedgewick, and he swore that she had some type of mind-bending capabilities. He was one of those, you know, paranormal nuts—always searching, never finding. So this guy, he secures government funding to conduct some research on her. I’m talking hundreds of thousands of dollars to prove that she is other-worldly or some such nonsense. Of course, all of that went to the toilet. The government finally wised up and he got the boot. Now, he’s gone and she’s still here, crazy as ever.”

  Sefira swallowed hard, trying desperately to alleviate the lump in her throat. “What’s her diagnosis?”

  “Originally she was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia along with borderline personality disorder. However, she’s become catatonic within recent years, so it has been changed to disorganized-type schizophrenia. We’re talking extremes of course, not your typical stuff. Honestly, it’s hard to get a handle on her. Some people don’t fit too well in your standard box and she’s one of them. Personally, I just think she isn’t talking out of spite. In any case she’s a nut job just like the rest. When we aren’t experimenting on her, she usually sits in a chair all day facing a bare wall. We thought she was completely out of it until the other day. She got huffy with her doctor. Broke his leg and an arm—poor devil, and he’s a big guy too. I think he may have had a little ‘thing’ for her. We had to put her in restraints. I just give her the meds and go. We’ll stop by if you want to take a look.”

  “Sure.” Sefira tried to appear upbeat despite dying inside. “Is that what those metal loops are for? The restraints?”

  “That’s exactly what they’re for. If they misbehave, we just slip the chain in and lock it. That way they never have to go anywhere. Saves us time and money.”

  “And the experiments you mentioned. What kind have you done on her?”

  “Like I said, when Hedgewick was here, he did all sorts of things, the crazy bastard. Got to give it to him—he was determined. Now we just have her participate in more of the benign stuff. Somebody’s got to try these drugs before they get FDA clearance, right?”

  Sefira smiled. “Do they get to leave their cell, you know, for exercise?”

  “No. I mean they get bathroom breaks, there’s a cafeteria, and there’s two hours worth of Rec time. Other than that, we keep them in-house.”

  “Really?” She folded her arms trying
to mask her anger. “None of this seems a bit inhumane to you?”

  Ken looked surprised. “‘A bit inhumane’? Is that what they’re teaching you in school these days? That statement speaks to your lack of experience.” They stopped their walking tour. “These people are animals. Broken, delusional misfits that have no place in society—there’s no cure for them. If it weren’t for their psychosis, they would’ve done serious time for their crimes. Here, we conduct a little research and in return, they get a private cell with plenty of food to eat, books and radios upon request. They don’t have to worry about getting shanked or bullied. Hell, if it were up to me, I’d send them all to the chair.” He pondered the thought. “Well, then again, I wouldn’t do that. This job comes with excellent health benefits and a great pension.” He laughed, nudging her with his elbow.

  “Yeah,” Sefira feigned a laugh.

  “C’mon, now. I’m getting a little behind.” They continued their tour. “I need to get into room seven. Guard.” Sefira paid close attention to the numbered keys the guard used. The same procedure was repeated. The doctor strolled into the room accompanied by a guard, he administered the meds, and they promptly left. The guard locked the door immediately afterward.

  “You sure you want to keep going? This may be a little too—harsh for you.”

  “No, I’m good. I’m just—taking advantage of the fact that I’m able to ask questions from an expert in the field. Please, let’s continue.”

  Ken looked pleased. “Okay, let's take a look at Ms. Anderson.”

  They passed another doctor with a bucket in hand, flanked by guards and what looked like a couple of assistants. She smiled and said hello and Ken did the same.

  Sefira bit her lip and her hands began to shake so much she clasped them behind her. How could this have happened to my mother? It was never supposed to be like this. Anger and apprehension swelled with each step taken towards her mother’s cell. Finally, they arrived.

  “You know, it’s a shame she’s so screwy. She’s kind of cute. Hold on—” he rummaged through the meds. “I’ve got a special cocktail made just for her. Got to keep this one docile. Guard.”