Laurence looked towards the window, the walls now bathed in the soft red glow of dusk.
“It’s getting late,” he said. “You better get back to your room before the keepers catch you out here. You won’t be any use to me locked up in solitary.” And with that, Laurence disappeared down the hall.
Laurence held true to his promise the next morning when he sent one of his goons to retrieve John’s breakfast, which John wordlessly surrendered. Buck, who was sitting next to John during the exchange, gave him a puzzled look as Laurence’s lackey walked away, but John didn’t acknowledge anything was out of the ordinary. He simply turned his eyes to his empty food tray, his stomach whining loudly. If missing a couple of meals here and there was all it took to keep Laurence’s mouth shut, then John accepted the price happily. Compared to what John had imagined, he was getting off easy.
How long could it be before Laurence got bored and forgot all about John anyway? There was no way this would last. Head down, eyes down, don’t make a scene, John reminded himself.
“What was that?” Buck asked, his eyes still on the man who had just left with John’s meal.
“Nothing. It’s fine,” John replied shortly. “Don’t worry about it.”
But Buck wasn’t convinced. “What happened?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said John.
“Don’t play dumb with me. Laurence has set his sights on you. Why?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Did you tell Skinner what we discussed the other day? Is that why Laurence is doing this to you?”
“No, of course not. If I had, I think Laurence would be doing more than taking my breakfast.”
“Yes, but if Skinner found out that his brother was stepping out of line again, perhaps he would intervene on your behalf.”
“I’m sure Laurence will forget about me soon enough,” John said. “You said it yourself, he has a short attention span. I just need to do a better job of keeping my head down, that’s all.”
Buck’s eyes narrowed. “I have a feeling keeping your head down is just going to make it worse. Laurence loves to get a rise out of people. That’s probably the whole reason he’s doing this in the first place.”
“Then what would you have me do, Buck?” John asked sharply. “Because if you have any ideas on how to deal with this that don’t end with me in a body bag, please let me know. Until then, if letting Laurence take my breakfast now and again is the cost of keeping the peace, then so be it.”
Tim’s bottom lip began to tremble, his head darting from Buck to John. Buck placed one hand on Tim’s shoulder and held the other up to call for a cease-fire.
John returned to his empty plate.
Breaking his slice of bread in two, Buck threw half onto John’s tray.
“I can’t take this,” John replied, handing the bread back, but Buck shook his head.
“If you’ve managed to get on Laurence’s bad side, then, believe me, you need it more than I do.”
Tim also tore a large piece out of his bread and handed it to John. When John shook his head and insisted that Tim keep it, he simply dropped it on John’s tray beside the piece Buck had given him.
“Now you say, ‘thank you,’” Tim reminded him, evoking a laugh from both Buck and John.
“Look, John, you don’t have to tell me what’s going on between you and Laurence if you don’t want to,” Buck said, “but you either eat that bread or it goes in the garbage. Your choice.”
John picked up one of the pieces and took a bite.
“Now say ‘thank you,’” repeated Tim.
John smiled. “Thank you.”
Tim beamed. “You’re w-welcome.”
Buck leaned across the table to John, lowering his voice to keep Tim from hearing. “But, as I said before, Skinner won’t tolerate his men stepping out of line, not even his brother. And he seems to have taken a liking to you. I bet he would tell Laurence to back off if you asked.”
“That’s not necessary. I can handle this on my own.” John replied. He didn’t much like the idea of someone like Skinner ‘taking a liking’ to him, and he especially didn’t like the idea of bringing the situation to Skinner’s attention. Between the two of them, John would much rather owe Laurence than Skinner.
Unfits aren’t the only ones sent to the asylum anymore. Now it’s anyone they want to discredit and forget. For a long time, I had this sinking feeling the day would come when the Council would want to forget about me too. One by one, the Council, my coworkers, even my friends, all turned their backs on me. Self-serving bastards, the lot of them. Arthur was perhaps the worst of the bunch. He was there the day I was arrested, and you know what he said to me?
“You brought this on yourself.”
He knew the same inevitable truth I did but was too caught up in his own prestige and pride to do anything about it. He would rather spout lies and watch his friend and partner be carried away like some animal than give up any of his newfound power—too comfortable in his new life to risk any of it with something as trivial as the truth.
-Excerpt from Theodore’s journal
John sat alone in the courtyard, taking in as much sunshine and fresh air as he possibly could before the keepers made everyone go back inside the asylum. Winter was approaching, and the days grew colder, but John didn’t care. He welcomed the sharpness of the cold air that seemed to stab his lungs with each breath.
Buck and Tim had already returned to their room. Laurence seemed to have dropped his vendetta against Tim for now, and Buck was starting to feel safe enough to venture further and further from the safety of their chamber, but only for short spurts here and there.
Skinner and Laurence sat at their usual spot, and John could feel Laurence’s uncomfortable gaze on him. It had been nearly a week since he had discovered John’s secret, and the price for his silence was some unknown favor to be cashed in at a later date. John shuddered to think of what kind of favor someone like Laurence could want.
Not even two weeks through his nine-month sentence, John felt as though he had been trapped in the asylum for years. Life here had certainly taken its toll him. He felt older now than he had before his arrest. More tired and decrepit than any nineteen-year-old should ever feel. His body ached, protesting against every movement—rendered prematurely old from the weeks of hunger and sleep deprivation.
Laurence’s sick practice of taking John’s food had turned into a regular event at every meal, and although Buck and Tim had done their best to help John as long as they could, food at the asylum was scarce enough without having to share it. They still gave him portions here and there, but starting to feel the effects of starvation themselves, had stopped protesting when John refused to take what little they had.
John spent his days sitting in the courtyard whenever he could, saving his energy and forgetting what it felt like to not be hungry.
Two keepers entered from across the courtyard, passing by the crowd of inmates and making their way towards John. He eyed them suspiciously.
“John Hunter,” the keeper said, “you need to come with us.”
John laughed bitterly to himself. First Laurence and now this? Trouble seemed to follow him everywhere he went, regardless of how small he tried to make himself.
“Why?”
“On your feet. Now,” the keeper demanded, ignoring John’s question completely.
John hesitated, unsure what to do, wondering if he was in some sort of trouble. Before he could make up his mind as to how to respond, the keepers grabbed John on either side and lifted him to his feet, half escorting, half dragging him from the yard. John demanded some sort of explanation, but they never answered as they carried him down the hall and into a private visitor’s room.
The room was sparsely furnished, save for a table positioned in the center with two chairs on either side. A man with a top hat and a cane stood in the corner, his back to John.
The keepers pushed John into the room and roughly forced
him into one of the chairs, handcuffing him to the table before stepping away and taking their positions on either side of the door. Once John was secured and the door to the room was closed, the mysterious man in the corner turned around.
“Hello, John.” Arthur Loughlin took the empty seat. He scanned John head to toe. “You look terrible.”
“This place can have that effect.” John was completely confused by Loughlin’s presence. How had he possibly arranged a private visit? Let alone with a terminal inmate? Apparently, John had underestimated the extent of Loughlin’s influence. Did he dare to hope, or rather dread, Loughlin was here to use that influence on John’s behalf?
“Are they treating you well?”
“Well enough, I suppose,” John said, wondering if Loughlin actually cared.
There was something off about Loughlin, something ineffable. He was no longer the confident, strong, compassionate patriarch John was so used to seeing seated at the head of the dinner table. There was no sympathy in Loughlin’s eyes, no look of mutual understanding and respect. This man looked at John as though he was cornering his prey.
“John, you’re an intelligent man, so I’m not going to waste either of our time with forced formalities.” Loughlin leaned back in his chair, his eyes concealed by the harsh shadows of his hat’s brim. “Why are you here?”
“You know just as well as anyone. You watched while I was arrested.”
“Don’t be smart with me. You are up to something, and I want to know what it is. What are you doing in the terminal ward?”
John wondered what he was supposed to say. The truth wasn’t something John trusted Loughlin with, but he had no other explanation, so he gave none.
“I see,” Loughlin said. “It must be hard to carry on a conversation when Morgan’s not here to talk for you.”
“I can speak for myself just fine.”
“I suppose I should congratulate you, but that doesn’t seem appropriate considering the setting. Besides, I wasn’t even invited to the wedding.”
John’s eyes grew wide. “How did you find out?”
“From Morgan. She’s determined to stick with this sham marriage for some foolish reason. You’re going to tell me why.”
“Why what?”
Loughlin leaned forward, his eyes leaping from the shadows, fixed in a predatory glower. “Why Morgan is so determined to stay with a man who’s going to spend the rest of his life in the terminal ward? A man she will never see again? Morgan may be an impulsive, hopeless romantic, but she’s not stupid. She’s cunning. So I’m going to ask one more time, John, what are you two planning?”
John remained silent, his sights fixed on the harsh glare reflecting off the metal surface of his handcuffs.
“I looked at your file here at the asylum,” Loughlin said, “and do you know what I found? Nothing. Literally. Your file is completely blank. Not so much as a sterilization date. It seems odd, doesn’t it?”
Loughlin paused again, but John still refused to answer.
“I bet you think you’re pretty smart,” Loughlin said, content to continue carrying out a conversation with himself. “That you’re going to somehow outwit the system. But you forget, I’m the one who designed the system in the first place. And there is no outsmarting it. Or me.”
“From where I’m sitting, it seems like I’m doing just fine,” John said, his eyes still down at his handcuffs.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Loughlin asked. He was on his feet now, walking around the table until he stood right beside John’s chair. His breathing had quickened, and his nostrils flared as his anger mounted. John briefly met his gaze but immediately looked back down at his hands, falling silent again.
But Loughlin would not have it. Grabbing John by the jaw, he pulled his face up, forcing John to look at him. His face inches from John’s, he said, “When a superior asks you a question, you respond, boy.”
John yanked his face from Loughlin’s grip. “My apologies. I thought I was addressing my father-in-law. I didn’t realize I was addressing my superior.”
“Who the hell do you think you are, John? Because from where I’m standing, you look like just another poor, orphan boy with no pedigree, and no connections to speak of. A boy whose own stupidity landed him here in the first place. I used to think it was a testament to your fortitude you survived on your own this long, some sort of sign you were special. But now I’m starting to think it was just dumb luck. Your parents were uneducated peasants from the day they were born until the day they died. Nothing you do will change the fact that you were born to live the same, miserable life. Your arrest was the best thing that could have happened to Morgan.”
John glared at Loughlin. “What kind of father would wish that kind of heartbreak on his daughter?”
“And what does a boy like you know about being a good father? Your own father couldn’t even be bothered to stick around after your mother died. That is the stock you come from, John. The blood in your veins is that of a failure and a coward and you would have been no different. You’re just a disappointment waiting to happen.”
John’s blood boiled, partially because of what Loughlin had said, but also because he was right. John knew he should stand up and defend his father’s memory, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. John tried to shake Loughlin’s words out of his mind, repeat the words that had become his mantra. Head down, eyes down. But the anger inside of him continued to swell. He knew he should just bite his tongue, let Loughlin finish his verbal lashing, but he simply couldn’t. Not this time.
John smiled. “It must eat you up inside that she picked me anyway.”
Loughlin straightened. “Yes, she did pick you, Jonathan Hunter. But you can’t change what’s in your blood. You are who you are, and what you are is a little Southend underdog. Morgan always did like her charity cases, and you,” he laughed, “you are the biggest charity case of them all. I can’t help but wonder how long it will take before she finally gets bored with you? She’s probably already tried to change you, right? Make you into something more? Pushed you to dream bigger, work harder, reach for the unattainable? She did everything she could to mold you into a better man because that’s what she wants. A man. Someone who can amount to something. And that, John, will never be you. Let her go. Be the man she believed you could one day be and let her go.”
John’s heart raced as he seethed through clenched teeth. There were a million words he wanted to spit at Loughlin but couldn’t summon any of them. All he could manage was to shake his head, never breaking eye contact.
“Then you belong here even more than I realized. Enjoy rotting away in hell.” Loughlin turned to leave.
“My time here has actually been very educational, Dr. Loughlin,” John said, finally finding his voice. He glared up at Loughlin. “There’s not much to do besides read, so I’ve spent my time brushing up on Haven history. I’ve already learned a lot about the plague and the establishment of Haven. I’ve even learned a few things about the four members of the Original Team.”
Loughlin stopped short of the door. “What did you say?” he asked, his back still to John.
But John remained silent, positive Loughlin had heard him the first time.
Loughlin let out a cold laugh. “This asylum is already decaying your mind, boy,” he said. “Everyone knows there were only three of us.”
“No, Dr. Loughlin, there were four men appointed to the team. You, Emerson, Francis, and Theodore.” Loughlin tensed up at the mention of Theodore’s name. “I might just be a simple Southend orphan, but I do know how to count. What I don’t know is why anyone would lie about something like that? What could you or the Council possibly have to gain by rewriting history?”
“You should listen to yourself,” Loughlin said, forcing a casual smile. “You sound like one of those paranoid, deranged—”
“Which then makes me wonder,” John interrupted, “what else are you lying about? Who are you really here to protect? Morgan or
yourself?”
Loughlin moved faster than John expected from a man his age. He grabbed John by the throat and pushed him back in his chair, John’s wrists wrenching painfully against the handcuffs. John’s vision fogged and his eyes felt as though they were about to bulge from his head. He tried to use his arms to pull himself back towards the table, but Loughlin held him firm.
“You listen to me, you piece of human trash,” Loughlin hissed in John’s ear, “I will not sit here and listen to some uneducated little boy throw veiled threats at me. You might think you can play with the adults now because you stumbled on some seemingly important, but ultimately useless, information, but you have no idea what or who you are dealing with. I am not someone you want as an enemy, John. You will shut your mouth and leave my daughter alone because I promise you, if you do nothing less than roll over and play dead from here on out, I will destroy you. I don’t care what it takes, if I have to deliver the plague to your front doorstep myself, I will end you. And then I will erase you. If you know half of what you claim, then you already know that, unlike yours, my threats are not empty.”
With that, Loughlin released his grip on John. John fell forward onto the table and coughed in fitful bursts, wheezing for air in between each cough as he rubbed his throbbing neck.
Loughlin had turned back towards the door. As the keeper unlocked it and held the door open for him, Loughlin looked over his shoulder one last time. “I couldn’t help but notice I’m the only person who’s visited you since you were transferred.”
“Terminal patients aren’t allowed visitors, sir,” John rasped.
“And yet here I am. And the sad thing is, I didn’t even have to pull that many strings to get here. Maybe this conversation wasn’t necessary after all.” Loughlin smirked, but as he stepped outside the door, he stopped. “I’m going to ask you one last time, John. Are you going to leave my daughter alone?”
John pulled himself up as straight as he could, his chin lifted defiantly. “I would sooner die.”
“I may just hold you to that promise. Goodbye, John.”
Unfit Page 24
