Twisting Minds

by Tessonja Odette

  AS THE TRUCK COMES to a stop, my breaths become shallow. The back door opens, and a swarm of sound and movement attacks my senses. Reporters are shouting my name, and I see flashes of movement belonging to cameras that rove around my head, their familiar whir and buzz making my stomach clench. I have to remind myself these aren’t the same cameras that used to hound my every move. Those ones are gone. Gone.

  “Get back,” the peacekeepers demand. There are six in total who were in the truck with me, and there are six more marching toward us. Together they make a sort of moving tunnel for me to duck through as we make our way into the building. Once the doors close behind us, the cacophony cuts off and is replaced with soft instrumental music. We’re in a bright, white hall, unornamented aside from the occasional cutout in the wall where a small green plant sits. The peacekeepers continue to flank me, but they spread out as we make our way to the front desk at the far end of the corridor.

  “Claire Harper,” a female voice says at my side. I jump, locking eyes with the woman from the news program. “I’m Mara Laine. I appreciate you giving us this exclusive into your reunion with Darren. How do you feel?”

  I open my mouth, but I’m too overwhelmed to talk. Instead, I train my eyes on the desk ahead, where a small retinue awaits. Several men and women in white uniforms—nurses, I guess—stand before the desk with gentle smiles. Sticking out like a sore thumb is my agent, Kori Wan, in a neon green jumpsuit to match the green streak in her black hair. She squeals as I approach, tapping her black spiked heels with excitement.

  “Claire! I’m so happy to see you! You look much better than last time.”

  Last time. She must mean when she came to remove my tracker and cameras. This makes me grin, remembering the look of nausea on her face from having to meet me in a Public jail cell. I’m sure, in retrospect, she wishes she’d waited a week to remove the tracker. That’s all the time it took for my lifestream earnings to shoot me directly from Public to Elite citizenship and provide me with a private room at the Elite prison. Now those earnings can get me a new agent, instead of the one who sold me to Dr. Shelia. I force myself not to bare my teeth at her, and instead I make a mental note to fire her soon.

  The peacekeeper beside me steps forward and presses the sensor on the cuff at my wrists until it beeps and falls away.

  “Come,” Kori says. “Let’s get you all checked in. You’re going to love it here. Ugh, I’m so jealous.”

  It’s a strange thing to say about a sanatorium, so I raise a brow.

  She makes a face like I’m daft. “You’re going to meet so many celebrities.”

  I roll my eyes, then accept the holographic reader one of the nurses hands me. Scrolling to the bottom, I sign my name with my fingertip.

  Kori takes it from me and gives it back to the nurse. “Done. Now for the fun part. Is your team ready, Mara?”

  Mara Laine gives an exaggerated thumbs up, and a few cameras—larger than the ones I used to have—begin to circle me.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I gave Mara Laine the exclusive,” Kori says. “This is going to be huge. Your lifestream has already reached the top of the replay charts, and your final episode of Twisting Minds bumped out Hunter Ellis’ suicide as most watched episode! Can you believe it?”

  I blanch.

  Kori rounds the desk to the short hallway beyond, beckoning me to follow. “The people love you. Darren too! This is going to be hot.”

  Darren. His name makes my heart leap into my throat. I want to feel excited. Happy. But I don’t. I’m terrified.

  Kori leads me, Mara, and two of the peacekeepers to a closed door at the end of the hall. I hold my breath as she opens it.

  More bright walls greet us on the other side, but the lighting is warm and dim. Not dim like the lighting in the Public District, but like the glow of a candle. The sound of water grabs my attention, and I see a small pond beneath a layer of glass on the floor to my left. Tiny fish dart around inside it. Men and women in white, loose clothing like mine lounge in chairs around it, chatting animatedly. Behind them, a woman paints next to a hologram of a fireplace. I can feel its warmth from here. I take in the rest of the room, seeing an array of people engaged in various activities. But none of them are Darren.

  I feel a hand on my arm and leap to pull away when I realize it’s Kori. “He’s waiting over here.”

  She leads us to a less populated section of the room where a long, white couch faces a window overlooking a green bamboo garden. I gasp. I haven’t seen that much green in years. Then my eyes find the figure sitting on the couch, and I freeze. The couch is facing away from us, so all I see is the back of his head. But I know it’s him.

  I begin to shake from head to toe, sweat beading behind my neck. Ever since I made the decision to pay off his probationary sentence and have him transferred here, I’ve been in a constant state of fear. Will he be happy when he sees me? Angry? Indifferent? How will he see me? As someone he used to love? As someone he was forced to think he loved?

  Or as a murderer?

  Then another thought comes to mind. What if he turns around, and he’s nothing like I remember him? What if his face is wrong? His smile skewed? What if this is just another trick and the man on that couch is a stranger? My head is spinning, and my knees are going weak. I take a step back, preparing to run. I can’t do this. I’m not ready.

  Then he turns his head to the side, and I feel the breath catch in my throat. I can’t move. I barely hear Kori calling Darren’s name.

  He stands and turns to face us. Our eyes lock.

  I’m shocked by the hollowness in his cheeks, the lines beneath his eyes. He looks worn. Broken. What did they do to you?

  As he walks toward me, his expression shifts, but I can’t read it. I don’t want to read it. What if it says anger? Irritation? Or worse. What if it says apathy? What if Dr. Shelia was right? What if he never truly loved me?

  Then a corner of his mouth lifts and everything becomes clear. My racing thoughts go still. My heart leaves my throat and returns to my chest. My legs regain their strength. I can feel my mouth mirroring his.

  The way he says my name is like a caress. It sounds exactly how I remember it. His lips break into a full smile—the kind no twisted experiment could ever erase from my memory—and just like that, my world is back. And he’s standing in front of me.

  About the Author

  Tessonja Odette is a young mother living in Seattle. Young, meaning 30-something. It's the new 20, right? Tessonja has always loved to write. Her wild imagination and fascination with the great unknown led her writing into the realm of fantasy. She writes books that inspire and expand the imaginations of others. When she isn’t writing, she’s watching dog videos, having dance parties with her daughter, or pursuing her many creative hobbies.

  Read more at Tessonja Odette’s site.