by Imogene Nix
His last session with Carlos, the psychologist, had gone well, and he waited for the release he was sure they’d grant this time.
The nurse, Jennifer, hurried toward him. “Michael, I was wondering where you were. You know I need to be aware of your location at all times.”
He gifted her with a small smile. “I just wanted to walk among the plants. They’re blooming, and I miss the time outside during the sessions.”
Jennifer was tall and muscular. A body-builder in her personal time, it seemed they’d hired her for both her skill as a medical personnel and her strength. She sighed. “I know. That’s why I thought you’d be out here, but Dr. Aros wanted you to return to your room after the session.” She bit her lip, an incongruous sight for the forty-plus-year-old woman, her biceps bulging even against the custom-made uniform. “Come on. Let’s get you back to your room. It’s refreshment time.”
With a sigh, he allowed the woman to tow him back toward the imposing building. For a halfway house, it was well-guarded he thought, not for the first time.
He’d arrived a month ago, angry at the situation that hadn’t been his choice, furious with Sara and desperate to see his family. Since then, he’d had many opportunities to discuss his worries with his closest friends and family. He’d come to understand the reason they were allowed such freedom to come and go was dependent on their willingness to talk with Dr. Aros, who was in charge of his psychological profiling.
One by one, their visits had dropped away as life intruded, the urgency blunted and so on. He understood that. At least now he was able to wear his own clothes and had achieved some measure of freedom.
At the door to the building, he stopped and looked over his shoulder. “I wonder what it will look like in winter.”
Jennifer cleared her throat. “Hopefully you’ll be home by then.”
He spun and scanned her face. A bubble of excitement filled his chest, ballooning it so his breathing became more ragged. To go home. To have his life back… That would be wonderful.
It took a full moment for him to find his voice. “I got my release?”
She grimaced and shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just a nurse.”
Just like that, as with every other time he’d allowed himself to hope, the crushing wave of resentment flowed. His whole existence depended on their decision.
He let frustration wash away the pleasure, well aware that even this small interaction was being watched and weighed via camera. He restrained the urge to flip the bird, but it was a close-run thing.
He’d learned that early—to allow himself to run through the gamut of sentiment, but to also keep his physical actions under check. Every negative action carried a reaction, and it was usually something he resented bitterly.
“Okay.” He headed to his room. It was lush, tastefully furnished, but it was still a prison. One he wanted to escape. Soon.
He settled himself in the deep chair by the television and waited as the young serving girl wheeled in the cart. He’d judged Mariah to be about twenty. She was of mixed race, the Hispanic tone of her skin offset by the striking anglo-saxon blue of her eyes.
“Mr. Michael. I’ve got your favorites. Bacon and eggs, orange juice, and fresh fruit. The coffee hadn’t finished perking yet when I left the kitchen though. I’ll go back and grab that for you.” She grinned broadly and he returned it.
“Thanks, Mariah. I could do with coffee this morning.”
She tugged the tiny folding table out, laid down the cloth, and arranged his dishes before returning to her cart. “Lunch today is veal. Oh, and I see on Across the Tides, Eldora is up for a Nobel Peace Prize. I missed yesterday’s episode, so I thought I might catch up this morning’s work, then join you for it.”
Her smile was so bright he couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, I never would have watched a soap before my accident. Now I can’t seem to get enough.”
“My mama said that once they get you in their clutches, it’s hard to get them to let you go.” With her light words, Mariah trundled her cart from the room, still chortling away.
If only he could be as light-hearted as she was. So young and eager, with her whole life before her. He sighed and picked up the cutlery. He’d never be that easy again. The curse of his cyber implants weighed him down.
Suddenly his hunger abated, leaving him queasy. Food no longer interested him. In fact, the very scent of it invaded his nostrils and he wanted to shove it away.
Dr. Aros just had to release him. Since his arrival Michael had acquiesced to their every request. He’d contained his emotions while they prodded and poked at his psyche, tested his reactions and emotional responses. Surely that had to be enough?
His hand reaching out to push the table away, he stopped at the knock on the door.
“Come in.”
The door opened soundlessly, and he waited as Dr. Aros entered. Michael made to rise but the doctor shook his head. “No. Sit down, Michael. I wanted to talk to you before you start packing.”
Packing. The word thrilled him, but he contained his reactions. It wouldn’t do to jump to the wrong conclusion.
The plump, gray-haired doctor dragged over a chair from the desk and sat down on it, opposite the tray in front of him. Michael waited, well aware that this was how the doctor started every discussion, with the unnerving silent watching.
The slow cadence of his heartbeat increased. “Start packing? Am I going home?”
“Yes, Michael. You’ve been here long enough for me to determine that you’re controlled enough to coexist with society. I’m satisfied that as long as you don’t exhibit any violent or startling tendencies, and with the assistance of a monitoring program and ongoing care from a psychologist, that release is the best option for you.”
Michael embraced the words deep inside his soul. Yet caution reared its head. More. There had to be more.
“However, before we finalize your release, I am required to warn you that should you show the slightest hint of backsliding, we will do and authorize whatever is necessary to neutralize the threat you potentially cause society. We will be watching. Society will be watching.”
Michael sat still, fingers rubbing together as he waited for the rest of Dr. Aros’s edict.
“Tomorrow morning a vehicle will collect you from the front door at eight AM. You will present yourself this afternoon for advanced programming and the fitting of monitoring equipment. This is a mandatory part of your release.”
“Fine, doctor. I’ll present myself this afternoon wherever you deem necessary.” It wouldn’t do to argue with the man. Indeed, that would be fruitless and possibly result in unwelcome outcomes.
The man stood, pulled the chair back to where it had come from, and smiled. “It’s been a pleasure working with you, Michael, and I look forward to our ongoing relationship.” With a tiny nod, the doctor left the room, the door shutting quietly behind him.
Chapter 5
Clarissa ran her fingers through the strands of hair falling around her face. Her stomach cramped, as it did much of the time these days. At least she looked almost normal again. Only yesterday she’d filched clothes off a washing line. The size wasn’t perfect, but at least now she didn’t look like an escapee from a lunatic asylum. The shoes she’d found by the dumpster weren’t comfortable, but they’d do the job.
She trotted down the alley. Some would call her paranoid, but she knew better. They were looking for her. Jeremy was out there somewhere, looking to recapture her, and she’d die rather than let that happen!
A sound echoed. It could have been a gunshot, although it was likely a car backfiring. Still, she dropped to the ground, her body quivering. As she fell, Clarissa’s shoulder caught on a metal can, dragging it down so she collided with the metal rim. “Ouch!”
The rattle of the lid seemed so loud, and Clarissa winced.
“Hello? Anyone there?” someone called.
The voice from the end of the alley frightened her, and she jackknifed up, knees alre
ady tucked beneath herself as she straightened off the ground. The sound of her breathing rattled her, and she was sure whoever it was could hear her.
Adrenalin surged, and she pumped her legs, heading away from the voice, the shuffling sound of footsteps. Buildings rose on both sides, shutting out the sun, and the cold infiltrated down to her bones, leaving them aching.
Even as she ran though, the sound of pursuit rang in her ears. The more she ran, the less sure she was of her surroundings. She hurried into the street, and early morning walkers parted to allow her past, but she paid them no attention. Getting away and to freedom was her aim.
The further away from the main area of the town she got, the slower she moved, until she settled into a slower gait, hopeful no one would recognize the straggly wraith of a woman.
Ahead lay her lair, the place where she’d found somewhere to hide and recharge. The old, abandoned warehouse suited her needs perfectly. The electrical componentry allowed her to cobble together a connection for recharging her batteries. Now she shared it with another vagrant, though he didn’t intrude on her privacy. She’d made that clear when he’d joined her.
Clarissa ducked into the small opening in the door and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Someone see you?” Old Clarrie, a wizened man of indeterminate age, materialized out of the darkness.
“Something like that.” She dragged the bag she’d hitched over her shoulder to the ground and rustled around. “This is all I could find. Take what you need.”
She dropped a bag of battered cans, a day-old loaf of bread, a couple of boxes of pasta mixes, and turning milk to the floor.
He looked at it and smiled, the gaps between his teeth dark in the half-light. “You did good, kid. But I can look after myself.”
He gave a thick, mucus-heavy cough, and she sighed. “You need medical care.”
“Ain’t got no insurance so no medical center for me.”
His cough had worsened in the last few days, and fear overcame her. What if he died? What would she do then? She might have extraordinary strength, but she was a fugitive and a dead body was a giveaway. Too many months spent running and hiding did that to a person, she guessed. It wasn’t like she could ask for assistance from her family.
Once, not long after her escape, she’d crept by her parents’ house, peering in through the window. The sight before her reinforced that she couldn’t return home. Jeremy, the doctor her mother had fawned over before everything happened, sat in the lounge holding her mother’s hand, while her father openly cried.
“If only you could have saved her. Doctor, I still can’t believe she’s gone.”
“Mrs. Garrison, you have to let go of your grief. It’s been months. I came because your daughter, Diana, contacted me. She explained you were struggling, but to be honest, when Clarissa arrived on my table, there was nothing I could do. No one was as devastated by that as I was in the hospital room. I did everything I could to save her.”
She shifted in her seat, nodding. “I know. You’re a good boy, and you tried your best. It must have been hard for you too, but you see, it was so quick, then she was whisked away.”
His smile was oily, Clarissa thought, watching him from behind the window frame. Practiced. “I know, but it was for the best.”
“They wouldn’t allow us to view her body. To say goodbye.” Her mother’s wails shredded her inside.
“No. It was kinder that you remember her as she was.”
Clarissa drew back then, unable to stomach any more of Jeremy’s lies.
Once she’d considered Jeremy a friend. More so, a prospective mate and possible husband. Instead, the reality proved him a brutal and merciless torturer. Gone was the suave man she’d known. The one who’d squired her to the opera and gallery openings. He’d made her believe that she was the one woman he’d put aside his wealth and privilege to be with.
But she had to put her self-involved thoughts aside and consider the sick man in front of her. It wouldn’t do her any favors if the only person she half-trusted now died. “Clarrie, I know you can’t see a doctor at the medical center, but if I can get you something to fix that cough, will you take it?”
His gaze narrowed on her. “Don’t take any chances, kiddo. I know you’re running from something bad. Old Clarrie can take care of himself.” His bravado was ruined by yet another hacking paroxysm.
“Will you take the damned pills if I get them for you?”
He wiped his mouth but not before she caught sight of the scarlet fluid on his hand.
“Clarrie? When did that start?” Her stomach bottomed out, cold tendrils snaking through her.
He just shrugged.
She bit her lip, wondering where she might find some assistance. It went against everything she’d learned the hard way, but Clarrie had helped her. She owed him her life after he’d helped her fashion together the power input when it became an urgent need.
He grunted. “There’s a clinic on the west side. Free for those on the streets. They know me. If you can get me there, they’ll help.” His eyes glinted as if daring her, but it was the only opening he’d offered, and she’d gratefully take it.
Wordlessly, Clarissa swooped up and scooped Clarrie into her arms.
“Hey, watcha doing?”
She didn’t speak, simply moved toward the door, grabbed one of the old, threadbare blankets from the pile on a box by the exit, and wrapped Clarrie securely. She kept to the shadows, areas where she knew alleys and walkways would allow her an escape route. She’d walked this town for weeks, hunting out the bolt holes and tracks she could use in an emergency.
The cold didn’t really bother her. While her skin might goose bump from the cold weather, her pain receptors were so deadened that her skin would almost need to fall off before she’d give in to it. Yet another learning experience she could lay at Jeremy’s feet.
Clarissa skirted the main populated areas while Clarrie moaned and grizzled in her arms. When she stopped at the doorstep of the run-down building, she shivered. Her fear of medical personnel rose, a black cloud that terrified her. But she told herself that fear was no reason to let Clarrie die, and he was growing weaker by the day.
Taking a deep breath, she started up the small steps of the old building. She shouldered the door open and carried him in.
“Ma’am? Can I have your name?”
She bit her lip and stood Clarrie up. “It’s Clarrie you need to see. Please, he needs a doctor.” Not bad, she thought. Her voice barely trembled.
The woman squinted over the chipped counter. “Clarrie? Old Clarrie Maycock?”
Clarrie tugged the blanket from around his emaciated frame and nodded. “That’s me.” Then he coughed, leaving a dribble of blood at the corner of his mouth.
He swiped it away as the woman’s eyes opened wide. “Wait here, Clarrie. And heaven help me, if you disappear again…”
“He won’t.” Clarissa urged the old man into a seat, and she blocked his exit.
The receptionist whirled in a cloud of cotton and bulk.
Clarissa understood and sympathized with Clarrie’s urge to flee, noting the way he looked at the door with his muscles tensed. Hers were too, but she controlled herself. He’d purposely hidden from the world just as she did.
“No way, Clarrie. You’re here and will see the doctor. I’ll wait with you.”
The nurse returned. “And you are?” The woman’s hand hovered over the card, pencil in hand.
Clarissa frowned. “I’m just a friend.”
“Yes, but your name?”
The woman was insistent, and Clarissa coughed. “Alyssa. Lissa.” The name they’d agreed she would give if asked rolled easily off her tongue.
“Excellent, Alyssa.” The woman’s emphasis on her name told Clarissa she hadn’t fooled her. Thankfully, lots of unsavory people used this center, so it didn’t really matter. “Take a seat, and I’ll be right back.” The nurse disappeared once again from Clarissa’s view.
Clar
rie sighed and slumped in the dark, battered, plastic chair but made no attempt to escape, and Clarissa was pleased the waiting room was empty. She didn’t want to have to manhandle the older man. One, because she was sure she’d hurt him, and two, because it might tip the nurse or receptionist or even the doctor off to her status.
No, she definitely couldn’t allow that.
She pulled her ragged pullover a little closer around her body.
“Come on, Clarrie, the doctor will see you now.”
Clarrie stood and shuffled two steps then glanced over his shoulder. “I go, you go.”
Clarissa gave an inward sigh and followed the man through the maze of curtains to the end of a small hallway. One of the curtains was pulled back, and Clarrie ducked inside. For a second Clarissa considered the distance to the door then groaned. She’d promised, so she entered the cubicle and pasted herself against the wall as the trembling began.
Doctors, hospitals, medical facilities. She’d avoid any she could. Her brain screamed that they were the place of butchers and experimentation.
* * * *
The woman standing beside his patient looked bone white. Terrified of him and the whole medical thing, in his opinion.
It appeared to be a common state in this practice. For a moment Michael wondered if she was a prostitute or user—she had the drawn, sunken look he knew well, and her hair looked like a hacked mess. Her frame was thin to the point of skeletal. He noted the way she tugged the worn covering around herself. Clearly though, for all she was here against her better instincts, she was worried enough about Clarrie to bring him in.
The old-fashioned folder, emblazoned with Clarrie’s name, felt heavy and full. He opened it and sighed. Homeless. Great.
“Hi. You’re Clarrie, right? I’m new here and still getting used to everyone, but Vi, the receptionist, said you were coughing blood.” He slid into the seat and faced his patient.
The old man shrugged then coughed once again. Michael caught a hint of scarlet and sighed as the old man wiped it away with the none-too-clean back of his hand. Wordlessly, he passed the old man a wipe and gave him a moment to clean up.
