Docile

by K. M. Szpara

  “Hey.” Dutch walks over to the counter beside me and grabs a mug. We place them beside each other in the espresso machine.

  “Hey.” I should warn him. “I don’t know if Jess told you how her deposition went—”

  “I heard.”

  “Then I don’t have to warn you that they might try the same on you.”

  “They can try.” His hand trembles while he makes his coffee selections. Americano, double shot of espresso. He shoves his hands in his pockets while the machine whirs to life.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yup.” He doesn’t look at me.

  “Dutch.”

  “Alex?”

  The machine sputters, pumping black liquid into his cup. My latte finishes, foam topping it off.

  “What are you planning?”

  “The less you know…” He sips his drink.

  My stomach churns. “I don’t like this. Whatever it is.”

  “Latte that bad?” He smiles, but I can tell he’s nervous.

  “Please don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Everything I do, I do with purpose.” He leans against the counter beside me, looking into the hall. A file clerk passes, carrying a precariously balanced stack of folders. “Do you trust me?”

  Without thinking, I say, “Yes. Always.” Doesn’t matter who else he’s working for, Dutch will always be one of my closest friends.

  Gabriela peers into the kitchen. “There you two are. We’re ready to get started.” She motions, then walks away toward the conference room.

  Dutch transfers his Americano into his left hand and holds out his right to me. I look between it and his face, unsure what he’s pulling. Finally, I take it and shake his hand.

  “It’s been a pleasure working with you for so many years, Alex.” With that, he follows Gabriela.

  Oh no.

  I hurry after him, waiting in the line of attorneys filing into the conference room. “Dutch, do we need to talk?”

  He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even look at me.

  “Please don’t do this,” I whisper before we’re separated to opposite ends of the long conference table. I don’t even know what he’s planning, but I’m terrified for him. Terrified to be without him, if I’m being honest with myself.

  First Elisha, now Dutch? Jess is struggling and Mariah hasn’t spoken to me since she published that interview with The Sun. I don’t have friends left to lose. Already I feel the black hole of loneliness inside me expanding.

  Beneath the table, I bounce my feet. Unseemly. I’d have scolded Elisha for it, but I can’t stop. I’m too nervous. I worry if I pick up my coffee, I’ll spill it.

  “Please state your full name for the record.”

  “Dutch Townsend.”

  My coffee goes cold while Gabriela gives her opening spiel. While Dutch answers her preliminary questions. Each question a bomb, each of his answers the delicate cutting of a wire.

  He doesn’t become defensive when she asks about his history as a Docile and she doesn’t press him. Dutch is our CFO. He’s on the Board. He’s my conservator. I assume Gabriela will want the same story from Dutch as from Mariah.

  “How did you react when Elisha refused Dociline?”

  I remember. He was furious. Now I’m not sure how much of an act that was. Will he tell them? Is that his plan?

  “I’m not proud of my reaction; it was disruptive.”

  “Please elaborate.”

  “I told him off for refusing Dociline in front of Alex’s party guests. Like I said, it was inappropriate.”

  “Did you have a chance to meet Elisha, after that?”

  “Yes.”

  “How would you describe his demeanor?”

  “He seemed nervous and unsure, most of the time. Looked to Alex for direction. Didn’t know how to interact with people of class, in social situations—not at first, anyway.”

  “Oh?” Gabriela sits up. “Can you explain what you mean?”

  “Sure.” Dutch clasps his hands and leans forward on the table. “The first time I really spent with him was at Mariah VanBuren’s costume party. He asserted himself when he shouldn’t have—there was a noticeable difference between him and the other Dociles. They obeyed happily and performed well. Elisha looked like he’d rather have been elsewhere and had to be scolded for misbehaving. Not a great look.”

  “And later?”

  “I admit, I didn’t see him much, but he attended Preakness with Alex and boy, was there a difference.”

  “Explain, please.”

  “He was much better behaved. Almost indistinguishable from the other Dociles present, except…”

  “Except?”

  “Well, there are stables at Preakness specifically for Dociles, before and after they race. Alex had Elisha sitting at our table and wearing a suit instead of tack.”

  “Would you consider that typical of Alex?”

  “Eh.” Dutch tilts his head side to side while he thinks. “It wasn’t atypical of him to bring Elisha along to events the others didn’t. He liked having Elisha around and it was his right to, so he did. I can’t say whether he’d have done the same with an on-med because the only other Dociles he controlled were those at Bishop Labs.”

  “During her deposition, Ms. VanBuren credited Elisha with changing Alex. Would you agree or disagree with her assessment?”

  “I would agree.”

  “I’ll ask you to elaborate, again.”

  Dutch looks down the table at me. “Of course. I think Elisha changed Alex for the better.”

  Gabriela’s eyes widen. “You do?”

  “Yes. For the first time, Alex was forced to see what debtors go through. It’s a shame that it was at Elisha’s expense, but he changed, all right.” Dutch’s lips curl into a smile. “He spent so much time training Elisha that he accidentally got to know him. Accidentally fell in love with him. Well, whatever was left of him.”

  Gabriela looks nervously at Reginald.

  “Please, elaborate, Dutch,” he says to himself. “Don’t mind if I do. You see, Alex had no fucking clue what to do with a real human being. Someone with feelings and instincts and a family. Someone with agency. He only knew he had to gain control, to protect himself and to please his family and the Board. That’s what Dociline’s all about—that’s what the ODR is about.” He smiles and holds up his hands like it’s not his fault; he’s only the messenger.

  “The Docile system exists to give the wealthy control over debtors. To satisfy that need for control, Alex forced Elisha into submission by threatening to stop the stipend, stipulated in their contract, to his family. He used that leverage in a calculated fashion to establish rules and enforce corporal and emotional punishments. He called it training, but Alex brainwashed Elisha, slowly, over a period of six months.

  “You asked me if Alex changed; they both did. Alex changed because he began to view Elisha as a person he cared about while those around him viewed him as a cocksucking robot. Elisha changed because his behavior was forcibly modified.”

  The court reporter stops typing.

  “Did you get all that?” Dutch asks her.

  Vasquez shoots her hand into the air like an overeager schoolgirl. “I’d like to cross-examine the witness.”

  * * *

  The lab is quiet when I return. Most of the lights are dimmed, except Jess’ office, where someone sits across from her. Laughter bubbles out from the open door as I near them. I knock, ceremoniously, on the wall, then step inside. Dylan turns around, holding half a sandwich in her hands.

  “Oh,” she says, then turns back to her meal.

  “Hey,” I say to Jess, not trying to win Dylan’s affection. She has been nicer since Elisha broke up with me.

  “How’d it go?” Jess wipes her mouth and sets her own dinner down.

  I take a deep breath. Can’t believe I’m about to say the words out loud. “Dutch got fired.”

  “What?” Jess stands. “He—why?”

  “He told the t
ruth.”

  “I told the truth and they didn’t fire me. Yet.”

  I lean against the doorway, too tired to stand on my own. “You didn’t tell them that I forcibly brainwashed Elisha and that Dociline and the ODR are means for the rich to control debtors.”

  “Damn,” Dylan says. “Is this dude single?”

  “No,” Jess and I say at the same time.

  “Okay, okay.” Dylan returns to her sandwich. “I was kidding, anyway.”

  Jess holds the sides of her head as if it needs keeping on. “Does he believe all that? He must. But he’s worked here for so long! As long as I have. He has Dociles. And he…” She looks at me. “He fucked Elisha at Mariah’s party.”

  “I know.”

  “Like, Dutch humiliated him.”

  “I take it back,” Dylan says. “I don’t like him, anymore.”

  “I don’t get it,” Jess says. “He’s always seemed to really believe in the Docile system. He loves his job. Never gave a shit about anyone beneath him.”

  “About that.” I’m not sure how much of this is mine to tell, but it’s not like Jess isn’t going to find out, soon. Not like the whole city isn’t going to find out. I watched Dutch walk straight from Betts, Griffin & Moore into the waiting arms of Chadwick Bell at the City Paper, and Bishop Labs isn’t going to let him spew his story without fighting back. “Dutch has been working with Empower Maryland—for years, as far as I can tell. He told me, recently. I was as shocked as you are.”

  Jess sinks down onto her desk chair. “Mariah is going to tear him apart.”

  “I hate to change the subject so abruptly, but the fewer allies we have in this company, the more urgent it is that we move forward with Abigail.”

  “Right.” Jess is facing me, but her eyes are focused somewhere in the distance. Like she’s staring into another plane of existence.

  “Jess, you okay?”

  “Yup.” She focuses. “Let’s get moving.”

  Dylan stuffs the end of her sandwich in her mouth and follows the two of us to one of the storage rooms. Instinctively, I stand in front of the retinal scanner. The display reads:

  DR. ALEXANDER BISHOP III

  CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER (PROBATION)

  ACCESS DENIED

  “Right. Of course.” I step aside so Jess can handle it. “After you.”

  She passes the scan. I’m more embarrassed that I stepped up first than that I failed.

  Once inside, she unlocks another cabinet and rummages around. Her arm disappears farther inside, until she’s standing on her toes, shoulder deep.

  “Do you want me to—”

  “Nope,” she cuts me off. “I’ve got them.”

  I shove my hands in my pockets so I won’t be tempted. The hardest part of helping, I’m finding, is knowing when not to.

  Jess pulls out several bottles, handing some to Dylan, holding the remainder, herself, as she re-locks the cupboard. “We should not do this in a conference room; your dad really can’t walk in on this.”

  “Makes sense. We can go up to my office. There aren’t any cameras in there. That I’m aware of.”

  Jess nods and the three of us take the elevator up to my third-floor suite. I’m glad my working office is the first room, so we don’t have to pass through my bedroom and remind everyone I live here, now.

  I take a minute to make sure all the glass is frosted, while Jess and Dylan spread out the bottles on my desk. With several swipes, the papers on my desk return to their digital forms and collapse into the SmartTable.

  “Dyl, will you grab at least six each of alcohol swabs, needles, and syringes from the supply closet? Twenty-two gauge, if you can find it. Twenty, if you can’t.”

  “Got it.” She runs off.

  Jess spreads five bottles evenly across the desk. Behind them, she places a vial of Dociline. “This probably isn’t the same formula version that Abigail injected, since that was some time ago, but since we only keep limited quantities of the previous generations for historical purposes, any that went missing would be more obvious.”

  “Good call.”

  “I really don’t want to get fired, Alex.”

  “I really don’t want you to get fired, either, Jess.”

  “Glad we’re on the same page. These are the prototypes Dylan and I tested this morning that returned favorable results. No idea if they’ll actually work on a person.”

  “We’re about to find out.”

  Dylan returns with a handful of supplies, dumping them on my desk.

  “We didn’t have any twenty-two-gauge needles?” Jess asks as she opens a syringe.

  “We did, but twenty is a bigger needle, so it’ll work faster.”

  “You mean it’ll hurt more,” I say, rolling up my sleeves.

  “They do?” Dylan asks with a sly smile. “I had no way of knowing.”

  “All right, you two.” Jess draws Dociline into the first one.

  I swab my arm with alcohol and hold it out to her. I’ve injected Dociline recreationally, before—most of us have. When we were younger, Mariah and I broke into her parents’ study while they were at a fundraiser, and got into their stash. We did not stop to think that one of us should be sober. Consequently, we flopped down on her couch while it sunk in, then did nothing for the entire evening.

  That’s the thing about Dociline; you’re not motivated unless someone else gives you direction, and if you take an actual dose, you forget. We didn’t take enough to forget the talking-to her parents gave us or the month we were grounded. We did take enough to march upstairs silently and go to bed without dinner when they told us to.

  Lab employees are occasionally fired for indulging, but the actual addiction rate is relatively low, since those who abuse Dociline check themselves into a rehabilitation facility as soon as they’re told.

  As Jess injects me, I relax into my chair and watch her, intently, waiting for my memories to fade and bliss to settle in. It’s nice. I feel tingly. Airy. Everything is so wonderful. So warm.

  “How’re you doing, Alex?” asks a woman holding a syringe.

  I must be Alex, so I say, “Nice, thank you.” Every word feels better than the last.

  “All right, he’s—”

  “Hey, Alex, do a dozen jumping jacks.”

  I stand and jump, counting to myself. It feels rewarding, doing what they tell me.

  “Now push-ups—a hundred.” She smiles.

  I drop into position and begin pressing myself up from the floor, enjoying the burn in my muscles. When I reach sixteen, the first woman says, “That’s enough. You can stand, Alex.”

  “Aw, come on,” the other says. “Next I was going to have him tell me what a massive tool he is and dance across the room.”

  “You’re on the clock.”

  A sigh. “Fine.”

  “Now.” The first woman, again. I wait, listening for my name. “This is a terrible testing method, since each previous dose will still be in him when we inject the next. But that’s how we’re going to have to work on Abigail, since there’s only one of her and we’re running on limited time. I know you’re not going to remember this, Alex, but I feel weird not telling you, this is prototype A.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hold out your arm.”

  I do, watching as she injects me with something. I don’t know what it is, but it’s what she wants and that’s wonderful. After she withdraws the needle, they both watch me. I sit still, waiting for whatever they’re waiting for.

  “How do you feel, Alex?”

  “Nice, thank you.”

  “Dammit, we’re going to have to come up with better questions,” she says to the other person.

  “How about personal questions?”

  “Sounds good. You’re going to have to introduce yourself. He won’t know who you are.”

  “Got it.” They lean forward. “Alex, my name’s Dylan. I’m Nora’s daughter; do you know who Nora is?”

  “No,” I answer.

  �
�Maybe someone he’s closer to?”

  “Do you know who Jess is?” she asks, pointing at the woman with the syringe.

  “No.”

  “Who’s he closer to than you?” Dylan asks.

  “Maybe Elisha. Alex, do you know who Elisha is?”

  “That name sounds nice,” I say.

  “Looks like this one’s a miss, but let’s try a few commands, just to confirm.”

  I stand when they tell me. Lift my left foot off the floor. Rub my stomach and pat my head. Dylan laughs, which makes me smile. I like when she’s happy.

  “That’s enough.” Jess looks at a clock on the wall. “We don’t have all night.”

  She injects me with two more counteractives, which don’t feel any different. I keep doing what they ask, but they seem disappointed. I don’t know how to help them feel better, but I’m sure they’ll tell me.

  “Prototype E.”

  I wait while she injects me, hoping this is the one that makes them happy. At first, nothing happens. I sit still, like they want me to, and wait. Then, something begins to burn inside me. First my arm, then my chest. I breathe harder to compensate, feel the dampness of sweat on my hairline.

  “How do you feel?” Jess asks.

  “It hurts.”

  “Hopefully, that’s a good sign.”

  The heat in my veins builds, searing through my body like molten lava. I hiss and clench my hand into a fist. “Ahh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” I jump to my feet and pull at my clothes. “I’m burning inside!”

  “Oh my god,” Dylan says. “He’s going to take his clothes off.”

  “It’s okay, Alex.” Jess stands and walks toward me with her arms outstretched. “You’re going to be fine.”

  Cool tears stream down my face. My eyelids sting, tongue prickles with pain. My fingers, toes, the deepest pit of my stomach. Like I’ve swallowed a fireball. “Water, please.” I dig my nails into my shirt, as if I can claw the drug out of my chest.

  “Okay, here you go.” Jess hands me her glass.

  I gulp it down in one long go, not stopping to breathe until the last drop shakes onto my tongue. I gasp. My head is screaming with pain as memories surface like a buoy forced underwater. “I remember,” I say. “I remember the other injections. None of them did shit.”