by Abe Moss
“Help!”
In an instant, Zachary tore himself away from the toilet and staggered toward Emmett on glass legs. He took Emmett by the arms, forcing him back against the wall beside the door.
“I said no!”
“You’re sick!” Emmett whimpered. “You need help!”
“I don’t want their help!” he growled, teeth bared. “They can’t help me! They won’t!” He stepped back, looked over his shoulder at the toilet as he questioned the next approaching wave. Under his breath, he whispered, “They’re doing this to me…”
He lurched toward the corner again, hovered undecidedly over the toilet. He bent his head and spat. He shuddered all over, his breaths short and quick. Emmett couldn’t stand the sorry sight of him.
“We have to call for someone,” Emmett said.
Zachary turned his head against his shoulder, his dark-circled eyes watching Emmett coldly from their corners—a final warning.
“If you bring them here,” he said, his words as shaky as his clammy body, “I’ll strangle you in your sleep.”
Emmett’s blood turned to ice. Zachary spat into the toilet. More blood. Emmett watched as he stared into the toilet bowl, at the gore coming out of himself, and from one moment to the next he shriveled up, dropping to the floor in a ball of weeping terror. He curled up next to the toilet, shivering.
Despite the dreadful threat made against him, Emmett approached Zachary silently, more afraid for him than of him. He crouched next to his trembling body, a low and tortured whine escaping him, crying so fiercely he could hardly breathe.
“It’s okay,” Emmett said. He touched Zachary’s arm reassuringly. “It’ll be okay.”
Zachary quieted—almost immediately. Emmett put both hands on his arm then, kneeling. He said nothing. Zachary’s trembling subsided. He inhaled deeply, lungs full, and blew the air out slowly, his body relaxed against the floor. Air in. Tension out. He coughed. Hiccupped. He opened his eyes, and they glanced toward Emmett from their corners, dubious but grateful. Another deep breath.
“Everything’s going to be okay…”
They remained on the floor that way for a long while.
Tomorrow, privately, Emmett would tell the guard what happened. Even if it was the facility’s practices killing him, they surely wouldn’t let it get as bad as this, he thought. And as scared as Zachary was now, he’d be grateful for Emmett’s intervention in time.
Suddenly, Zachary sat up. He wiped his wet eyes dry.
“I’m sorry for what I said…”
“It’s okay,” Emmett assured him.
He helped Zachary to his feet, walked him to his cubby.
“I’ll get help tomorrow,” Zachary said, climbing in. As he was about to pull his curtain shut, he paused. “You’re a good friend, Emmett…”
Discreetly, once Zachary was asleep, Emmett tiptoed from his own bed to the toilet, where he observed the dark, muddled vomit in the bowl, laced with far too much blood for his liking. Closing his eyes, holding his breath, he bent and flushed it down, getting it as far away as possible.
✽ ✽ ✽
The intercoms played their breakfast bell toll the following morning. Emmett, sleeping turbulently most of the night, awoke reluctantly. He stretched out in his cubby, groaning. If not for the guarantee he’d be bothered in the next ten minutes for it, he would have liked to remain in bed for an hour or two longer.
As he climbed out of his cubby into the harsh, white light of always, he observed that Zachary must have wished for the very same thing, having slept just as poorly, no doubt.
His curtain remained closed, and his gangly, fish-pale leg hung over the edge, dangling in true, sloth-like fashion.
Because Zachary Fernandez was dead.
✽ ✽ ✽
Breakfast was a blur. Between the bustle of guards and their questions, he hardly had time to think of much else, so as he sat down with his tray of eggs and sausage and toast, it didn’t occur to him to find Tobie and share the awful news.
It wasn’t until lunchtime rolled around that he sought Tobie out. He found him in his usual place, sitting in the shade, watching the fence with the expression of a blind man.
“Did you even eat breakfast?” were Emmett’s first words as he came to stand next to him. Tobie regarded him plainly. “I never even see you getting food anymore.”
“Yeah,” Tobie said, “so what…”
Emmett needed a second to compose himself, his irritation off to a bad, skyrocketing start. Except that his irritation was rising so quickly, it didn’t give him a second to spare.
“Zachary died.” He couldn’t help but scowl as he said it. “He was dead this morning. I thought you should know.”
Tobie continued glaring toward the fence, unchanged, but it was obvious behind those indifferent eyes that his mind was hard at work, processing, chewing, prioritizing. Apparently, however, Emmett’s news had little effect on the priority of his thoughts.
“Good for him,” Tobie said. “Sounds to me like he’s better off.”
Emmett’s hands balled into fists. He pursed his lips to keep from exploding. He wished he had another branch to pull from over his head to club Tobie over his.
“You don’t mean that,” Emmett said.
“Sure I do.”
Emmett huffed, bewildered.
“Fine. Stay out here then and… and… do nothing. Feel nothing like all the other zombies. Jackie isn’t coming back and you know it. You’re just… being a jerk, for no reason!”
“No, you’re a jerk!” Tobie said, turning those hate-filled eyes on him. “What’s it matter to you if Jackie comes back or not? You don’t care! She’s not your sister, so what do you know? And you’re not my friend, so just leave me alone!”
Emmett recoiled. Instinctively, before Tobie could see the hurt in his eyes, he spun and fled back to the building, through the doors, down the corridors, making his way to the cafeteria and then wherever else his feet would take him. He needed to get away. Away from Tobie. Away from everyone. His thoughts were a violent tornado. He considered going back to his room, climbing into bed regardless of what any doctor might think…
Back to his room, where he’d watched them carry Zachary’s lifeless body away, his skin so pale, his mouth dirty with the dried blood and vomit from the night before.
He arrived in the cafeteria, standing in the doorway to Ward B, watching the mindless movements of the other children between the tables and chairs, streaming in and out like blood cells, pumped through the cafeteria in droning waves—pumping, pumping, pumping like his own heart in his chest, beating faster and faster as his damaged brain failed to make sense of it all. The useless, sick brain his mother had given him, beautiful only in that it was like her own, two of the same…
…two of the same…
He covered his face with his hands as he began to cry. Children coming and going bumped into him as he stood in the doorway. He stumbled away from them, face shiny with tears. They looked at him strangely. Uncomfortably. He was the same as them, he thought. All this time he was the same as them. Maybe worse. And they could see that now. Maybe they saw it all along. It was he who was wrong about them. About himself. There was no difference. They all belonged here. And here they would stay…
“What’s wrong with you?” a familiar voice spoke. It was Hollings. “You feeling well?”
“I’m okay,” Emmett said, sniffling. “I’m fine.”
“Do you need to speak with Dr. Eddy?”
“No!” Emmett said. He took a step back. Then another. “I’m fine. I don’t want to see her…”
Before Officer Hollings could insist, Emmett hurried away, choosing the library as his only escape.
✽ ✽ ✽
But he didn’t escape for long. Following dinner, he returned to his room as early as possible, exhausted. There was no assurance he’d sleep any better tonight, but he intended to try. He dragged his feet into his room, observed the empty bed across from his.
As he was about to climb in, footsteps entered the room.
“You know I can’t let you skip showers.”
Officer Hollings stood just inside the doorway, arms folded, mouth slanted to suggest he disliked being the bearer of bad news.
“Can I just nap until it’s time for showers, then?”
Hollings grimaced further.
“Afraid not. I’m actually here to collect you.”
Emmett drooped exaggeratively.
“Dr. Marks would like to speak to you.”
“For an appointment?”
“I don’t think so. Not a usual one.”
That only unnerved him all the more. Not a usual appointment. Nothing unusual in this place was ever a good sign.
He dragged his tired feet behind Hollings all the way to Dr. Marks’ door. Hollings knocked. Her voice inside told Emmett to enter.
“Have a seat,” she said, and watched him intently as he crossed the room. “How are you feeling tonight, Emmett?”
“Tired,” he said, hoisting himself into the chair. He glimpsed the things on her desk. A folder—that was normal enough—and a strange metallic box he’d never seen before, shaped like a tiny briefcase.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Trouble sleeping?” He didn’t answer. “Well, I won’t keep you long. I know you’ll have showers soon.” She opened up her folder—his folder—and took a look through some of the pages. “Besides sleepy, how are you feeling?”
Emmett shrugged.
“Yeah? A little blah?” Her eyes rested on him for a prolonged time. Looking through him. “You should know by now you can tell me the truth. I’m here to help you.”
“I am telling the truth.”
She made a sound, a disappointed hum. “Officer Hollings told me you were crying in the cafeteria earlier today. During lunch. Do you want to tell me about that?”
“I wasn’t crying.”
“Oh, now… Emmett…” She tsk, tsk, tsk’ed. “It’s all right to be sad. Everyone gets sad sometimes.”
“Everyone here is sad,” Emmett said. “All the time.”
She pretended not to hear him. “What today made you so sad?”
“You already know,” he told her. “Why do you want me to say it?”
She allowed the ensuing silence to linger, emphasizing the touchiness in his voice, hanging in the air.
“It’s important I hear the way you explain things. Your perspective.”
“Zachary’s dead.” Emmett folded his arms tightly around himself. “Because of you.”
“Oh, I hope you don’t truly believe that! Zachary’s illness was complicated, and altogether unique. We tried our best to help him, but… unfortunately sometimes there’s only so much that can be done. His illness was quite advanced.”
“What illness?” Emmett asked.
In an instant, her expression turned to stone.
“You know I can’t talk about Zachary’s private—”
“It’s not like he cares anymore…”
“That’s quite enough.” Dr. Marks continued flipping through his folder, as though to give the impression there was anything relevant inside. “Emmett, I’m afraid for you. More now than ever. You’re dealing with so much. As if the things which brought you here to this facility in the first place weren’t enough, now with Zachary’s death on top of it all… I’m afraid it’s too much emotional burden for one boy.”
“I’m okay.”
“Violent outbursts in the cafeteria…” she said flatly, as if reading about it in his folder. “Crying in the cafeteria today… also…” She linked her fingers together and peered over the rims of her glasses gravely. “In one of Zachary’s last appointments with me, he mentioned something about you. He said he was afraid of you.”
Emmett cocked his head confusedly, mouth agape.
“He said he woke up one night to the sound of you talking to yourself… out of bed. Talking to someone who wasn’t there, was how he described it.”
Emmett shook his head. “That’s not true.”
“I think it is true. I also remember after your violent episode in the cafeteria, while we were walking together… you thought you heard something. Enough to stop you in your tracks. But there was nothing. And after hearing these details from Zachary, I can’t help feeling like it’s all related. These manifestations—”
“I’m okay,” Emmett said. “I’m okay.”
“And you’re not sleeping?” she asked, though it wasn’t really a question. “I think you’ve got too much on your plate, and it’s affecting your mental health. If left untreated, well… I’m afraid irreparable damage might be done, should these symptoms be left to fester.”
She was speaking quickly, overwhelming him. He didn’t know what could be said in his defense. Perhaps nothing.
“I’d like to start you on a medicinal treatment plan right away, something to soothe the parts of your mind affected by the trauma you’ve been through.”
“Medicine?”
“Yes. We’ll start you with a low dose, to see what works.”
“I don’t want medicine,” Emmett said, scooting to the edge of his seat. “I don’t want to take anything.”
“Once we figure out the right combination, you will feel so much better, Emmett. Trust me.”
“I don’t want it. Please.”
“It’s nothing to be afraid of. Please, sit back in your chair.”
He remained as he was, feet on the ground, ready to take flight at a moment’s notice. Yet even as his toes touched the hard carpet, he felt the ground falling away from under himself, leaving him suspended over nothing—a cold, queasy panic inside him. She must have noticed his anxiety, as she wasted no time reaching for plan B. She opened her desk drawer and pulled something out, something remarkably distracting.
“How would like to hold this right now?” she said, the necklace’s chain pinched in her fingers, the pendant spinning gently as the chain twisted and untwisted. “Be a good boy for me tonight, take the medicine, and I’ll let you hold this for a bit. And then, after our next appointment, if you continue to be as—”
“I don’t want any medicine,” Emmett told her again, catching up with his thoughts. Her attempts to disarm him with his mother’s trinket spoiled. “Please don’t make me.”
“Did you hear what I just said?” she asked. “Don’t you want it?”
“I don’t want to take any medicine.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of…”
“I don’t want to die,” he said, standing. “Not like Zachary.”
“Emmett, please, have a seat.”
“I don’t need medicine. I promise I don’t need it.” His eyes flashed back and forth between her face and the necklace she continued dangling, like a lure. “I can be good without it. I’ll be good without it.”
“It’s not a matter of being good. The medication isn’t a punishment. This is to help you. You’ll feel so much better… You’ll feel like yourself again. Without all this worrying, the sleepless nights, or feeling sad all the time. And Zachary didn’t die from any medicine. He—”
“I don’t have to take it if I don’t want!” he shouted.
“Lower your voice,” she demanded. She jabbed her finger at the chair behind him. “Sit down this instant.”
“No.”
“Emmett…”
“You can’t make me do anything.”
She’d had enough. She closed the folder on her desk and got to her feet as well. She stood so much taller than he did, he felt instantly small. Like a child.
He was a child…
“Sit back down.”
He struggled meeting her eyes. He looked instead to her desk, at his mother’s necklace sitting so casually…
“I’m not taking any medicine,” he said in a low voice.
“Would you prefer to be put in Detainment instead?” she asked, and at the suggestion he felt a sharp jolt. Her lips were tightly pursed, eyes narrowed under her dark brow.
“Is that what you want? To be punished?”
“No…”
“I tried using a reward to make this easier, but you don’t want to listen. Those are your options now. Cooperate and let me administer the medication, or spend another evening in Detainment with the other children who behave badly. What will it be, Emmett? Will you behave?”
It was a matter of weighing his fears. There was a chance she told the truth, and that the medication had nothing to do with Zachary’s death. There was no way of knowing, for him at least. But the pain he’d endure in Detainment was a certainty. He remembered it vividly.
He relented. “Okay…”
Dr. Marks sighed with relief. “I promise you’ll be glad you did this. Everything you’re feeling now will be better in time. You will be better.”
She already had the medication prepared. It was the metallic box on her desk. She opened it up, revealing a vial just like the others he’d seen before. She removed the cap from the vial, exposing the tiny needle-teeth. She made her way around the desk, placing herself beside him.
“Just a quick shot,” she said. “Done in a matter of seconds, and you only need it once a week. May I see your arm, please?”
He offered himself to her, helpless to do anything else. She pressed the vial to his bicep. A slight bite to it this time. When she was done, she capped the vial and returned to her desk, taking her seat with great solace. The heated energy between them was dissipated. Now the room was big and empty and cold again. Emmett touched his fingers to his arm.
“You might feel a little uncomfortable at first,” she told him. “A little nausea is perfectly normal.”
✽ ✽ ✽
The library intercoms played their tune to signal it was time for midday showers. Emmett looked up from his book—he was attempting to read the fantasy novel Mrs. Holmes had been reading to them on his own—to watch as a sizeable portion of children funneled out of the library. The library was always left substantially quieter during this time, making it a favorite part of his day.
As he raised his head to watch their slow march into the corridor, he spotted a body amongst the departing crowd, standing in the doorway as the others shuffled around them to get through. A boy. As the crowd thinned, Emmett got a better look at him, at his face, and his skipping heart recognized him well before his own eyes.
