The other three monitors were dark. Curiosity brought my fingers forward, twisting the dusty knob beneath one of the other screens.
The knob clicked, and the screen came to life. The illuminated monitor showed things I had never seen before, things that didn’t make sense. I exhaled. This must be the inside of the factory. I had never actually seen or heard much about it. Most gossip stayed out of the orphanage, and during the short time between bells, most people kept to themselves.
Faces stared at me, familiar but blank versions of the women I’d seen in camp. Squeezed together, elbow to elbow, their arms blurred with their frantic pace. Piles of fabric threatened to topple as a steady stream of guards removed the finished projects and handed them new ones. The fuzzy screen did not hide the fresh stream of tears running down Christine’s mom’s face or the pain behind her eyes. My heart broke at the undeniable grins on the guards’ faces.
I anxiously turned the next knob. The new screen showed another room. Looking at the piles of clothing lining the back wall, I concluded that it seemed to be a storeroom. The piles towered in the background as uniformed guards counted garments and made notes on their clipboards. I looked down at my worn shirt and back to the screens. How could such deprivation exist if there were surplus clothes sitting in a storeroom?
I hesitated on the final knob. I closed my eyes as I twisted it, re-opening them after a click and hum of static. My palm shot up to cover my silent scream. Secured to a chair, a man sat still. Dark welts had opened on his chest. The trail of blood led down his body and over his restrained legs. A small pool collected on the ground, rippled by the drops. His head rolled forward, blank eyes staring at the ground. In the background, I saw the stiff pleats of a uniform and an exposed knife. The tortured man’s chest heaved as his head was yanked back by his hair, and the knife positioned on his throat. My fingers trembled and twisted the knob.
The bells ringing throughout the day, the colonel and his rations, the factories and farms, the hidden torture. I looked down at my sweater and felt the thick cuff on its sleeve where my number was sewn. As quick as the picture had shattered, so did the guise of the camp.
With my mind clear, I paid new attention to the muffled yells from below. I ran to the long desk, cringing at the metal squeaking against the floor as I pulled out one of the chairs. Standing on top of the desk, I saw Christine. Pacing next to the barrier of brambles, my friend’s voice echoed as a raspy sob. I bent down to grab one of the bricks, and stopped.
The soft edges of the brick wore beneath my finger, leaving a layer of red dust atop the paperwork. I looked at the desk and the dust, and swore. The clean desk, the bundled paperwork— the tower wasn’t abandoned. I wasn’t safe.
I cursed again and clambered off the desk and toward to the door. A surge of panic hit me as I noticed the red light. No longer idle and asleep, it flashed a warning. The thumping of footsteps grew louder.
The room silenced as my options raced before my eyes. Too high to jump, too open to hide, I settled for the one option left. Grabbing the brick off the paperwork, I crouched against the far wall, feeling my fear turn cold.
The beige domed hat appeared under a fog of cigar smoke as the man entered the room. I lunged across the floor at him, connecting with the side of his arm. My trajectory shortened as my feet slipped on the scattered glass. I heard a crack from my wrists as he grabbed them, forcing the brick loose. It landed with a soft thud as he tossed me across the room. Pain shot through my shoulder. I bared my teeth as he smiled cruelly at me.
I knew him, or had seen him before. His uniform matched the others that surrounded the camp, the rigid pleats now showing a sign of use.
“Why are you doing this?” I yelled, cradling my right shoulder. “You were supposed to protect us. You said it was for our own good!” I sputtered, sobbing.
He came forward; his calm demeanor shook me to the core. His steps slowed as he stopped by the framed photos, putting the second one back on its nail.
“It is for the good of the people, our people. And we did protect you. We protected you from yourselves. Your country was a mess. You were fighting against each other—poverty, drugs, narcissism, commercialism. You name it, you destroyed it. Here, we keep things regulated. Your lives are in line, you are productive and accounted for.” His calm demeanor frightened me. How could he say such things?
“This is no way to live,” I countered.
“Well, there is a cost for everything. It’s a new world out there, number 277,” he said, nodding to the cuff on my sleeve. He flicked ash to the ground. “It’s time you understood the program.”
He opened a pocket behind his colorful insignia, pulling out a small black case. I looked closer at the patches, noticing the new presidential flag. His thick fingers flicked the end of a syringe until a stream of clear liquid spurted out. A whimper escaped my lips, and I pushed myself into the corner of the desk.
“This isn’t going to work. I’ll tell the others,” I said.
He stopped for a moment. Then he laughed and puffed stale smoke in my direction.
“If the others wanted to know, they would know. The truth has always been there, hiding in plain sight for those who wanted to see, and cleverly hidden from those too afraid to believe. You’re not the first, and I’m sure you won’t be the last to find out,” he said, reaching down to grab my ankle. “In fact, we encourage it. We rather like playing with our troublemakers.” He crept closer, his dark eyes gleaming.
“What happens to them?” I asked, afraid of his answer.
A soft click sounded as he tapped the edge of the syringe again. “Some handled the medicine better than others.” The twinkle in his eyes turned flat. “But either way, no one remembers a thing. Now just stay still, this won’t hurt a bit.” He chuckled as the needle scratched the surface of my skin.
“Never,” I snarled, shoving him back. I kicked him between the legs and raced toward the door.
The air whooshed out of my lungs as my body smashed to the floor. My palms and cheek struck the floor first as he pulled on my leg, twisting me around until my bones popped. The scattered glass on the floor ripped my skin, and I bled. A warm, metallic taste pooled in my mouth as the ringing in my ears erased the sounds of my friend’s cries.
The brief moment of shock ended with my scream. Fire raced through my veins. My shrieks echoed through the tower, trailing in my memory as everything faded to darkness. My last memories were the black rubber of his shoes near my face and the putrid smell of burned flesh as the poker pressed into me.
His last words echoed in my mind as I drifted off. “It’s for your own good. We’ll take care of you.”
* * *
White light blinded me, straining my barely open eyes. My fingers shot to my temples as painful pounding threatened to break my skull. I jumped up, alarmed. My fingers slid over the smooth tape and soft gauze on my head.
I closed my eyes, willing myself to calm, waiting until the thumping subsided to nothing more than a muted annoyance. Slowly, I reopened them, careful to keep my movements slow.
The ceilings were white, matching the walls, and a netted cloth was draped over me, attempting to create a screen of privacy in the open room. A creative ruse designed to instill comfort under the watchful eyes of the doctors and guards.
Not as successful as intended, I thought, noticing the looks I received from around the room.
The severity of the room softened as I saw my friend scrunched into the seat next to me. The majority of Christine’s body lay hidden behind a stack of medical supply boxes, IV stands, and beeping monitors. I pushed myself up, flinching as flames shot up my right hand, overshadowing the pounding in my head.
“Christine?” I croaked.
My friend’s eyes fluttered softly and settled onto me with a smile. “You’re up, and OK,” she said, reaching for my non-bandaged hand. “You scared me.” She offered a gentle squeeze and sad smile.
“What happened? I don’t remember anything,”
I admitted, fearfully glancing around me.
The chair squeaked as she pulled it closer to the bedside, leaning in. “You don’t remember anything?” Christine’s fingers trembled as she ran them through her hair, and lowered her voice. “It was that tower. I warned you about it, I told you to forget about it, but you couldn’t… or didn’t.” I heard an edge to her voice beneath her concern.
“The tower?” I questioned, feeling haunted at the familiar words. “I don’t remember anything about it.”
A look of relief washed over Christine, and her eyes softened in an instant. “That’s probably for the best. We don’t need to worry about that now. We’re just lucky the guards were there to find you and take care of you. Everything else will go back to normal. No one will even notice after awhile. And we’ll be busy soon enough with the factory.”
“The factory…” my voice slowly faded as my eyes drifted around the room, noticing a small group of people looking over at me as they walked by. It seemed as if the room slowed, holding its breath to watch me. A crooked smile darkened the guard’s mouth as he checked off his paperwork, and nurses hesitated as they moved past my bed. Everything seemed to slow, except for Christine. Her words tumbled out faster than my mind could comprehend them.
“Wait, no one will notice? Notice what?” My voice quickened as I grabbed her face, feeling other bandages on my hands. “What happened?” I asked, pointing to the gauze covering my forehead, feeling the tender wounds wrapped beneath bandages on my right palm. “Christine? What happened?” I asked again, my voice trembling.
She opened her mouth to answer, but closed it quickly as she looked up. I followed her gaze and saw a doctor approaching in a stiff, pleated white lab coat. He pulled a red pen out from the chest pocket of his lab coat. His eyes twinkled darkly under the florescent lights.
“You gave us a scare, young lady,” he said, checking the vitals on the machines. “Care to tell us what you were doing by that tower?”
A quick glance from Christine warned me. “I’m not sure what you mean,” I answered.
His red pen marked notes in my chart before he continued, without looking up. “Your friend and the guards brought you in a week ago. They found you near the abandoned tower in the woods. If she hadn’t gotten them in time, there’s no telling what might have happened. You were lucky. The contaminate levels in that area are still off the chart. It’s a blessing you made it here when you did and that we still had the old medication.”
His eyebrows lifted at my mumbled words of thanks, barely louder than a whisper.
“If I were you, I would be a bit more grateful. You are lucky the guards were there to protect you, and to protect the rest of us from any contamination. We had to take some drastic measures to save you, and your body may be scarred,” he said, nodding toward my hand. “But, you are alive, and lucky. The boundaries are there to protect us. They are for our own good. It would serve you well in the future to remember that.” He looked at me hard before making the final marks on the chart.
“For our own good,” I agreed, trying to mirror the innocence of my friend. I let his words float in my mind. Something was nagging at the recesses of my consciousness… “If she hadn’t gotten them in time”… What would have happened?
I looked outside, watching the frayed tips of the flag blow in the wind. Everything seemed normal. The streets were bare except for the checkers stacking provisions, and the mayor hammering a poster on the outside of the meeting hall. When the bell rang its familiar chime, I closed my eyes.
My head hit the pillow, and I sighed. “Yes, it’s for our own good,” I repeated the hollow words.
THE END
###
About the Author
Kirstin Pulioff is a storyteller at heart. Born and raised in Southern California, she moved to the Pacific Northwest to follow her dreams and graduated from Oregon State University with a degree in Forest Management. Happily married and a mother of two, she lives in the foothills of Colorado. When she’s not writing an adventure, she’s busy living one.
Published Works
Middle Grade Fantasy
The Princess Madeline Series
The Escape of Princess Madeline
The Battle for Princess Madeline
Princess Madeline and the Dragon
The Princess Madeline Trilogy (box set)
Short Stories
The Ivory Tower
Boone’s Journey
YA Fantasy
Dreamscape: Saving Alex
The Ivory Tower Page 8
