“Really, I can’t think of anything less appropriate!” I couldn’t help muttering, kneeling on the mattress beside Jon.
“Huh?”
“I think I know what’s in here, that’s all.”
“Well, let’s find out.”
I switched the flashlight on, since I didn’t want to leave even the tiniest crack in the curtain today. Being caught writing in orange juice when you were supposed to be making out would pale into insignificance beside this. I gave Jon the flashlight and tackled the wrappings with the scissors.
Tape, thick packing paper, almost card, then cotton stuffing. In the center was a large pebble—to provide weight?—and a tiny satin pouch, the drawstrings tied, but a tiny slip of paper sticking out. I drew out the slip and tilted it to catch the light.
It’s the real deal, a little lion told me so.
I read it softly to Jon, who looked bemused.
“Heh?”
I ran my fingers over the disc shape, now unmistakable through the single layer of cloth. A circular wafer. My chest was tight. Dear Bane. Dear, dear Bane.
I placed the pouch in Jon’s hands, so he could feel what
I could feel—in the faint light of the flashlight I saw his face freeze. He got up onto his knees, cupping the pouch reverently in one hand.
“Nice Easter gift from my unbelieving fiancé, eh?” I murmured.
“Just slightly. Though I wonder how bored that little lion is getting.”
I winced. Bane and Father Mark, bored together—not entirely reassuring. I took the pouch and set it on the center of the pillow. Hard to complain about this, though.
“Let’s say what suitable prayers we can remember first,” I suggested. Jon nodded, so I switched off the flashlight, closed my eyes and sought to still my mind.
…Domine, non sum dignus, ut intres
sub tectum meum, sed tantum dic
verbo, et sanabitur anima mea.
…Lord, I am not worthy that you should
enter under my roof, but only say the
word and my soul shall be healed.
Well, I was as ready as I was going to get. I turned the flashlight back on and glanced at Jon. He must’ve heard me move, because after a moment he said, “Okay?”
I picked up the pouch.
“Are you a Minister of Holy Communion, by any chance?”
He shook his head.
“You do it,” he murmured. “I can’t see what I’m doing.”
That usually made surprisingly little difference to what he could or couldn’t do, but in this case I agreed with him. This was all informal enough as it was. Not that I thought Our Lord minded being catapulted over a wall to us in the circumstances, and Father Mark must’ve thought the same, but the least we could do was not get bits of Him all over the bed!
I untied the pouch and tipped it carefully over my hand. I’m sorry to have to get my unconsecrated mitts all over you, Lord, but I can’t see how else to do this…
A single Host slid out—oh, Bane didn’t know Jon was here. I’d hadn’t dared mention it in my last letter.
“Can you hold your hands out? I’m going to have to break it.”
Jon complied and I did so as reverently as I could, though to be honest, there’s only so much reverence you can achieve when snapping something in half. Well, it’s the attitude of heart that really counts. Placing half on Jon’s tongue and the other half on my own, I closed my eyes and embraced interior silence. I’ve missed you, Lord…
When I finally opened my eyes I could see water gleaming at the corners of Jon’s eyes in the light of the flashlight. I drew my sleeve across my own cheeks and watched as he licked his cupped hands clean, clearly having some reverence issues of his own.
When he finally lowered his hands and wiped them on the blanket I moved to sit on his clothes’ chest, resting my head against the cinder block wall. Jon seated himself on the bunk and leaned against the wall as well.
“That’s better,” he sighed.
Was it just. Strength had been slowly draining out of me and I hadn’t even realized, until now, when it returned full force. It wasn’t impossible to write a novel in two months, not if the Lord supported the plan. And I knew what I had to tell Bane. I knew exactly what I had to tell Bane. But he wouldn’t be happy.
We stayed where we were for as long as we dared, then we put the curtain back up. That night I didn’t even cry. I didn’t manage to say the prayer, but I didn’t cry. Accepting my failure gracefully for once, I sank towards sleep with something like my old tranquillity.
“And God bless Bane and Father Mark,” whispered Jon, his arm tightening around me.
“God bless Bane and Father Mark,” I murmured, my arm slipping around Jon as around a rather large and muscular teddy bear.
The click of the dorm door opening and the hasty tramp of several pairs of feet jerked me awake. I’d barely raised my head when the curtain was yanked aside and three of the male guards looked in. Finchley, Watkins and Dwight. The perverted, the decent, and the devastatingly ordinary. Sally the nice night guard dithered behind them, looking anxious.
“Oh, hell! The Captain isn’t going to be happy,” snarled Finchley.
“What do you two think you’ve been doing?” demanded Dwight.
“What does it look like we’ve been doing?” retorted Jon. “Do I need to get technical?”
Finchley and Dwight reached in, grabbed him, and dragged him out so roughly most of the blankets came too, with me tangled up in them. I fell to the ground with a bump.
“Oh, be nice,” appealed Sally, “he’s blind, you know…”
“Yeah, yeah,” snorted Finchley, then yelped, “Hey!” as Jon got his feet under him and shook them both off, sending Dwight reeling across the room and Finchley staggering into the wall.
“Knock it off, lad, or we’ll shoot you and carry you out, understood?” Watkins no-nonsensely unsnapped his pistol holster.
Jon’s lip curled, but he must’ve heard the popper because he stood still and let the other two grab him again.
“You all right, Margo?” He’d heard me fall.
“Fine,” I gasped, still fighting with the blankets. “Where’re you taking him?”
“Where do all good little reAssignees go?” said Finchley, smiling nastily. Watkins shot him a look.
“Shut it, Finch.”
Dwight and Finchley began to lead Jon away. Watkins and Sally followed.
“Jon!” My whole body seemed to have been dipped in ice. I clawed my way out of the blankets as though possessed. This all-enveloping terror was more electric than paralyzing. “Jon… Leave him alone!” I looked around wildly—everyone was just standing there, why didn’t they do something! “Jon! You can’t take him!”
“Want a bet?” smirked Finchley over his shoulder.
I went after them and Watkins drew his pistol.
“Stop right there, missie, your boyfriend…”
I didn’t hear any more, because they were dragging Jon out the door—he’d heard the pistol clear leather and was fighting them again—something snapped and I went for Watkins like a wild thing. I moved faster than I’d ever moved in my life and I almost made it, my hands reaching out to knock the gun aside, to grab it… In that long frozen blur of motion, I saw the panic in his eyes. Then his hands tilted upwards and his finger whitened on the trigger…
Something smacked my chest, a black pipe seemed to drop over me and I fell down it, down into nothingness—the last thing I saw was Jon slamming Watkins to the ground in a way that would’ve had Father Mark suppressing a smile.
***+***
15
THE CARD
There was a very white ceiling above me. I stared drowsily up at it for a while. Something tells me everything is not right. Why is everything not right?
Jon!
I sat up and pain leapt from both temples, meeting in the middle of my brain. Sinking back on one elbow, I closed my eyes, swallowed hard and stayed that way un
til the pain receded slightly and I was fairly sure I wasn’t going to be sick. Won’t hurt, will it, Major? Liar!
I opened my eyes again.
I lay on what appeared to be a hospital bed, in a tiny, white, windowless room. A hospital-style bedside table stood on the side nearest the door, a key sticking out of the lock, and that was literally it. My aching brain was sluggish. Not the room we’d been taken to for our medical examinations in our first week here… but it must be part of the sick bay.
Jon…
Throwing back the blanket, I slowly swung my legs over the side of the bed and levered myself to my feet. My head pounded unpleasantly but remained attached to my body, so I wobbled to the door. Card locked. Of course. I was really, really starting to want one of those cards. Lord?
There was no window in the door. I poked all around it but it fitted seamlessly against the frame. Tugging and prodding the card reader and even thumping it achieved nothing, of course. How long had I been unconscious? Was Jon already packed away in the freezer?
I was sick then, barely grabbing a basin out from under the bed in time. I knelt over the bowl for some time, retching and crying in fear. Jon… Where do all good little reAssignees go? Finchley had said. The Major had belatedly realized that the easiest way to avoid Jon’s organs being wasted was simply to have him dismantled at once…
Stifling a fresh outburst of weeping, I shoved the basin under the bed, found a cloth to wipe my face, and forced myself to lie back down. I couldn’t get out of the room and the headache would pass faster if I rested. And when I did get out of the room, there was more chance of doing something if I could move quickly without throwing up. I drew the blanket back over my nightdress-clad body, shivering. I ached all over and I felt exhausted.
There would be nothing I could do… I flung the thought away from me and stamped on it.
Terror for Jon or no terror, I was dozing by the time the door opened. Finchley stepped into the room. Just Finchley. He shut the door behind him. I hastily put back the blanket to free up my legs. I didn’t like his smile. I didn’t like the way he looked at me. I didn’t like that it was just him.
“Feeling better, sweetheart?” He strode towards the bed and I slipped off the other side, which put me pretty much with my back to the wall. “Warden says to take you to Doctor Richard for a test. You having been such a naughty girl. But the Doc’s just expecting you sometime this morning. So I don’t see why we can’t spend a little while getting to know each other first.”
I glanced up, searching the ceiling corners. Finchley laughed so hard you’d think I’d done something really funny.
“No cameras in here, sweetheart. Counts as a bedroom. For once the Really Wet Board have done something right, eh?”
My heart was pounding so hard it hurt. Bane had taught me some hand-to-hand stuff, but… Finchley was so big. I swallowed, fighting back panic. You’re in trouble, Margo, but panicking won’t help. Perhaps I should let him come right up to me and then shoot him with his own weapon. Yeah, and how stupid was he?
Not that stupid. He drew the nonLee from its holster and locked it inside the bedside cupboard—put the key in his pocket, and smirked at me.
“Wouldn’t want you to spoil the party, would we?”
He began to walk around the bed towards me. Lord, Lord, Lord… help? What do I do? I was trapped in this little room with him and I couldn’t get out, not without… With immense effort, I managed not to stare at the gray badge hanging around his neck in its holder. He hadn’t taken that off. So… how? I’d have to let him come close… I’d probably only get one chance… I wanted to bolt, but I had to wait. My trembling fingers knotted in my nightie.
He lunged and grabbed me, shoving me back onto the bed. The badge dug into my chest. I could take it, but how to get away? I twisted, struggling, but he wrapped an arm around me to hold my arms down. Worried about his eyes. His other hand was all over me, octopus-like, and his legs pressed hard against mine, so kneeing him in the crotch was out. But what’d Bane said?
‘Oh, forget about the old knee in the crotch, Margo, it’s expected. If anyone ever bothers you that badly, just grab their bits, good squeeze and yank, they’ll let you go and you can blush later.’
My mind managed one plaintive, panic-stricken Lord? Not really? but my hands were already moving. My right hand put Bane’s advice ruthlessly into practice and my left snatched the badge off over Finchley’s head as he doubled over with a sound like a burst balloon. Shoving him off me, I dived over the bed, and fumbled for a breathless, back-tingling second as I got the card the right way around and swiped it through the reader.
The light flashed green and I yanked the door opened—I could already hear him stumbling across the room—I leapt through, not daring to look back, and slammed the door shut behind me. Gasping for breath and shaking like a leaf, I took stock of where I was. The sick bay corridor. Finchley began to hammer on the door. I didn’t have long if I wanted to keep my prize. With the shadow of his hands lingering on me, I felt I’d paid enough for it. You got off very lightly, Margo.
Turning, I began to run down the corridor, my bare feet pounding against the cold floor. I would have to be very, very fast. As soon as they spotted me on the monitors... Here was the stairwell door—swipe the card—the stairs flew by beneath me. Top floor—swipe card again. From lower down came the bang of doors; raised voices… Sprinting along the corridor and swiping the card yet again, I hurtled into the dormitory.
“Margo?”
“What…?”
“Are you all right?”
I ignored everyone, dashing to my bunk and diving up onto it as though distraught. I’d no breath for sobs, real or otherwise, but I draped myself over my chest to hide the fact I was lifting the lid and taking out my purse. Stupid thing to bring to the Facility, but such was habit. I fumbled with the cards in it… ID, blue and yellow; Bank card, black; Loyalty card, red; Library card! Gray! I switched it with Finchley’s pass card and had the purse back in the chest before the first would-be comforter made it up onto the top bunk.
“Margo, what happened?”
Footsteps echoed in the corridor. Evading all the outstretched arms, I slid from the bunk and reached the trash chute before the door opened, winding the cord around the badge holder as the Menace, Finchley, Dwight, and two other guards spilled into the room. No point trying to look upset—if I looked how I felt, that would do fine.
“Give it back, bitch!” wheezed Finchley.
“What, this?” I yelled, holding up the holder; making sure they all saw it held a card. “Why don’t you go and get it, you rapist bastard!”
I yanked open the trash chute and threw it in before they managed anything more than a dismayed lurch forward.
“No!” wailed Finchley. Then the Menace grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the doorframe, which unfortunately for him was made of cinder blocks and metal like everything else.
“What did she just call you?”
“He tried to rape me, the filthy pig!” I shrieked. I was acting now—sort of—it was scary how easy the hysterics were. But I couldn’t try to calm down; it mustn’t even cross anyone’s mind that I might’ve done anything other than run straight back to the safety of the dormitory before throwing the badge away in revenge. And as I couldn’t try to get hold of myself, I began to cry; big, loud, messy sobs from right down inside, the sort that leave you hardly able to breathe so you feel you’re going to suffocate in misery.
As the other girls converged on me I could hear the Menace laying into the cowering Finchley.
“You little turd, if I ever hear anything like this again you’ll be in the dole queue, you hear me? For the rest of your life. D’you have any idea what a rapist guard would do to my record, you little idiot? D’you have any idea how much flack the Wets would give me if they heard about this? You keep your hands off the merchandise, you hear me?”
Oh, she was a charming woman, no mistake.
She hadn�
�t finished—she slapped him, once, twice, thrice across the face—before realizing that my horde of comforters had fallen silent and were watching avidly. She dragged him off, then, their voices floating back along the corridor.
“How dare you do this, today…”
“You’re not going to tell the Major, are you? Please, please, Captain, you’re not going to tell him, are you?”
“Oh, I will, if you put so much as another foot wrong…”
“Please, please don’t, please don’t tell him, please…”
“Oh, don’t piss yourself, you little…”
The stairwell door clicked closed behind them.
The sight of Finchley being bitch-slapped by his superior was delightful—I’d have to at least stop crying before I could work on forgiveness, and I was finding it an awful lot harder to stop crying than to start. Eventually I found myself seated on a chair at the table with an array of chocolate and sweets laid out in front of me, and an entire heap of cherished soft toys piled in my lap.
“I’m all right, really,” I managed at last. “I’m fine. Thank you, you’re being so kind, but I’m all right. He didn’t really manage anything. I was just shaken up.” And Jon’s probably dead and there was nothing I could do to help him…
“Let me get this straight,” said Rebecca, looking rather thrilled, “you kicked him in the goolies and then you grabbed his card and legged it?”
“That’s… that’s pretty much it.” At the thought of precisely what I’d done to Finchley, heat flooded my already tear-warmed cheeks. Bane would’ve laughed. Actually, Bane would still have been pounding Finchley’s face into a cinder block and I’d be trying to stop him. I hope.
Bane… I wanted him with me so much it was like a physical ache. And the next time I wrote to him, would I have to tell him his friend was dead?
Jane had wormed her way up on my right.
I Am Margaret Page 15
