Defiance

by Hannah Hanson

CHAPTER TEN

  Stephen Waterhouse walked into the isolated room. The prisoner sat on the metal chair. He wore a slashed shirt that had once been white but was now stained with blood. A deep wound was visible under the bright light. His breathing came too heavy in the silence.

  “Let’s try this again,” Stephen said.

  “I can’t tell you what you seek.”

  “How about we play a game? I’ll tell you something about myself and you can do the same,” said Stephen through a forced smile. His voice echoed in the solid metal room. The painted white walls made it appear bigger than it actually was. The bright lighting gave Mr Raymond a headache: He suspected that was intentional on their part. He placed shaking, bloody hands over his temples and ears in a feeble attempt to drown out Stephen’s voice as well as soothe the headache that threatened to cause him even more grief than his wounds.

  Stephen paced back and forth a few times; his heavy, shiny black shoes glistened and made an echo with every step. He wasn’t sure where to begin. He spoke very little normally and he found no comfort in sharing his darkest thoughts or his life, but this was a man sentenced to death. To whom could he talk in the grave?

  He pressed a long, thin finger to his lips, contemplating. His eyebrows were wrinkled and Mr Raymond thought he looked constipated. A soft smile crept over Mr Raymond’s wounded face.

  Mr Raymond thought very little about his family and his circumstances. He knew he had no hope, but as he sat in that room, he prayed his family would survive this entire ordeal.

  In confinement, he found himself calling out in prayer more frequently than he had ever done before. How strange that in the wake of disaster, he was compelled to draw nigh to a powerful deity he had denied all his life. He certainly saw the hypocrisy in his own prayers, and yet, it did not stop him from pleading.

  “When I was younger, my mother reminded me that one day, I would become someone important. I felt special, you must understand, even from a young age. Those dreams were quickly destroyed as I grew older and wiser and saw the world for what it truly was. It broke my heart, knowing that because of the Area I grew up in, I would never have a chance. Isn’t that sad, Mr Raymond?” The question was more rhetorical than anything else and before Mr Raymond could respond, Stephen raised his hand. “When I was twelve, a man came to see my mother. I remember that day as though it were yesterday. And can you guess what it was about?”

  The rhetorical questions were tormenting Mr Raymond. In that moment, he concluded that the whipping and the brutal beating were nothing in comparison to the torture of listening to Stephen’s childhood story. No, he was certain this was part of the torture plan. If anything was going to take his sanity, it would surely be this. Mr Raymond’s thoughts wandered. Was Stephen this stupid? Would he honestly expect him to divulge secrets he had buried deep inside for some sad childhood tale he couldn’t verify?

  “Mr Raymond, look at me!” Stephen snapped. “As I was saying—yes, where was I? Oh. This man brought money with him and this money was to help me finish school. This in itself was a gift that, even to this day, I cannot repay. My opportunity started then and from that day forth, I promised myself I would work hard. Harder than a man born in the Central. I worked in order to achieve a portion of the life of the fortunate, and now look at me. Haven’t I grown to be someone to be proud of?”

  “They have turned you into a monster while they dine in their houses like untouched angels,” Mr Raymond whispered, getting in a quick response. His voice was barely audible, but the words grated like a scream; Stephen gasped and lurched at him. He punched Mr Raymond’s face so many times the blood splattered on his own clothing. Only then, when he noticed his bloodied suit, did he back away slowly, glancing down at himself nervously.

  Stephen crumpled to the floor, his knees on the hard floor. He whimpered to himself and whispered something repeatedly that Mr Raymond couldn’t understand. He dragged his blood-stained self to the corner of the room, where he sat on the floor, rocking back and forth. Mr Raymond hadn’t thought his answer would provoke such a response, but as he watched in sheer curiosity, it dawned on him that Stephen was already a broken man.

  With a gasp that echoed in his own head, Mr Raymond dared to speak one last time. “Don’t let them turn you into something you’re not.” The words were intended to comfort Stephen, but he didn’t appear to have heard them. There was something strange about him, rocking aimlessly and without rhythm. His eyes even seemed to be lit with rapture as he muttered to himself.

  Finally he looked straight at Mr Raymond and said loudly and firmly, “I’m not a monster!” His gaze was sharp and fixed, and his consumptive and agitated face produced a painful impression.

  Mr Raymond cringed and steadied his thoughts. Even if Stephen were not a monster, there was something more sinister lurking in the depths of those eyes. The deranged look he gave Mr Raymond was not that of a sane man. Mr Raymond was not particularly religious, but if he had been, he would have believed Stephen was possessed. How else could he explain these peculiar behaviours in a man with so much status and power?

  After much silence, Stephen gathered himself together. He heaved himself from the floor and tried in vain to dust off the dried blood. He straightened his suit and tie and composed his distraught face.

  “I have tried to reason with you. I have tried to show you I’m on your side, but you’re adamant about making me the enemy. I have grown tired of this. Tomorrow, we will kill your family.”

  “Leave my family alone. You want me, not them!” Mr Raymond shouted through his swollen, bloody mouth.

  A sinister smile crept over Stephen’s face. He turned his back on Mr Raymond and faced the large mirror that hung on the wall. He looked pale and tired. He stared at himself for a long time. Then he abruptly turned on his heel and walked towards the door. He gripped the cold handle and slowly turned it.

  “Wait,” Mr Raymond said.

  Stephen paused as though contemplating the word, weighing its value. A flicker of excitement danced in his eyes and his lips curled into a smile. He paced, almost cautiously, towards his detainee, who remained chained and bolted to the metal chair.

  Then the door suddenly opened.

  An older man walked in. He gazed on Mr Raymond with small, grey, fiery eyes. Undaunted by the blood, he stared at Stephen in confusion. Unsure of what to say, Stephen stared back; his thin lips pressed into an impudent smile as he dismissed the bloody scene. He traced small, fat fingers over his pointy beard.

  “We are waiting for a go-ahead,” the older man said coldly and intently without taking his eyes off Stephen’s face.

  Mr Raymond was confused. Through bloodshot eyes, he tried to work out who was in charge. The man abruptly turned on his heel and walked out. Stephen remained still as the door closed. He stayed still and silent for a long time. His eyes narrowed, transfixed on the steel door. Was he waiting for someone? “You had something to tell me,” Stephen said finally.

  “Spare my family.”

  “I don’t think you comprehend the severity of the issue at hand. I can only help you and your family if you tell me what I want to know. It really isn’t that hard to understand.”

  “But I don’t know anything.”

  “You’re testing my patience. I am not a patient man and when I get angry, it is not a pleasant sight.” His irritation increased with every word he uttered.

  “I know that.”

  “Tell me, then!” he snapped. He twisted himself about with rage and grew paler. His lips trembled and vainly endeavoured to form some words, but the anger stopped him. His rage blinded him and his hand trembled with uncontrollable anger; Mr Raymond watched with calm astonishment. He contemplated what he could say to calm the man down. His face throbbed painfully and his body ached. Above all, it wasn’t his own death he feared, but that of his family. He couldn’t put them in danger.

  He opened his mouth as though to say something, then closed it just as quickly as the thought c
rept into his mind.

  “Your time is up.”

  “There were four of them,” Mr Raymond said. The words forced themselves out before he had time to refine the truth. “Two have died, one has been imprisoned, and the other roams outside of London. Last I heard he had travelled to the North.”

  “Who are they?”

  “If I knew that, do you think I would be here?”

  Stephen strolled towards him. That peculiar and contrived smile crept over his thin lips and a strange, reproachful look lingered on his face for a minute or so.

  “You know what I think? And this is a theory the others don’t believe. I think you’re the last man—the one who escaped.”

  Mr Raymond swallowed painfully and tried to steady his eyes. Stephen didn’t have much to go on other than his theory. He looked at Stephen’s face closely and noticed his nostrils flare under the light. The anger was still lingering, even boiling beneath the surface.

  “I wish that were the case. Maybe then my life would be more valuable.”

  Stephen’s eyes blazed with anger as he looked at Mr Raymond. Clearly, the words had hit a nerve. He turned on his heel and raced to Mr Raymond to quickly inspect the skin behind his ears. His heart throbbed painfully against his chest. Nothing.

  “You should have a scar here,” Stephen spat. He covered his face with his hands and murmured in a language unknown to Mr Raymond, who gazed at him uneasily. He certainly wasn’t afraid of Stephen, but there was something dangerous about him—something peculiar and sinister that threatened Mr Raymond with a fate worse than death.

  He wondered if Stephen had ever been experimented on as a child, for much of his symptoms reminded him of the stories he had heard as a child himself. They called them The Anomalies, for the children showed signs of morphing that were neither dangerous nor useful. But no, there was something more to him.

  “You’re one of them. I just have to prove it,” Stephen said. His suspicions seemed to increase the more he thought about it. From his pocket he pulled a steel chain from which a silver watch hung loosely. He glanced at it and walked out without saying anything. Mr Raymond shouted something that he ignored.

  As he closed the door, his eyes met those of his colleagues. Most of them had sleepy eyes and a chilled expression. Stephen shuffled past them briskly as they all exchanged startled glances.