by Harrison, S.
“Finn . . .” Bit touches my cheek. “I’m so sorry I hit you, Finn, but you wouldn’t stop screaming. What’s wrong? Tell me.”
I look her in the eyes and pull her hand away by the wrist. “I murdered two people.”
“Finn . . . you’re hurting me.”
I look down and see that Bit’s hand is turning purple.
“Oh god, I’m sorry,” I say, releasing her.
Bit rubs at her wrist, her forehead furrowed with concern. “You said you . . . killed someone?”
I nod solemnly. “The dreams, Bit . . . the dreams I’ve been having. They’re not just dreams like I told you they were. They’re memories. They’re all coming back to me. They’re happening when I’m awake now, and I’m remembering all sorts of things. Things I never knew I had done. And right now, just a second ago, I remembered . . . killing two men.”
I can’t stop shaking. Bit sits down against the wall across from me.
“They’re happening when you’re awake now? What did you see?”
I ball my hands into fists, trying to stop the trembling. “I saw a rooftop, and I was there, and I had come to kill a man. It was me . . . but not me. It’s hard to explain but I . . . I knew it was me but I didn’t . . . I didn’t recognize myself.”
“It was you, but not you?”
“It really happened! I know it did!” Bit flinches at my sudden outburst. “His name was Bernard Munce. He knew my father. I killed him with my bare hands, Bit. And . . . and I enjoyed it. I really killed him, Bit! Him and his bodyguard. It was a month ago, on the night of my seventeenth birthday.”
Bit just sits there against the wall looking at me strangely, intently. There’s no fear or suspicion or doubt in her eyes at all. She’s looking at me like she’s studying me, almost as if she’s waiting for something.
“Someone has been messing with my mind, Bit; don’t ask me how I know, but I know for certain now. I swear it.”
“What do you mean, Finn?”
I want to tell her everything. About Jonah, about Nanny Theresa, about Carlo. Especially Carlo. Who he was, how much he meant to me, how he was stolen from my mind and erased from my life. Everything. But it’s all too much to find the words for.
“I’m not going crazy, Bit,” I say, choking back tears. “Something is happening to me and it’s real. I know it is. I just have to figure out what’s going on.”
“OK. I believe you. I really do,” she says sincerely.
“Thanks, Bit. Please don’t tell anyone about this. Not until I get it all sorted in my head.”
“Do you think you should’ve told me all this in front of that?” Bit says, pointing up at the Drone.
“I’ve said it. Can’t take it back.”
I look up at the Drone, standing there as still and rigid as a silver mannequin.
“From what I’ve seen, they only seem to listen to Percy’s bracelet-thing, anyway.”
Bit smiles and nods. “His command module. Yeah, it looks that way. I’d love to get my hands on one of those things.”
“Yeah,” I reply, tucking my hands under my arms to stop the tremors.
“Hey, Finn. Y’know that guy you . . . killed? That Bernard guy?”
I nod. The images flash back across my mind and my skin crawls.
Bit picks at her fingernail and looks at the floor. “Try not to feel so bad about it. He deserved to die.”
I squint at Bit. That was the last thing I expected to hear coming from the lips of bookish little Bettina Otto. “Deserved it?” I ask incredulously.
Bit nods and looks up at me, right into my eyes, like she’s searching for something in them. “Yes. Especially after everything he’s done.”
Did she just say what I think she said? OK, I take it back. That was the last thing I expected to hear from her. Why would she say that? Does she somehow know what he did to me when I was a little girl? If so, how? There’s no way that she could know who Bernard Munce was. It’s impossible. I can’t have told her. I didn’t even remember that I had met him myself until I dreamed about it on the bus this morning. And even then I thought my imagination was playing tricks on me! In any case, she’s wrong. The memory of what he did when I was young is real, I know that now. But it surely didn’t deserve a death sentence.
I’m trying to cut through the writhing coils of confusion to form a coherent question when the wall beside us suddenly slides open, revealing a short, bright-white corridor.
The Drone juts a hand out, directing us into the passage, and Bit springs to her feet. I sit in stunned silence, trying desperately to wrap my head around what she just said to me. I look up at Bit, completely lost. She’s just standing there, her hand outstretched toward me, her face devoid of emotion.
“Coming, Infinity?”
Infinity? That’s the second time she’s ever called me that, and both times were only in the last few minutes. What is Bit not telling me? How did I do all those things on that rooftop? Whose was that man’s voice in my head? With more questions than answers reeling in my mind, I tuck my pendant of shame away and wearily take her hand. One way or another, when I pull myself together, she’s going to tell me what she knows. I’ll make damned sure of it.
Bit strides ahead and I drag my feet after her, more confused than ever, the Drone in step close behind me.
We walk down the short white corridor and it ends in another frosted-glass door with another big number one on it. It slides open automatically and we go through into a bright rectangular room the size of a tennis court. It has sky-blue walls with wispy white clouds floating gently across them. They must be huge reality-definition video screens. The shiny white floor and low ceiling of the room are absolutely spotless. There’s a door in each of the four walls, all with a different large gray number embossed on it. Professor Francis is there to greet us; he’s frowning, standing in the center of the room with six glossy-white chairs positioned in a row before him. Another Drone is standing motionless a few feet behind him, its hands by its sides like a soldier. The word “SECURITY” is scrolling in red across its mask, too, just like the one that brought me here. Our robotic chaperone walks past us and, with a rigid little half-spin, takes up a position behind the Professor as well. Those things are so freaking creepy.
The Professor clears his throat and looks down his nose at us. “Miss Otto. Didn’t think anyone saw you trotting off after Miss Brogan, did you? I saw you.” He holds an open palm out toward the row of chairs. “Take a seat, ladies.”
I’m still shaken from that horrific memory, so a seat would actually be quite nice right now. Bit sits down beside me and I look over at her. She doesn’t look back; she just stares straight ahead with the smallest hint of a smile on her face. I’m not sure why, but that little smirk of hers makes me uncomfortable.
We sit there in silence. The disgruntled Professor flanked by two identical silver female bodyguards set against a bright-blue sky and fluffy white clouds makes the whole scene, quite frankly, surreal.
“Just so I don’t have to repeat myself . . .” he says, adding a tapping foot to the bizarre equation, “. . . we’ll wait for the others to arrive before I begin.”
No sooner have the words come out of his mouth than the door with the big gray number three on it slides open. Brent steps through, followed closely by Brody. They’re both disheveled. Brent’s formerly brushed and styled fringe has been blown into a mess, and his nostrils are ringed with drying blood. He looks more pissed off than I’ve ever seen him, and that’s quite a feat in itself. I can’t help but smile, and for the briefest moment the sorrow and shock of all my new memories are dulled a tiny notch, even though one of my hands won’t stop quivering.
“Take a seat, gentlemen,” Professor Francis instructs in his best attempt at a stern voice. They both walk over to the chairs, ignoring me and Bit, and sit at the opposite end of the row. The two Drones that
followed them in walk over to join the others in line behind the Professor.
Door number four slides open and Ryan saunters through, looking indignantly over his shoulder at the Drone behind him. As he gets nearer to the row of chairs, his attention shifts to Brent, but his expression remains the same, dagger-throwing glower.
He walks right past the boys and takes a seat beside me; his scowl transforms into a cheeky smile and the sparkle in his sideways glance instantly returns. “Well, hello there. Come here often?”
I smile to myself and shake my head.
“Quiet please, Mr. Forrester.”
“Sorry, Professor.”
Professor Francis scans our little row of delinquents, his arms still folded, still scowling at us, still failing miserably to intimidate us. I can’t help but wonder what exactly he could possibly say to a bunch of teenagers who, for the most part, have probably never been told off or punished for anything before in their lives. Maybe we’ll have to stay in this boring room for the rest of the trip. Stuck in a room with Brent and Brody for hours would definitely be punishment enough for me.
Half a minute goes by and still Professor Francis stays silent. I frown, wondering what on earth he’s waiting for, when suddenly I remember the empty chair between Ryan and Brody.
Who is that chair for?
The quiet shooshing sound of door number two opening causes Ryan to turn, revealing three red scratch marks streaked down his left cheek.
“Ryan, your face. What happened?”
“She happened,” he whispers, looking past me.
I turn my head to see the unthinkable. Margaux Pilfrey sashays through the door with her head held high, raking her manicured fingernails through her long blonde hair. Percy appears from the open door behind her. He looks drained, but not a hair is out of place.
“Computer, another chair for me,” he says dejectedly. With a quiet electronic ping and a soft hiss, a white chair identical to ours molds up from the floor beside the door and he flumps into it. Another Drone emerges from the door beside him and joins the others in the line.
Margaux strides over, stops in her tracks, and thrusts her finger at the empty chair.
“I am not sitting next to that Forrester animal.”
“You’ll sit, Miss Pilfrey, or you’ll be charged with assaulting Mr. Forrester. I don’t imagine that would look good on anyone’s permanent record,” Professor Francis warns, eyeballing the whole row.
I can tell by the look on her face that she’s weighing the consequences carefully. “Fine,” Margaux says venomously. She walks over, plops down on the chair beside Ryan, folds her arms, crosses her legs, and screws up her eyes to match her furious pout.
Professor Francis sighs deeply.
“Honestly, I’m extremely disappointed with all of you.”
“But, Professor—” objects Brent.
“Let me speak, please, Mr. Fairchild.” Professor Francis looks at the floor and slowly shakes his head. He takes a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his tweed jacket, plucks his glasses from his nose, and wearily rubs the lenses.
“Once upon a time, I could have had my pick of teaching positions at some very prestigious schools, you know.”
He puts his glasses back on and looks down his scarlet-tipped nose at all of us. “But I chose to accept a job at Bethlem Academy. It might interest you to know that there was once an insane asylum of the same name.”
He tucks the handkerchief away and puts his hands behind his back, completing his all-too-familiar lecture-delivery stance.
“The manner in which all of you behaved today makes me wonder whether I took a wrong turn all those years ago and did indeed end up teaching physics to a bunch of teenage mental patients.”
Bit’s hand shoots up.
“Yes, Miss Otto, I’m well aware you were not directly involved in the altercation, but the fact that you chose to sneak away into a restricted area without permission certainly does not absolve you of guilt, now, does it?”
Bit slowly lowers her hand.
Margaux snorts. “None of this is my fault, and how dare you call me a mental patient. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You very nearly took out Mr. Forrester’s eye, Miss Pilfrey.”
“It was self-defense.”
“Well, how can that be when Mr. Forrester was clearly being restrained by the . . . the . . .” Professor Francis waves his hand in the general direction of the six identical silver androids behind him.
“Security Drones,” Percy says dryly from across the room.
“Yes, the Security Drones. Thank you, Mr. Blake.” He turns back to Margaux. “You willfully and deliberately attacked him.”
“She only did that because he sucker-punched me!” Brent barks, pointing at Ryan.
“You punched Finn in the face!” Ryan shouts.
“She was asking for it.”
“Mr. Fairchild,” Professor Francis says in dismay.
“Well, she was,” Brent mutters under his breath.
“Just like you’re asking for it right now?” Ryan says coolly.
“Give it your best shot. I dare you,” Brent gibes.
“I don’t need your permission, but OK, if you insist.”
Ryan pushes out of his chair, Brent and Brody both jump to their feet, and Margaux screams as Professor Francis jumps forward with his arms splayed toward them. “You boys sit down! Right now!”
Ryan completely ignores the Professor and lunges at Brent, sending Margaux and her chair toppling backward onto the floor. I jump to my feet as well, shielding Bit. “Security Three!” shouts Percy and three of the security Drones leap from the row behind the Professor, peel Ryan and Brent and Brody apart, and easily twist all three boys into firm arm locks.
Professor Francis looks exasperated. “I was going to give you all a very harsh talking-to, make you promise to be well-behaved, and then send you back to continue the tour with the rest of the group. I can see now that my words would have fallen on deaf ears. All of you need to be made an example of, so each and every one of you will be spending the remainder of the trip here. If that suits Mr. Blake?” Percy looks over and gives the Professor a defeated nod.
“Get me my phone,” Margaux demands as she rises from the floor and straightens her tailored school uniform. “I would like to call my father’s lawyers.”
“This is a school field trip, Miss Pilfrey, not a court of law, and what I say goes.”
Bit’s hand shoots up again. “Save it, Miss Otto. You broke the rules as well. You’re staying too.”
Bit’s hand slowly lowers.
“But Professor . . .” Brent protests.
“Not another word, Mr. Fairchild. None of you have anyone to blame but yourselves.” Professor Francis takes a deep breath and smooths the ends of his bow tie. “Now, Miss Brogan, Miss Otto, and Mr. Forrester, please take your chairs to that side of the room. Mr. Fairchild, Miss Pilfrey, and Mr. Sharp, the opposite side, please.”
The three Drones release the boys, turn, and regimentally march back to their places in the row.
“Man, this sucks,” mumbles Brody as we all reluctantly grab our chairs and drag them to our sides of the room. I don’t say anything, but for once I agree with Brody. This does indeed suck. All I want is to get the hell out of Blackstone Technologies.
The fleeting thought of loudly proclaiming that my father is Dr. Blackstone and demanding that they let me out of here flits through my mind, but let’s face it: After my outburst in the dome, combined with the fact that only a handful of people even know my true identity, well, let’s just say that it doesn’t lend a lot to my credibility. They’d all think I had totally lost it. After what’s been happening in my head today, I can’t help but think that it’s not so far from the truth.
It’s OK. I can wait a few hours for my escape. I just need to
hold it together and do what I’m told in the meantime. I can’t believe that I was actually excited to come on this trip. I may not remember asking Bit to get us in here, but if I did, it was one of the biggest mistakes of my life.
Professor Francis walks over to Percy and begins what appears to be a quiet yet emphatic apology process. I look over at Ryan and Bit and suddenly realize that I owe them some apologies of my own.
“Sorry about all this, guys. It’s all totally my fault,” I whisper.
“Hey, it’s cool. Most fun I’ve had since the last school I was kicked out of—” Ryan says with that cute crooked smile of his.
“I was only gonna ask the Professor where the bathroom is, y’know, in case we need to go?” says Bit, and all three of us laugh quietly.
We position our chairs near the wall with the number one door and take a seat. On the opposite side of the room, Brent is sitting there scraping blood crust from the edges of his nostrils, Brody is staring vacantly at the clouds drifting across the walls, and Margaux is silently murdering us with her eyes.
I look over at the Professor, hand on his chin, nodding and murmuring as Percy whispers things into his silver wristband.
After a couple of minutes they both walk to the middle of the room.
Percy clears his throat and announces, “Computer, restroom construct alpha times two.”
There’s a ping sound of recognition and walls begin hissing into formation in the corners on both sides of the space. In less than a minute, two small rooms with recessed frosted-glass doors have grown from the floor. A look of reassurance washes over Bit’s face.
“There are the facilities if you require them. This place really is remarkable,” Professor Francis says over his shoulder to Percy. “Anyway, Mr. Blake and I are leaving soon to join the others and continue the tour. Sandwiches will be brought in from the cafeteria later for your lunch and I will send for you at the end of the day. Consider this detention.”
“This is outrageous! I refuse to be treated like a common prisoner,” bellows Margaux.
“You are being treated, Miss Pilfrey, like exactly what you are: unruly hormonal teenagers. You should count your lucky stars that I can’t access any schoolwork for you to do. And just in case any of you are thinking about getting into any more trouble than you are already in, these six lady robots will remain here to keep an eye on you. They’re all yours, Mr. Blake.”
