by Al K. Line
There was to be no talk of their past. For many it would seriously endanger their recovery, and there was to be no talk of personal matters of any kind. The women obeyed, policing themselves rather strictly, but always watched over by Nurse Emily and Laffer. If that wasn't enough, then there was the constant reminder that they were being observed as the cameras dotted around the various rooms moved and followed them. It meant talk was superficial, often brief, but at least there was a sense of freedom of sorts.
Amanda read books, the choices heavily censored, watched documentaries on their TV — there was no remote and no choice in what was viewed — and every week the women were taken away and given their lumbar punctures, as this was an institution where women were sent that suffered from the condition brought on by the excess fluid.
Apart from this weekly degradation, along with the meetings with Hector, they were mostly left to their own devices during the daytime. There were chores to be done, of course: floors to be mopped, showers stalls to be cleaned, meals to be prepared and dishes to be washed, but the jobs rotated often unless somebody showed real aptitude for one or the other, and much of the day was theirs to do with as they wished.
As time passed, Amanda had no idea how long she had been in either isolation or the general population, so the meds were lowered until one day Amanda woke to find she could think clearly for the first time since she didn't know when. Maybe it was the first time.
She lay on her top bunk listening to the sounds of fifty women waking and going about their normal morning business, getting ready to walk off single file to the bathroom in shifts, then for breakfast, and it was as if she heard the clatter, the moans, the groans, the manic laughter and the crying for the first time since she'd arrived.
It was the stuff of nightmares.
How had she not heard such sorrow, such pain, before? How had she blocked out the cries for help, the quiet mutterings, the stink? The place smelled really bad, or was it just her own body? Amanda sniffed an arm. Nope, it was fine, but sniffing the air she thought she detected the overpowering smell — it was cabbage. Of course, they ate it a lot. It was the kind of institutional cooking that would never win any awards, and the whole place stank of badly cooked food.
Amanda lay still for as long as she could, dreading what would greet her when she finally got up. She felt alive, whole, like she could think if she were given time to do so, not that she would be that lucky now for the rest of the day.
Amanda shuffled onto her belly on the itchy top blanket and peered cautiously over the edge of the bunk, battling between inquisitiveness and dread at what she would see. She stared at the brown tiles for what felt like the longest time, until finally she summoned up reserves of courage and raised her head to take in the room as a whole.
She gripped the edge of the bed to stop herself falling off the bunk, her worst fears come to life. She looked again, she had to, to be sure, to know she wasn't just imagining it.
Amanda stared at a roomful of Amandas. Same features, same hair color, same eyes and freckles, the only difference between them was how far gone into themselves they actually were. Some were smiling, lost in their own worlds, others stared at the floor, limp hair hiding their features for the most part. Some whistled tunelessly, happily getting dressed, but most were simply broken, as if they too knew what they would see if they raised their gaze from the floor or the walls, most performing their morning rituals without ever once looking at the other women they shared their lives with.
Who could blame them?
She crawled back onto the bed and closed her eyes.
Why were they allowing her to come off her meds? Was it because they thought she was well enough now? Was it because they were going to let her go? Had anyone left? Amanda tried to think back to the numbers of women. It had remained constant, she was sure, although so much time had been spent so heavily medicated that she had to admit that an elephant could have walked through the rec room and she wouldn't have noticed or remembered. And the faces, were they still all the same — the faces she had imagined the women to have? Of course they were, she'd made them up.
Amanda turned over and pulled her pillow over the back of her head. All the women were her, they were all the same, and nobody had ever left.
In the dark and muffled silence she lay there, trying to drown out the noise of insanity all around her, coming to one conclusion: she had been right all along, right about everything, and the only reason they wanted her, and everyone else, to finally get off their meds was so her cerebrospinal fluid would be pure and they could use it to power Hexads.
I have to get out of here.
One Step Forward...
37 Years Future
...two steps back, thought Amanda, as she noticed Nurse Emily looking at her strangely.
Amanda knew that she wasn't acting her usual self. Throughout the morning routine of washing, dressing, and brushing her teeth, the nurse had been watching her. Amanda knew she wasn't keeping the pretense well enough, and there were sure to be consequences. She had to act like everyone was different, like she accepted her brainwashing through medication and what she was now sure, in her moment of lucidity, was some form of hypnotic suggestion performed by Hector at their regular meetings.
That was why she could picture the women as so different, and why she could accept that all her talk of time travel and a nice life was false: she had been reprogrammed and wasn't strong enough to fight it.
Now I am. Just act like they want, do what they want, say what they expect. You have to, or you'll never get out of here.
It was all so clear now: she had been duped, taken against her will and made to become something else. Someone else. They wanted her to power Hexads, they wanted her and all other versions of her so they could make themselves incredibly rich and provide Hexads to the masses, just like Hector had done in alternate realities caused by the damn devices in the first place.
Amanda gave up trying to think of all the inconsistencies in her version of her past that she tried to cling to desperately while she had the mental capacity to do so, but the most confusing thing of all was that it seemed like there was no actual inventor of Hexads in the first place. It was a paradox that refused to go away. How had Hector got his hands on one in this version of reality? It had to have come from somewhere, didn't it?
So, at some point back in the past Hector found out about their potential and then did what he had to do to produce them now. Who was to blame for such a thing? How could she change it? Could she?
More importantly, how the hell could she get away from The Ward and find Dale? Did he know where she was? Surely he did? They'd been chased away from The Ward by Laffer, hadn't they? Or did she imagine that?
Amanda chewed on her scrambled eggs and didn't even notice as her thoughts became jumbled then faded away — nothing but fluffy clouds again.
~~~
Slowly, Amanda became aware of the cycle repeating every day, but over the course of a week, and she was actually fairly sure it was a week, she came to understand that once again her mind was clear. The routine seemed to go: wake up in morning with a clear head, try not to look shifty as if she knew what was going on but fail, eat breakfast laced with sedatives, lose train of thought, become increasingly lucid again toward the evening, lay awake at night trying to think things through, wake up in morning and act a little less suspicious, or well-trained, which she had a sneaking suspicion was what was really wanted, and find that the meds weren't quite as debilitating.
By the end of the week Amanda was sure she was ingesting nothing but food for breakfast, maybe with something to take the nervous edge off but nothing more — she certainly didn't have the head full of cotton wool feeling any longer. She could think, she could reason, she could see things for what they were even though her subconscious was still trying to imprint the many faces of the Amandas with individual characteristics she now knew were not really there.
She was, she now accepted, trapped in her
own nightmare and it would only get worse.
Escape was the only option.
Meow.
Amanda moved her attention away from the game of solitaire she was playing at the scuffed Formica table in the rec room.
Had she just heard something? Yes, she had. She looked around — nothing but familiar, all too familiar, faces. She turned back to the game, focused on the rows of cards, flipped over a ten of hearts from the stack.
Meow. Meow.
There it was again, she'd heard it for sure this time, no doubt.
Amanda looked over at Nurse Emily, who seemed engrossed in watching a woman perform some kind of strange yoga. Laffer was nowhere to be seen. She glanced up at the cameras but there was nothing she could do about that. Where had the noise come from? By the window, wasn't it? Casually, she walked over, caught herself whistling and stopped. Why did people think that made them seem like they were acting natural?
She peered out at the bare trees and the grass. Rain fell steadily and the sky was dark with clouds, the winter now well and truly settled in. Getting up on tip-toes, she peered down to the ground below, and there he was: Wozzy.
What was he doing here? How had he got here? And how long had the poor thing been all alone?
It was hard to see him properly through the rain-soaked glass, but his loud meow was unmistakable through the crack in the top window that was always left open for ventilation. The little guy was looking at her with huge, dark eyes. His normally fluffy coat was dirty and soaked through. He would not be a happy kitty cat.
What could she do? How could she let him in? Amanda tapped the window and Wozzy meowed loudly, a cry for help, for company. For her. Amanda pointed up and Wozzy followed the direction of her finger. He jumped up onto the outside window sill and stared up at the partially open window, crying at the narrow gap that was all that kept him away from company and warmth.
She would have to open the window, but if she did that somebody would see, and Amanda was sure they would not take kindly to a cat disturbing the peace of The Ward.
"Ssh. Quiet, Woz, don't let them know you are here." Amanda glanced around nervously, turned to act like she was just being natural, which of course made it feel totally obvious she was up to something. "Stay quiet and wait until dark. I'll come back later."
Wozzy just stared at her, but somehow she was sure that when he jumped down from the sill and sauntered off into the grass he'd understood.
Now, how am I going to get him in?
Amanda made her way back to her chair, realizing as she sat down that it wasn't so much a matter of getting him in, it was how could she get them both out. Wozzy had the freedom of the grounds, so maybe she should try to find him when it was her turn to go outside instead?
~~~
With many of the women asleep in their chairs, the TV ignored — a repeat of some wildlife documentary about penguins she must have already seen a hundred times — Amanda crept back over to the window. All she could see was the reflection of herself staring back at her, a face she was growing to hate with a passion she didn't know she still had inside of her. How she despised staring at this woman, this woman that confronted her everywhere she looked, threatening to break her hard-won sanity and send her back to her padded cell.
Meow.
He's still here. Good boy, Wozzy. Amanda checked on Nurse Emily, but she must have been changing shift with the night nurse, a woman that seldom spoke, was as strict as could be, and went merely by the name Nurse — nobody knew any more than that about her.
Amanda put her hands to the cold glass, cupped her face so she could peer through. Her breath fogged up the pane in an instant. Wozzy was there, tapping at the window with a paw, desperate to either get in or just have company.
Could he have been here for months? How had he survived? Probably by hunting around the grounds, or maybe he'd found a way out? Ah, of course, with his slight build he could easily squeeze through the bars of the gate. He'd probably been getting fed by some kind old lady and just popped back now and then to see if he could find Amanda.
Okay, right. I will do it. I'm getting out of here.
"Wait for me, Wozzy," whispered Amanda, and with a quick glance to make sure the coast was clear she grabbed the nearest chair, put it close to the window and jumped up on it. She reached up for the latch of the small oblong at the top window and pushed it off the catch. It would be a tight squeeze but she was sure she could get through. But then what? The gates would be locked, the wall was too high and if she got caught she would be in some serious trouble.
Better to at least try.
Amanda reached up and gripped the window divide, praying she had enough strength to haul herself up. She bent her legs a little than sprang up as high as she could — Wozzy would have been proud. She got her forearms up on the metal window frame and pushed against the back of the chair for purchase.
It clattered to the floor as she launched, but she was up, her belly now resting on the frame. All she had to do now was slither through and she would be out.
Noise erupted behind her as the women woke and saw what she was doing. Some began to wail, others shouted encouragement, most just stared at her blankly, neither knowing nor caring what it was she was doing.
"Get down from there right this minute," shouted the night nurse, rushing toward Amanda. She slapped a red alarm button on the wall as she hurried across the room.
No bloody chance.
Amanda shuffled forward, the catch on the frame digging into her belly as she slid out into the frigid night air head first. At the last minute, just as she felt a hand grab her bare foot, she managed to turn sideways and found herself outside gripping onto the frame. She let go and landed hard on the narrow concrete balcony that ran around the whole of the building before leading down to the gardens.
Amanda could see the nurse on the other side of the glass, could hear her shouting and ordering her back inside. Amanda watched as a crowd gathered, some of the women cheering, envy as clear as their identical faces.
"Hello, Wozzy, how have you been, little man?"
Meow. Wozzy jumped up into her arms and climbed up to her face before rubbing his head under her chin. He rumbled contentedly.
"Oh, Wozzy, I can't tell you how good that feels. Feels like coming home. Now, how the hell do we get out of here?"
"I think I can answer that," said Dale from behind her.
Amanda turned and there he was, the man she still wasn't sure was real. He was stood in the dark, features deep in shadow, yellow from the weak light spilling from the rec room, but it was him, it was definitely him. "Dale! It's you, you're real?" Amanda reached out a hand, holding Wozzy tight with the other, and put skeletal fingers to his face.
"Eh? Yes, of course I'm real. Come on, let's get the hell out of here. I've been searching for this day for a long time, but finally I've got you. Let's go."
"Go? Go where?"
Dale looked at her in confusion. "Where? Home, of course. Come on, hold my hand."
Amanda didn't know what was happening and didn't care. She just wanted to get away. Could she go home? Did she have one? Was Dale really, truly here to save her? Amanda held out her hand. Dale took it delicately, frowned at the smallness, and then something shone blue in his other hand.
"Ready?" Dale looked at her; there were tears in his eyes.
Amanda nodded.
Dale pressed the blue dome against his chest.
They vanished.
Home Again
Present Day
Amanda dropped her arms to her sides. Wozzy fell to the tiles and meowed in annoyance before rubbing against her leg. He sauntered off into the living room.
The living room. Tiles. Her kitchen. Dale!
And he had a Hexad, didn't he? They'd jumped and she was home. No, this was what she'd been warned about, what Hector had said could happen if she had a serious relapse. Had she lost her mind again? Was it because she'd been thinking of escaping? Had it tipped her back over th
e edge into hallucinations and dreams of time travel and having a happy home life and a cat she hadn't even known she'd had?
Was she right now sat hunched in her cell wearing a straitjacket, rocking back and forth on her haunches, drooling and talking about parallel universes to herself while they tried to sedate her?
Amanda sank to the floor, welcoming the coolness of the tiles — they looked like they'd be a good investment. Blackness took her to a welcome unconsciousness. She never wanted to wake again, not if it meant she would be back in her cell.
~~~
"Should we wake her?"
"I don't think so, let her rest."
"But she's been asleep for what, two days now?"
"I know, but she obviously needs it. Look at the state of her, she's little more than skin and bone."
"Poor thing, I can't imagine what it must have been like."
There was a rustling, then the sound of munching.
"Man, don't you ever stop eating?"
"What, it's the stress."
"The stress! What have you got to be stressed about?"
"Oh, I don't know, worrying about Amanda, worrying about Wozzy, the poor little guy. You too."
"Me?"
"Yeah, you. Have you looked in the mirror lately? You look almost as bad as her."
"I suppose it was all the jumping, trying to get her back."
"Yeah, and everything else that went along with that. Not to mention not sleeping, not eating properly, and dealing with that Cray character."
"I know, I know. You've said all this already, Peter, but what else could I do? I couldn't just leave her there, now could I?"
