The Treatment

by C. L. Taylor

  ‘Yes, Megan, Rae was sick. As I told the nurse at the front desk, she began vomiting when she returned to her room. That’s when I was asked to take her place.’

  ‘She seemed well earlier,’ Mason says. ‘She was doing a puzzle with Takesha. I was watching.’

  Of course you were watching, you freaky robot boy. Once upon a time you’d have been checking her out because you fancied her, now it’s because you’re itching to report someone for antisocial behaviour.

  ‘Who’s taking over your cleaning duty?’ Mouse asks and it’s all I can do not to sigh. God knows how I’m going to convince these two to leave the house with me. Maybe I’ll have to do something really antisocial so they run after me.

  ‘Let’s uh …’ Kyle, who’s leading us back to the house, glances back. ‘Let’s not get too tied up with cleaning rotas and stuff, guys. You’re going to be friends today so you need to listen while I tell you the ropes. OK?’

  Mason and Mouse nod.

  ‘Of course,’ I say.

  *

  By the time we’ve walked through the playing fields and reached the doors to the rec room Kyle has given us each a map of the building and told us what he expects us to do. Basically, we’re to keep an eye on the pre-assessment students (ensuring that they’re content, amused and not breaking any rules), deal with any non-emergency situations and radio one of the proper friends if there’s a query or problem we don’t know how to deal with. Mason and Mouse are buzzing with the power and responsibility.

  ‘If I could change one student’s attitude towards social responsibility,’ Mason says as we walk through the door into the rec room, ‘then I will have achieved something.’

  Kyle glances back. ‘No lecturing,’ he mutters. ‘That’s not your job.’

  Mason shrugs. He might be brainwashed but he’s still got attitude. He reveres Dr Rothwell and he does what the orderlies tell him to do but I can tell that he doesn’t respect Kyle. He probably thinks he’s superior to him.

  I sneak a look over my shoulder before I step into the rec room. The field is still empty but it’s only a matter of time until they come looking for me.

  *

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘What are they doing here?’

  ‘Why are they wearing overalls?’

  The questions from the pre-assessment students come thick and fast as Kyle positions me, Mouse and Mason around the rec room. Mason is stationed in the café, Mouse in the cinema and I’m asked to stand by the door to the library. Unlike the friends, who almost blend in their blue identikit sweatshirts and white trainers, we look like great green plants, dotted around the building.

  ‘I’ll be over there,’ Kyle says, gesturing towards the games zone. ‘Shout if you need me.’

  He moves away, almost knocking into two girls in his desperation to stop an argument that’s broken out between two boys playing Final Fantasy. The shorter of the girls flicks her hair away from her face as she gives him a winsome look. I’m so distracted by what’s going on between the two boys that it takes me a second to realize that it’s Jude.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ Lacey says, nudging her, ‘look who’s back.’

  They swagger towards me, all smug grins and twitching eyebrows.

  ‘Still here are you, Andrew?’ Jude says.

  Lacey laughs. ‘We saw your little escape attempt. What happened? Couldn’t get your fat arse over the fence?’

  ‘Nice outfit. Where’d you get it, the garden centre?’

  My hands twitch at my sides and my stomach twists into an angry knot but I force myself to stay calm. Post-treatment Drew wouldn’t react. She’d feel as detached and superior as Mason does.

  ‘Hello,’ I say. ‘Lovely to see you both again.’

  For a second they’re both stunned into silence then Lacey wrinkles her nose.

  ‘She thinks she’s being funny. And you’re not funny are you, Andrew? Not unless you’re the butt of the joke.’

  ‘It’s a shame you left when you did,’ Jude says. ‘We had a lot of fun stuff planned, didn’t we, Lacey?’

  Lacey nods. ‘Yeah. The toilet still needs cleaning though, if you fancy it!’

  I look straight through her, as though she’s not real. Keep it coming, Lacey. There’s nothing you can say that’s going to get a rise out of me.

  ‘Did they punish you?’ Jude asks, her scrawny little rat face screwing up with excitement. ‘When they took you to the treatment centre? What did they do to you, Andrew?’

  ‘I enjoyed my stay at the treatment centre, thank you. I think you’ll both find it a worthwhile experience too.’

  They both burst out laughing.

  ‘Not if I turn out like you,’ Jude gasps, between giggles. ‘You’re even weirder than you used to be.’

  Lacey crosses her arms over her chest and looks me up and down. ‘I think this is all a big lie. This polite act. I know you, Drew Finch. You may look like you don’t care but inside I know you’re itching to punch me.’ She leans in close, so her face is inches from mine. I can feel her hot breath on my skin. ‘Go on then. Give me a smack. You know you want to.’

  I don’t move a muscle. Instead I continue to stare straight ahead, into her single blurred eye.

  ‘Why so quiet all of a sudden?’ She pulls away. ‘Cat got your tongue has it, or did they cut it out in the treatment centre? Let’s have a look.’

  She reaches out a hand and grabs my lower lip. She yanks it down towards my chin as I clench my teeth. Rage pulses through me and my right hand clenches instinctively. I mustn’t react. I mustn’t react. I mustn’t –

  We all jolt as the door to the library swings open and two men step into the rec room.

  ‘Ladies?’ Dr Rothwell frowns at Jude and Lacey as they jump away from me. He does a double take when he spots me. ‘Drew Finch? I thought you were …’ He tails off and looks at the man who’s walked through the door with him. ‘Jeff, this is David Finch’s daughter.’

  I look sharply at him at the mention of my dad and have to fight not to show surprise on my face. Dr Rothwell knows my dad?

  ‘Is it?’ says the other man. ‘Well I never.’

  ‘His son’s here too.’

  ‘Best place for them, I imagine.’

  The two men share a look and then laugh.

  I recognize him, the smartly dressed man with greying hair, glasses and a bottom lip that looks too large for his face. It’s Jeff Kinsey, the Home Secretary. I only know who he is because Tony always points him out when he’s on the news and says, ‘I know him. A great man, a truly great man.’

  ‘Drew’s been through the treatment,’ Dr Rothwell says. ‘Haven’t you?’

  ‘I have, yes.’

  Across the room I can see an orderly talking to Kyle. He’s gesticulating wildly with his hands and pointing at me. Oh no. They must have found out what I did to Rae.

  ‘I was going to take you over to the treatment centre,’ Dr Rothwell says to the Home Secretary, ‘but seeing as we have one of the students here with us – an interesting case to say the least – why don’t we have a little chat with her back in my office. I’ll take you across the field later. Are you happy to talk to Mr Kinsey –’

  ‘Dr Rothwell, excuse me, Dr Rothwell.’ Kyle hurries over, cheeks blowing, and taps him on the arm. Behind him, puffed up with his own self-importance, is Ian, the orderly I was supposed to report to for maintenance duty. A jolt of fear, as powerful as electricity, courses through my body and I take a step backwards, but I’m already backed up against the wall and the heel of my trainer catches against the skirting board. They’ve discovered Rae, locked in her bathroom, and put two and two together. I can’t escape. With Lacey and Jude to my left, Dr Rothwell and the Home Secretary to my right and Kyle and Ian in front of me, I’m surrounded on all sides. I look desperately around the room, searching for an escape route or someone who can help me but there’s nothing, no one. Jude was right about one thing, I should have told all the students what was going on here.
I could have planned an uprising. Forty kids against ten members of staff. We could all have escaped. Polly is sitting on a beanbag in the gaming zone, staring at us. When I catch her eye, she gives me a curious look and then glances away. Jez does the same. So does Callum. At some point in my stay all three of them have tried to befriend me but I’ve kept them at arm’s distance because I didn’t want to have to rely on anyone else. Because I didn’t trust them. Now I’m going to be carted off to isolation or stuck back in a treatment room and it’s all my own fault.

  ‘Yes.’ Dr Rothwell turns sharply so Kyle’s hand falls away from his arm. ‘What is it, Kyle?

  ‘There’s been an incident in the treatment unit. This student was supposed to –’

  ‘Kyle, a word, please.’

  Dr Rothwell grips Kyle’s shoulder and angles him away from Jeff Kinsey. He keeps his voice low enough that I can’t hear everything he says but I catch the words ‘Home Secretary’ and ‘don’t embarrass me’ and I can tell from the expression on Kyle’s face that he doesn’t like what he’s hearing. He grimaces as he glances at the Home Secretary.

  I reach for the staff pass, hanging round my neck. If I give it a quick tug when no one’s watching me, the catch at the back of my neck will release. If they throw me into an isolation room I might be able to escape but where can I hide it? My sleeve? Inside my overalls?

  ‘Drew?’ Dr Rothwell turns to look at me and I freeze, my hand on my pass.

  ‘Yes, Dr Rothwell?’

  ‘I’d like you to come to my office, please.’

  Kyle and Ian, standing behind him, are stony faced. Jude and Lacey are clasping each other, expressions of sheer delight on their smug faces.

  ‘Your office?’ I say.

  ‘Yes, please, Drew.’ Dr Rothwell presses his staff pass against the lock and the door to the library swings open. He opens his arm wide, ushering me inside. ‘After you.’

  Chapter Forty

  ‘Sorry we were so rudely interrupted, Jeff,’ Dr Rothwell says as we walk into his office. ‘Normally our support staff are perfectly adept at dealing with issues and problems but Kyle’s new, he’s still finding his feet.’

  ‘I totally understand.’ Jeff Kinsey crosses the room and settles himself into an armchair near the window, without being asked to sit down. He has the air of a man who’s used to doing exactly what he wants, when he wants.

  ‘Take a seat, Drew,’ Dr Rothwell says, touching the back of the chair nearest his desk. As I sit down, he takes the seat opposite. ‘As I was saying,’ he says to the Home Secretary. ‘This is David Finch’s daughter. She’s also the most recent of our students to have completed treatment.’

  ‘Ah, I see. Great.’ Jeff Kinsey looks me up at down, his rubbery lips pressed together, his nostrils flaring as he evaluates me. Beneath the leather armrests my palms are slick with sweat but I don’t wipe them on my overalls. As far as both men know I am a perfectly behaved zombie. And zombies don’t feel fear.

  ‘The last time you were in my office,’ Dr Rothwell says. ‘We were investigating an escape attempt.’

  ‘Escape?’ The Home Secretary raises an eyebrow.

  ‘A failed attempt,’ Dr Rothwell says quickly. ‘This place is like Fort Knox but we have learned from the experience and taken all necessary precautions to avoid it happening again.’

  He’s being all chummy with Jeff Kinsey but I can tell by the way he keeps touching his tie that he’s not comfortable. Self-soothing, that’s what Dad taught me about repetitive movements, like stroking your beard, running your hands through your hair, touching your tie. Dr Rothwell knows he’s not the most powerful man in this room but he still wants to impress. He probably wants to ensure the Home Secretary keeps Norton House open.

  ‘Tell us about the escape attempt, Drew,’ he says. ‘And how you feel about it now.’

  ‘It was a mistake,’ I say levelly. ‘I was uneducated and uninformed. I wanted to return home because I was scared that the treatment would change me and I didn’t want to be changed. Now I am thankful for the treatment. It has opened up a world of possibilities I didn’t know existed.’

  ‘What kind of possibilities?’ Jeff Kinsey sits forward in his armchair and rests his elbows on thighs.

  ‘The opportunity to give something back to society, to contribute in a meaningful way.’

  Both of his eyebrows flash upwards and he nods. ‘Nice, Phil. Very nice.’

  ‘They’re not just treated, Jeff. They’re reformed. And totally biddable. They respect authority unquestioningly.’

  ‘No.’ Jeff Kinsey looks genuinely impressed.

  ‘Seriously.’

  ‘She’ll do anything you tell her to.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Try. She won’t question it. She’ll just do it. Just, um, obviously –’ he clears his throat ‘– within certain boundaries.’

  ‘Of course. Absolutely.’

  ‘Right, well.’ The Home Secretary stands up. He circles my chair, looking me up and down. He leans in close, his breath hot and damp in my ear. ‘Do you know who I am, Drew?’

  I keep my gaze fixed on the stag’s head, mounted on the wall opposite. It’s got horrible glassy eyes but it’s not nearly as creepy as Jeff Kinsey, who smells of expensive aftershave, cheap whisky and gingivitis.

  ‘Yes, sir. I do. You’re Jeff Kinsey, the Home Secretary.’

  ‘What would you do if I asked you to stand up?’

  ‘I’d do as I was told.’

  ‘OK.’ I hear him take a step back. ‘Stand up.’

  I stand, nerves fluttering in my stomach like butterflies in a net.

  ‘Hop on one foot!’

  I raise my right foot and hop three times.

  ‘Continue hopping,’ he says, as my right foot touches the floor again.

  I continue to stare at the dead stag as he rounds the desk and I continue to hop, hop, hop but, out of the corner of my eye, I register the impressed expression on his face. He looks from me to Dr Rothwell and shakes his head. ‘She really doesn’t mind, does she?’

  ‘No. As I said, the implications are … well … limitless.’

  ‘If I asked her to put her hand over a candle would she do it?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘She has no free will?’

  ‘She does, but within certain constraints. She may show a preference for one task over another but, ultimately, everything she chooses must be for the good of her country.’

  Jeff Kinsey sits back down on the armchair and rubs his hands together. ‘How many of these kids have you got?’

  ‘We’ve treated a hundred so far. Seventy have returned home but, since the call from your secretary, we’ve kept a number back as requested.’

  ‘This changes everything.’ The Home Secretary is breathless with excitement. ‘MI5, the secret service, the police, terrorist investigations, immigration – the implications are huge. Once trained these kids could be … they could …’

  ‘Drew, stop hopping and sit down, please,’ Dr Rothwell says.

  As I sit back down he leans towards Jeff Kinsey. Small pink patches have appeared on his cheeks and the base of his neck. He’s thrilled by how excited the other man is. ‘The hopping, that’s physical, a trick you might teach a dog, but what’s really special about these kids is their emotional restraint. Watch this.’

  I smile stiffly as Dr Rothwell perches on the desk in front of me.

  ‘What was your relationship with your father like, Drew? Before he disappeared.’

  I swallow hard. Why’s he asking me about my dad? I’m not sure I can do this.

  ‘I was very close to my father,’ I say, forcing myself to look Dr Rothwell in the eye. I mustn’t cry. I mustn’t cry.

  ‘Did you love your father?’

  An image of my dad’s face flashes up in my mind – his tanned, lightly lined skin, his dark hair, his warm yet mischievous eyes. And that smile. A smile that made my heart leap whenever he flashed it in my direction. I so wanted t
o make my dad proud. All I’ve ever wanted was to make him proud.

  ‘Yes, I did. Very much.’

  I swallow as my mouth fills with saliva and my throat constricts. I can feel Jeff Kinsey’s eyes on me, his intense stare boring into my brain. If I keep thinking about my dad I’ll cry and Dr Rothwell will realize that I haven’t been brainwashed at all. I need to think about someone else. Someone I can’t stand. I grit my teeth and force the image of Dad’s face out of my mind. Lacey’s face takes its place and the heavy feeling in my chest dissipates, almost instantly.

  ‘Where is your father, Drew?’ Dr Rothwell asks.

  ‘I don’t know. Nobody knows. My mother thinks he’s dead.’

  ‘And you? What do you think?’

  Please forgive me, Dad.

  ‘I think he’s dead too.’

  ‘Where does your loyalty lie, Drew – family or society?’

  Inside I relax a little. Thank God he’s stopped asking me questions about my dad.

  ‘My loyalty is always to society first, family second.’

  ‘Good.’ Dr Rothwell nods. ‘Very good. One final question, Drew.’ He glances over at the Home Secretary who nods. ‘What would you say if I told that your father helped develop the treatment programme at Norton House and that, at this very moment, he’s residing in his room in the staff quarters?’

  First there is shock, a cold blanket that wraps itself around my heart. Then it’s as though a knife has been plunged repeatedly into my stomach. That’s the only way I can explain the punctured, wounded feeling that rips through my body. Dad’s alive. He’s here. He’s been here the whole time. It was his leg I saw at the top of the stairs. His face I saw at the window. My dad’s here. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

  I don’t show any of this on my face, or in the hands that lie loosely on my lap. I don’t give Dr Rothwell any indication that I am anything other than totally apathetic whilst inside I am being torn apart.

  ‘No reaction?’ Dr Rothwell shifts forward and peers at my face. ‘No reaction at all?’

  ‘I am pleased that my father has aided the programme,’ I say stiffly.

  ‘Pleased?’