Pandora Jones: Deception

by Barry Jonsberg

  ‘So?’ she said.

  ‘So, where’s the one place in The School where something like that could be done? Assuming we’re not just plain loopy, that is.’

  ‘The Infirmary.’

  ‘Correct, Pandora. Whaddaya reckon? We’ve seen the village, what about checking out what goes on behind closed doors at the Infirmary?’

  ‘I like it,’ Pan said. ‘I like it a lot.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Jen. ‘It’s a date then. Come on. Last one back’s a major loser.’

  She accelerated with no apparent effort. Pan never caught Jen, but she didn’t lose any more ground either, and that, she thought, was an excellent outcome.

  Chapter 8

  A week passed without incident. Pan was true to her word. She worked hard in Miss Kingston’s classes and could see the results in the diminishing distance between herself and Jen in the final two-kilometre run that heralded the end of each session. She put effort into Gwynne’s lessons as well and felt her body building resilience as a consequence. In the past she had been a little scared of physical contact and the ensuing pain, but now she threw herself into the sessions and found that the more she attacked without fear, the fewer injuries she sustained. On one or two occasions she attempted to recreate the moment when she had beaten Jen at Hapkido, but nothing happened. Pan was coming to the conclusion that her gift would only work when she wasn’t trying to force it.

  During free time she worked on fitness routines, sometimes with Jen’s guidance, but more often without it. Academic lessons came and went. The food in the canteen didn’t improve. Dr Morgan continued to work on her intuitive gift during their personal development sessions, but his eagerness had waned due to the lack of progress she was making. The shuffling machine spat out a card and Pan would briefly touch the back before making a judgement. But as often as she could, she would deliberately give the answer she felt was wrong. Dr Morgan still said nothing, but his face betrayed his disappointment and suggested the number of misses Pan was clocking up was increasing. That was fine by her. They think I am special, she thought. And it’s my job to prove them wrong.

  Night-times were still the worst. Not because she feared the nightmares anymore. Those had almost disappeared and she was grateful for dreamless sleep. But she also sometimes had difficulty sleeping at all. Ideas would run through her head and the more she tried to banish them and surrender herself to sleep, the more insistent they became. Memories of Nate. The vision of him lying on a bed while some medical procedure was performed. Trust me. Images of Cara frozen to death on the mountain. Memories of her mother and Danny. It was almost too painful to imagine they were still alive and out there waiting for her to come home. How would they be feeling? Did they still have hope? Would the police still be investigating her disappearance? When she got into this frame of mind it was almost preferable to think they had died in a pandemic, and Pan was not so certain of her theories that she didn’t concede this was still a possibility. In that, at least, The School was right. It did no good to dwell on the past. The present was more than enough to deal with and the future was hers to shape.

  Pan also thought, in the darkest reaches of the night, when the groans of her fellow students penetrated her earplugs, about her experience during her session with Dr Morgan. A man in a laboratory. Was it a laboratory? Someone with glasses, a pristine and clinical room, a boy on a trolley. Was it really Nate? The sense of outrage at her occupation of another person, the way she was spat from his mind. How did that fit in? She was almost certain that if her psychic ability had any grounds at all it came through personal contact. In fact she had conducted a few experiments of her own – touching people she had very little social contact with; people in the canteen lines, brushing against someone as she found a seat in class. Afterwards, she tried to get a sense of what the person was feeling or thinking. Most times, nothing happened, but just occasionally, she had an insight or two. That girl is infatuated with that boy. That boy is gay, but is trying to conceal it, even from himself. Suggestions, hunches, but very little she could test further, let alone prove. So if physical contact was important to her gift, how was it possible for her to invade the mind of the mysterious man in the laboratory? She knew it was a man. That brief moment of occupation had overwhelmed her with an alien sense of masculinity. As far as she could remember, she had never been in a laboratory, never touched anyone who resembled her sense of who he was. Sometimes when she was on the verge of sleep, an idea came to her. Every time her shoulder blades itched, the idea came back.

  It was a Tuesday night. At least, Pan thought it was Tuesday. The days merged into each other and The School-issued watches didn’t show the date, but she thought it was a couple of days since they had washed their clothes at the laundry. Pan had finished a particularly demanding run and was taking a shower. For once the girls’ shower room was free and she enjoyed a rare moment of solitude as she let the dribble of salt water run over her body. Her body was transforming. As she washed herself, she could feel hard ridges of muscle where before there had been a slackness of the skin. She remembered how she had always been faintly embarrassed about her body. There was no mirror to check, but she knew she wouldn’t feel embarrassed anymore.

  The door opened, just as she was taking the pitifully short rinse of rainwater. It was Jen.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you,’ she said.

  ‘Looks like you’ve found me.’

  ‘Tonight.’

  ‘Tonight what?’

  ‘We explore the Infirmary. You still up for that?’

  Pan poured the last drops from her cup over her head, took her hair in both hands and squeezed. Then she moved to the wooden bench where her towel lay and started to dry herself.

  ‘Why tonight?’ she asked.

  Jen leaned against the wall. ‘For the last week I’ve been checking out comings and goings at the Infirmary. This is not a task I’m suited to. Boring as hell. But I thought it’d be sensible to see if there was any kind of pattern to what took place there.’

  ‘And is there?’

  ‘Dr Macredie tends to leave the Infirmary about ten o’clock. God knows what she does there until that time. Maybe she’s shagging Dr Morgan, there’s a thought. Anyway, she goes back to her staff quarters by the river. I followed her twice. Goes straight in, shuts the door, lights out in twenty minutes. By the way, you may be interested to know that staff do not have lights out at the time we have.’

  ‘It doesn’t surprise me. Go on.’

  ‘The receptionist or nurse or whoever the hell she is, leaves earlier than Dr Macredie. She, too, has a place in the staff quarters. Nothing to report there either. As far as I can tell, the staff have little to do with each other. No parties. No barbies. No social drinks. Bloody boring.’

  ‘What about the Infirmary?’ asked Pan. She had finished drying herself and pulled on her top and pants.

  ‘As far as I can tell, Dr Morgan doesn’t ever leave. He must sleep there. Once, about midnight, I climbed up the steps and stood in the Garden. The lights were on in the ward – you remember the place?’

  Pan nodded. She remembered the place very well. Her first experience of The School. The walk out onto the Garden, the view from the cliff, the man putting a coat over her shoulders, the small glimpses of beauty among the desolation.

  ‘I saw him doing the rounds. Well, I say the rounds but there was only one patient in there. Must be that kid who was rescued a while back. Anyway, he checks the sliding doors are locked. Then he leaves and the lights go out. I waited and . . . nothing. No sound, no movement, and the only light is a dull red glow. Maybe it’s a night light of some kind. Anyway, I was sure there was nothing going on, but I waited another hour. To be on the safe side. Nothing. After Dr Morgan turns off the lights, the place is locked down.’

  Pan moved over to the washbasin and started to brush her teeth. The small amount of toothpaste available had run out two weeks ago and no more had arrived, so she just used the salt water. It tasted
awful, but it was better than nothing. She idly wondered what happened when someone got a toothache. Probably Dr Morgan or Dr Macredie dealt with it, maybe with a pair of pliers. Just the thought made her brush more vigorously.

  ‘If Dr Morgan locks up,’ she spluttered through a mouthful of salt water, ‘how are we going to get in?’

  ‘That’s not a problem,’ Jen replied. ‘Trust me.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Three a.m. The time when most people are at the deepest point of their sleep.’

  ‘How do you know this stuff?’

  ‘I know a lot of stuff. Call it professional experience.’

  Pan thought briefly about pushing for an explanation, but instead wiped her mouth with her towel and tied her hair back with a rubber band.

  ‘I’ll wake you at two-thirty,’ said Jen.

  ‘Have you got a knife?’ asked Pan.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Have you got a knife?’

  Jen pulled up her shirt and removed a hunting knife from the waistband of her pants. Even in the dim light of the shower room, Pan saw it was murderously sharp. ‘I’ve always got a knife,’ she said. ‘I sleep with one. Though if I need to use it tonight, we’ll be in deep shit.’

  ‘I need you to use it now,’ said Pan.

  Jen slid the knife back. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘You’ve got me on this one, Pandora. Care to explain?’

  Pan had given this considerable thought, in the long reaches of the night when sleep simply wouldn’t come. The itch between her shoulder blades and the experience of looking through a pair of glasses at a laboratory. The conclusion she had come to was bizarre and at first she had dismissed it. But she could find no other explanation. What if, she had reasoned, her experience with the falcon had come about as a result of her physical contact with the creature? Though she had never been able to repeat the moment, she also took into account that her psychic successes – the watches, the card-guessing – had probably been dependent upon her sense of touch. It was a reach, but she had nothing else to go upon. Touching something gave her insight into that thing and that included people. She had found Cara, after all, after touching her journal. It might have given her a point of reference. So how did that explain her occupation of the man in the lab? Maybe, just maybe, she had touched something that belonged to him. Or maybe, he had touched her. Maybe whatever he had touched was part of her right now. Yes, it was crazy. But it was also something she thought she could verify. Now, she decided, was the time to do just that.

  Pan slipped her top over her head again and threw it down on the bench.

  ‘Do me a favour, Jen,’ she said. ‘Look at my back, somewhere between my shoulder blades, and tell me if you can see anything.’

  Jen tilted her head to one side.

  ‘If this is some kind of come-on, Pandora, I think you should know that you’ve chosen the wrong girl.’

  ‘Come on, Jen. I’m not kidding.’

  Jen sighed, but she took Pan by the shoulders and manoeuvred her slightly so she could take greatest advantage of the dim light. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘There is a bump. Slightly angry. But I am not going to burst a pimple for you, Pandora.’

  ‘Cut it out.’

  ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘No,’ said Pan. ‘I mean cut it out. Use your knife and dig out whatever’s in there.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  Pan sighed. ‘We’re both serious, okay? Dig it out.’

  Jen took a deep breath. ‘I’ve cleaned this knife, but the last time it was used in earnest, it was in someone’s guts. The time before that it was in some fish’s guts. I can’t cut into you with this, Pandora. Not unless you want a serious infection.’

  ‘Then find a flame. Sterilise it.’

  ‘Jeez,’ said Jen. ‘This is beyond weird. Wait here a moment.’ She left the shower block, but was back within a couple of minutes, carrying a flame torch. It cast a vaguely bluish flame that danced slowly in the faintly stirring air. ‘This is not hot enough,’ she said. ‘A blowtorch would be better.’

  ‘It’ll do,’ said Pan. ‘Just keep the knife in the flame for a long time, okay?’

  ‘The blade’ll be covered in carbon.’

  ‘Then wipe it with some toilet paper,’ aid Pan. ‘Christ, Jen. I’m prepared to take the risk. If I get septicaemia I promise I won’t sue you, all right?’

  ‘Your call.’

  ‘Damn right. Just do it.’

  Jen held the blade of the knife in the centre of the flame. Even so, it took a good five minutes before it heated up. Jen was right, as well. Within moments the blade was dulled by carbon. Jen wiped the blade with a couple of pieces of toilet paper, wincing as the heat made its way to her fingers. Finally, she held the knife up to the light and squinted at it.

  ‘Not a good idea,’ she said.

  Pan simply presented her back.

  The pain was far less than she had been expecting. There was a slight hiss as the blade touched flesh and maybe the heat acted as an anaesthetic, because she was aware only of a faint pressure between her shoulder blades. Even so, she felt slightly nauseous. Something was invading her flesh and the sensation was far from pleasant. Pan hoped that Jen would be quick about it.

  ‘There’s something here,’ said Jen after about thirty seconds. ‘Jeez, it’s buried deep.’

  ‘Just get it out of me,’ said Pan. ‘But speed would be a great idea. I’m not having fun here.’

  It was only after Jen had finished that Pan started to feel pain and notice the faint trickle of blood down her back. Jen took a wad of toilet paper and pressed it between Pan’s shoulder blades. ‘I could do with a bandage,’ she muttered. ‘Lean against the wall, Pandora. Keep this paper pressed firmly in place.’

  ‘What have you found?’ asked Pan.

  ‘Lean back, for Chrissake. You’re bleeding like a stuck pig. I have no idea what it is, okay? It’s covered in blood. You stop the bleeding and I’ll rinse it under the tap. But be quick about it. Lights out in five minutes.’

  Pan did as she was told. The feeling of nausea had subsided and all she felt was a slight tingle in her back. Jen strode over to the washbasin and turned on the tap. It was a push-tap that automatically switched off after ten seconds, and she washed what was in her hand vigorously while the water lasted. Pan could see a thin trickle of red running from Jen’s fingers. Then Jen pushed the tap again.

  Pan leaned her head back against the wall. She felt much better. Though she didn’t know what Jen had found, she somehow knew the itch that had been plaguing her for days would not bother her again. Jen squinted at what she had found and then shook her head.

  ‘No idea what this is,’ she said.

  ‘Show me.’

  Pan examined it for a few moments and then closed her fist around it.

  ‘Some kind of shrapnel?’ suggested Jen.

  ‘Did you ever have a pet?’ asked Pan. ‘You know, back in the old world?’

  Jen shook her head. ‘No time, no money. No interest, to be honest. Why?’

  ‘This looks like the microchip a vet would inject into a dog or a cat. Something that carries a code, so it can be tracked and identified.’

  ‘You’ve been tagged?’

  Pan glanced at her watch. There was only a minute or two before they would be plunged into darkness.

  ‘Remember I told you I was drugged after they caught me in the village?’ Jen nodded. ‘I told them I thought the watches were tracking devices,’ Pan continued. ‘I had to tell them the truth, at least the truth as I saw it. And I think this little device is confirmation I was right. They microchipped me when I was out cold. This way, even if I leave my watch somewhere, they’ll know exactly where I am.’

  ‘Serious?’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ said Pan.

  At that moment the lights went out. There were no windows in the shower block. They waited a minute or two without speaking while their eyes adjusted. Their night vision had improved over the weeks and they were used
to moving around in darkness. Pan found her top on the bench and put it back on. Her fist still held the implant tightly.

  ‘So what are you going to do with it?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Pan replied. ‘I’m keeping it on me at all times. No point in alerting them to the fact that I’ve found it. Except tonight, of course. Tonight I’m leaving the watch and this chip safely tucked up in bed.’ She made her way to the door and opened it. The darkness was slightly less impenetrable outside. Pan raised her head to the sky and saw it was a moonless night. Perfect, she thought. Ideal conditions for another sortie into a place she shouldn’t be. Pan almost smiled at the thought. The School may yet learn that the more they tried to stop her, the harder she would fight to discover the truth.

  ‘Two-thirty,’ she said to Jen. ‘And don’t forget to leave your watch.’

  Chapter 9

  Pan didn’t sleep at all, and lay on her back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, but she was still shocked when she felt Jen’s hand on her forearm. Pan swung her legs out of bed, tucked her watch and the tracking chip under her pillow and pulled on her jacket. The two girls moved soundlessly through the dormitory. Only one of their fellow students was having a nightmare and the girl’s sobs made Pan’s skin crawl.

  Once outside, they were able to have a whispered conversation.

  ‘No point running,’ said Jen. ‘We walk, okay? Less likely to attract attention from anyone who’s on the lookout for people like us.’

  The School was eerily quiet, the cloud cover had not dissipated and the darkness was still heavy. They took their time, placing their feet carefully to avoid unnecessary noise. What would, in the day, be a journey of half an hour took them considerably longer. It seemed they had been walking forever when the dark bulk of the cliff loomed before them. Off to their right Pan could just make out the building where Miss Kingston conducted her indoor lessons. Somewhere directly ahead was the memorial cairn for Cara and Nate. It was another five minutes before they found the first step leading up to the Infirmary and the Garden on Top of the World.