Balance - Book 2

by Marc Dickason

CHAPTER 15

  Upon finding the Mental Wellness Centre and entering I was greeted by an atmosphere of still calm, created by carefully controlled air-conditioning and various abstract wall decorations. This, naturally, put me into an immediate state of semi-anxiety, since ambiences of artificial calm reminded me of the dentist, which in turn gave me visions of butchers attempting to relax cattle before the slaughterhouse.

  A young woman behind a desk smiled up at my arrival.

  “Jet Clarence?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Please go through. They are expecting you.”

  I attempted to return the smile and headed through a door. Then I was in a well lit room, one that did little to dispel my anxiety. The place was made up entirely of shining plastic and the colour white. A large red chair, the only non-white article, faced a wooden desk at the rear of the room. The chair made every effort to appear comfortable with ample cushioning, but still somehow vibrated a ‘torture device in disguise’ aura. On either side of the chair two smiling people waited, a man and a woman. Both were dressed in Enforcer uniforms and both doing as successful a job of being welcoming as the red chair.

  “Hello, Mister Clarence,” the short balding man said. Thick spectacles magnified his already abnormally large eyes. “How are you?”

  “Fine. Thank you.”

  I looked at them uneasily, trying to decide on what level I was about to be violated. The disarming smiles suggested rubber gloves might be called for.

  “Why don’t you take a seat,” the woman suggested. A person who might once have been attractive, prior to unintentionally joining the ‘vampire-look-alike’ club.

  “Alright,” I agreed. I stepped forward and descended into the red chair. “What are we going to do here?”

  “No need to be alarmed,” the man declared brightly, “We’re just here to talk.”

  The two stepped over to the desk and settled into chairs. Bizarrely, I noted, the finely polished wooden desk seemed to serve no other purpose than to act as a physical barrier. It stood completely bare of items.

  “How’s the hand?” the woman asked.

  “Better today.”

  “Good. Are you on any medication?”

  “I took painkillers last night. None today.”

  “Good.” She smiled. “We understand you were involved in the tragic events that ended the life of Judy Carlson.” Her voice reflected hours of practice at sounding sincere.

  “Yes. Hence the hand, ma’am.”

  “No formalities, please. You also were present during the tragic events that led to her escape from the Academy. Correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “It must have been very troubling. Witnessing a person’s death in that way,” the bespectacled man added.

  “It was.”

  “Are you experiencing feelings of regret?” he asked, “Perhaps responsibility?”

  My stomach tightened. Indeed I felt regret. But had no desire to discuss the affair with strangers who wore sincerity like a mask. “No. Well, I regret what happened to her. It’s very unfortunate.”

  There was a pause in which both regarded me silently. I got the impression of having given an incorrect answer in a verbal quiz.

  “It is a difficult job that of an Enforcer,” the woman said, “Sometimes conflicting decisions must be made. Unsettling events are witnessed. It can cause emotional distress. We are here to help manage that distress, because, as I’m sure you’re aware, it is essential that Enforcers keep clear minds. Unstable Enforcers can be a problem.”

  “I understand that,” I replied, shifting in the seat, “But I think I’ll be okay. There is no need to worry about me. I’ll come forward if I believe I’m becoming unstable.”

  Again they looked at me in silence. Again the impression I had ticked the wrong box on a multiple choice exam.

  “I’m not sure what it is you want me to say,” I added, “Is there something I’m not doing right?”

  “There is no right or wrong,” the man said quickly, “We just want to talk.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s okay to feel remorse,” the woman jumped in, “Enforcers are not required to be infallible.”

  I hesitated. Tension was mounting. It dawned on me my ‘Active’ status was sitting in the balance.

  “Yes, I feel remorse.” I said carefully, “Judy didn’t deserve to die.”

  “Of course she didn’t,” the man agreed, “and it’s not your fault she did.”

  ‘It’s not your burden to carry,” the woman added.

  “No, not my burden,” I repeated.

  The two exchanged glances. They seemed satisfied.

  “How is your relationship with your demon?” the woman asked “Any peculiarities?”

  I swallowed. “None.”

  “We have a procedure,” the man said, “which can help ease your remorse. Rehabilitation.”

  “It’s optional,” the woman assured, “At this time. But some choose to have it done voluntarily.”

  “What procedure,” I asked.

  “We can help influence memories of the tragedy,” the man said with a smile, “Make them more agreeable. You wouldn’t even know it had been done.”

  “Many choose this option,” the woman said, “It is fast and simple. Helped by your willingness to cooperate. For many Veteran Enforcers it is a new lease on life.”

  My eyes moved between them. Their smiles glowed.

  “Thank you for the suggestion,” I said, “I appreciate it. But at this moment I don’t believe it necessary.”

  “We offer the same to everyone in your situation,” the woman reassured, “There is no stigma attached. You understand?”

  “I understand. Thank you.”

  “Good.” The man beamed. “Then you don’t want to be late for your next lesson.”

  I returned the smile, stood, and exited.

  As I stepped into the corridor a hand grabbed my arm. I spun to see Benny, his face glistening with sweat. My hurt lurched.

  “We need to go,” he said solemnly, “Now.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s Selena. Let’s go!”