The Haven

by Carol Lynch Williams

Something moved in my chest, an unfamiliar part of the struggle. Join them because Daniel said I wouldn’t? I looked away from the curtains. Down the hall I could see the massive fireplace. The chairs where I sometimes went to read.

  “He was right,” I said.

  Walk on, I thought. Go. But I stood still.

  Abigail thought there was a part of me that wanted something different.

  “If you change your mind,” Gideon said, “meet us at the entrance to the kitchen. Twelve thirty tonight. Don’t drink the Tonic and you’ll stay awake.”

  I marched off down the hall, to my room, where I threw myself on my bed to think. The covers smelled clean. I knew I’d miss class and end up with another dose of Tonic and maybe one-on-one time with Principal Harrison. But I stayed in bed anyway.

  * * *

  That night, the Tonic sat on my bedside table like every night. This is part of Miss Maria’s duty. But I’d never thought of it. Just swallowed the bright red liquid, made with acai juice, to keep myself as healthy as possible. I didn’t ask questions.

  Ever.

  Thick liquid, sweet, with a bitter aftertaste. Never wondered what the Tonic was for. They told me. I believed. I felt irritated with myself. Food was important to me. Why not the Tonic?

  It was habit.

  If you had bad dreams, you got an extra bit of Tonic. Why? You needed your sleep.

  If you were dizzy when another Terminal got near you, you had to make sure to down that extra drink. Why? To keep you from spreading germs.

  Tonic was a directive.

  Ask for more if you needed something to settle your stomach.

  Terminals could transfer sickness—don’t get too close. The Tonic builds your immunities from being near someone, especially someone of the opposite gender. Stay away from the opposite gender.

  I slipped out of my clothes and put on pajamas, crumpling the blue jeans I’d worn, then tossing the dirty clothes in the laundry basket. Tomorrow morning, those clothes would be on top of my dresser for me to put away, or hanging in my closet. Who did that? And how did they keep my things separate from everyone else’s?

  I’d never wondered.

  But tonight was different.

  I was different. (Like when Abigail said she was changed?)

  My differences made me creep around at night. Lie awake later than the others. Made me remember what I wanted to forget.

  Tonight I was different because of Gideon’s actions. He had tempted Abigail somehow. And that changed me.

  Tonight, my roommates spoke in whispers. Brahms played. I yawned.

  Why did I give Gideon so much control? Why was I even thinking of him?

  “Drink your Tonic, Shiloh,” I said, looking into the cup.

  The lights dimmed.

  Sure, I thought Gideon’s speech had merit. I wanted Terminals to get better. Not lose parts. Not die. But Gideon was breaking rules. And if we wanted to get free, we had to follow the rules. And his words to me. That he liked to look at me. Something burned in my skin.

  I swirled the Tonic.

  This was why Terminals should stay away from each other. Close association caused anxiety. I could see that. Feel it, too. Whenever I stood side by side with a Terminal, especially a male (which I never did unless it was necessary). When I looked at Gideon. Saw him across the room from me.

  I tilted the Tonic toward my lips, tasted the sweetness.

  “Good night, everyone,” Elizabeth said.

  “Night,” Mary said.

  “I hope you sleep better.” Abigail sat up in her bed, watching me.

  Wait.

  If Gideon was right, and Terminals had to do it themselves, for themselves, should they follow rules?

  “You okay?” Abigail asked. I ignored her.

  “I need to use the restroom,” I said, mumbling. Confused, I went into the hall and down to the lavatory. The little cup bent in my hand. The liquid jiggled with each step.

  The light came on when I walked into the tiled room. I saw myself in the mirror. My eyes looked too big. My hair seemed too wild. There was red on my top lip.

  “Drink it,” I whispered to my reflection.

  I went in a stall. Sat down. Tossed the Tonic back. No! I jumped up, spun around, and spit the whole mouthful into the toilet, flushing the red away. I went to the sink and washed my mouth out, twice.

  Blood rushed to my face.

  “What have I done?” I said. I was crazy! Disobedient! Putting myself at risk!

  “It’s just to see.” I rested my forehead against my image’s forehead.

  Or … or (should I even think it?) this was to find a cure.

  I let out a whimper. “Right.” My voice sounded like I stood in a soup can. “You’re finding a cure in the john.”

  I washed my hands, then splashed cool water on my face.

  “Are you okay, Shiloh?” Abigail slid from the darkened doorway into the light.

  “What are you doing here?” Had she seen me? Did she know what I had done?

  Abigail’s lips trembled. “Just checking on you,” she said. Her voice was quiet. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

  The room smelled like soap. Who kept this place so clean?

  “You do offend, Abigail. I don’t even recognize you,” I said, my mouth taking over. “You won’t let me make the decision. Let me have a choice. You do things without me, never telling me you’re going to.” I pushed past her, hearing the toilet flush again as I went down the hall. Once I was in our room, I crawled in bed, turning my back to her when Abigail got into her own bed and whispered over to me, “Sorry.”

  HAVEN

  HOSPITAL&HALLS

  Where You Matter

  Established 2020

  Note to all Staff

  Please Watch For:

  Change in food consumption

  Students being too sleepy or too alert

  Sudden mood changes

  Laughter

  Uncommon sickness (i.e., headache, diarrhea, sweating, shakiness)

  Any and all of these (and similar) behaviors MUST be reported to school officials immediately.

  9

  I couldn’t sleep.

  Maybe it was because the night music had stopped or because I flushed the evening Tonic or because I was nervous I would miss the twelve thirty rendezvous. After Brahms ended, the bedroom filled with the sounds of sleeping.

  Those nighttime sighs, the late hour, and going to bed at 10:00 P.M. made my eyes heavy. Maybe this one time I would sleep without wanting to, instead of lying awake.

  The clock over the fireplace mantel called out the half hour. It had never seemed so loud. Now the tock seemed to boom. How did I not notice it? Or sleep through it? There was the rush of a spring wind blowing around the building, whistling in at what must be a small crack in the window. There was the settling of the beds when someone rolled over and the soft footsteps of Ms. Iverson, who checked rooms before she headed to her own room. Funny how I had never heard her walking on the wooden hall floors before tonight.

  And then there were the voices of men, talking about cleaning.

  A cleaning crew. I had a vague recollection of a group of individuals (were they Terminal or Whole? I didn’t know) who I sort of heard other late nights.

  I blinked, eyes hot.

  Keep awake.

  Did this group do the laundry, too?

  I flopped over and stared at the ceiling.

  Sleep, my mind told me. You need your rest. Disobedience equals death.

  I couldn’t believe I would run the risk of Isolation—and all for Abigail.

  I was sure Gideon had beguiled her. Like Jim Jones had deceived the residents of Jonestown and convinced them to commit suicide. Or how the People had turned against the innocent during the Terminal Massacres.

  Tonight I would break the rules and convince Abigail not to follow Gideon. I would convince them both.

  The clock donging twelve times jarred me awake. I sat, sick to my stomach. I had slept and not
meant to.

  After throwing off the covers, I moved on tiptoe from my bed. To the dresser. Put on sweats. Sweatshirt. A rubber band to pull my hair back. Socks. No shoes.

  I went to the window.

  What was left of the snow glowed. But there was no one out there. I mean, Gideon wasn’t out there. The night was still.

  Sneaking to the door, I peered down the hall. The clock said it was 12:10. 12:10! Still another twenty minutes to wait. No wonder Abigail was late for breakfast this morning. She’d been exhausted.

  I walked back to my bed and sat down. Closed my eyes. Opened them. Hummed. Recited the Pledge three times. “We are one. All colors make up who we are. We are the same. The Terminal. We help the Whole. We benefit the World. We will make a difference.”

  We will make a difference.

  Like Gideon said.

  I propped myself in the sitting position and leaned against the headboard. I would close my eyes to the count of three. It wouldn’t hurt.

  Not even five minutes later Gideon spoke. “Shiloh. You’re late.”

  I awoke. Gideon stood in the doorway, a dark silhouette.

  “Are you meeting with me and Abigail or not? We’ve been waiting for you. Every second out in view puts us at risk.”

  “I’m coming,” I said. I’d show him. Tell them both how I felt.

  “Hurry,” Gideon said. He pressed his finger to his lips. Motioned with his head and said, “People are working. Ms. Iverson is up with the cleaning crew.” Then he was gone, slipping away like a ghost.

  “Gideon.” I kept my voice soft. The sound caught in the walls, in the curtains, in other Terminals’ sleeping quarters. I hurried along faster than normal. My sweatshirt made me so hot, I wondered if I could bear it. I flapped the front, letting cool air up against my skin.

  If you go outside, you’ll be cold, I thought. If you sneak to the gazebo. Go to the wall. Peek over. The people with signs, eyes bloodred, flashed in my memory.

  No, I wouldn’t sneak to the gazebo, wouldn’t climb the wall. I would follow the rules, except this once, and I would fix what was broken with Abigail and Gideon. I would convince them meetings like this were wrong. I would tell Abigail not to trust that Gideon could save any Terminal at all. Logic told me that was impossible. It should tell her the same thing.

  He rounded the corner up ahead.

  I ran after him. “Gideon,” I called. My voice echoed. Why was it so loud? “I want to talk to you.”

  “Shhh,” he said. “Shhh, Shiloh. They’ll hear us.”

  At last, I caught up with him. His back was to me. His hair looked green in the light of the EXIT sign. I grabbed his shoulder, pulled hard to turn him around, my stomach somersaulting. I would tell him how I felt about Abigail being with him at night. Before we got to her.

  His whole arm and a chunk of his shoulder came off in my hand. Blood sprayed in the air, splashed on the floor. I felt it, warm, under my feet. Felt the blood run over my fingers, down my hand.

  “Look what you did, Shiloh,” Gideon said. He shook his head at me, his eyes glowing. “How can I save the Terminals if I bleed out?”

  His eyebrows disappeared. Then his mouth, nose, and eyes, and then his whole face was gone. There was nothing but a black hole where he had once been. His shoulder and arm were heavy in my hands. Warm. Wet. I dropped it to the floor. It hit the ground with a thunk.

  “No.”

  The fingers reached for my ankle, then clawed at the floor, trying to get to me, but I stepped back.

  “No!”

  My own voice woke me, my eyes flying open.

  It was another dream. A crazy, crazy dream. I clutched at the covers. Swallowed again and again. I should have taken the Tonic.

  It took some time to not think of that arm coming loose. The way it had torn. The weight of it. I shivered. I could still see the hand reaching for me. Could feel the warmth of the blood on my feet.

  I needed to go. Get this whole thing over with though the dream felt like a warning or an omen.

  My head and stomach felt just like that, topsy-turvy, upside-down. I steadied myself by touching the bed. Then in slow motion I went to the door, so I could see the time.

  Had I overslept?

  It was 12:25.

  Time to go.

  If I had the courage.

  * * *

  I was sent to Isolation the morning after Abigail and I snuck to the kitchen.

  I’d written a note on the whiteboard there, a poem about wanting more food and finding everything locked away.

  Terminals need nourishment past sup

  Give us something because we’re up.

  Abigail and I’d given each other the nod of approval, then headed out and done more exploring and, later, gone to bed.

  The next day, when our teacher, Mrs. Galloway (who’s been here forever and works with ten-year-olds), asked who had graffitied the whiteboard outside the kitchen, I didn’t even hesitate. I confessed. I felt the urge to tell the truth and so I did. I spent twenty-four hours in Isolation, going out only for sips of water and to use the restroom.

  I never told on myself again. Even when the urge to expose incidents turned fierce, I kept my mouth shut. If I had to bite confessions off, chew them up, and swallow them, I kept my bad behaviors to myself.

  There was plenty to tell: nightmares, sneaking out, and now this running to meet a male.

  I wouldn’t confess saving Abigail and Gideon, either. There was no reason to make it hard on anyone.

  But if it was necessary, I might disclose information on Gideon to save him. To stop him from ending up like Romeo, dead from staying in Isolation and having no water. Ever. It happened. We read that in books.

  Isolation was its own nightmare: no bed to sleep on, no pillow or comforter, not even a place to use the restroom. Nothing to eat—nothing!—and little to drink. Then there was the steady whine of words that filled the mind and blocked out everything else, the stark walls and no one else at all.

  If I had to, I would save Gideon from himself. Like Juliet tried to save Romeo and then died in the process.

  I whispered the last line of Romeo and Juliet, “For never was a story of more woe/ Than this of Juliet and defiant Romeo,” and stepped into the hall. Ms. Iverson, I was sure, was long asleep. Still, I felt nervous. What if I found Gideon? What if his arm was gone? Or came off in my own hand?

  My stomach tightened. Maybe if I counted. Onetwothreefourfi—

  No! I could talk my way out of the worry.

  “None of those things will happen, Shiloh,” I said. “Please, please don’t let that happen.” I kept my voice quiet, but in the dark hall the words felt like they floated near the doorways, waiting for someone to follow behind and collect what I’d said.

  Tonight, I was on my own and my dream did not help at all. In the shadowed corners, I saw that hole of a face. The curtains looked like Dr. King in his lab coat. A severed head swung near the ceiling. The fireplace seemed to yawn wide. I clutched my sweatshirt close and edged along the halls.

  “What in the world are you doing, Shiloh?” I felt like a crazed Terminal. Tonight was nothing like exploring before. Tonight was dangerous.

  I walked down the corridor to the open expanse of the great hall that connected all the wings of Haven Hospital & Halls.

  And then I saw it.

  Something real, not just my imagination. Ahead of me. I thought I might swallow my tongue. Let this be another dream. I squeezed my eyes shut. No arms. No shoulders. Why didn’t I take the nighttime Tonic? I could be safe in bed, sleeping. What had I been thinking?…

  I opened my eyes. Pulled in air. Squeezed my hands together. There it was again! Farther away this time.

  Unable to move I stopped. If I had wanted, I’m not sure I could have gone on.

  What should I do? I couldn’t even answer my own question. What if I screamed? How would I explain what I was doing awake, fully dressed at this late hour if the Teacher on duty saw my offensive behavior? If I did
n’t move at all, maybe whatever that was wouldn’t see me. I could go right back to bed. I would go back and—

  The figure slunk away, moving with speed and with a low shhhh sound. The hair rose all over my body. A cold sweat broke out down my back and under my arms.

  It turned the corner in the direction I was to go, then disappeared from my sight.

  Move, Shiloh. But I couldn’t. I was melted ice.

  “Shiloh, are you coming?”

  My voice came out a squeak. “Abigail? Please be real,” I said. “Please don’t let me break off your only arm.”

  “Break off my arm? What are you talking about?”

  And there she was. Stepping out of the darkness.

  “Are you okay?” Her voice was soft as the night. I felt my eyes burn, I was that relieved.

  My legs were no longer tied to the floor. I could move, though my kneecaps felt like they might pop off.

  “Abigail,” I said. “Oh, Abigail. I’m so…” I couldn’t think of a word to describe it, the way I felt, the nerves that ran through me. “… jumpy.”

  She came up close. “Come on. We’ve got work to do and I’ve got things to show you.” She gestured and I followed her, relief warming the coldest parts of my body.

  All around us the school seemed alive. Flickering shadows. Sounds, as though the walls breathed. I wanted to run, but I knew I’d not get far. Abigail slunk down the hall, making no noise at all. She blended in with the darkness. Were those shapes Terminals moving from corner to corner like Abigail did?

  “I want to go back to bed, Abigail,” I said. My mouth felt dry but words squeezed out. “This is bad. You know what will happen if our blood pressure goes up. We can be called out during lunch. Neither of us wants that.”

  Abigail didn’t answer. Just kept walking. I had no choice but to follow—or go back to our room alone. Then, when would I tell her and Gideon to stop meeting? I might throw up right this second. Instead, I followed after Abigail, who seemed to know how to disappear into the night.

  10

  Abigail walked longer than forever. When I tried to talk to her, she shushed me. Down stairs, down more stairs, down we went. The hallways growing colder, then colder still, until far ahead I saw a thin strip of light, the color of warmth. Like a fire burning.