Alan spent most of his time attempting to train his so-called telekinetic abilities. The only thing he had to work with was his cot, so he spent hours on end trying to lift the cot while he sat up against a corner as far from it as he could.
Once he had successfully lifted the cot, he graduated to lifting the cot while he sat on top of it. That proved a little more difficult, but eventually he was able to raise the cot while sitting on it. Alan wobbled a little in the air, like a gymnast trying to stick the landing.
“Knock it off,” a tinny voice echoed through a speaker in the hallway, cutting off Alan’s concentration in the process.
The cot fell to the concrete floor, and Alan grumbled under his breath. A whooshing sound emanated from down the hall, and the operator walked up to Alan’s cell. His eyes were half-open and his lips curled down in an annoyed frown.
“Get up.”
Alan stood up reluctantly.
“Turn around.”
Alan rolled his eyes and complied. The cell door slid open, and the operator stepped forward and gave Alan a pat down to check for any weapons or contraband. The operator then grabbed Alan by his shirt and pulled him back into the concrete hall. Alan looked at the drab, charcoal-colored concrete walls.
“We taking a stroll around the cell block?”
“Shut up,” the operator replied, and he pushed Alan forward down the hall.
The operator took Alan into the D block, a long corridor filled with doors and mirrored, one-way glass. Once inside, Alan would no doubt be observed, unaware of the onlookers spying on him. The operator opened the door to D23, and then pulled Alan inside and sat him in an uncomfortable metal chair that screeched on the concrete floor when he landed.
“Wait here,” the operator commanded, then he left through the door they had come from. Alan looked to his right. There was another pane of mirrored glass opposite the doorway they had come in. Alan felt like a rat in a maze. But was he going to get the cheese or the shock?
Directly across from Alan the wall opened, and a young man in a suit walked in.
“Mr. Mitchell,” the man held out a hand across the table. Alan looked at it suspiciously, then gave the man a confused look. The man looked down at his own hand, and shook his head, “Excuse me, where are my manners? My name is Connor. I’m your legal representation.”
Alan couldn’t help but let out a thunderous laugh that echoed in the room. The lawyer seemed just as confused as Alan. Alan wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Alan replied, then coughed. He continued, “Sorry. But you’re doing a hell of a job, Connor.”
Connor cleared his throat and set his briefcase down next to his seat, then he sat down across from Alan. They shared a brief moment of silence before Connor continued.
“I am here to help you mitigate your sentence through cooperation with the Board,” Connor started.
“Yeah, that sounds more realistic. What do they want?”
Connor pulled out a folder from his bag and tossed it onto the table. Inside were several photos of Alan standing next to Marshall.
“The Board believes you have access to information about this individual.”
“I know Marshall. Yes. That’s about all the information I have,” Alan replied. He knew it was partially a lie. Marshall had shared a lot with him that night after the bus accident. But he wasn’t about to sell out his friend to help big brother get an advantage over him.
“We - ahem - the Board are aware that you are close with Marshall Roberts. Bearing that attempts to extract information from Mr. Roberts have been fruitless, and operatives have had little success as well, the Board has decided to offer you an incentive. If you can provide us with information on Mr. Roberts’ associates, then the Board will consider your parole from this system.”
“Associates?”
“We are aware that Marshall Roberts has divulged certain details and/or whereabouts of his family to you. This information is deemed an organization imperative by the Director of the Board.”
“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” Alan played dumb, folding his arms over his chest. The lawyer didn’t respond to Alan’s body language and continued his questioning.
“One of our informants is giving us live playback of your thoughts, Mr. Mitchell. Please don’t play dumb with us,” Connor retorted. Alan looked to the mirrored glass. No doubt, a reader was standing behind the glass. Alan considered how selfish a person could be to use their abilities against their own kind. Then he thought of how he harmed Molly. Connor held a hand to his ear, clearly taking in some bit of information.
“Mr. Mitchell, we would be willing to overlook your murder of Molly Dawes if you were to cooperate with the Board.”
Alan could feel a burning in his chest and a lump in his throat. He felt violated. He looked over at the mirrored glass, his eyes watering and mouth drying up.
“Why don’t you tell whoever’s behind the glass that using my past against me isn’t going to get them what they want,” Alan looked back at Connor.
Alan could feel tears forming in his glossy eyes. Connor paused for a moment, clearly listening to the other side.
“Your guilt clearly says otherwise, Mr. Mitchell.”
Alan slammed his fist on the table. The table - though bolted to the floor - shook angrily.
“I’m trying to help you,” Connor replied calmly. The outburst clearly hadn’t shaken him in the slightest. But it wasn’t meant for him, but for the person behind the glass. Alan heard a switch flick and the hallway-side mirror turned transparent. Alan could see the operator on the other side shaking his head disapprovingly. “Another outburst, and we’ll send you back to your bed.”
Alan looked back to his right at the glass still opaque, its mirrored glass still hiding the Reader. He felt like a wounded animal. A wounded animal that was being kicked after the fact. Insult to injury.
Alan started to think deeply about his surroundings. The room, the lawyer, the operator, the mirrors, the informant Reader. He felt outside of himself. He looked down and saw the room from above. Outside of himself, he could float around and see what appeared invisible before. The taser strapped underneath the table next to Connor. There was a small switch panel next to the door he had entered. The operator’s hand was on the mirror switch, about to flip back to the opaque function of the window. Alan’s mind floated back to the other side, using his perception to find the other panel. He flipped the switch, and the mirror on his right side turned clear as day.
Alan looked into her eyes, the informant reader’s squinting eyes. She didn’t realize at first that Alan could see her. But then it became painfully obvious as his eyes locked with hers, like they were caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.
“Athena?”
ten
Hours passed. The interrogation was over, but Alan was still playing it back in his memory. How could Athena do this to the 308? They were friends; at least he thought they were friends. But it was becoming clear to him: she was the enemy. She was just like the rest of the traitors working for the Board.
“Alan,” Athena stood in front of his thick glass cell door.
Alan didn’t get up.
“Hello, officer,” he replied with biting sarcasm.
Athena didn’t reply for a while.
“I’m sorry about Molly.”
“Clearly you are overwhelmed with sympathy,” Alan snapped back.
Athena pulled a chair over to the glass wall and sat down in front of Alan. She was no longer in the custom work garb of the 308, but an operator’s uniform. It was all black, with military style pockets on her long sleeve shirt and pants.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Athena asked, her tone soft and her speech rate slowing.
“Not with you,” Alan replied and looked up at the camera over his cell, “Not with them.”
Athena looked up at the camera. Several uncomfortable minutes passed, then Athena put her hands on her la
p.
“My parents hated my gift,” Athena started.
“Gee, I wonder why,” Alan responded sarcastically.
“I deserve that.”
“Damn right,” Alan replied.
Athena cleared her throat, “My parents didn’t understand at first. It seemed like I was really intuitive, perceptive. I would read their emotions before they even acknowledged them. I wouldn’t come down for dinner because I knew they were mad at each other. Then I started using it against them. I’d play one off the other to get what I wanted. It ended up being very destructive to their relationship.”
“Is this supposed to make me feel bad for you?” Alan questioned.
Athena continued, “Eventually I realized that I was better off being honest with them. I told them what I was doing. I tried to help their marriage. We talked things through, and that seemed to make things better for all of us. And then I stopped reading them. I tried to pretend I never read them at all. Life seemed normal for a while. Until I heard my dad thinking about Miss Katherine down the street.”
Alan didn’t say anything.
“I didn’t tell my mom. How could I?” Athena recounted, “About a week later, I came home, and the house was really quiet. I wasn’t sure if maybe they’d gone out for the afternoon. Until I walked into the kitchen.”
Alan swallowed the scratchy rock lodged in his raw throat.
“My mom was bent over the kitchen sink washing her hands raw. Just scrubbing… scrubbing the layer of skin right off. There was blood all over the place… the sink… the tile… chairs. I didn’t even acknowledge my mom. I followed the blood into the hallway. Then the bedroom. My dad was dead on the floor, shot right in the back. Katherine Waltz was still in bed. I can still remember the look on her face. She was in complete shock. All eyes. No color in her skin. Like a ghost of a person.”
Alan locked eyes with Athena.
“I can’t help but wonder if I told my mom when I found out… They probably wouldn’t be married, but… I mean, how do you come back from that?”
“I don’t know,” Alan replied. However mad he was at Athena, he couldn’t help but reply. “I don’t know.”
Athena clicked her tongue and sucked in a shallow, shaky breath.
“I told myself that I couldn’t let my lies kill anyone else. I know Marshall wouldn’t understand that. He always thinks he can find a win-win situation, but we don’t have those anymore. I just want to keep us from losing everything, ya’ know?”
Alan shrugged. He understood Athena. The pain of thinking you could have kept someone from dying and didn’t was a burden he was accustomed to. But was it worth this?
“I don’t want us to lose,” Athena reiterated.
“Why don’t you tell me what to do. How does this end well for me?”
“I don’t know,” Athena said, her voice a faint whisper. “But if you know something about Marshall, you need to tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Then I can’t help you.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” Alan replied as Athena stood up. She pushed the chair back to the concrete wall across from Alan’s cell, and wiped some tears from her eyes. She exhaled and walked back down the hall.
Alan was alone again. Marshall and Athena had been two of his only friends at the 308. But they had their issues. Alan wanted to be positive like Marshall, but he couldn’t ignore what he’d seen since joining the work camp. People had been imprisoned, beaten, and oppressed. It didn’t sit right with him. Athena was more realistic about their situation, but she was also in the Board’s pocket. She had sold out her friends to feel in control. Alan couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. Alan decided he wasn’t going to give Marshall up, no matter how bad it got in his cell.
✽✽✽
Days passed. Alan hardly saw a soul, and he was left to fester in his own dark thoughts. Was this how they did it? Would he eventually just succumb to the darkness of isolation? He ate very little and talked even less. He was starting to wonder how he would end it, when Athena walked back up to his cell. Athena cleared her throat, trying to swallow the lump forming.
“Back again I see,” Alan said, his voice scratchy and defeated.
“We don’t get to decide what they’ll do,” Athena said. “We can only make our situation better.”
It seemed to be a planned speech to Alan. Athena was firmly standing, no need for a chair.
“You certainly made yours better,” Alan retorted under his breath. Athena sighed.
“Just give them what they want, Alan. It doesn’t have to be this way.”
“No?” Alan questioned sarcastically. “You mean I can go back home, with my judgmental parents and their awkward stares. Back to the town that remembers my dead girlfriend, and the freak who got her killed. I don’t have anywhere to go back to.”
“You could go back to the 308,” Athena said, her voice a little less sure than before.
“We both know they would never let that happen, Athena. You seem to be the only one with privileges like that,” Alan said in a low, angered voice. Alan continued, resigned to his sentence, “No, I’m stuck in here now, and the only thing I can do is make someone else’s life worse by cooperating with you.”
“You’ve been rehearsing this,” Athena said in a somber tone.
“So, have you,” Alan snapped back. “How long have you been spying on Marshall, hoping he would give you enough information to screw him over? Who does that to their friends? Sorry, that would imply you and Marshall are friends, and not his mark. What does that make you?”
Athena’s face was like stone, her jaw tight and tense. She could tell she would fall apart soon if she couldn’t get a grip on herself. She had to stick to the script.
“We don’t have the luxury of having friends, Alan. They don’t let us. Eventually everyone breaks and you do whatever the hell they want you to.”
“No. Screw that,” Alan pointed at Athena forcefully, “That’s bullshit. We have a choice. We get to decide what to do with the time we have. You can trick yourself into believing whatever you want, but the truth is simple: We don’t have to put up with this.”
Athena scoffed at Alan’s remark.
“We’re both too realistic for you to believe that, Alan. We live on their terms.”
Alan stood up from his cot and came to the thick glass right in front of Athena. She seemed uncomfortable by the change in demeanor.
“I wanted to be realistic - maybe even cynical - about this situation. I really did. You spend enough time talking to yourself in your head, you begin to think there’s two of you. It’s terrible to think you have a friend that’s really just your subconscious kicking ideas back. But you’ve made me realize something, Athena. There’s the prison cell you get thrown into, and there’s the cell you put yourself in. I can tell you; I know which one is worse.”
Alan looked in Athena’s softening eyes. She wrapped her arms around her chest and looked at the concrete floor and her shifting black boots.
“It’s over, Alan. We lost. They won.”
“It’s not that simple,” Alan replied, “And deep down, you know that too. It might take a while to figure that out, but you will come to realize you’re only as trapped as you make yourself.”
“Funny coming from the man locked away,” Athena rebuked Alan, her voice weak. Alan scoffed, and looked at the thick glass wall between them.
“You know, Marshall is naive. He thinks everything is great, and we just have to make the best of it. And there’s you. You can see the 308 for what it is: a prison. But you also think that we’re stuck following orders, and we’re just whatever they want us to be. But that’s not who we are.”
“Then who are we?” Athena questioned in a patronizing tone, with her eyes still glued to the floor beneath her swaying legs.
“We’re special.”
Athena rolled her eyes.
“You’re special,” Alan continued. “We can do things people decades ago could barely imagine.
We could build wonders. We live in a time of miracles. And we’re squandering it allowing ourselves to be prisoners to people who don’t understand and don’t care about us.”
“It doesn’t matter that they don’t understand or care, Alan. They’re in charge,” Athena pleaded for Alan to see reason.
“That may be, but the day will come when no manner of jail cell will hold us back, and nothing will stop us from seeing the light of day. We aren’t meant to rot away. Humans… deviations… they’re the same. We’re the same, and we’re meant to do something amazing.”
Athena could feel tears welling up in her. Either Alan had grown desperate, or the solitude had cultivated something inside his soul that was bearing fruit.
The Department for Mutated Persons (Book 1): The Department for Mutated Persons Page 7
