by Lea Ryan
Chapter 17
Sunlight flashed through tree branches overhead. I couldn't quite hang onto wakefulness, but I felt Celeste's presence.
Gideon's face hovered over me in a boat, that gloating smile. He would see that I was patched up properly if for no other reason than to gain satisfaction by taking me back into Center custody. But that wasn't important. Not bleeding out was important. Not letting my heart quit - equally important, judging by the worry in the medical professional's voice. At least, I hoped he was a professional. One never knows who the Center might hire. Oxygen mask, syringe. Blackness.
I came to in a room, on a bed that was almost comfortable. The walls were painted an olive green color, which was more soothing than white. I wore no shirt and no shoes. My pants were pajama. A bandage looped from my neck, under my arm to cover the knife wound. The puncture throbbed miserably.
Vic and Llewyn were dead. Gideon had threatened to lock me away, and with the cult eliminated, he was free to carry out that threat and worse. I sat up in bed. I stood and stretched, feeling as though I hadn't done so in a week.
A pane of glass on the wall offered nothing but a reflection of my battered face. The panel looked like it should have been one of those two-way mirrors I'd seen in cop movies, but no one had bothered to give it the illusion of being a mirror. No need for that at the Center.
“Hey!” I yelled at whoever was listening, and I was certain that someone was, in fact, listening. I waved at the security camera in the corner. “Can I get something to eat? I'm starving.”
No one answered for so long that I worried they stuck me in that room to rot. Gideon would do that. He could be a sadistic ass.
A light came on in the panel on the wall. In a room painted chocolate brown, three people dressed in lab coats sat at a table facing me. The guy in the middle wore big glasses reminiscent of the sixties. His hair was a flat-top, which didn't help to modernize his appearance.
The woman to his right had curly brown hair with platinum highlights mingled in. She was pretty, but the all-business expression on her face aged her. I thought she might look familiar, maybe from my old Center days.
The man on the other side of fifties guy had his nose buried in a medical chart, presumably mine. He was pale like he hadn't seen sunlight in years, his hair dark and molded into a wave that landed just above his eye.
“I do get to eat, don't I?”
Fifties guy bent closer to the mic and pressed a button, “Yes, you do, Mr. Tomlinson. We just need to make sure you plan to play nice.”
“I'll play nice, unless I don’t eat soon. I have a tendency to get cranky.” I felt a good ravage coming on, certainly the result of being in the last place on Earth I wanted to be. My presence in the Center had me worked up.
They liked to experiment there. I had an especially fond memory of electroshock therapy. The doctors wanted to see if it had any effect on the violet electromagnetic frequency we anomalies emit. It didn't.
“Take the pills in the cup on the table, please.”
I looked into the paper cup. It was my old medication, nothing too ominous about that. I knew from experience that the supposedly fatal withdrawal symptoms were either a lie or defective, unless the friendly scientists tweaked the formula in my absence. I washed them down with a glass of water, then sat on the bed to await my food.
“Dinner will be served in five minutes.” He turned his head to speak to the woman as he turned off the light.
Dinner turned out to be cafeteria tacos. A man in a biohazard suit delivered the tray.
“Those don't work.” I informed him.
“New poly blend,” came the humorless reply.
The food was the best tasting cafeteria dinner of all time. I would've eaten three plates of it if they let me. Dinner. Knowledge of the time of day prompted me to wonder how long I'd been there. I had no clock, no calendar. I started to feel uncomfortably isolated, not just captive, but cut off from everything - a man in a room. I didn't even have shoes or a shirt, which reduced me to a creature slightly less than human. Devolution by lack of proper wardrobe.
Later, the light in the booth came back on. Despite the fact that I was the one on display, the three doctors looked as though they were on stage. I went close to the glass to peer inside, which caused them to shift backward in their chairs. I smiled at the woman whose security badge read 'Helen Hamilton'. Fifties guy's name was 'Reginald Worth'. The third doctor's badge was hidden behind the folder in his hand.
“What kind of glass is this? I like it.” I knocked.
“Mr. Tomlinson, kindly step away from the window.”
I did as he asked but only because I wanted information from him. Sometimes playing nice paid off. When they were comfortable with my distance, Dr. Worth spoke again.
“Do you know where you are?”
I sat on the bed and crossed my legs Indian-style, “I have a pretty good idea where I am. The Center for the Preservation of Natural Order, right?”
“Very good.”
“I have a couple of people I would like to check on.”
The doctors exchanged a three-way glance, then cut off the mic to consult each other. Helen and Folder Guy argued behind Reginald. He quieted them with a raised hand. He pushed the button for the microphone.
“You are not in a position in which you can make demands.”
“It was a request, not a demand. I don't think inquiring about the welfare of family and friends is unreasonable.”
More discussion between the doctors. I rolled my eyes. Management really knew how to control their underlings. They probably couldn't take a piss without written permission from the board of directors or whatever form the hierarchy took. They finished bickering.
“You may inquire.”
“My brother, Michael. Is he alright?”
Folder Guy checked his folder.
Reginald answered, “Yes. He suffered minor injuries but is with most of the other healers in the low security wing of the asylum.”
That news was a relief. I relaxed a bit.
“What about Celeste?”
“Last name?”
Last name?
“I don't think she has a last name.”
The doctors appeared to be confused. Some thumbing through paper coupled with shaking heads occurred.
“Look, you can't miss her. She has big, feathery white wings.”
“We don't know who you're talking about.”
“Of course you don't.”
If I knew Center mentality at all, they had her in some super high security, top secret lab. I hoped they weren't subjecting her to crazy tests or worse, cutting her open to see what made those marvelous wings work.
“How long have I been here?”
“Two days. We kept you sedated.”
What else did I want to know?
“When can I talk to my supervisor? Where's Gideon?”
The window went dark. That was the end of question and answer time. They didn't give me much, but at least I knew Michael was okay, relatively speaking.
When I woke up the next morning, clothes were folded neatly in a chair across the room from me. I had been promoted back to human status. A pair of jeans and a t-shirt - just what I liked, even if it had a Center logo printed on the front. The letters of the acronym CPNO were stacked in a tower. Very imaginative.
A man in a biohazard suit delivered breakfast. He wasn't the same guy as before. Shift change. He exhibited equal levels of friendliness. I tried to make small talk, and he ignored me.
“I'm calling you 'Frank',” I told him on his way out. The isolation was seriously getting to me. I lived alone before this adventure started, I know, but being stuck in the room was different. I had no windows, no computer, no Mr. Suresh preparing delicious Indian food below my apartment, no television. I couldn't even people watch, unless you counted the doctors on their stage. I was actually happy when someone different showed up at my door.
He didn't wear a biohazard s
uit. The completely bald man in what almost looked like a military dress shirt and pants poked his head into my room like he had nothing to fear.
“Tomlinson?”
I nodded.
“I'm taking you to another room. Are we going to have trouble?”
“No, sir.”
“Come on.”
He held the door open for me. I almost couldn't believe it. Was this some trick? Did they plan to shoot me when I stepped into the hall? Or maybe I was dreaming.
I squinted as my eyes adjusted to the glaring daylight in the hallway. Across from my room was a sitting area with empty chairs and tables and a dark television. Everything was yellow and shiny and outdated. The room looked like a leftover communal area from the days the asylum was used for the purpose for which it was intended.
Military man escorted me through a locked security gate to a room on our right. The first thing I noticed when I walked in was a window at the other side. My urge to get a look at the outdoors was so great; I had to restrain myself from running over to it.
The furniture arrangement consisted of a singular table with four chairs. I was in a similar room before, when I was first brought to the Center. I got my nose broken for being a smartass. I had become older and wiser since then.
Military man sat in the chair across from me. His security badge identified him as 'Commander Zachary Fox'. He seemed to wait for something. I was about to ask what when the door opened. I knew who had entered without having to turn and look. I smelled her perfume, and although I didn't really know her or had gotten close enough to smell her, the fragrance just seemed so very her. Sophisticated, I guess? Also like a teacher I had in elementary school.
Helen sat in the chair next to me. She took a clipboard from under Fox’s hands to study it.
“He took his meds, correct?”
“Correct.” I smiled sweetly. She was not amused.
“Mr. Tomlinson, we would like to talk about your experience with the cult. The leaders were a woman named Llewyn Samson and Victor Margelis. What do you know about them?”
Hearing their last names felt strange to me, like they were just a pair of regular people I could run into at a coffee shop.
“I didn’t know much about them personally.”
“We're in the process of identifying any potential threats. Do you know if either of them named a successor for her?”
She kind of named me her successor as she was dying. Did that count?
“As far as I knew, she was hoping to finish the job herself.”
“Did she happen to share the reason she took on this role?”
“She said her soul contained a piece from both of her gods, that she was a miracle.”
“We transported her body here to the Center and tested it. We found no violet EMF residue. She wasn't an anomaly.” Helen waited for me to react to the news. I didn't give her much.
“Well, you never know with crazy people. They can say anything.”
“What about Michael? He was at the compound longer than you. How invested was he in their belief system?”
“They kidnapped him. He wasn't there because he was a believer.”
“Were you a believer?”
“I believe that Llewyn was a manipulative murderer, and so was Vic. I didn't buy anything those lunatics were selling.”
“So you didn't see anything strange while you were there?”
She was pushing me into a corner. She wanted me to tell her how real Ekash and Maructe were. If they had this conversation with the more devout followers, they already knew how deep the belief could run. I could only imagine someone like Bree in an interrogation like that. It wouldn't go well.
“I witnessed a human sacrifice. Does that count?”
“That's not what I meant. Did you see any beasts such as lions made of stars?”
My, that was specific.
“No.”
Commander Fox turned to her, “He's lying.”
“Why would I lie about that?”
I had a multitude of reasons to lie about that, but I didn't intend to give them any excuse to mess with my head.
“I agree.” She said. “Up his dosage and put him on the list for the class. We'll need to deprogram him.”
“Wait, what? Deprogram? I said I didn't see anything weird.”
She got up and clacked out of the room on her high heels.
“Wait.”
Her hand on the knob, she stopped.
“When can I see my brother?”
She sighed, “We'll introduce you into the general population once we're sure you won't suffer any lasting mental effects from their brainwashing.”
“General population?” That sounded a little too much like prison for my taste.
“You're considered a high risk anomaly. Once we determine whether you can be rehabilitated, we will either place you in a lower security part of the facility or move you into high risk containment. Trust me when I say you don't want the latter.”
“Ok.” I nodded. Hopelessness settled over me like a fog as I realized the reality of my situation. I would never get out. I'd never be free. My acquiescence must have inspired some sympathy in her. She clacked back over to the table.
“Come over here.” She urged me to the window.
“Doctor.” Fox cautioned her.
“I'm fine.” She assured him.
We overlooked a park with trees and foliage and small ponds and benches. People were out there, having picnics or just sunning themselves. A trio of girls played frisbee. It looked like any other park, with the exception of the walls surrounding it. This was the Center version of leniency. A walled garden. I started to miss the compound.
“There is hope for you here. This probably wasn't what you had in mind for your future, but we can offer you a life. Here, you don't have to worry about accidentally ravaging anyone. You don't have to worry about people chasing you, anymore. No one will sacrifice you. We'll keep you safe and fed. You should think of this place as your sanctuary.”
I hated how much sense she made. What else did I have out there in the world? A life on the run?
“Did they tell you I was the one who killed her?” I said without making eye contact with the doctor. I felt her staring at me. “I killed Vic, too. I was a damn hero.”
She left the room without another word. I didn't know if that meant she didn't believe me or what. I didn't care. I just needed to give voice to that thought in my head.
My ears burned with the words all the way back to my room. I saved these people. I saved all of them. After Llewyn finished her work at the compound, the Center would have been her next stop. She would've sent the ravagers in without an ounce of concern for whoever worked or lived there. Yet, I was being treated like a diseased animal, demeaned, quarantined. And the only carrot they dangled was a release into gen pop. What a joke.
The rest of my day was spent in the olive room with the security camera and the dark glass panel. My only friends were the guys in biohazard suits who delivered my lunch and my dinner. I started calling them all 'Frank', which seemed to irritate them, much to my delight. When I slept (and I slept a lot), I dreamed of the compound.
My subconscious version of it warped in different ways each time I stirred from sleep and then fell back in. I dreamed of the garden and the library with its scribe. Bree was with me, smiling and exuberant, except when the scenery morphed into a nightmare. Llewyn was always there in the darkest moments, leering with the dagger. She sent death on the wings of hope and stars.
Galaxies of the Sidera called to me. I couldn't believe how many. They sang the way Llewyn sang in the cemetery garden. I knew what she meant when she told me they were calling her home. The strength of their beckoning terrified me. My soul was a void that could only be filled by the others of my kind.
I ached for Celeste, too, my stalwart friend of really only days. Wherever she had ended up, I hoped she was happy. I hoped she had escaped the clutches of the Center. All she had to do
was fly away.
I woke sometime in the night when illumination fell across my face. I opened my eyes, sweating, feeling disoriented and feverish, thinking they had given me too much of the drug they used to hold the ravaging at bay.
The light came from the glass panel across the room. Inside was Gideon. He was alone.
I got up from the bed, certain that he was a hallucination. I had no fear of anyone seeing me engage a mirage. Doctor Helen already thought I was crazy. I staggered over and leaned with my palm on the glass.
“How are we doing?” He asked.
“We are feeling strung out on whatever the hell the doctors are giving me. Are you really in there?”
He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, “Hmmmm....perhaps they do need to dial back the dosage. I hear they've scheduled you for a deprogramming class tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” I felt myself falling back to sleep. I rested my head on the pane to hold myself upright. The coolness against my face gave me visions of Llewyn from the days when she appeared to me in glass.
“I want this to work for you, Hunter, so pay attention.” He spoke loudly to wake me up. “Do well. Take it all in. If they determine you're mentally fit, I'll get you access to something other than this room. As much as I hate to admit it, having you in the field was beneficial. You might even be worth the risk. Prove it to me.”
“Where is Celeste?”
“Work on your mental state, then we'll worry about Celeste. Cooperation is key.” The room went dark.
I don't remember how I got back in bed, but the feeling of sheets and the pillow against my skin felt good. More time passed, and I was awoken again by light, this time from the door as it opened. I couldn't quite resurface from sleep. The drugs had me too far under.
The silhouette looked like an angel, my Celeste. The figure knelt beside my bed.
She whispered into my ear, “Be ready to run in the morning. The doors will unlock. Do not take the medicine. Do not hesitate.” She pressed her lips to my cheek, then slid an object under my pillow.
