Midnight for the Broken (8 page)

The nurse wipes her eyes. “He says most of the students want you back, but that the football team is telling everyone not to show up tomorrow. Students were threatened not to go to class.”

“Because of me?”

She nods.

I'm angry now and it must show, because the nurse takes a step back. Tyson was a bully, he always had been. Even when we were friends growing up, he used to pick on anyone smaller—which was everyone. That day in the hall, he had pushed me to a limit and paid the price. Now his friends are punishing other students to keep me from coming back.

“Is your son going to class tomorrow?” I ask.

The nurse wipes her eyes. “Are you really okay, Ryan? Please don't get upset. Please, don't cause any more trouble.”

I shake my head. “I never wanted to cause any in the first place,” I tell her. “I won't lie, though. I'm pissed.” I grip my fist and try to control the shaking in my arms. I can't. All week, I've been focused on the fact that I don't want to go back to school. I've been worried about myself—about my stupid hell of a life. But there are people who were nice to me at school. Not everyone treated me like a monster. Those people don't deserve the treatment from the football team.

I look at the nurse. “Lori Turner,” I read from her badge. “I never asked your name before.”

Her eyes widen. “What did they do to you, Ryan? What happened in that place?”

Now I'm starting to cry. It's a moment I never expected. Not in the Scream Room, not with someone I had ignored for almost two years. I slide into a chair and wipe my eyes.

“Life was bad for me,” I tell her. “I'll admit it. I hated living in this place. I wanted friends, I wanted my family. I wanted everything in my life that had been stolen from me.” I look at my arms; they've stopped shaking.

Nurse Turner pulls a chair from the corner and sits in front of me.

“That place was everything this isn't,” I tell her.

“They hurt you there?”

I nod and sit quietly while memories haunt me. “I know I'm going to die soon.” I rub my arm and point to my neck. “All of this.” I choke on my words. It takes a moment, but then I'm able to continue. “I'm not going to marry. I'll never have kids. Or a house. I'll never go shopping in a mall.”

For some reason, this makes Nurse Turner laugh. When I look at her and question with my eyes, she speaks. “I once saw a movie once about zombies in the mall,” she says. “I'm sorry. An image popped into my head.”

“Can you imagine me trying on clothes at American Eagle?” I ask. She laughs again and I laugh with her. I even hold out my arms mimicking the stiff lifeless creatures shown in the movies and TV. They were so wrong.

“The world thinks you're this monster,” she says. “But you're nothing like a monster. I wish they could all see you like this.”

“That's why I'm going to high school,” I say. And I mean it. “I want people to see that I am a person. That I'm not some villain they saw on the news.” I pause. “Or a video. High school is a chance to share my soul with people.” I finish wiping my eyes. The talk has calmed me and I feel confident about returning to Viewmont. “I'll never see anyone from that school after I graduate. But somewhere, sometime, they're going to open their yearbooks and scan through the hundreds of tiny faces. They'll see my picture; they'll remember that I lived once, that I shared an existence in the same space—and maybe they’ll realize that all I wanted was a friend.”

Nurse Turner is crying. I pull a tissue from the counter and then decide better. I hand her the entire box.

“I don't want attention,” I tell her. “I never asked for cameras, or news crews, or protesters. When I look outside, I see that the world is dying, not me. They're the ones with hate in their hearts. I’m trying to live, that's all.”

~ O ~

But there are cameras, and news crews, and protesters—more than I've seen before—as I'm escorted to the shuttle Friday morning. We pull out of the concourse and men and women are slapping the walls and yelling as we pass. The driver is swearing back at them to move out of the way. My two guards, Brooks and Keller, assigned by the hospital and the school district, give commands through small black radios.

“See what you've done, kid,” screams the driver back at me. “We'll be lucky if we make it alive.”

He's right. A speeding minivan crashes into one of the police cars leading the way. A million sparks fly into the air as metal scrapes against the pavement. The shuttle driver swerves, and we tip far onto one side while barely missing the tangled mass of destruction. The accident takes us off the planned road and we re-route through a different neighborhood. Keller yells into his radio, giving instructions to the rest of the police escort.

When we arrive at Viewmont, cars are blocking the bus entrance. They’re all facing toward us, horns honking and lights flashing.

“This is bull,” yells the driver. “Where are we supposed to go?” He aims a fist at the window and spins the steering wheel.

We all tumble to one side of the shuttle. Brooks covers his forehead with the palm of his hand. He's bleeding. I rush to help him, but he waves me away.

“I'm all right,” he says. “Hang on.”

We swerve again and drive onto the sidewalk. There are so many cars everywhere. I don't think we'll make it to the school, but the shuttle driver smashes into a truck, forcing the shuttle to twist. He steers us onto the grass in front of the school and we're heading full speed toward the front entrance and a crowd of protesters.

I grab a pole and wait for the crash, but instead, we swing sideways. The people in our path scream and scatter as we slide to a stop in front of the doors.

“Go now!”

I obey and follow the guards down the steps. Before dashing inside the school, I glance back at my driver. He's leaning over the steering wheel, panting with relief. We made it.

~ O ~

Our entrance is a shock to everyone. The dispersed protesters don’t have the chance to block our entrance and the school administrators jump back as Brooks bursts the doors open and leads me inside. Once the doors shut, Mr. Todd scrambles to lock them.

The front hall is quiet and stares of surprise meet me. No one says anything.

“I've got English first,” I say, breaking the silence. I smile to everyone and lead my guards toward the end of the hall.

“Ryan.” Nurse Jennings smiles from the doorway of the nurse's room and holds out my backpack.

I grin back at her and run to offer her a hug. “It's good to see you,” I say, squeezing her tight. It's good to see a friend.

“I hoped you would need this again one day,” she says.

Keller reaches for the bag, but I wave him away. “It's all right,” I tell him. “This is my stuff.”

I say goodbye to Nurse Jennings and then head toward class. The halls are almost empty, though. It doesn't feel like a Friday. Students scramble out of the way when they see me coming. A few of them scream, which actually makes me feel better. The whole morning has been a panicked battle of fabricated hate, but the screaming, I know, is genuine.

I tell the guards they can wait outside while I'm in class, but they follow me anyway and choose seats at the back of the room, near the door. Everyone stares at them, paying no attention to me. These kids in English are my age; most have known me since kindergarten. I'm no longer the elephant in the room.

The bell rings and I open my bag, only to discover that my tablet is cracked down the center. I try to turn it on, doubting it will still work, and release a frustrated sigh when nothing happens.

“We've wrapped up the assigned reading for the year, Ryan,” Miss Reeves tells me. She's standing over me. “You may choose any book you'd like to report on.”

I hold up my tablet like and give her a dismayed look. She grimaces and points to the cupboard at the other end of the room.

“You may use one our extras for this class only.” She leans closer to me and whispers. “But I'm afraid you'll have to replace the one you've broken.”

I understand her warning. Every student is assigned a tablet at the beginning of the year, but if it’s lost or broken the student must replace it. I can't go shopping and my internet use is now restricted. I've got some cash, taken from a fund set up by donations, but I don't have a bank card. Graduating has now become more difficult. I choose a scratched old tablet from the cupboard and retake my seat.

Any book. I'm looking through the library on the screen, searching for something interesting, but also something relevant. Ms. Reeves assigns us an essay on how the book applies to our lives. None of these books apply to my life, except young adult horror, and I've read them all.

I'm sifting through screen after screen of book covers, when a sponsored ad mentions a book. I normally close the ads, they're the only way the schools get the tablets so cheap, but this one strikes me in the heart. Grendel. Today, I'm feeling lonely and more like a monster than ever. This book definitely applies to my life. I click on the cover and decide to give it a shot.

Ms. Reeves gives me a questioning glance. She must have received my accepted choice. I nod back at her and she resumes her work. I stare across the room. Half the seats are empty. I remember the threat Nurse Turner told me about last night and carefully examine who is here and who is missing.

Nicholas, Christian, and Hanna are all on the front row. They wouldn't miss school if the power was out. All three were accepted at the U, and they've taken so many advanced placement classes, they'll be sophomores in the fall. Landon James is missing—he's on the football team. So are Cody and Victor. Miranda is dating a football player, or was a month ago, but she's in her seat, studying the tablet on her desk. Jalen is missing, and so is Cesar.

The sinking feeling in my stomach returns and I suddenly don't care who else isn't there. It's their loss anyway. They didn't have to fight a mob to get here today. I spend the rest of the period staring at the first page of Grendel, watching the words that I no longer want to read. When the bell rings, I don't get up.

“Ryan, are you okay?” asks Miss Reeves.

I shake my head. Brooks and Keller hover over me.

Miss Reeves slips by them and puts a hand on my shoulder. “You can choose another book,” she says. “It's your project.”

“It's not the book,” I answer. “I chose it for a reason.” I point to the empty chairs. “What good is coming back here if people are going to act this way? I came for the experience.”

“That's what high school is about,” says Miss Reeves. “But everyone expects something different when they walk through the doors. Maybe they don't want to be afraid.”

“I'm not scary, Ms. Reeves,” I say. “I'm not some creature who would eat them at lunch.”

“But you could be.”

“Well, I'm not.” I slide from my chair and hand her the tablet. “All my online accounts have been disabled. Will you send a message to Mr. Jackson, my lawyer, that I need a new tablet?”

She nods a yes and then urges me to leave.

I don't even know if Mr. Jackson will get me a tablet. For all I know, he could be having lunch with Dr. Snow, plotting an excuse to send me back to the clinic. Plus, Ms. Reeves' words bother me. She sounded more like a teacher today than ever before.

I'm almost late to Biology from moping in the halls. Mr. Heaps starts to scold me then sees the bulky men in uniforms enter behind me and stops mid-sentence. He says nothing to me all period and I end the class with nothing gained and forty-five minutes gone from my life.

In French, I receive a note from a teacher's aide. I've been excused from the last thirty minutes of school for the sake of security. I stare at the note, signed by the superintendent instead of Mr. Todd, and wonder if I had earned detention, what the arrangement to get home would be like today. I'm glad to leave, school felt lonelier than normal today, and I eagerly show the note to Brooks before handing it to the teacher.

I'm escorted back into the shuttle and driven home before the expected mob of protesters arrives. As I sit in the back of the shuttle, staring out the window, I remember what Mr. Jackson had said to me when I left the clinic. Nothing can be the same. I'm suddenly afraid of the future.

Saturday brings a refreshing change to the air. There are fewer protesters in front of the hospital today, a new tablet arrives for me, and I get to play basketball. I stay away from the lounge; every news program highlights Dr. Snow and his fantastic work to keep the Virus from spreading, and no one seems willing to change the channel. I try once, and earn a cup of water against the back of my head.

I spend Sunday in my room. There’s homework to catch up on, but I’m not motivated today. Instead, I lie on my bed and think about Jessica.

Jessica. I have no way to contact her. I want to see her and wish I were brave enough to venture to her house again, but I'm scared of her father. No, terrified. She had been right that night to tell me that it was dangerous near her home. My body aches at the thought of him and it overwhelms the efforts I make in trying to think about her. Still, I try.

Monday, more students return to school and crowd the halls again. Kids call me killer and wave phones in the air, capturing pictures and video, and a gang of football players try to block the hall near the art room. Brooks shoves Landon James into the window overlooking the courtyard. While everyone scrambles out of the way, Cody Jones grabs my shoulder. He’s immediately tossed into a soda machine.

“Post that video online, kid,” says Keller with a grim laugh. “And you'll never come back.” As he leads me away from the fray, he radios in the event.

~ O ~

By Friday, things have calmed down and life starts to feel normal at Viewmont High. I'm almost caught up on the missing assignments and I've become used to the lack of conversation with anyone except for my guards, Nurse Jennings and a couple teachers. At the end of school, I'm following my escort to the day's decided exit point, when a student rushes me.

Brooks is quick for his size. In the blink of an eye, he swings in front of me, grabs the kid by the throat, and holds him against the wall. The kid is on the football team, I’ve seen him wearing a jersey before, but he’s thin and no match for my beefy guard. His legs dangle in the air until I order Brooks to let him down.

“I have something for you,” says the kid, choking from the marks Brooks has imbedded in his neck. He holds out a paper folded into a triangle.

“What's this?” I ask, accepting the paper.

The kid coughs a couple times and tries to lean toward me, but can't because Brooks has a heavy forearm slammed against his chest. “An invitation,” he says. He tries wriggling free, but Brooks has him tight.

I don't know if I should trust the kid, but his eyes look sincere, and he's genuinely afraid of my escort—not than anyone wouldn't be. I tuck the paper into my pocket and decide to open it later. Between my guards, this mysterious messenger, and the small crowd that has gathered around us, I don't feel like sharing whatever is inside. If the note is a threat, I can show it to someone later; if it's something different, discretion might be necessary anyway.

I tell Keller to get us out of here and we rush to today's exit and scramble into my shuttle. The whole ride back to the hospital, Keller is watching me, and I think he's waiting for me to open the note. He's eyeing me as if searching for a reason to take it.

“In the sake of your security,” I hear him telling me in my mind.

“In the sake of none of your business,” I answer back silently. I look casually past him toward the front of the shuttle.

Inside the hospital, my backpack is confiscated before the nurses lead me to the Scream Room. As soon as I'm out of my pants, those are taken, too. I know someone is searching for the note and grin when the scrubbing begins, knowing that I outsmarted everyone. The note is safe inside my sock. I had tucked it there back when my guards had been fighting a path from the school to the shuttle.

After my scrubbing and skin treatment, I wander upstairs to my room and start on my homework. The little triangle paper itches my foot, but I don't grab it. I'm thinking someone will casually come to check on me, and don't want to risk giving it up. I'm right. Five minutes later, a hospital guard comes for an inspection. In two years, my room has never been inspected—not while I've been there, at least. I'm ordered to wait outside with the door open while he checks under my mattress, inside my bag again, in my closet, bathroom, and even under my desk chair. When it's all over, and with a grunt like a troll, the guard lets me back into my room.

The inspection and all the hassle about this note reveal two things. First, there aren't any cameras in my room. The room at the clinic had a camera. There had been cameras everywhere. If I made a big enough stink now, I could probably have Mr. Jackson subpoena those videos, too. I could prove to the world what was happening there, and reveal that the world's hero was the real monster. The second thing I learn is that I'm not trusted. Here, in the place that I've called home since becoming infected, I'm nothing more than a number on a file.

I recline on my bed and slide the triangle paper from my sock. It's regular lined paper from a yellow notebook. There are smiley faces and symbols all over the outside, but in clear block letters, my name covers the face of one side. I pry open the paper and unfold it. There are messages in little puffy bubbles. Some say “sorry” while others say “I miss you.” One bubble has two long sets of numbers. Another says midnight.

I turn the paper over, and examine the rest of the markings. There's a heart with a hand inside of it. A pair of lips. But then there's a drawing of a swing, and that makes the most sense to me. This note is from Jessica. But how?

How did that kid from the football team get a handwritten note from Jessica Snow? I examine the paper more, but can't figure out what everything means. The time is obvious, but the other numbers? When the dinner buzzer sounds, I tuck away my note until later. While I'm eating, I think about the numbers, running them over and over in my head. They're not a phone number or address. There's something more, something I'm missing. I look up at the clock on the cafeteria wall. Six fifty three. I have to be somewhere in five hours.

Somewhere. I kick the chair across from me as I realize what the numbers mean, earning grumbles and insults from everyone at my table. I can't focus. I need to get to my room. But I'm also being watched. One hospital guard stands near the doorway, talking into a radio. I rub my leg as if I have a cramp and release a big, soothing grin after a deep calf massage. I dig into my meal of steroid laced protein and act as if nothing had happened. From the corner of my eye, I see the guard talk into the radio again. He's shaking his head.

After dinner, I change my clothes and head to the Therapy Room for my supervised workout, another change since returning from the clinic. The note is safe inside my sock, and I feel it itching me again, but I don't dare scratch my ankle and risk alerting someone of my hiding place. While I'm beating tonight's dummy, I think about Jessica's letter. With all the attention I've received today, sneaking out is going to be tougher than usual, and early will be out of the question. No doubt, word of the note will be passed along to the night staff and I might earn another inspection. I pound out twenty more minutes of destructive blows and kicks before returning to my room for a shower.

My room has undergone another surprise inspection; everything is out of place. The contents of my backpack are strewn across my bed. My tablet is on. The envelope on the desk—my information for Stanford—has been dumped. The stamps to mail it are on my chair. Even my computer is on. Without messaging services, I haven't even used it the past week, relying on my school tablet for research and assignments.

In case I'm interrupted again, I pull up a research site on my computer. A general announcement comes up that includes a picture of Dr. Snow. I groan and switch off the screen before hopping into bed.

When the night nurse comes, I'm studying my tablet. Like before, I'm corralled to the hallway while a guard searches my room. Exactly as I had expected, he flips on my computer screen. He takes a couple notes of the website. I turn away, repulsed by the smiling devil on the page.

“What's going on?” I ask, trying to sound worried.

The guard grunts and doesn't answer, though his frustrated sighs reveal he didn't find what he was looking for. Of course he didn't. The note is still hidden safely in the bathroom. Before leaving, though, he gives a sly grin and demands I hand him my tablet.

“Grendel?” he asks, activating the screen. “What is this?”

“It's an assignment for English,” I say. “It’s about a monster.”

The guard shoves the tablet into my chest and takes off down the hall.

I slam the door shut and leap onto my bed.

I open a search app on my tablet and type in the numbers from the note. The result comes up with a map. More specifically, the coordinates are to a church a few miles away. Midnight. The swing. The map. Pieces are coming together.

Jessica is smart; I know that. But why the mystery? Why the church? I'm about to start changing and planning my escape into the night when another thought drops into my head.

What if Jessica didn't send this message? The second possibility makes more sense. This could be a setup. The football team hates me. That’s why a kid from the team brought me the note. I sneak out—no one knows that I'm gone—and the rest of the team jumps me in the bushes while I'm waiting for a girl. A girl who they know about. A girl who's safe and warm twenty miles away. A girl who doesn't know about this meeting. This is a setup; it has to be.

I study the paper again. Definitely a girl's handwriting. Someone could have written it for the football team. But what about the swing? How would they know about that?

I don't have an answer, but my stomach is disagreeing with my mind. If I sneak out tonight, and go to this church at midnight, I'll find either love or danger. Or both. There's no way to know and no way to check. I'm pacing my room and the screen from my tablet flashes an image. Grendel. The monster that no one understands. I make my decision and change my clothes for tonight’s adventure.