Out (27 page)

“God loves you,”
the voice says, “God forgives your sins. Turn away from your sins. Walk into
the light. Be cleansed. Be pure. God forgives your sins.” Then the music for a
while, and then it starts again. It never stops. It never stops.

Sleep. That
seems to be my only tool of escape. So I curl up on the horrible bed, close my
eyes, and dream of brick houses and a girl with flowers in her hair. God
forgives your sins.

I have to find
a way to count minutes, hours, something. I started to count the phrases in the
Voice, but they mix it up. It’s never exactly the same, or with exactly the
same words in the same order. The music sounds the same, but it isn’t. Time
spreading out without any end…I can’t deal with it. So I start this game with
myself. I listen for a guard walking outside the door. When I hear footsteps, I
put a mark on the floor using a piece of spring I twisted from the bottom of
the bed. I hide the marks behind the bed so no one will see. If anyone ever
comes in again, I mean.

There’s a
camera in the corner, so I guess they can see me scratching on the floor if
they want to. Maybe it doesn’t matter to them. I’ve so far counted guards pass
my room fifteen times, but I don’t know how many times a day they do it, or
what time of the day it is when they go by. No one has come in at all. No food.
God forgives your sins. There is water in the sink, so I drink that in the
plastic cup, use the toilet, sleep. I try to wash by taking off the orange
jumpsuit and dabbing with water all over my body, but it’s not very effective
without soap or anything to wash with. Be cleansed, like the Voice says. I wish
I could be.

I have stubble
on my face. When I was home, people teased me at school about my scrawny
mustache. I never let it get very far, so I didn’t know how it would grow out,
but now it’s
fuzzing
up. I spend a lot of time just
feeling it, trying to figure out what it would look like. Walk into the light.

They must do
something to me to make me sleep. I’ve noticed that about every five guard
steps, I wake up with that shooting pain in my arm, and there’s an injection
site there, bruised and angry looking. How do they put me out? Something in the
air? The water? I have no choice but to breathe and drink, though. I have to
get out of here. I wonder if God will forgive me. If I die, nobody will know.

Guard footstep
count is now at twenty-two. I’m not able to get off the bed, and I’ve stopped
using the toilet. They still come in and give me the medicine, but I never
catch them. I sleep a lot. In my dreams, I’m always eating something, and
living in a beautiful place with a garden and a high wall that keeps things
out. My beard and mustache have grown out. They itch. I don’t wash anymore. Be
cleansed. Be pure. God loves you. God forgives your sins. Turn away from your
sins. Walk into the light. God forgives your sins God forgives God for-

God forgives
your sins. Guard footstep count is at thirty. I’m cold all the time. But today,
I hear the footsteps and they stop in front of my door. I want to get up, but I
can’t. I wish I was cleansed and pure. I want to turn away, but the door opens,
and a tray is slipped into the room. I smell some kind of food, something hot,
so I crawl off the bed, take an eternity God is eternity to crawl across the
floor like a bug, and finally reach the metal tray. There is a bowl with thin
stew, a piece of hard bread. I look at it. God loves me.

It takes my
brain a minute to remember eating. I put my face to the bowl, extend my dry
tongue, let it touch the surface of the brown liquid. God loves me. Adrenaline
races through me like liquid fire, and although I know I’ll be sick, I lap up
the soup like a dog, face down, getting it all over my face and in my beard and
mustache. Cleansed. Pure. The bread’s too hard…I’ll save it for later. I roll
over and curl up on the floor, my stomach roiling and objecting to the foreign
material from the bowl. I retch all over the place, but can’t even move from a
pool of thin vomit tainted brown. Cleansed. Pure. God loves me.

Within a few
minutes, two guards come in, pick me up under the armpits, and wordlessly drag
me from the cell. I feel dizzy and sick, and have a pounding headache, but
nothing left to throw up. God loves me. They drag me down a corridor, through a
maze of hallways, and I close my eyes to try and squelch the dizziness. God
loves me.

When we finally
stop, I’m barely conscious. They drag me through another thick metal door, into
a beautiful office with dark-wood furniture,
tapestried
walls, carpeted floors. The room spins, colors blur, and the next thing I know,
I’m sitting naked in a little chair under a stream of warm water, in a
blue-tiled shower. Warm water. Perfect temperature. It washes over me in
cascades, and it is the purest joy I’ve ever felt. God loves me. Pure.
Cleansed.

Soap. Pure.
White, mild soap in a little cake in the recess of the shower wall. I reach for
it. Nothing happens. I bring it to my nose first, sniff the clean, pure scent,
then start to slowly work it in a circular motion over my legs, my chest, my
arms, my face, my hair. I wash every inch I can reach, wash again, let the
water stream over me, and I could just stay here forever and die happy. God
loves me.

But they turn
it off. The sound of water dripping on tile echoes, and I stay on the bath
chair, unwilling to admit that the shower is over. Steam curls around my face,
so I lie back against the tile, breathe in the mist, relax, forget. Turn away.
God forgives. Sin cleansed pure.

A sound, like a
door opening…a boy my age comes into the shower stall. Through droplets I see
him: blond, thin, muscular, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. “Let me help you,” he
murmurs as he hoists me onto his shoulders. I close my eyes and welcome the
help, no matter where it comes from.

He takes me into
a room, lays me gently on a bed so comfortable I can’t believe it’s real. He
takes some kind of ointment from a white jar, rubs it on my hands, my arms, my
feet, my legs. I just lie there. It feels so good to have someone touch me,
skin on skin, to be clean, to be comfortable. “God loves me,” I murmur to him.

“Yes.” He
smiles gently. “I’ll help you dress,” he says, pulling a fresh orange jumpsuit
from a drawer. “At least it’ll be clean.”

I lick my lips,
wondering if I still know how to speak. “Who are you?” I don’t recognize my own
voice.

“Luke.” He
smiles, leans over me and pats my cheek. “I’m here to help you.”
 
He eases the jumpsuit over my legs, pulls it
up, gently guides my arms into the sleeves, zips it.

“Why?” I rasp.

“Why am I
helping you or why am I here?” He takes a black comb from a dresser and draws
it through my tangled hair. “Want me to cut this for you?”

“Hmm?”

“Your hair.
It’s pretty long. Want me to cut it?”

Do I want a
haircut? My mind can’t even accept this idea. I just nod. God loves me. He sits
me up on the bed, opens a cupboard, and takes out a pair of silver scissors. “Oh,
if you try to grab these, a guard will shoot you. Above the eye. They’re very
accurate.” He turns my head slightly and starts to snip at the wet tendrils of
hair lying against my neck.

Am I dreaming
now? I can’t tell. It doesn’t feel like I am, but still…it’s possible that none
of this is real. How can I tell?

Luke chuckles. “It’s
real. I know it doesn’t feel like it. You’ve been in quarantine for thirty days.
It’s harsh, but it works.” He stops snipping. “You probably want a drink,
right?” He jumps up, still carrying the scissors, goes to a refrigerator in the
corner, and pulls out a huge bottle of water, sweating from the chill. He
twists off the top and hands it to me. “Don’t drink too fast.” I try not to,
but it’s so sweet, so pure, like the painting of the river on the front of the
bottle. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so happy.

Ah.

It’s a trick.
Even though I know, I want to ignore it. A manipulation, just a way to get me
to do what they want. I could pretend I don’t know. I could do what this
handsome stranger says and get my hair cut and take another shower, food…it’s a
trick. It’s a trick. I repeat it in my head so I’ll believe it.

“Something to
eat?” Luke goes to the refrigerator again, and takes out a box of soda
crackers. “I know they brought you that horrible stew, huh? They give that to
everybody. Better to start with something really simple.” He unwraps a package
of crackers, and I start to salivate. He hands me one, like a communion wafer,
and I take a small nibble from the corner. The flavor explodes against my
tongue, salt, crunch, dry, mixing with the water in my mouth to form a paste
that I don’t want to swallow because it tastes so amazing.

Luke sits on
the edge of the bed and watches me nibble at the cracker. He smiles, like it’s
amusing, but not in teasing way. Maybe I can get some information...he’s the
first person who’s treated me like I’m human since I got here. I just watch the
cracker, take another nibble; I’ll finish it first before I say anything.

“Hey.” I look
up. His hand is on my hand. “Let me help you. God loves you.”

“Do you know
where Carmen is?” I sneak another cracker from the wrapper, just in case this
angers him and he takes them away.

He smiles and
shakes his head. “Don’t think about her. I know it’s tough. But you’re here to
heal, to get past that part of your life. To turn away from your sins.”

“I don’t want
to get past that part of my life.” The words come out on their own; I know as
soon as I’ve said them that they are forbidden, but true. Luke’s warm smile
twitches and he blinks rapidly.

“I’ll be
meeting with you once a week to help with your rehabilitation,” he says. “Now
that you’ve come out of quarantine, you’re going to be attending classes and
eating meals with other guests. I—”

“Guests?” That
voice jumps out again, the one that I know should be quiet but isn’t. “You call
us guests?”

He arches his
eyebrows. “Of course. What would you call it?”

“Prisoners.” I
angrily take a bite out of the cracker.

“Ah.” Luke
nods, then stands up, stretching. “I can see why you’d think that. But you’re
not prisoners. God loves you. You’re here to turn away from sin. Think of it
more as a hospital, a place where people go to get better.”

“I don’t need
to get better. I need to get out of here.”

“The way to get
out of here is to get better.” He smiles, takes out an electric razor and runs
it through my hair, shaving it all off.

“Don’t!” I
yell, but he puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Remember,
right above the eye. Just sit still.” He continues to plow through my hair, and
it falls in clumps around me. I pick up a piece, rub it between my fingers.

When he’s
finished, he pushes a green button on the wall near the refrigerator. “You’ll
be going back to your room now, and we’ll meet again tomorrow for counseling.”

Two guards come
through the door, shackle my hands, and lead me firmly away. “Luke,” I call
over my shoulder as I walk.

“Yes?”

“Does God love
me?”

“Of course.”
The door closes and we trudge down the gray cement hallway.

The guards
don’t go the same way, I don’t think.
 
It’s hard to tell, but it seems like we’re going a different way. The
doors look different in these halls, bigger, and there are windows in the
doors.
 
The left guard stops and unlocks
one of them, labeled Delta.

They march me
into this huge room, with beds stacked on beds, bunks, in two rows with a path
down the middle. Same fluorescent lights. It’s totally empty.

They walk me
wordlessly to the end of the path and stop two beds before the end. “This is
your new bed,” Guard Two says, gesturing to the top mattress. Guard One keys
something into a handheld electronic gadget, then nods to the other guy. “We’re
taking you to your orientation now. They’ll explain everything.”

We walk again,
through another large door. Now we’re in a white hallway, more like a hospital,
and I hear voice. I hear voices! Other people! Maybe Carmen will be here. Guard
One knocks on a door with a brown plastic placard that reads Orientation 5. He
opens the door, unlocks my cuffs, and gestures for me to go in.

Scarecrows in a
circle.

Several guys,
most my age, sit on little woven floor mats. All have shaved heads. All wear
orange jumpsuits. All look like skeletons. I probably look the same.
 
One man dressed as a doctor sits in a gray
office chair, the big kind that swivels around like a carnival ride. He jumps
up when I come into the room. The door shuts behind me as the guards leave.

He checks his
own electronic device, then beams at me. “Welcome, Sebastian.”

“My name is
Chris.”

“It’s
Sebastian.” The guys on the floor squirm, don’t look at me. The man tucks the
device into the pocket of a white lab coat stitched in blue with the words Dr.
Ashburn, O. R.

“It’s Chris.”

“Sebastian,
please sit on that mat next to Jeremiah.” Dr. Ashburn gestures toward an empty
spot. I take it. Who cares what he calls me?

The doctor sits
in the gray swivel chair again, bouncing slightly. “So, who wants to give the
welcome speech to Sebastian? Remember, it’s extra points.”

A couple of
hands go up. He chooses Jeremiah, who sits next to me.
 
“God loves you. God forgives your sins. Turn
away from your sins. Walk into the light. Be cleansed. Be pure. God forgives
your sins.” Jeremiah doesn’t look at me as he says this. He stares past my
ankle.

“Nicely done,
Jeremiah,” Dr. Ashburn says. He jots something onto his handheld device. “There,
five points for you. Now, who else wants extra points? Abraham?”