Out (30 page)

The guard
salutes Jon, who salutes back. He has a hawkish nose, and one slate-blue eye.
There’s a sewn-shut hole where they other one should be. He consults an
electronic tablet. “Sebastian, Abraham, Noah.” He checks us as we each signal
to answer to our names. “You’ll be scrubbing dirty dishes. Follow me.”

We go through a
labyrinth of white tile and steel, through an almost tangible cloud of pine
disinfectant scent, into a huge room adjoining the dining area. I can see all
the first shift people eating lunch out there. Where are the women? Jon hands
each of us a white apron, and says, “Scrub all the food off the plates and down
the disposal.”

I ache all
over. I don’t know if I can stand up long enough to scrub dishes, but I guess
I’ll have to try. Jon checks on some other workers, then walks back through the
labyrinth of cleanliness.

Abraham leans
into a plate and scrubs, but as he does, he whispers also, barely audible above
the water. “He’s with us.”

“Who?” I
whisper back. Abraham’s eyes go wide, and he clamps his lips shut, I guess to
tell me I’m too loud. I scrub too, bending as if to really put some elbow
grease into this beloved job.

“One-eye.”

Charles, the
Korean guy from therapy, pushes a wheeled cart full of dishes into the kitchen
through a swinging door, like we worked in a restaurant or something. He and
Abraham trade glances, and Abraham motions for me to switch places with him. I
do.

He starts to
take dirty plates off the cart, but I notice that wedged in between two is a
small piece of paper sticking out just so he could see it. Quick as I see it,
it’s gone. Plates stacked, ready to scrub. Paper? What paper?

Charles makes a
big deal of clanging plates together, causing some of the men to glance over at
us. Are they waiting to turn people in? I remember what Ashburn said. You can
get points for turning in perverts and people who violate the rules. Would they
do that? I guess. I think I’ll be quiet.

As Charles
reaches the bottom of the cart to get the last rack of plates, Abraham bends
down too, to help. I hear them whisper, but no one else can because Abraham
left the sprayer running. They talk for almost a full minute, and with each
second I wonder if a guard will walk in, or if someone is listening, or has a
camera turned on us or something. I just scrub.

Maybe they can
tell me where Carmen is. Just the thought of her — I ache and feel this tearing
in my chest, like someone ripped it open. What will it be like after a week of
this “orientation?” Or a month?

Abraham stands,
eases plates into the metal sink. Charles wheels the cart back out.

“I need your
address,” he whispers, working the sprayer. Then he drops a plate on the floor,
and it shatters into a hundred bone-white pieces. “Pick that up,” he yells at
me. I bend down to do what he asks, and see the paper there amidst the pieces.
I grab it, palm it, as a guard stomps up.

“What happened
here?” the guard growls.

“New guy,”
Abraham says, snarling in my direction. The guard gives me an unenthusiastic
zap with his shock stick, then walks away. As he does, Abraham grins.

After the work
period, we go back to the bunks to read. I again flop onto my stomach and this
time, trembling, lay the note out between the bindings of the bible. It begins,
in faded charcoal: “Chris—”

Chris. For a
split second, I don’t remember that that is me. Shit.

Chris—

I am
safe. Trust the men. Have faith.

Carmen

A note from
Carmen.
 
I bury my face in it, try to
smell her scent in this paper, try to imagine her fingers scrawling those
eleven words. I eat it like a sacrament. This is all I needed. My soul burns,
restored; anger, frustration everything that’s numb
bruned
away. I have to get out.

I barely sleep.
I turn, trying to block the buzzing lights, and dream of dark hair and soft
hands.

It seems like
no time has passed before a guard comes into the dorm again, pokes me with his
stick. “Come,” he says. From the bottom bunk, Noah stares blankly as I climb
down and walk away.

They take me to
Luke’s room. “Sebastian,” he says, greeting me at the door. The guards leave us
alone. “I wanted to check on you. How are you?”

“Fine.”
Automatic response. The same thing I’ve said all my life when people ask.

“Sit.” I let my
body sink into a tan velvet chair. He reaches into the refrigerator, grabs a
bottled water and a red apple. “Hungry?”

I nod. He gives
me the food, and I practically inhale it.

“Sebastian, you
know that not every guest has a one-on-one counselor like you have.” He sits
opposite me in a matching chair. “We have a special interest in you.”

I finish the
water, but say nothing.

He smiles. “You
have some information, and we need it. If you tell me, I can make things very
pleasant for you here.” He stands next to me, runs his fingers through my hair.
“Very pleasant.”

Again, I say
nothing. Of course, it’s a trick.

“For example,
if you tell me what I want to know, I could arrange a visit. Between you and
your…love interest.”

I swallow
hard.
 
He can’t mean Carmen. Can he?
 

“I know it
seems…counterintuitive. If we’re trying to reorient you, why would we ever let
you see someone who might undo what we’ve done? But,” he strokes my cheek, “I
think that if you can help me, I can help you. One little visit won’t set you
back too much, I think. Especially if I’m there to…help.” He returns to his
chair. “So, can we count on you?”

“Of course.”
There is no other answer I can give if I want to get out.

“Excellent.” He
pours himself a cup of coffee, and it smells amazing, reminds me of home.
Home…David, Warren, Jana…
Andi
. It seems like someone
else’s life. I guess it was. “I know stimulants are off limits, but…how about
just a half cup?” He hands me a delicate china cup filled with amber-brown
liquid. “We need to know about McFarland. What did your contacts do with him?”

Shit. I have no
idea. What can I tell him? How can I see her? “I was with him in the cabin—”

“Yes, yes we
know that.” Impatient. “What happened in the woods, though?”

I sip more
delicious coffee. “Someone probably took him.”

“Probably.”
Luke’s voice has an unpleasant edge. “Probably? You must know more than that.”

Think. Think.
What can I give him so I can see her again?

“We met once in
the woods near my house. Maybe they took him there.”

Luke shakes his
head. “I need to know exactly where he is.” He says it slowly, so I’ll be sure
to understand.

“I just don’t
know.”

He eyes me
suspiciously, takes the cup from my hand, and grabs my wrist, pulling me up
from the chair.
 
“Go back, then. You
won’t see her again. She might be dead already.”

All I can think
about is bashing his head in with something, anything. But I remember her note:
I am safe. Trust the men. Have faith
.
She’s not dead. “I’m sorry I can’t help you,” is what I say.

Luke grins,
closes his eyes, and walks me to the door. “I won’t be seeing you again,
Sebastian. Sorry. I wish I could’ve helped you.”

I turn to him.
“My name is Chris.”

Back to the
kitchen. I’m beginning to forget what time of day it is…with no windows it’s
almost impossible to know. You can’t tell from the food; it’s basically either
oatmeal or soup or something else weak and flavorless. Endless dishes and
spoons.

Abraham lifts
plates from a cart, turns the water on full blast. “Memorize these numbers,” he
whispers.

I arch my
eyebrows at him.

“Thirty-two,
four, sixty-six, eleven, seven. Repeat.” He leans into a plate and scrubs. I
repeat the numbers.

A guard stalks
into the kitchen as if looking for something. “Where is Sebastian?”

I raise my
hand.

“Come with me.”
I trade looks with Abraham as Charles wheels more plates into the kitchen. I
shake my head only slightly and follow the guard.

I’m surprised
when he takes me to the therapy room. Ashburn is alone. “Sebastian, come in,”
he says genially. “Sit in the chair there. Luke tells me that you’ve been
uncooperative.” His voice takes on the tone of a disappointed parent.

“I really have
no idea where McFarland is,” I say, but Ashburn puts his fingers to his lips as
if he’s hushing a child.

“I do
understand that, Sebastian.” He moves his chair closer to me. “I need something
else from you, actually.” He pushes a few buttons on his stupid handheld
device, and then sits back. “In a few moments, I am going to ask you to make a
phone call. It seems that one of your parents—” he consults his screen again…I
swear I am going to smash it one day— “Warren? Yes. Warren apparently has
called in some favors trying to get you released. He’s asking some questions
we’d frankly prefer not to answer. I want you to call and reassure him.”

“What?”

“I just want
you to make a brief phone call, to let him know that you’re being treated well.”

I’m stunned. He
would let me call Warren? If I could get him on the phone…I could get him to
understand…no. Too risky. But how can I tell him I’m ok? He’d know I was lying,
even if I said I was fine.

“Well? I’m
waiting.” Ashburn blinks at me. “There’s an incentive, too.” The door opens,
and—

Carmen.

Carmen!

I jump to my
feet. No thought occurs except to hold her. We collide and try to melt into
each other, to fade away into nothing, to evaporate from this room, this place.
She’s thin, so thin I feel bones beneath the rough fabric. If I squeeze too
tight, I’m afraid I’ll break her. We kiss, deep, like breathing oxygen again
after being denied breath; her head is shaved bare like mine, her hands rough
like mine from working, and —

Guards pull us
apart. Ashburn shakes his head, disgusted. “I will never understand it,” he
says. “It’s just not normal.”

“Chris,” Carmen
says my name. Her hollow eyes, still blue but now in deep shadow, shine with
love. It feels real again.

“No speaking,”
Ashburn barks. A guard ties a gag around her mouth as she struggles.

“Stop it!” I
scream, bolting toward the guard even though I know I’ll get a shock. I pound
on the black-beetle vest and helmet, and even when he zaps me, I keep hammering
at him, trying to get her free. “Let her go!”

Tears glisten
on her cheeks, and I reach out to smooth her dry hair as two more bastard
guards pull me back.

“Now, are you
ready to make that phone call?” Ashburn asks, straightening his coat and glasses.
“Such a fuss.”

Breathing hard,
I nod. “Will you let her go if I do?”

Ashburn shakes
his head. “Well, no, of course not. She’s dangerous. I can’t let her go. I can
let her live, though.” A guard pulls out a black revolver and puts it to her
head. She screams behind the gag, sobs in small, pitiful gulps, and all I can
do is watch. Ashburn hands me the phone, the number already ringing. “I’ll be
listening. Make it convincing.”

“Hello?”
Warren’s voice. His voice. I can’t speak. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

“Warren?” My
voice sounds strangled. The guard cocks the gun. “Warren. It’s me.
Seb
—Chris. It’s Chris.”

“Chris!” The
relief floods the line. “Oh, Jesus. I’ve been so worried about you. They
wouldn’t let me talk to you, or see you…they said it was part of the treatment,
but—how are you? Do you know when they’ll let you out?”

I stare at
Carmen, shaking. “Not sure. I’m fine, though. It’s all fine.”

“Chris?” Warren
knows me too well. He knows I’m lying. “Tell me the truth now. Are they
treating you well? I really want to know.”

“Sure.” My lip
trembles, and I desperately try to keep my voice from cracking as Ashburn
stares at me intently. “It’s great.”

There’s a huge
pause. “Well, I’m glad to hear it.” Warren clears his throat and his voice
becomes lighter, almost happy. “I’ll bet you can’t wait to get home, though,
huh? Jana says you probably miss walking in the woods, huh?”

“Yes. I do miss
that.”

He pauses
again. “Well, you just get better. We’ll see you soon, I’m sure.” His voice is
strained; I can hear it, although I’m not sure Ashburn can. “I love you, Chris.”

“I love you
too.” I try not to sob out loud. I don’t give the phone back right away; I hold
it like it’s my last connection to what was real.

“Well done,”
Ashburn says, taking the phone from me. “Say goodbye to your friend. She needs
to go back to the women’s guest home.”

 
They’ve taken off the gag now, and the gun has
been put away, but she’s still pale and shaking.
 
I take her in my arms, envelop her, try to
pretend no one else is here. And I whisper in her ear, “Have faith.” Eyes
shining, she nods, smiles, and kisses me again, deeply, before the guards pull
her away and take her out of the room. Our eyes lock until I can’t see her
anymore.

“You did well,”
Ashburn says. “You’ve saved her for today, at least.”

All I can think
about is her eyes, and how terrified she looked, like a frightened animal. I
want to kill Ashburn, smash his head with that stupid tablet. But that might
get her killed, so I don’t. I just sit there, dumb.

The doctor taps
on his screen, then turns to me. “If you’ll just cooperate, you can get out of
here, you know. We don’t want to keep people forever. We’re here to
rehabilitate you.”

I know I
shouldn’t say it, but the word slips out on its own. “Why?”

Ashburn’s
shocked. It’s amazing how one word could disrupt that cool, amused exterior. “Why?
You’re ill. And if left untreated, your illness will spread to others. If the
social body is diseased, the country will fall, you see. The church and the
government is charged by God with the sacred duty of keeping the body healthy.”
He grins at me. “And like any disease, if we can’t cure it, we have to get rid
of it. Think of it as…a cancer. If it responds to treatment, fantastic! If not,
it has to be surgically removed.”