The Trial (The Tree House) (16 page)

Chapter two

Anna doesn’t say anything after that. Even when I ask if she knows where we are, I only hear silence. After a while, my back starts to ache from sitting back against the door and the hard floor is making my butt hurt. I wish I wasn’t here. I miss…I don’t even know what or who to miss.

I only know two things for sure. My name is Ben and I was seriously hurt somehow and then fixed. That’s it. Other than that, my head is foggy. When I try to grasp even just one memory, it feels like I’m trying to watch a TV with terrible reception. I can see the movement behind all the static but not enough to tell what’s going on. It feels like so many things are just right on the tip of my tongue. Like I get the sense of a memory forming in my head and then it disintegrates leaving me with a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth.

Anna’s voice breaks the suffocating silence. “Ben?”

“Still here,” I mutter with my head in my hands. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she replies. “It’s just nice to hear another voice besides my own.”

I get up again, arching my back until it makes a satisfying crack. “Are we the only ones here?” I ask looking out at the other barred windows. It’s not like I can see if there is anyone inside the rooms so I don’t really know why I bother.

“If there are, they don’t say anything. I doubt we’re the only patients in the whole building though.”

Patients. That word sparks a memory. I suddenly remember a diner.

A folder.

A letter.

An experiment?

Anna continues talking, breaking me out of the memory. “The only time I see anyone is when they bring me food. Or take me to one of their creepy
, white rooms.”

“White rooms?”
I ask her, my hand coming up to touch my bandaged side again.

“
Creepy,
white rooms.”

I wonder how many of those rooms there are. There had to be at least twenty monitors behind the one way mirror I saw earlier. How many more patients could there be? And what are we here for? I wish there was someone that could give me answers. Judging by what Anna said though, it’s highly unlikely I’ll ever figure out what’s going on.

Neither of us says anything for a while after that and I figure she’s done talking for now. There’s a bed against the wall so I go and lay down on the mattress. It crinkles like it’s full of crumpled paper and feels about like that too. There’s no pillow or blanket. Obviously, whoever put us here doesn’t care about making us comfortable. Other than the bed, there isn’t anything in the room. Besides a toilet. At least our necessary bases are covered.

That man behind the window mentioned something about all my questions being answered. So when am I going to get these answers? What kinds of questions does he
think I have? Obviously I want to know what I’m doing here and how I got here in the first place. But what else should I be asking? What else are they willing to tell me? I don’t have a chance to think of any more questions before my mind starts to wander and I close my eyes.

* * *

Dreams are just memories all smashed together. Places you’ve been, people you’ve passed on the sidewalk and things you’ve heard or read. I can’t remember anything before waking up on that operating table, so that’s what I dream about. And in my dream when I open my eyes, I see a dark shadow over me but before I can stir up a memory – a face or a name – it disappears in a puff of black smoke and I’m left with the same metallic taste in my mouth.

The sound of a heavy door latching wakes me from my maddening dream and when I sit up, there’s a tray of
goopy looking food on the floor. I didn’t even notice anyone bring it in.

I don’t get all the way up since my side still feels like it’s on fire. Instead
, I stretch my leg out and catch the edge of the tray with my toe. It slides easily across the floor, scraping the whole way over and I bend down to pick it up. Another sharp pain surges through me and I groan as I pull the tray up onto my lap.

“You okay Ben?” Anna calls softly from her cell.

I feel like my whole body is trying to pull itself apart and it sucks the air from my lungs leaving me feeling ill. All I can do is groan in reply and hope she doesn’t ask me any questions that require worded answers. I don’t know how it’s even possible, but the pain is getting worse and pretty soon I’m clutching my side in the fetal position – my tray has clattered to the floor – and I’m squeezing my eyes shut, gritting my chattering teeth as cold sweat soaks my clothes and fire tears through me. I’m beginning to fade.

I can feel it.

I want it.

I just want the pain to end. Then just as I’m about to completely lose it, I feel a tiny pinch in my forearm and my ears are filled with the wailing cry of a siren. It only lasts for a second though before I’m completely out.

* * *

I wake up again the way I did the first time. With the sounds of beeps and blips from monitors and a light that just keeps getting brighter. It seems I end up somewhere different every other time I close my eyes. I really need to try to stay awake for longer than an hour.

“You seem to be doing better,” a familiar voice says from down near my feet.

I’m able to sit up better this time without a bunch of wires connected to me and I see the man from behind the window standing there smiling. He looks more pleasant than the last time I saw him. Then again I was a bit more scared and confused. Not by much though. I’m still pretty freaked out.

“So are you going to answer my questions this time or knock me out again?” I ask keeping my eyes locked on his.

The man smiles a bit wider and the skin around his eyes crinkles, making him look friendly. “Oh we didn’t do that to you last time, Ben. I warned you not to take out your IVs.”

“Well, they’re in now,” I say and lift my arms to look at the needles in each crook of my elbows. This is the first time I notice the lump in my forearm and I remember that pinch I felt right before I blacked out. 

The man’s eyes
dart to my arm for a second then meet my stare again. “Why don’t we get some food in you and then I’ll let you know what’s going on?” I feel my stomach tighten and I narrow my eyes. This guy doesn’t plan on telling me anything, I know that much. He takes a hold of my arm and I let him pull me into a sitting position onto the side of the bed. As I carefully get to my feet, I brace one hand on the bed and the other on a small metal table with scalpels and needles on it. “Alright,” the man says softly, “you don’t seem too steady yet, Benny Boy. Let me call someone in to help you.”

As I watch him step toward the intercom on the wall, I snatch the scalpel from the metal tray and jam it against his jugular. The blade in my hand digs into his neck as I stare him down. “I don’t need anyone to help me,” I snap.

The man barely reacts to the sound of my voice. He just stares back at me with his hands up in surrender. Then he smiles. It doesn’t surprise me. It seems like something a man like him would do. But what kind of man is he? He looks like a man who never lets up. A hard man. A big man – not that he’s very big – but big. Big like a concrete building.

I feel like I can see a struggle going on within him. Should he try and disarm me or do as I say? Would I kill him? Could I do it? I think he thinks I could. I think I could too. I press the scalpel harder against his skin, hoping it will help him make a decision. Instead of answering me, the man grins. “I knew I’d like you, Benny Boy.” Then just as quickly, his face changes to be more serious. “Now
, put the scalpel down so we can talk.”

“I don’t think so,” I mutter.

“At least let me get someone in here to help –”

“I can walk just fine on my own.”

The man hesitates a second longer then lowers his hands slowly. “Alright then,” he says cocking his chin in mock disapproval. “Whatever you say.”

I pull the blade away from his neck and I see him relax a little. With my free hand, I pull my IV out feeling a sense of dread as I remember what happened the last time I cut off my supply. Then the man tenses up again when I poke
the scalpel into his back, urging him to open the door. I’m glad I’m at least wearing clothes this time around. I would feel, and probably look, a lot less intimidating with everything just out on display. “Walk,” I say and push the man out the door. He takes a left and the two of us make our way down the hall. Everything is white and fluorescent and reminds me of a hospital. When I see a couple nurses round a corner ahead of us, I realize we are in a hospital. As we get closer, the two women stop talking and freeze where they are. The man in front of me gives them some sort of look – I can’t see it since I’m behind him – and the two continue moving past us though now at a much quicker pace.

I figure any second now I’m going to hear some sort of alarm sound and lights flash and then some guards will come and tackle me to the floor. Instead
, we make our way through a maze of halls and doorways without being stopped. The only time I think something is going to happen is when a nurse or a doctor sees us and freezes. But then the man does something – gives them some look – to get them going again. He’s not wearing any white lab coat or scrubs like the rest are so he must be of some importance. Who do I have here on the end of my scalpel?

Another left.
Another right. Then I see an elevator at the end of the hall. We step inside and the man presses a button for the top floor. “Where are we going?” I ask as I make eye contact with the curious workers in the hall. I hold their stares until the doors close in front of me.

He shuffles from one foot to the other. “To my office,” he says. “How’s your side doing?”

Pain is beginning to seep back into my body like toxic oil seeping into the ocean. It’s not bad now but it will be in a very short while. “I’m fine,” I say coldly and try to concentrate on breathing through my nose. By the time we reach the top floor, I can feel my hands shaking and a cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. The elevator opens and a hallway stretches out in front of me. The door at the end looks like it’s a mile away and surely that’s the one we’ll be walking to. I urge the suited man forward and take a step out into the hall. My legs feel weak and shake causing me to falter but I quickly regain my balance.

“Come on, Ben,” he sighs. “Let me help you.”

“I’m fine,” I growl and poke him hard in the back with the scalpel. That had to have broken the skin. The man doesn’t say anything else and we make our way toward the door at the end of the hall. We pass empty room after empty room and I’m tempted to just make him go in one of them but I’m curious to see what his office looks like – more curious than I am in pain – which is a lot.

Each step
is more agonizing than the last. At one point I glance down and can see a spot of red on my gray t-shirt. Awesome. Only half way to go.

By the time we finally make it to his office, it takes all I have to keep a straight face and try to focus my blurry vision on the key he inserts into the lock. With a click the door opens and the two of us slip inside. From what I can make out with my spotty vision, the place is really nice. A big dark wood desk sits in front of a huge window that overlooks the street below. From what I can tell, the sky is gray and the ground is covered in white.

“Take a seat, Ben,” the man says and motions toward a chair in front of him.

“Thanks,” I utter. “But I think I want to stand.”

He shrugs. “Whatever you say.” Then I watch as he sits in the high backed chair in front of the window.

There’s a name plate on the desk and I have to blink several times to make out what it says. Eli Scott. Another memory invades my mind. This man is well-known and very bad.
But why? Whatever I read in that folder at the diner has to do with him. I know it does.

“Why am I here?” I ask feeling sicker by the second.

Eli looks at me with worry in his eyes, though I’m sure it’s not sincere. “I can get someone up here with an IV, Ben. Just say the word.”

“I don’t want an IV,” I say trying to keep my voice steady. It hurts. All of me
hurts so bad. “I just want you to answer my question.”

The man continues to look at me like a concerned
parent while I dig my fingernails into my arm. It doesn’t help. The pain in my side is too great and making my heart strain. Finally Eli opens his mouth with a click of his tongue. “You’re here to help me save humanity.” Now, confusion mixes with the pain and I blink hard waiting for him to continue. “I’ve been working on a few different projects that will better the world but I don’t know how to make them successful unless we test them first.”

“Test them,” I repeat slowly. I’m having a hard time controlling my mouth. Fire is
searing through me, scorching my veins, cooking my flesh. I blink hard again as more black dots begin to crowd into my vision. “So, I’m like…a test animal?”

“Sure, you can call it that.”

I feel a pinch in my arm like I did earlier and a loud siren starts screaming from Eli’s pocket. “What is this thing?” I ask weakly, barely able to move my arm so he can see what I’m talking about.