The kid’s sandy blond hair covered the top of his eyes as he nodded, and he spoke out of the side of his mouth as if he were a piss-poor ventriloquist.
“You’re the Phoenix.” He leaned in close to me, flexing his bicep. “You’re going to break us all out of here, aren’t you? I can help. I can.”
I patted his arm and sighed. “You know, every person I’ve walked through the facility thinks they’re going to break out and go back to their life before. Go back to a world that doesn’t exist. We’re all here for a reason, kid. The sooner you accept that, the better you’ll do.”
I guided him to a door, the metal panel cold under my hand. The light above it flickered green, allowing us through. “Keep up, please.”
His chest lifted with a deep, anticipatory breath. Like I was going to save him. What he didn’t understand was that there was no saving any of us.
Unless you accept the truth. That you are not abnormal. That no one is. You have a disorder, a delusion of grandeur.
I nodded, knowing my handler could feel my movements as well as my thoughts.
“Where are we going?” The kid flexed his muscles against my arm over and over, digging his heels in a little as if he could slow us down.
“I’m showing you the facility. That was the main room, somewhere you can go once you’ve been deprogrammed.” I swept a hand out in front of us. “This is the cafeteria. Some of us call it the chow station. Three meals a day and one snack before bed.”
His heart rate tripped upward. I felt it pulse against the inside of my arm. Panic was setting in. It always did at some point. A woman strode toward us in scrubs, the same pale blue as mine. Her brilliantly red hair was swept back in an intricate braid that accentuated her lean face and bright green eyes.
“Esther, how’s it going?” I asked.
“Fine as always, Fiona.” She bobbed her head at me as she passed, a smile on her lips that didn’t come near to touching her eyes. Eyes that looked empty to me despite the dazzling color, which sparked a sadness I couldn’t deny. “I’m headed to round up the crew from the sunroom. Meet me back here in fifteen?”
“Will do, just finishing up with . . .” I paused, waiting for his name.
He shook his head. “No, I’m not giving you my name if you’re just going to change it.”
“Who says we’re going to change it?”
He jerked me toward him, impressive considering his current predicament. “Your name is the Phoenix. Not Fiona. And that’s Easter. Not Esther. I know her. She worked for Mancini!”
Names from the past, names that likely were never real. I lifted a hand and patted him on the cheek. “You’ll see, nothing is as we think, nothing is real but this place. Your name?”
He hunched his shoulders and I slid my arm from his jacket, turning him to face me. “Trust me when I say that you want to give me your name now, or others will get it from you in a far more unpleasant fashion.”
Our eyes locked, and I tried to convey that this was stupid, that his name wasn’t worth fighting over. But he was young, full of piss and vinegar, and he didn’t understand what he was up against. He would, but today he still thought he could fight his way out of here.
He was wrong.
They’d all been wrong.
“I don’t know what they did to you. I don’t know how they even got us all here. But I’m fucking out of here!” He took a few steps back and a glow emanated from him, followed by a flash of light that forced me to turn my head and close my eyes as a power rippled outward that was less than human. His straitjacket shredded, and I realized that whatever sedative they’d given him had worn off and he’d been hiding it well.
An alarm went off, the pounding of boots clattered across the linoleum, and a voice boomed over the PA system.
“EVERYONE DOWN.”
I lowered myself to my belly and put my hands to the back of my head as the armed guards poured in around us.
Pressed my face to the cool of the floor as the young man screamed, as the sound of the Tasers going off filled my ears.
Closed my eyes as he fell to the ground with a thud that reverberated through my body.
Slowed my breathing as the smell of piss filled the air, competing with the smell of fear that rolled around us.
All of it happened in a matter of seconds. Twelve to be exact. The guards knew how to get a greenhorn locked down fast, always under fifteen seconds. They were punished if it took longer. I’d seen the trouble for being slow, once. Just once.
A tap on my shoulder and I opened my eyes. “You’re good, Fiona. We’ll take it from here.”
I pushed slowly to my feet, contracting every muscle with purpose. “Thanks, George.”
The head guard gave me a wink. “George the dragon slayer, isn’t that what you called me?”
“George the dragon slayer,” I said softly, a smile on my cold lips. “My favorite knight in shining armor.”
I turned to watch as George and the other guards scooped up the young man. He was out cold, and the toes of his cowboy boots dragged across the floor as they removed him. My skin prickled a split second before Esther spoke to me, sneaking up on my right side.
“They always have to fight it, don’t they?”
“I wish they wouldn’t,” I said, “but we all did.”
“Who’d have thought you’d be such a softie underneath it all? Your story was the worst, but you’re the good kid here. The teacher’s pet.” She laughed, but the laugh was forced. False.
I smiled. “Yeah, who’d have thought it?” I took a few steps, following the guards and the out-cold kid.
“You can let them do their job, Fiona,” she called after me. “You don’t have to help that kid.”
I shrugged. “I’ll be back in time for chow. Don’t you wish I’d been around when you were going through your admittance?”
Her face faltered as if I’d slapped her. “Yeah, I do.” She shook it off. “You’d better hurry after your new friend. I am not saving you any food!” Her forced laugh followed me, chasing me down the halls that led to the dormitories. We all had individual rooms lined up and down the same bright hall with too many lights and not enough air vents.
I didn’t try to keep my steps light—sneaking up on the guards was not a good idea if you liked your face free of bruises. “George.” I said his name long before I was within reach of a closed fist or a backhand.
George lifted his face guard as he turned toward me, standing at the opening to one of the previously empty rooms. Its occupant had died the day before. His body had been dragged out in front of me. I wasn’t supposed to see it.
I can help you forget that sight. Do you want to forget?
I shook my head, but George didn’t seem to notice or maybe he was used to me reacting to things he couldn’t see or hear. Maybe he knew about the voice in my head.
“You think you can reach him? Calm him down like you do the others?” he asked.
The smell of urine wafted through the door as I drew close, competing with the industrial cleaner that had been used on the floor just that morning. “I want to try,” I said. “He’s young. I feel bad for him.”
“Well, you’ve got until the doc shows up to sedate him,” George said.