“Your mother has a full-time job and three young kids to take care of.” Joe continues his tongue-lashing of Megan. “Instead of helping, you gave her every bit of grief you could. And why? Because your dad ran off with another woman?”
Maybe because she’s a girl, no one is prepared when Megan rockets out of her chair and drives her head and shoulders into Joe’s stomach like a linebacker. Joe gets slammed backward, and we hear the gruesome thunk as his head smacks against the wall. For an instant there’s silence, as Joe collapses in an unconscious heap on the floor. No one can believe what just happened. Even Megan looks stunned at what she’s done. Then she bolts out the door.
Alarms start to blare in the hall. Ron, who has recently been elevated to Level Six, races out to find help. Adam saunters to the front of the room and looks down at Joe, who is sprawled on the floor, unconscious, his arms and legs twisted in odd directions. Next Adam glances out into the hall, then motions to David Zitface and Unibrow Robert. The three of them slip out and vanish. I feel a hand on my shoulder. It’s Pauly. He motions me toward the back of the room where Sarah is sitting.
I hesitate. This whole situation feels unreal. Joe out cold on the floor while the kids sit in their chairs, uncertain of what to do. There’s the impulse to go get help, but why? Joe has caused me nothing but pain and anguish.
“Come on,” Pauly hisses urgently, and tugs at my arm.
I follow him, and we turn our chairs into a small huddle so the other kids can’t hear us under the jangling alarms. They sit in their seats watching us and waiting for someone to tell them what to do.
“It’s gotta be soon,” Pauly says in a hushed, rushed whisper. There’s no way to know how much time we’ll have before Joe wakes up or help comes. Sarah looks at me with dull, pleading eyes. Over the past few weeks it’s seemed as if the life has slowly been drained out of them.
“The days are getting shorter,” Pauly says. “In another couple of months it’ll be too cold to go. Then we’ll be stuck here all winter.”
He and Sarah keep shooting me sideways glances, but I don’t want to be in the position of saying yes or no.
“Maybe you should wait till spring,” I suggest.
Sarah shakes her head slowly. “Mud season.” Her voice sounds defeated, as if she senses my reluctance. “Cold, wet, and muddy.” She knows, of course, because she’s already been here for two springs.
Shouts and slapping footsteps come from the hall. The alarm continues to clang. I glance at the front of the room, where Joe is still sprawled like a broken doll. It goes against my nature to sit there and do nothing, but I have to remind myself that there is nothing natural about being imprisoned at Lake Harmony.
“Sarah and I aren’t going to make it through another winter,” Pauly whispers.
Do they want me because they need someone strong and they’re gambling that I’ll be trustworthy?
I have to be honest with them. “I don’t know.”
Both Pauly and Sarah drop their heads in disappointment. The door opens and the troll rushes in, followed by Adam and his posse, who obviously think they’re scoring major brownie points by coming to Joe’s rescue. The troll slides his hands under Joe’s armpits and drags him out of the room. Outside there are shouts and the sounds of feet slapping and a scuffle. Adam’s eyes briefly go to Pauly, Sarah, and me; then he and his boys head back out to see what’s going on.
“We’re gonna start a fire,” Pauly whispers desperately, as if to convince me that he has a plan.
I give him a dubious look.
“I’m serious,” he insists.
“You mean, like in a wastepaper basket?” I ask.
“No, a real fire,” Pauly says. “Sarah and I have been collecting stuff. We’ve got matches, a couple of bottles of nail-polish remover, some spray paint, and a bottle of alcohol from the infirmary. The rags won’t be a problem. Everyone will have to evacuate. The fire department will have to come. In the confusion we sneak out.”
“You set a real fire, and someone could die,” I tell him.
“Another winter here and I’m dead anyway,” Pauly says. He means it. Sarah nods in agreement.
Mr. Sparks enters the room. His clothes are askew, and he looks flustered as he tucks in his shirt. There’s a long, reddish scratch on his arm and a smaller one under his left eye. “Everyone up. Back to quarters until further notice.”
A female chaperone takes Sarah and the other girls back to the female wing. Mr. Sparks marches us males toward our dorm. We turn a corner, and lying on the floor is something that looks like a giant brown caterpillar with silver stripes. It’s Megan, wrapped in a blanket that’s been duct-taped closed like a full-body straight jacket. Duct tape covers her mouth as well. Her eyes are swollen shut, and her face is streaked with drying blood.
TWELVE
“You cannot initiate a visit to the infirmary.”
It’s a desperate plan. A thousand things could go wrong. I know they want and need me to join in, but I can’t see taking that risk. The odds are way against them, but I’m worried just the same that they’ll try it without me.
I leave Sarah a note:
Do you really think pauly’s joke is funny?
At the next meal she leaves her answer:
I’am, not sure I care.
She’s so up and down. But in a way the answer is reassuring. At least she’s not gung ho to torch the place.
Two days later she leaves another note:
3 PM-Infirunary
Around two forty-five I’m in my carrel, studying chemistry on the computer, which makes no sense considering there are no labs for experiments. I prop my elbows on the desk, press my fingers against my temples, and close my eyes.
“What’s up, Garrett?” Mr. Sparks comes over.
“Headache, sir.”
He studies me. Kids are always making up excuses to go to the infirmary. Some want to get out of whatever job they’re doing. Some are tired and want to rest. Some are just so desperate for a pill they’ll settle for Tylenol. There have been times when I could have gone, like when I had that nosebleed with Joe, but I’ve purposefully resisted. I’m not even sure I knew why. It’s almost as if instinctually I understood that I had to save them for when I really needed them.
“What do you want to do?” Mr. Sparks asks.
“Nothing, sir. It’ll go away.”
He accepts that answer and goes back to his chair. I pretend to look at the computer screen. Five minutes pass. Mr. Sparks returns. “You haven’t touched the keyboard.”
I fake a wince. “Give me a minute, sir. I’ll get going.”
“Yeah, right,” Mr. Sparks says. “Ron, take Garrett to the infirmary.”
Level Six automaton Ron pops out of his carrel like a jack-in-the-box and accompanies me out of the room. I can’t help thinking back to the night Harry and Rebecca first drove me here, and the way Harry lectured Rebecca when he thought I was trying to manipulate her. I may not have known much about manipulation then, but I’ve learned plenty about it since.
Out in the yard we cross the grass toward the infirmary. The breeze is dry and fresh, and it feels like fall is coming. A few leaves have begun to turn yellow. The Faith family of females is lined up in the yard doing jumping jacks, led by their “mother,” who calls them sluts and whores. I can’t believe I’ve been here for almost five months. It’s like something out of Kafka. Instead of waking up as a giant cockroach, I’ve woken up in a penal colony.
The infirmary reminds me of the nurse’s office at my old school, except that here the odor of stale cigarette smoke hangs in the air. There’s a cot. A desk where the nurse sits. A curtain someone can get undressed behind. Oddly, an old metal safe. Sarah is lying on the cot. I frown at her. She mouths the word “cramps.”
A toilet flushes somewhere behind the curtain, and a gray-haired guy comes out zipping up a pair of faded jeans. He’s wearing an orange, yellow, and green tiedyed T-shirt with a pack of cigarettes in the pocket, and his g
ray beard is braided. He has a gold earring, and tattoos on both arms. I assume he’s a workman, so I’m caught by surprise when he sits down at the desk and gestures for me to sit in the chair beside it.
“Name?” he asks.
“Garrett Durrell, sir … Uh … forgive me for asking this, sir, but are you really the nurse here?”
He raises his head and gives me an amused look. “What? You never saw a male nurse before?”
“Not one who looked like an outlaw biker, sir.”
“Ha-ha!” He slaps his hand against the desk. “That’s good! If this place wants me to look like a frickin’ nurse, they can pay me a nurse’s wage.” He blinks as if he’s just realized what he’s said and the trouble it could mean for him, then adds, “Only, you didn’t hear that from me, right?”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about, sir.”
“You sure?” He narrows one eye suspiciously.
“Scout’s honor, sir.”
“You ever a scout?”
“No way, sir.”
He grins—revealing yellowed, nicotine-stained teeth—and offers his hand for a shake. We’ve formed a strange, nearly instant bond, as if our built-in BS detectors work on the same wavelength.
“My name’s Ted,” he says. “So what can I do for you, Garrett?”
“Sir, Mr. Sparks sent me here because I have a headache.”
Ted opens a drawer, takes out a small electronic thermometer, and sticks it in my ear. “Your temperature’s normal.”
“I told Mr. Sparks it would probably go away, sir.”
“Want some OxyContin?” Ted asks.
I hesitate uncertainly.
“It’s the best thing for a headache,” Ted says. “Take care of it in no time. What do you say?”
“OxyContin is an addictive narcotic, sir. It’s not the sort of thing you’d be handing out here.”
Ted grins again. “Good for you, Garrett. You passed the test.” He gives me a couple of Tylenol, then turns to Sarah. “How you doing?”
Sarah rolls her eyes.
“Glad I’m not a female,” Ted mumbles. The phone rings and he picks it up. “Yeah? What? Ah, for God’s sake. No, don’t move her. Yeah, I’ll be right there.”
He hangs up. “I gotta go check on a kid who fell and hurt her neck. I’m only gonna be gone a minute, and I’m trusting you two not to get into any mischief, right?”
Sarah and I both nod.
“Don’t bother looking for the good stuff while I’m gone, Garrett. It’s all locked in the safe.” He goes out and closes the door behind him. It’s hard to believe this guy is Lake Harmony’s nurse, except that he must come a lot cheaper than a real RN.
Suddenly Sarah and I are alone. It appears that she’s lost even more weight. Her elbows and wrists are bony, and her face seems longer, but it’s probably just thinner. Her skin has an odd, translucent quality, but her gaze is steady, and her blue eyes have an intensity I haven’t seen in weeks. “You’re never going to get out of here,” she says in a determined but almost imperceptible whisper. “The problem is, by the time you figure that out, it’ll be too late for Pauly and me.”
I hang my head regretfully. I had a feeling she was going to try again to get me to help her and Pauly escape. When I look up, her eyes are watery.
“My father is a Mormon elder and apostle,” she whispers, and wipes a tear off her cheek. “Do you know what that is?”
“Someone pretty important in the Mormon church?”
She nods.
“Couldn’t you fake it?” I ask.
“I tried, but it’s like this place. They know when you’re BSing them. The problem is, unlike this place they’re not set up to deal with subversives. They only know how to preach to the faithful. I’m here because they don’t want me contaminating the flock.”
“Can’t you go live with a friend or someone?”
“My father won’t allow it. Either I’m with him or I’m here. When you’re that high up in the church, you can’t be perceived as failing. And it’s not just an image thing. He absolutely believes that I’m doomed if I don’t join the fold. So I might as well be here, because I’m damned wherever I am.”
“What about a relative?”
“Tried that. My mom’s parents went to court to try to get guardianship and lost. Somehow my aunt found out where I was and actually came here to get me, but they wouldn’t let her in.”
I feel a pang. So she really is stuck here. How can this happen in a democracy that was allegedly founded on the idea of personal liberty, freedom of choice, and the rights of the individual?
Because until you turn eighteen you are not considered an individual.
And you have no rights.
It’s insanity.
Once again, Sarah’s eyes become teary. “You see how unfair it is?”
“Yes.”
The next question hangs unvoiced in the air between us. How can I not help Pauly and her try to escape?
The office door opens and Ted comes in. “Anyone feeling any better?”
Sarah and I lock eyes. Hers are pleading. I look away.
“The headache’s gone, sir,” I tell him.
It’s lunchtime, and Joe is back patrolling the tables. This is the first time I’ve seen him since Megan knocked him out, and except for the lump bulging from the back of his head, he seems the same as before. There’s been no sign of Megan.
“Ahem.” Adam clears his throat. Today he’s decided to sit directly across from me. On the menu are small, leathery hamburgers on stale buns, and french fries. The fries glisten with grease, but for once they’re well done and crispy. Around the table they’re disappearing from plates a lot faster than the hamburgers.
“Ahem.” Adam clears his throat again and nods at my plate. As if I’m going to give him the first tasty thing we’ve had to eat in weeks. I shoot him a look to let him know hell will freeze over before he gets one of my fries. He smiles back and reaches into his pocket. Out comes a familiar piece of torn white paper. It’s one of the notes I wrote to Sarah. I have no idea how he got it.
Adam gestures again at my french fries, like he wants to make a deal. I make a fist and bring it up under my chin. When Joe’s back is turned and none of the chaperones are looking, I flip Adam the bird. His pasty face goes stony, eyes squinting and lizard teeth clenched. A moment later, when Joe passes, Adam holds up the note. “Sir? Look what I found.”
Joe takes the note and studies it. “Someone here write this?”
Adam points at me.
“This yours, Garrett?” Joe asks.
“Sorry, sir?” I shake my head innocently.
“Keep an eye on them, Mr. Gold,” Joe orders, and walks over to the shelf where our Reflections notebooks are stored. He opens mine and starts to compare the note to the handwriting inside. I watch as the corners of his mouth drop and the wrinkles in his forehead deepen. He closes my notebook and then opens another, and then another, trying to find a match. Finally he puts the notebooks back and shoves the note into his pocket.
Adam frowns. As if I’d tell him I wrote those notes with my left hand.
“I’d be dead if I wasn’t here,” Chubby Rachel says in Circle. You hear this a lot. Maybe it represents a turning point in the rewiring process. The point at which you acknowledge that everything you did before was wrong.
“How?” I ask, enjoying for the moment Level Two status, which allows me to speak without permission. It’s ironic that all I had to do was what was expected of me—which I was doing anyway—to earn the points to reach Level Two while Joe was busy torturing some other new recruits.
“What?” Chubby Rachel doesn’t seem to understand.
“How would you have died?” I ask.
“Uh … I don’t know.”
“Then how do you know?” I ask.
“She just knows, okay?” Adam says.
“What about you, Adam?” I ask, although I’m surprised that Joe hasn’t told me to shut up.
&
nbsp; “What about me?” Adam shoots back.
“Would you be dead by now too?”
Adam makes a face. It’s so obvious that he thinks that line is a load of crap. But he knows better than to say so. “Yeah, sure.”
“Let me guess,” I go on. “You’d have gone out in a hail of bullets. A regular Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”
Adam crosses his arms and glowers. I glance around at the rest of the residents in Circle, but no one seems to get it. Sarah is gazing off at a blank wall, not even listening. Pauly is watching with nervous, jittery eyes, as if he’s so scared someone will pick on him that he can’t focus on anything else.
“You think you’re smart ‘cause you can quote from books,” Adam spits.
“It was a movie, stupid,” says Sarah. So she has been listening after all.
“Whatever.” Adam shrugs.
“You know, they say knowledge is a dangerous thing,” I go on. “It gives people ideas. One thing almost every dictator in history has had in common was trying to limit people’s access to knowledge, to books, newspapers, free speech, any news from the outside world.” I wonder if they realize I’m talking about Lake Harmony.
Adam glances at Joe, as if he’s uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation and wants our “father” to come to his rescue. But Joe just stares at the floor. Adam looks back at me. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that just because we’re in here doesn’t mean the outside world no longer exists,” I tell him. “You seem to think that the only rules are Lake Harmony’s, and that as long as you and your henchmen carry out secret missions for Joe, you’re somehow protected. But what you don’t understand is that that only works in here, not out there. You don’t believe that crap about being dead if you were still out there. You think you’d be doing the same stuff you do in here and you’d get by. But what are you gonna do out there, Adam? Be a gangsta? A bodyguard for some rap star? You think you’re such a tough guy, but you don’t understand that it’s only because they let you be a tough guy. Don’t you see that you’re just their puppet? They’re using you and your posse to do the dirty work they’re not allowed to do.”