CHAPTER THREE - THOMAS
My room is ten by ten. Bare concrete floor with a drain in the center—I don’t even want to know why. One concrete bed. One stainless-steel sink. One stainless-steel toilet. And one stainless-steel desk.
This is the new building. It might as well be a prison. I’m not sure if everyone on this floor has a “room” like this, or just the dangerous patients, but this is what I have. There is no window in the door. Just a slot where they fasten the tray of food three times a day. They don’t let me out except to talk with Yasmine, so standing in front of her window this morning was my only chance at seeing the real world.
I’ve been in here seven days, but I was in a nicer room before that. I spent almost three weeks there. That was before I became… difficult. Now I’m here. Apparently, this is where all the high-maintenance patients go.
It’s been a little over a month since the Alpha plan went awry. One month of questions, and temptations, and a constant struggle for self-control.
The suit was a nice touch. I made that deal yesterday. Yasmine was about at the end of her patience with me and I just needed to buy a little time. Plus, the suit felt good—cheap as it was. It felt normal for the few minutes I had it on. That, in combination with the window… well, I could almost pretend things were OK.
Thing are decidedly not OK.
The little slot in my door clanks as someone on the other side opens it. I’m expecting a tray of food for lunch, but instead a piece of paper is shoved through and the slot is closed.
I know they have cameras on me, so I know I’m being watched as I walk over and pick the folded piece of paper up. But I don’t care.
It reads:
Be ready.
I take it over to the sink, waiting for the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door. Waiting for one of them to come and take this little message away. But they don’t come.
I press down on the knob that lets a trickle of water escape the faucet and wet the paper until the ink runs. Then I shred it and throw it in the toilet.
I have no idea what Be ready means, but I’m fucking ready for whatever it is. I can only assume it’s a message from Case or Linc. Or maybe Molly. One of them is coming for me and hell yeah, I’m ready.
I’m a patient guy. I can withstand a lot of things. But enough is enough. A month, goddammit. A month is more than enough. And I’m gonna rip Linc and Case a new one when they finally do show up for leaving me here to rot for so long.
After I finish being grateful, of course.
Fucking emotions.
I turn away from the camera so they can’t see me smile.
Fucking smiles. I never used to smile, now I find everything funny.
A buzzer sounds out in the hallway. I wait, wondering if that’s what I’m supposed to be ready for. But no. Nothing happens afterward. So I sit and stare at the SpyGlass on the wall.
It’s disabled. Ever since that shit went down a couple months ago—the same shit that got me locked up in here—they’ve disabled them all over the city. It’s created a mess because Case’s little public alert system was built in almost everything over the course of the last year.
Now they have to do things the old-fashioned way again. People have to come to my room and use a chart to determine which medications I get. Nothing is automated anymore. No friendly voice comes through that speaker telling me it’s time for food, or sleep, or therapy. They don’t trust us. Of all the people not to trust in this city, me and my friends shouldn’t even make the top five. Top ten, sure. But not top five. And since they do still trust Yasmine and she’s number one on my list, well, just proves how fucking stupid they are, I guess.
Footsteps. Ah, there they are. A little late, but still paying attention.
But this time, instead of just the slot opening, the whole door opens. Yasmine is standing at the threshold with three armed guards pointing their weapons at me.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“You have visitors,” she says.
I nod and walk towards the approaching guards. One shackles my ankles, another cuffs my hands, and the third points his electrodart gun at my head.
God, they’re a bunch of idiots. They still haven’t figured out that a ToyBox subsidiary makes those weapons.
I want to tell them they won’t work on me, but eh. They’ll figure it out eventually. And since I’m supposed to be ready, I’m pretty sure this isn’t the time to fill them in on how ignorant they are.
“Who came to see me?” I ask, looking Yasmine in the eyes.
“Your friends,” she practically purrs.
“I have lots of friends,” I say.
“Clearly,” Yasmine shoots back. “Since I have an order from the governor to let them have thirty minutes with you today. But you know which friends, I’m sure.”
I shrug. I’ll know either way soon enough, so whatever.
Handcuff guy loops a chain around my waist and attaches my cuffs to it, and once that’s done, Yasmine waves me out of the room.
There is a fourth guard waiting in the hallway. I follow him. The other two are directly behind me, and Yasmine, presumably, takes up the rear. The visitors’ center is actually the dayroom on the ground floor. It’s a nice big room with couches and tables so family members can come play checkers with their crazy aunt or uncle. And a big-screen TV mounted on the wall which perpetually plays daytime television. Not the trashy talk shows. Those get the inmates—excuse me, patients—riled up. They play old movies. Mostly westerns.
Someone blew up the old asylum last year. It might’ve been my brother Atticus. Or my mother, since they were both escaping at the same time. But maybe not. You just never know in this town.
But anyway, the whole building is brand new. Bright and shiny.
When we get to the hallway that leads to the dayroom, Yasmine calls out, “See you in thirty, Thomas?”
I don’t bother answering. I don’t usually see her twice in one day, but it does no good to wonder about it. If she’s got plans for me after this, nothing I can do about it. Besides, the message said, Be ready. I’m ready to get the fuck out of here so an out-of-the-ordinary second session with Yasmine is not going to happen anyway.
We move forward to the door where patients enter the day room and one of the guards behind me takes off my shackles, but not my cuffs.
“Come on,” I say, smiling at him. “Give a guy a break.”
He doesn’t even look at me. The door opens and I’m pushed forward.
“Do anything stupid, Brooks, and we’ll set you straight,” one guard says. He waves his electrodart gun at me.
I find enough will to look properly frightened by his threat, but he doesn’t buy it. If I were the old me I’d say I’m not capable of being frightened. But I’m not the old me. I’m the new me, thanks to fucking Case and that bullshit he shot me up with last spring.
I’m ticked off about that. But I’m handling it. I’m dealing. I can do emotions. I had them once, I can wait this out. The drug has to wear off, right? Or I’ll get out of here and get back to work on a replacement. Sheila has dozens of trials going back in Linc’s lab. We’ll figure it out. I’m not worried.
Speaking of Case and Linc, I look around for them, scanning the dozens and dozens of tables and chairs. The couches. But… they’re not here.
“Hey,” I say, turning towards a nurse holding a clipboard. “I’m supposed to have a visitor?”
“What’s your name?” she asks.
“Brooks,” I reply. “Thomas Brooks.”
“Oh, you’re in there,” she says, pointing to a door on the far side of the room. “Private.”
“I didn’t call for a lawyer,” I say, irritated. I really was expecting Case and Linc to be here.
“Not lawyers, sweetie.” The woman says in her practiced, patient tone.
“Sweetie?” I sneer.
“You’ll see soon enough. Now I’m real busy, hun. So let me do my job, OK?” She says all this in a sing-songy voice intended for children—or mentally ill adults—then turns her back to me and looks down at her clipboard.
I walk towards the room with a door. There’s no window, so I’m standing in the threshold when I see who requires a private visit with me.
“Randy Shits,” I say, mimicking Case’s nickname for the guy. “And Chief O’Neil. Well.” I laugh as I enter the room. “When’d they let you out, old man?”
“He was pardoned by the governor last week,” Randy chimes in. “He’s back in charge, if you can believe it.”
“Sit, Brooks,” the chief says. “We’ve got business and even though it’s a waste of time and the governor knows that, we’re gonna check you off our list today so I’m just going to get to the point. We need a statement, Brooks. We know you and your friends are guilty as hell and the governor needs to keep the peace before people start burning things down again. So you’re gonna admit to what you and your buddies did last spring and then we’re gonna cut a deal with you and let you out.”
“Are you ready?” Randy asks.
I look at him. Warily. Did he send me that note? God. Please, no. I’ve been patient. I really have. I’ve been waiting for Case and Linc to get their shit together all month, but honestly, I’m about done with this place. I can’t stay here.
“Tell me what I need to be ready for,” I say. “And I’ll let you know.”
“Ready to get the fuck out, right? I’m sure you miss the outside. Your SkyEye business isn’t doing too well. Have you seen the stock reports?” Randy Shits laughs. “So just play nice, sign the papers, and we’ll send someone to get your suit.”
My suit. My own fucking suit. It’s a good start as far as negotiations go. At least for me. I hate these scrubs. I hate that room. I hate these people.
Well, I hate all people, but these people are at the top of the list at the moment.
“Sorry,” I say. “I won’t be signing anything today.”
“You sure about that?” Chief says. “I’m gonna need you to be very sure about that, Brooks. Because if you say no to me now, there won’t be a second chance. Just think of all that money you’re losing while we keep SkyEye shut down. Just think of your future. You can walk out of here right now.”
“You don’t even have to ride home with us,” Randy says. “I’ll call you a cab.”
“But the point is,” the chief says, “you will go home. Today. By tonight this place will be nothing but a bad dream.”
“His answer is no.” We all look up to see Yasmine standing in the open door. “I’m afraid he’s not interested in your little deal, gentlemen. He’s much too loyal for that. But you can tell the governor that I will have what he needs by tonight.” She winks at me. “Thomas and I have a date this afternoon. I tried to do this the easy way, but he’s resistant.”
“Ma’am,” Randy says, “the governor told us—”
“The governor told you to try and I told the governor I’d give you one chance. You had your chance. He’s refused your offer. Now it’s time to go and let me finish the job.”
Yasmine looks like a prowling lioness who hasn’t eaten in weeks. The hunger for me lingers in her eyes, even as Randy and O’Neil go silent, then recover and start peppering her with questions.
“On whose authority?”
“We just talked to the governor. He told us to make the deal happen.”
Yasmine holds her gaze on me for another pregnant second, then turns her head and smiles at them. “You failed. So he’s mine now. Guards, take Mr. Brooks up to my office and prep him.”
“Prep him for what?” Randy asks.
I’d like to hear her answer—I’d really, really like to hear that answer—but I’m tugged away just as an alarm sounds, sending the whole day room into chaos.