Archetype (3 page)

D
r. Travista crosses one leg over the other and settles a touch-screen tablet in his lap. He taps a few notations, with an audible
tickticktick
accompanying his fingers. He sighs before looking up at me. “How do you feel today?”

“Fine,” I say.

“Any nightmares?”

“None.” I am back to lying, only now I have my own reasons. The tests after the episode had been horrible. I do not want to relive them. “I am really great.”

He tilts his head and removes his glasses. His expression is mocking and pitying all at once. I do not like this look. “We both know that’s not true.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “They are not as bad anymore.” This is the truth. Noah has been mysteriously—or not so mysteriously, considering Sonya’s reaction—missing from them. Some nights I am utterly alone, and it is almost peaceful because there is no one to fear. “I swear this is the truth.”

He points his glasses at me with emphasis. “Now,
that
I believe. Can you try describing them again? We aren’t in the examination room. Just two friends talking in a comfortable setting.”

The room
is
nice. Real plants and dark woods. Bookshelves with books I will never read because they have to do with chemistry and physics and physiology and other such complicated subjects. Dr. Travista is very smart. Declan calls him a genius.

The furniture is all burnt-red leather. I like this color. It makes me warm despite the colder days.

I caress the soft leather arm of my chair and consider the setting of my nightmare again. Nothing feels safe to talk about. I think words like “monitors” and “doctors.” “Noah.” This word especially gives me pain and threatens to withhold more oxygen. I wish I could tell Dr. Travista about the cylinder of water if for no other reason than to end his relentless questions. To prove to Her that She cannot control me.

I focus on the gray day outside a paned window. Autumn moves quickly into winter. Declan says we might see snow early this year.

“Emma?”

I return my attention to him. “Sorry. What was the question?”

“The dream. Is there anything you can tell me?”

The dream. Not the nightmare. He does not know there is a difference for me. I feel safe in the dream. Despite this, I still do not feel comfortable telling Dr. Travista anything other than, “Stars.” I sense She waits close at hand for the moment when I would reveal too much, preparing to stop me.

“I thought you said it took place inside.”

“Through a window,” I lie. It bothers me how lying is becoming so easy. “It is the only time I get to see them. It is the only part of the dream I wish to relive.”

“Stars, you say? Would you like to see them? I think we can arrange that.”

I feel a noticeable shift in my expression to one of excitement, and it is unfamiliar to my muscles. I like this emotion and wish I had cause to feel it every day. “Could you? Tonight?”

Dr. Travista chuckles. “Yes, of course. Why didn’t you just ask before?”

I want to say something really mean, but I bite my tongue. I should not have to ask, should I? “I would like a mirror,” I say, though I understand I am pressing my luck. “Since we are discussing things I should ask for. I want to see my reflection.”

The watered-down version I see in windows does nothing to appease my curiosity.

Dr. Travista shifts in his chair. “I’m not sure you’re ready.”

I do not understand this. Why would I not be ready? “Declan says I am not scarred and that I am still beautiful. Is there a reason why I should not look at myself?”

Dr. Travista’s fingers tap over the rounded leather arm of his chair as he considers me thoughtfully. With a sigh, he then taps a few more commands into his tablet and hands it over.

I reach for it hesitantly. Is it this easy? I watch him for some sign that he will change his mind, but he seems decided.

I expect to see a photograph, but it appears he has activated a camera lens. I flinch in surprise when I find myself blinking at a woman’s heart-shaped face over a slim neck. It takes several seconds to realize those hazel eyes surrounded by thick black lashes are mine. My fingers shake when I touch my cheekbone, rounded, high, and pink. My lips are full, the lower just a bit more than the upper. My nose is small and round on the tip. I do not like this part of me, but I cannot complain. It is me.

I move my hand over my dark hair. Lights overhead reflect over the silky texture, which angles perfectly against my chin line.

“There is nothing wrong with me,” I say and note how my mouth quirks in a tilted smile and I speak mostly from that one side.

“Of course not,” Dr. Travista says. “You’re perfect.”

He says this with some considerable amount of pride. Maybe because the accident had scarred me and he fixed me.

Dr. Travista allows me to hold on to the tablet for a while longer, asking his questions, and I answer as best I can while watching how my expressions shift with my thoughts. I see where I can hide things better. I am easy to read. I must work on this, but I do not know if this is because She wants this or I do.

It cannot hurt to learn such a skill,
I tell myself, so with that, I practice schooling my expressions and watching them in the tablet’s screen.

I learn fast.

 • • • 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

The guard rushed toward the line and yanked my arm. His fingers bit into my skin and I yelped in pain.

“Nothing!” I yelled.

“Get back in line and keep your eyes forward,” he commanded. “I’m watching you, girl.”

For several minutes, I stared at the mousy brown braid of the girl in front of me wearing a thinning gray jumper identical to mine. Every half minute, the line edged forward one step toward the showers.

I clutched the thin black towel to my chest. I’d never had to shower with a group before. I didn’t want any of them seeing me without my clothes. I was embarrassed by the small mounds of breasts beginning to show on my chest, and . . . other things. Embarrassing things. I hated my body and feared I’d never look as nice as some of these other girls who were filled out and almost ready for their assignments. No one would take me if I stayed like this.

The girl behind me tapped my shoulder. “What is the matter with you? Can’t you do anything right?”

I started to turn my head to respond, but she stabbed me with a finger. “Don’t turn around.” She swore under her breath. “You have so much to learn.”

“What do you mean?” I whispered.

Mousy-haired girl shot a glare over her shoulder but didn’t say anything. I stuck my tongue out at her and she faced the front.

The girl behind me was a few years older—four maybe. New to this facility, I didn’t know anyone’s name yet. I’d noticed her when we’d first lined up, instantly jealous of her auburn hair and woman’s figure.

“It’s Wade, isn’t it?” Before I could respond, she said, “I’m Toni Reece and I’m about to make your life here a lot easier. I don’t know what WTC you came from, but here the guards are strict and won’t hesitate to punish you in ways your twelve-year-old mind can’t possibly imagine.”

“I’m thirteen.”

“Doesn’t change the facts.”

“Well, I can imagine a lot of things,” I said indignantly. “Like death.”

She laughed mockingly. “They won’t kill you, twerp. We’re too valuable to them. But that doesn’t mean they won’t bring you close to it. Sometimes I think death would be a better end.”

“I just wanted to look outside,” I said.

“Look outside on the wrong day, at the wrong time, and you’ll wish you could turn back time. Trust me.”

“So I shouldn’t look outside?”

The line moved forward one step, slippered feet scuffling down the row.

“Or hide it better,” she said. “You’ll learn, and you’ll have to learn fast. And who knows, maybe one day you’ll put it to good use.”

T
he back wall in the gray room is no longer bare. It is no longer gray and cracked, either. Someone has painted it a calming shade of light blue and the boxes are unpacked. Traces of the organized chaos from before are gone.

On the wall, a large screen reaches from one side to the other. Sonya stands in the middle of the room, monitoring the men attaching the equipment to the wall. She directs them when one corner falls below level.

She smiles and shakes her head. “That bastard. This is quite the apology. And I deserve every square inch of it.”

“Good, Dr. Toro?” one of the men asks. He kneels on top of the desk, breathing hard.

Sonya nods. “I think so. Let’s see if this bad boy works.”

She picks up a tablet computer from the desktop, and it clicks audibly with each tap of her finger. The screen in front blinks on to a monochrome blue. With pinched eyebrows, Sonya taps a few more instructions. Images appear on the right side of the screen. Boxes of information are too far away for me to read through my water-filled tank, but I make out the humanoid figure with evenly splayed limbs turning in a slow circle.
PATIENT 1
is superimposed over the image, an outline with a red dot blinking in time with the
beep . . . beep . . . beep
sound filling the space.

The left side blinks on and off as if the information is having trouble pulling to the large monitor.

“Patient 2 isn’t reading,” Sonya says, tapping her tablet again. “Check those connections, will you?”

 • • • 

I cannot hide this nightmare. I lurch up in bed and bite back a scream. They are keeping two of us. Are we their lab rats?

I swipe absently at my forehead, and my fingertips come away coated in sweat. A moment later, the air lock sounds with a
whoosh
of air and the aluminum cylinder slides home with a soft
thunk.
They do not ask me if I want a sedative anymore. It is automatic, which means they know and will tell Dr. Travista about my nightmare.

I silently curse myself. I have hidden them for weeks now. I was doing so well.

Standing, I spin in a slow circle. “I want out,” I say to the walls. “I need some air.”

I do not care if I have to share a moment alone with an orderly. I do not care if it is cold. I want to see the stars.
Need
to see the stars.

My door slides open a few minutes later and Declan walks in. He looks different, casually dressed in dark jeans and a nice green sweater. He also looks tired.

“Declan?” I halt my pacing and blink several times in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Working late,” he whispers. He reaches for my sweater, which hangs from a hook next to him, and holds out a hand. “Come. I will take you up.”

“Up” is the roof. Since mentioning it to Dr. Travista, I have been allowed up to the roof whenever I request it but never allowed privacy there.

I shake my head. “If you are working, I am more than willing to wait for—”

A tilted smile breaks the tired mold of his expression. It takes years off his relatively young age. “Don’t be silly. I need some air, too.”

I slide into the sweater he offers without another word and follow him out.

On the roof, the air bites at my skin and I wrap my sweater tight around me. When I stop and look up at the sky, Declan beckons with open arms and I nestle in. I close my eyes to the hazy night with only a hint of starlight and focus on the warmth of his cheek against mine. His lips find my neck and warm breath sends a shiver down my spine.

“See?” he murmurs against my skin. “The cold isn’t so bad.”

I sink deeper into him. “You are right. I could get used to this.”

The cool tip of his nose brushes my ear. His lips kiss my lobe. “Better?”

I understand without asking that he is referring to my nightmare. “I was fine before.”

“No, you weren’t,” he says in that patient way of his.

I turn and wrap my arms around his waist. He is slim but broad. I can barely grip my wrists around his back. His heart beats solid and steady in his chest; I pace mine to match. It soothes me.

“I thought the nightmares were over.” His breath is warm against the crown of my head.

“This was different.” The lie comes of its own volition, as does the follow-up. “I dreamed of never breathing fresh air or seeing the sun. I believe I am getting cabin fever.”

My automatic response comes with a new phrase I did not realize existed, but I am careful not to react. I find I already understand its meaning, too. It bothers me how I know without knowing, but still chance upon most discoveries as if I am a child. I am anxious for the day when this is no longer the case.

He laughs and there is a rumbling sound inside his chest. “I can understand that. I’ll talk to Arthur.”

He uses Dr. Travista’s first name so easily. I will never feel this close to the doctor because our situations are very different. Dr. Travista has an established, friendly association with Declan and never looks on my husband with anything more than respect and fondness. But me, he watches with careful calculation and study. Even in moments when he seems friendly, he scrutinizes every nuance.

“You’ve been inactive for a long time,” Declan continues. “I think you just need something to do.”

“I wish to go home,” I say, burying my face in his chest, inhaling the scent of heavy spice and musk. It erases the smell of crisp wintery air and hint of ozone.

His hand grips the back of my head and holds me tight to him. His cheek presses into my crown. “I know. Me, too. Soon. Very soon. Arthur is pleased with how you’re progressing.”

I lift my chin to look into his eyes, hardly able to believe I am about to say what I mean to say. “In time to lie by the heat of a fire, I hope.”

Declan’s eyes widen only a fraction, and he smiles. “That would be a dream come true.”

“For me as well.”

 • • • 

I wear the spandex top and pants Randall leaves with my breakfast. I am intrigued, and he says I am to wear them once I clean up. Having spent most of my time in loose scrubs and gowns—the tightest item being my nightly tank top—I am curious about how my body looks in these form-fitting clothes. I wonder if I am meant to be so thin. I have no muscle like Declan or Randall.

An orderly arrives to escort me later, and I follow him to a floor I have never been to. There is one big room where men bounce an orange ball around the floor and throw it into two nets. Their shoes screech and squeal against a shiny floor.

In another room, men lift large black objects. Veins protrude from reddened faces. They do not seem to be having fun like the men playing ball, yet they continue to do it. It seems a large waste of time, in my opinion.

Finally, we reach another room with Dr. Travista standing beside a table of instruments. Behind him is a big circle in the floor. The word for it comes to me after only seconds: track.

The orderly pushes open the glass door and leaves me alone with the doctor.

“There you are,” Dr. Travista says, waving me closer. He begins fiddling with the things sitting on the table. “When I spoke to Declan last night, I knew just the thing to help you with your— How did he put it? Cabin fever. This will allow you some activity and I can monitor your vitals. The exercise will test your endurance, and over time you will see your staying power build.”

Five minutes later, he has me covered in electrodes and I have a moment of self-consciousness. No one else in the area is being tested. Only me. Their exercise is unobserved and I am jealous. I would almost prefer the non-fun-looking exercise in the other room to this.

Almost.

I eye the track almost hungrily. Running. I know running.

“Well, go on,” he says, waving toward the track. “You can walk or run. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

My first lap is slow, and I am especially warm when I come back around. The second lap makes me forget the electrodes and witnesses. The run is freeing. My breathing increases and I break a sweat. My lungs burn.

I am sad when I cannot run any longer. The time is too short, but my legs feel soft and it is hard to breathe. Dr. Travista assures me this is normal, and I am glad. I want to do this again.

“How long until I will feel okay?” I ask in starts and stops. “Can I try again in a few minutes?”

He laughs. “No, Emma. That was good for today. Your body will take some time to adjust to this new experience. We can try again tomorrow if you wish.”

I smile and nod. “Yes. Please.”

 • • • 

“Run,” Toni told me. She pushed her spade into the soft earth and used her shoulder to push away some of the stray auburn hairs that had come loose from her braid. “Whenever you get a chance. Tell them it’s recreational. Tell them you have cabin fever and need to burn off some energy. That works for me every time. They fear cabin fever. It makes people crazy.”

She sat back on her heels and brushed aside more hair with the back of her hand. “One day you’ll need to run for real and you’ll have to outlast them.”