An original fiction that I wrote for my writer's craft class, at the time I originally wrote this I was heavily influenced by 1894 and A Brave New World. Please let me know what you think, I re-edited this recently and poured allot of myself in... I don't care if you hated it or loved it but would love to see what people think.
Short Circuit
Catherine slumped behind her finely carved desk, its curvature made you want to follow its lines. She had often though of getting a new desk; of course no matter what she got it would be just as distracting. They wanted it that way; the wood was beautifully inlaid, she had to admit; the curves seemed to be naturally occurring though what tree could have this shape was beyond her; they didn't like people to spend too much time thinking, so all the furniture was designed to distract. They wanted your thoughts to swerve and curve just as the wood did. No one could find fault in something if they could not focus on a specific point; maybe that was why the carpenter had first made this desk so flowing, it would be infinitely harder for anyone to find any specific fault in it. Still, compared to the rest of the facility, her office was actually quite tranquil. They understood that she needed to be able to focus; her position demanded a certain amount of concentration and self control.
Thankfully this meant she could turn off the projections. She glanced at the little machine in the middle of a ceiling, thankful it was no longer humming as if it was a plantation worker; there she went again, constantly distracted; it was so hard to get any work done. She tried to focus on the projection unit; what she had been thinking about before she could not remember but she would focus on the projector. She though of the four auto-calibrating lenses that were on each side, they measured the dimensions of the wall then projected an ever-shifting image onto each one. The image had no specific form or subject, it was just a flow; she though the best way to describe it was watching the sea, but more calming. She remembered going to the beach with her mother they would lie by the shore four hours watching the waves it was so beautiful, but sometimes savage… She was off topic again; when she'd diverged she could not remember. A sharp buzzing from the white box on her desk startled her.
"Mrs. Willowz?" an electronic voice spoke through the box. It was strange; the box wasn't built much like a box, in fact it was built into the desk. It appeared to be a natural growth, not dangerous like cancer or anything, just a joint or some such thing. The box had been designed not to be noticeable, yet the noises it made were designed to wake its listeners up from their most encouraged day-dreams. It was a para–
"Mrs. Willowz?" an even harsher voice interrupted her somewhat runaway train of thought.
"Yes," she answered in what she hoped was a very calm and soothing tone. She didn't like the thought of her voice being a harsh electric tone emanating from someone else's box.
"William is here to se you now; should I send him in?" Catherine could not recall ever having an appointment with a William, but the lack of a surname told her everything she needed to know. He was sent here by the government. He wasn't one of your ordinary mental cases; no, he was much worse. The narcissists and the manic depressives you could condition, but the cases from the government were always heretics; poor fools.
"Yes, please send him in."
A few moments later a man in his middle ages walked into her office. He showed no caring about his predicament; he was likely a nihilist or a member of some other poor deluded philosophy. He had a worn out look about him, the bags under his eyes said he was tired and apathetic, his posture indicated he was willing to accept anything right about now, nothing mattered to him. On the surface he seemed perfectly open to any suggestions; why he had been sent to her she could not guess. The she saw his eyes; they seemed to laugh at her; stare through her soul and see everything her mind; he could focus, he wasn't distracted. And for a few seconds neither was she. His eyes had captured her and nothing in the room's flowing décor could distract her, she doubted even the projector could have.
William nodded briefly. His nod had its intended effect, he understood her, making her very uncomfortable. He could focus; he could think clearly, she had her work cut out for her. Braking eye contact, he looked up at the projector. His eyes seemed to want her to explain why or how it came to be off, but you could not have guessed it from the rest of his demeanour.
"A fuse short circuited earlier this morning," Catherine lied hopeful he would believe her. "Now let's get started; feel free to sit down," she added trying to get attention away from the projector and focused on him. The irony of focusing on a man whose crime was refusing to be distracted had never bothered her before, but now it did. He smiled knowingly, his eyes boring wholes into her, and took a seat on the elaborate couch. Looking at it, she though it looked like a character in some calligraphy textbook, and yet even with its elaborate curves and winding edges she could not keep her eyes of his.
She wasn't able to remember much of that session; for once she had been able to focus on one thing for an extended period of time, unfortunately it wasn't the something she wanted to focus on. Try as she might she could not stop staring into his eyes. She remembered vaguely wondering which of them was truly the psychologist and which was the patient. The fact that William had clearly been taking both memory suppressors and hallucinogens in order to curb his behaviour didn't help much. She had tried to get him distracted by speaking of his childhood and trying to get him to describe his life. With most cases it took a while but to the large degree it was Pavlovian conditioning. She would get them started on a conversation and interrupt every second, constantly asking questions. At first the questions would be at least loosely related to the topic at hand, but then they became more and more far fetched. Slowly the questions would become less and less frequent, but the patients mind was already set in a pattern, it would start going of on weird tangents just as if it had been asked a question; the mind was unable to focus. But in this case William would just say "I can't remember" whenever she asked him about the past. She could not start a conversation, so she could not distract him. He on the other hand was having no problems distracting her.
The only think she remembered clearly was the last question he had asked her before their hour was out: "Why did you lie?" at first she though her fascination came from his knowledge of her lie, but that was explicable; the projectors never broke, and they would have fixed it faster. No, what really bothered her was that she didn't know why she lied. Why would she have felt she needed to hide anything from a heretic? She was allowed to turn off her projector. She felt embarrassed somehow, and slowly embarrassment gave way to anger at her embarrassment and at William for causing it.
By the end of the session she had made up her mind to find out what it is William had done exactly. She rationed this was only so she could better treat him. So she could more accurately study him and help curb him. Catherine placed an order in his file that he be taken off of the memory suppressors, then upped his hallucinogen dose to compensate. She may have been curious but she wasn't stupid; the last thing the facility needed was a "lucid" mad-man roaming the halls.
Catherine was exhausted after her session with William and, thanking whatever deity she could think of that it was the end of the day, she proceeded to lock up the office and head home; she needed rest after this.
She had hopped that taking him off the memory suppressors would have helped loosen his tongue, but William's answers were as short and specific as ever. He still had large areas of his past he could not account for; she hadn't expected him to remember much the first day but after the second week a dazzling thought struck her. Could he have been lying to her this whole time? Her patients were usually too high from the hallucinogens to even try to lie or evade answers. They were only too happy to talk. How was William keeping his wits about him? She had raised his hallucinogen dose twice since his first session and yet he was always the same, focused yet apathetic. And somehow his eyes never glazed over.
She continued treating him without any success for a few more weeks, by this time she had resigned herself to the notion that he was incorrigible, and, to her horror, she had even found herself wondering if it wasn't better that way. She had expected him to be transferred from her treatment, but he just returned everyday. Of course she was the only one who knew how hopeless of a case William was. With any normal case she would still be barely introducing the conditioning, but she would be introducing it, with William her every attempt had been flatly rejected. No matter how many physiological games and tricks she tried to catch him in, he always stepped right through her games in a few simple words; but worst of all were still his eyes. They bore into her session after session. Sometimes she wondered greatly which of them was conditioning who. Her manner had adopted a bit of his apathy and she had come to terms with the world around her. She had stopped trying to actively focus, but she found it was much easier to keep a single track of thought.
It was in her third month of meeting with him. When had she started calling his visits meetings and not sessions? In truth she wasn't even trying to "treat" him anymore, that, she felt, truly excited for the first time in a long while.
As she entered her office she turned on the lights and noticed a manila folder on her desk. Dare she hope? Could it be her request had been granted and they had given her his past information? She had filled the request with the typical fluff. She had argued her need to know about William's past in order to better interact with him, as well as be able to build up a trusting relationship. Of course, if anyone who knew her field would read it they would realise it was total blabber. The truth was she was merely curious; she didn't no what she expected to find, if anything at all. She didn't expect any miraculous revelations, but something about the way he evaded some answers, the way his face picked up the slightest bit of tension whenever he asked him about certain incidents in his past, it made her want to know more.
Slowly she read the envelope. The cover was bland; the government insignia was on the front, next to it were the words "Bureau for the Correction of the Mentally Disabled". The words had once represented her life, her mission, but now they meant nothing to her. The only important thing in her life right now was in that folder. Catherine was disappointed in the envelope's bland appearance. She had expected a huge classified stamp across the front and special forms signed by high governmental officials enabling her to view these files. The lack of decoration made it seem rather ordinary for psychologists to request the "erased" records of their patients.
Still, no matter, the file she had requested had finally come through; it was a strange request, to want to know more about her patient. But somehow she slipped through a bureaucratic loophole. No doubt the civil servant who had sent her the document hadn't even properly read the request; he was probably too distracted to scan the work properly. The irony was sweet.
She sat down at her desk and opened the folder almost reverently. Not even the desk's exquisite curves could have distracted her now. The first page was his new file, he was named William and he had the look of a homeless person from the late nineteen hundreds, but even in the picture his eyes seemed to stare out at her. Most of the sheet was blank, it awaited his rehabilitation then he would be reassigned into society. Putting it aside she saw the second sheet in the file. The picture locked as though it was taken about two years ago. This too was a medical release chart. Catherine was shocked, not that he had been interned before, she had expected a whole slew of doctors that had failed at changing his heretic ways, but rather that he had been reformed. The doctor's name was Henry Carnet, she had never heard of him, but that didn't mean anything, this field wasn't exactly for those who wanted to be in the public's eye. The sheet said Keith, another name given to him by the government no doubt, had made an astonishing conversion, a textbook case. Catherine felt conflicting emotions; on the one hand she felt jealousy of this Henry for having been able to break such a difficult case, but she was sad for a different reason. She had come to think of William as a pillar, unchanging unmoving. She took small console in the fact that William had apparently redressed and been assigned to her a mere two months after his release form Henry Carnet's treatment.
The rest of the file was not too exciting. She noticed that "Schiller" had been penned next to Keith in his Identification. Most wards of the sate never got assigned last names and full freedom, not even after they had been reconditioned. The lack of a last name was a sort of warning label: "Caution: I think". But aside form that the sheet was fairly standard. She put this page aside only to find another medical release form under this one, and another one after that. She surveyed the sheets under her, within the last ten years William had attended six psychologists. Each had claimed to have been able to rehabilitate him. There was a very clear pattern. Each of his names had a last name penned in next to it, and a few months after his release he would be charged again.
She was rather dumbstruck, after five such repetitions one would think the government had learned its lesson, but she was number six. Would she too sign his papers, thinking she had helped him, only to have him arrested a few months later?
The last sheet in the folder was different; it wasn't any type of documentation she had ever come across before. On it was a picture of William but he was smiling, he was happy. His face had an immense friendliness to it, the face of one who is careless the face of youth, the face of freedom. His eyes no longer bore through the page at her; instead they had a warm penetrating glance. She could fall in love with those eyes. They were joyful like the rest of his composure. She looked at the picture trying to see what was different. He was standing in a formal robe, a diamond cap across his head; a graduation ritual. This was a picture from his graduation. Catherine looked through the paper and discovered it was a diploma. It was worded in the olden style; it emphasised Nathan Ulrike's achievements. Since the reformation of the school board such things had become extinct. No one ever achieved anything in school; you spend most of your time studying the patterns from the projectors in the classrooms.
She had never before seen a high school diploma and she could not understand why the government had kept this one. Most personal awards had been purged when the balance of power shifted away from the Conservatives. It was strange how names changed. Before the New Party had come about the old leaders had been called Liberals, a term that used to mean radical, now they've come to be referred to as Conservatives.
She flipped over the last page and found another smaller sheet under William's file. It was a single sheet of paper yet it had a greater effect over Catherine that the whole file had. She gazed upon what was obviously a picture of herself. She looked like she was in her late teens in the picture; she was joyful though she looked rather grimy. She was holding a board with her name on it in front of her. Or, at least, Catherine assumed it was her name, the board read "Samantha Longford". Had that been her name once? She seemed to recognise the style of the picture as an olden style police file photo. But that could not be right; she didn't remember ever being arrested. Besides she looked far too happy in the picture to be in jail. She studied her own face once again. She saw happiness, pride, the same joyful carelessness she had seen in Nathan.
Her head was spinning. What did this mean? Why had she been arrested? Why was she so happy? Why could not she remember any of it?
Her brain quickly supplied her with a safe answer. It was a fake. More than likely they had taken some old picture of hers and modified it to look like she was being arrested. She didn't want to question this new explanation. She didn't want to think of the fact that no matter how hard she tried she could not recall a single childhood memory; that the effort necessary to produce such forgeries was far beyond the permanently distracted population in which she lived. And she definitely didn't want to try to find out what she'd done to get arrested. William's file had shocked her more that she had though possible; he was William again, she was Catherine.
She quickly gathered the file; afraid someone might walk in and see it. Of course, there was no need, she didn't have any appointments for a few hours, and even if anyone did come in they would not look twice at the papers on her desk. Catherine stuffed the papers into the trash can. Her heart beet in her chest; an ache so great nothing could overcome it.
The rest of the day had gone by in a haze, she could not remember any of the sessions she had and most of her free time had been spent looking at the ceiling and wondering. Luckily no one had found this odd, but to her she seemed like a clear recluse. And in a way that is what she wanted; she wanted to leave behind everything that reminded her of that picture and just leave. The projector was on, a rarity in her office, but now it was necessary. But everywhere she looked her train of though always went back to the picture.
Catherine wondered at one point what she had been arrested for. But what did it matter, the exact circumstance of the crime was unimportant; she was tainted. Her thoughts were always drawn to the picture but she rarely let them actually think about it she always thought of other things. When she had patients it was not as bad; she could just immerse herself in their lives, but when she was alone it was difficult.
"Mrs. Willowz?" the cold voice said through the speaker box. "William is here to see you."
"Send him in," what else could she have said; keep him away; don't let him enter this room? That would have aroused suspicion and besides it was not Williams fault he reminded her of that last sheet in his file.
She was cold during their session; they were sessions again, no longer the friendly meetings she had come to fancy them as. The coldness was a way to keep herself from herself. She had fought it back for most of the day, but when William had walked in she lost her self control. He reminded her of that horrid picture; that horrid possibility.
She had rationalised it the best she could, but there was not much one could rationalise when it came to such shocking revelations. No matter what she told herself she could not escape the accusations that one picture but before her. She had once been a heretic like William. Like him she had once been a threat to social stability. Could it be that her whole life was but a sham?
"Why don't you ask me?" William interrupted her train of though as if he could read it as clearly as any book.
"Ask you what William?" Catherine was afraid of his answer afraid he somehow knew of her past. A strange notion that had never struck her before came to mind. She had been too shocked by the contents of that picture to notice the obvious. What was my picture doing in William's file? Her rehabilitator had done a good job, even with this great a shock she still failed to ask the right questions. Now under William's gaze she did. Why had it been added there? Who wanted me to know about it?
"Whatever you want to know," he said. After a few moments silence he continued. "About me, you always did seem extremely interested in my childhood. But maybe we've gotten past me, maybe it's yourself you really want to know about."
"What do you mean?" She asked trying desperately to keep the fear out of her voice. If William knew about her past, what would he do? Would he blackmail her? Then another though struck her, how did he know about her picture? She suddenly knew what she wanted to ask him.
"William, I do have one question to ask you, and I hope you will answer it honestly. Who are you?"
William's face tensed a bit but then relaxed, it was as if he had expected this too. Well, Catherine didn't care anymore; she just wanted answers. There was quiet in the room for a few minutes, it seemed as though he was formulating his answer thinking of how to explain it best to her. To Catherine it felt as though she was going to choke, she was afraid of the answer, what he could say that could possibly scare her she didn't know but something told her she would be. Yet, she still wanted to know more that anything.
"Hmm, interesting question," he paused, and each millisecond that passed felt like a millennia. She felt this moment would define her life. Already this had been the longest answer Catherine had been able out get out of him, this was the time to distract him, yet all thoughts of conditioning him had long left her mind; now she was curious. Catherine needed to know the truth. "I am a man; I am free. I am a rational thinking being. I am what you once were, and what you want to be again," William. Not a victorious smile, not a proud smile, but a gentle one, the kind of smile that went with his earliest picture. Kindness, regret, pity. She wasn't satisfied. He reminded her of an older uncle who had just answered a clever riddle with another riddle. But she did not want riddles; she wanted answers.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I want to know exactly who you are. Who sent you here? What is your position?" she asked exasperated and dangerously close to throwing things at her all too calm and docile patient. Her life was turning upside down and he just sat there and smiled.
"I don't have a job, and no one sent me," he paused again. "I came to see you."
"Th –th –that's impossible. The government knows about everyone…" she said with less conviction than she had intended. Everyone had a job, they made sure of that. And no one went to a rehabilitation center willingly, you were sent. "Besides I received you file this morning, it told me all about your previous placements and your history."
"Oh, come now Samantha. You knew that didn't come from the goverment. Otherwise you would not have asked me who I was," he took in a long breath. "I'm sorry Sam" he started in a warm and caring voice, "I just wanted to help you see the truth. They made you believe all this... this... nothing around you. It's all lies."
"Why did you call me Sam? My name is Catherine, clearly the medication is having unintended side effects. William it is my professional opinion that you are suffering from delusions due to your refusal to allow your brain any periods of rest. You continuously keep it focused. And, not that it's any of your business, but both my parents died in a car accident twenty years ago," the defensive tone in her voice was so thick it filled the room.
"My name is Nathan. Your parents are alive, Sam. They were exiled to one of the colonies for being political heretics."
"Obviously these delusions have completely taken over your perception of reality. I am going to recommend you be transferred to a terminal care facility. I'm afraid to say this but I see no hope for your reintegration into society. I don't know what you did to the other doctors to make them believe you had reformed, but you won't fool me," having decided on a course of action that seemed to satisfy her conscience, Catherine walked over to her desk and pressed the silent alarm button, then proceeded to the door and held it open; an invitation of leave taking. "I have alerted security that you are being dangerous. They will be here within the moment you may leave now and save yourself some hassle, I wouldn't wish their wrath o anyone... not even you."
"I have told you only the truth. If you ever wish to know more you will know where to find me," and so he remained seated on the ridiculously intricate couch.
When the security guards arrived they were puzzled about the situation they were confronted with. Dr. Willowz was holding the door open and the patient was sitting sedately on the couch. They had expected a violent encounter, but instead, when they arrived the patient stood up and allowed them to escort him out. The most troublesome thing for them had been the state of the room. It was far too straight, there were not enough curves, but that was supposedly for the therapy, but they could not explain why the projector was off. Still the patient was wearing a nice shirt.
The guard made as thought to make an inquiry but Catherine stopped him. "Thank you for arriving so speedily. He was getting out of hand, but he calmed down when I told him you were coming. Your assistance has been appreciated," that last she hoped would indicate she wanted him gone. She didn't really want to be alone, but the guards were hardly fit company, especially in her state of mind. They were drones; the government had conditioned them to follow orders from superiors and not think about what the orders were. This required the greatest amount of distraction. Their minds lost focus and regained it every second, enabling them to complete tasks without being aware of them. Just like the time she picked that hangnail without even noticing...
Her mind was setting up its defensive barrier; her thoughts were wandering. Catherine closed the office, told the receptionist that she was going home to relax after William's outburst and left. To Catherine's great astonishment, the receptionist had the most beautiful voice one could wish for; Catherine had never heard her speak aside form through the speaker box. The receptionist always left before Catherine and got there after her.
Catherine spent the next few weeks in more or less a permanent trance; she would not allow herself to think of the pictures or to question her very fragile explanation for them, but her mind kept wandering in that direction.
The third week after the incident with William, Catherine received a letter in the mail. The letter showed no return address and as such she was hesitant to open it, but her curiosity got the better of her. She opened it as soon as she got up to her apartment.
I love you and couldn't live without you. Heaven could have no joy without you, and hell no punishment with you. Catherine was astonished; a love note. From who, the language was rather fancy; it reminded her of a different time; something she could not quite remember. Still, the thought of a secret admirer was rather scary. She thought of some strange stalker watching her; then she read the signature: See you after school LOVE 3 Ashley.
A shock went through her veins. She almost wished it was some strange admirer, watching her. At least that she could have reported; that could have been controlled. But that name, Ashley. Why was it familiar? She didn't attend any practical conditioning facilities. And it was from a girl. Disgust riled inside of her stomach, but it wasn't because the note was from a girl, but rather because of the other feeling building inside of her, a warmth and giddy excitement. Her mind was feeding her emotions she couldn't ever remember having. They had no stance on homosexuality, it was just wrong no laws needed to exist. She could not remember much about the policies of the previous government, but she could not imagine any other stance on this issue.
Was this a note from her past? The shame struck her hard. Perhaps this is why she had been arrested; perhaps that explained the joy on her face. She had been in love. The government in its wisdom had helped her. They reconditioned her and helped her see the errors of her ways. In their kindness they gave her a new life so she would not have to be reminded of her horrid past ever again. Or even better, perhaps the note hadn't been for her at all. Catherine's name wasn't anywhere on that piece of paper anyway. And if the note wasn't for her then maybe the arrest was a ruse too. Was William just plain crazy? After all, he did refuse to allow his mind to wander. The fact that she had been keeping her mind wilfully occupied for the last few days and not allowing it roam freely didn't escape her, but she chose to ignore it. True she kept it occupied by making it roam, but she was utterly focused on keeping it away from one subject.
She had to know the truth. Her alibis from this version of reality were quickly disintegrating, and she did not like what lay behind them. There was only one person who would truly be able to tell her whether this was true or not. But could she trust a mad man?
In the end Catherine's need for answers overcame her distrust and bordering hatred of William. She had initially planed to visit him in the terminal care facility she had assigned him to, but that would have proven problematic. She would have had to come up with a reason to do so, and she would also have first had to find out where exactly he was placed. She decided instead to request to see him as a patient again. It was still highly unusual for a doctor to ever request a patient but it could be seen as her wanting to help reform a poor soul, or some such drivel; she wondered sometimes if she believed half the things she said. Of course, if she had to wonder then she had her answer.
The request would have to go through the proper channels and it would likely take at least a week before it was either accepted or denied. If it were granted then it would likely take another week to locate and transfer William back to her custody. Still, she was frightened; afraid the government would think she had a relapse into her previous state; after all she was acting very strangely. She was not afraid of what they would do to her of course; the government would never harm her; it was more the shame she was afraid of… or so she told herself.
Her estimate had turned out to be a bit pessimistic. The governmental bureaucracy, it seemed, was more efficient than she'd reckoned, and William was in her custody within the week. Until this moment she had never though about what it was exactly she wanted to hear from William, or whether she'd believe him. No, that wasn't right; she had decided she would believe him. Still, now that she didn't have to worry about the government denying her request, or of her being caught as a relapse case, she started thinking more and more about what William would have to say about the matter.
"Mrs. Willowz?" the paradoxically raspy voice of her receptionist called through the speaker box. "William is here for his appointment," the voice betrayed no surprise or pleasure or anger at its announcement. Then again they had separated the voice from the person; maybe they could take out the emotion as well, and leave only an empty message.
"Thank you. Send him in please," She replied envious of her secretary's untroubled thoughts.
William entered her office as he had done the first day he arrived. He was apathetic as ever, but this time his eyes did not surprise her she was ready for their brilliance and focus. What she didn't expect was their dullness, their normality.
"What happened to you?" she asked forgetting of her own questions in shock.
"Oh I'm fine," William replied with a yawn. "They don't give up in the terminal care facilities. They still try to 'help' you," he continued calmly. "They have some notion that sleep deprivation will help you become distracted," he stooped and sat down on the couch, she recognised the shadows under his eyes and the red veins in them. He was obviously in great need of sleep.
"I'm sorry you are having a hard time recovering from you lunacy, but you must understand they are doing this for you to save your mind."
"You don't believe that," he said in a softer voice, as if talking to a child who didn't understand the obvious. "Not anymore." The silence in the room was deafening. It hung between them threatening to explode at any moment.
"Why have you requested to treat me again?" William asked breaking the silence, his soft voice relaxed her.
"If you must know I received a letter in the mail about a week ago. Its contents alluded to a part of my past I could not quite recall."
"You mean before they brainwashed you," William replied with less than his usual subtlety. The sleep deprivation was getting to him and the last thing he was up for was mind games.
"Before they saved me from the corruption I had encountered, yes."
"Oh please! Don't waste my time or yours with those lies. You know as well as I do they took Samantha Longford and killed her like many others before her. They killed her and in her stead they left only a shell of what existed before. A shell open to their slogans and mottos. So either you ask me what you want to know or stop making up excuses for your 'wonderful' government."
"I'm no–," taking a deep breath, Catherine tried to calm her nerves. "I was wondering what you know about a friend of mine named Ashley. I mean seeing as you are apparently the authority on my past..."
"Ashley was..." he was clearly surprised by his own outbreak. He wasn't used to losing control. "She and you were lovers. You started dating in High School, a fun and exciting dalliance. Sometime in during your second year the New Party gained power. They started implementing ridiculous policies, claiming they were for the well being of society," noticing Catherine's startled expression William realised she wasn't even aware of the rise of the current form of government. "The modern propaganda says the government was a force fighting to provide this wonderful utopia for its people. The government wasn't any new force, the reforms they implemented were centuries old, views and beliefs that society had discarded were gradually put back into place. People didn't notice that elections were cancelled, nor that the government controlled every aspect of your life," he waited to see if she would react, but Catherine was merely waiting for him to tell her about Ashley. "When you were in second year the government implemented its anti-homosexual legislation. You Ashley and a great part of your university, along with other groups, went to protest. It was the first time the government had implemented the War Measures Act. The act gives the government martial law powers, it was initially intended to be used to keep civil peace during times of war, but it had been used before to end a political crisis. The government saw that it was loosing support in the masses. It applied the Act, claiming you were causing a halt to the economy and deliberately causing social instability without cause. Of course, all the country's scholars or anyone who had ever heard of the War Measures Act was dumbstruck by this obviously unconstitutional move. Unfortunately, other world governments had been taking similar steps in the last few decades and no one came to heed the calls for help. The populace was riled up against these 'unpatriotic disturbers of the public peace'; the term ruffian was also used. Then a brilliant man at the government decided to change the euphemisms. No longer were you free spirits who would not conform, no, that allowed you some support from other freedom fighters, now you were 'misguided youths corrupted by an inadequate education system'. This gave them a perfect opportunity, two birds with one stone as they say. First they used this to arrest you all and provide 'psychological help to show you the light', then they took the educational system into much closer control. No longer were teachers allowed free reign of their lesson plans. Free thought was largely cut out and the distraction therapy was introduced in the earliest possible grades."
"But what does this have to do with me and Ashley?" Catherine asked impatience and fear clearly audible in her now urgent voice. She wanted her to be ok, she couldn't explain why, but as long as Ashley was ok nothing else mattered.
"You know what happened after that. You were 'rehabilitated' both of you were, if it was successful you got planted into a community and lived in blissful ignorance of the past, but if it failed" he paused. She could feel the regret in his voice. She knew what was coming before he spoke a single word, her stomach wrenched in pain. Her heart broke again, she'd felt this feeling before once, but she couldn't remember when.
"The government couldn't very well have 'heretics' loose" he continued. William's composure now became pitiful, he knew he had to tell her, but he knew what would happen later.
"What happened?" Catherine asked, his pitting expression scaring her.
"They could not break either you or Ashley, it's your strong will that has made you such an effective case, once broken you wiled yourself to stay brainwashed. But first they had to break you. They tortured her, they did it within hearing distance of your cell, you were meant to think it was merely a mistake that you could hear her but they wanted you to hear; they wanted you to suffer. They–"
"No! Sop that's enough. I've heard enough."
"They killed her and let you hear her dying moans, knowing full well what it would do to you. When she died your love died to. You were easy to control after that, easy to manipulate, your spirit as broken."
"Stop it!" Samantha could not take it anymore, she heard distant screaming fill her ears. With each word Nathan spoke the screaming drew louder, until finally it ended in one high pitched wail. The pain that wail carried was unbelievable, and it would not end, the wail kept going on in her head an endless scream beating against her skull.
"I killed her; the last breath that came out of her body came at my hands. I was an apprentice psychologist then, but after that I erased my tracks. I could't take it anymore; I had blood on my hands. I left the building one day no trace remaining of Nathan Ulrike; I took with me a copy of the files from the people who were kept there. I didn't know what I would do with them but one day I wanted to make it up, I know there is no way I can give you back you life, your sanity, your love, but I can give you freedom; freedom to chose," Nathan took the pill out of his pocket and placed it carefully in a dent on the desk. "This will end it all in a few minutes. I'm told it's painless and humane. You don't have to take it. You could come with me, I can get rid of your old identity, and I can hide you. Those doctors who you saw in the files they all made their choice, some came with me, but some didn't. Now it's your turn," Nathan watched as Samantha took the pill fro the desk and knew she had made her choice. "I'm sorry; I know I can't make up for anything but I want you to know I'm sorry."
"No it doesn't make up for anything," she wanted so much to hate him; she wanted to blame him for everything. She did, she saw in him herself, and she hated that more. "I think you know your way out. And if you had any conscience you'd find your way to your own pill," with that Samantha gestured to the door and made it clear Nathan was to leave as soon as possible.
It was fitting; she was free, free of the entrapments that had held her mind for the last twenty years. And soon she would be free of her mind all together. It was too much the pain the horror was all coming back, she remembered summer days lying under Oak trees, but even then the wailing never stopped, and always the memory off the cell was stronger. It wasn't worth it.
"Mrs. Willowz?" an electronic voice called from the speaker box. "William's escort is here to take him back to the facility… Mrs Willowz?" the voice repeated to an empty room, there was nothing of interest in the room, its occupant had left its distracting prison and was too far to be called back by the metallic voice that had drawn it back so many times before.