Please, forgive me for any inaccuracies in the baseball terms and rules. When I originally wrote this, I had no free Wifi, so I went by the way we usually play baseball-like-sports in PA. I have gotten the English terms later from Wikipedia, but I kept the original positions as they would be with twelve anyway. Furthermore, enjoy the chapter and please review!
Eerily early in the following morning, Sam and Caine stood shivering beside each other in the long row at the side of the snow-cleaned sports field. Changing in the boy's room had been awkward, more than half of the guys were still black and blue from yesterday's fight. These kind of things would almost shape a bond.
PA was a compulsory subject for all grades. It was given for all classes in the morning – before breakfast – but the indoor sport hall had only enough space for three classes at the time, thus the other three classes had to sport outside, regardless of the weather. To make sure the time inside was divided equally in cold days like these, every three days the inside and outside classes were swapped around.
In theory, the daily PA-lessons stimulated optimism, good health and team spirit. For once, this was no DH policy nonsense, but a scientifically proven fact acknowledged at schools all over the world.
But as every school, in any nation, in practice Dorothy Hills failed to see one thing: some people just weren't made for sports.
Fortunately, both brothers didn't belong to that group. They weren't as athletic as people like Jurrian and Bastian, who used to train with almost military discipline in the months before they came at DH, but they both weren't totally lost in it either: Sam had always loved to surf, Caine had always loved to win.
The PA teacher, a short, muscled, greying man called Ben Hoogens, walked up and down the row explaining the rules of baseball. When he was finished, he randomly split the group in half and created two teams of twelve: Sam ended up in the batting team, Caine, Marco and Jurrian stood in the field together with Lance.
The fielding team spread out over the grass. Three players in the field, three players on the bases, the remaining four players in between as short stops: most players wouldn't hit far anyway. The pitcher was Jennifer, a sportive, Hispanic girl from Connecticut who had become paranoid after being raped by an old school friend, and Michael, a member of Cathy's Christian sect, was the first hitter.
The game commenced.
Jennifer threw the ball, Michael missed, Petrus catched, let it fall out of his hands, picked it up again and threw it back in Jennifers general direction. Petrus was typically one of the guys who wasn't good at sports. He was fat as a result of barely moving any bodyparts but his thumbs – he had been sent to DH for a game addiction – but had quick reflexes nonetheless. That briefly summed up the reasons the others deemed him as catcher.
"One strike, zero balls." Mister Hoogens yelled out.
Jennifer threw again, this time Michael hit and the ball flew away, past Ihem, the Muslim extremist, past Lance, to Marco and Cathy, who both ran after, but Marco soon gave up seeing Cathy was faster and let her throw it to the second base.
Caine, standing third base, determined to not run after a ball like some meek idiot, was gritting his teeth.
"Irene, just throw it back to Jennifer! He won't go for the second base!"
Actually, he would like to place him far above this game, he had the intention of talking with Jurrian as soon as he got the chance, but he just couldn't help taking charge.
"And Lance, what did you think you were doing! You could have made a catch of that one!"
Lance was clearly not amused to be shouted down by Caine.
"What are talking about!? I could've never gotten that one!"
"Maybe you couldn't, but that's only to blame on your incompetence. Anyone else would have dived so Micheal would have been out." Caine snapped back.
"I don't see you diving!"
"I'm standing third base, you moronic fool. That's not my job."
"Mister Hunswick, pay better attention next time. Mister Temple, don't comment on other's performance, you're not the captain of the team! Miss Sanchez, how long does it take to throw that ball!? Mister Niskachkov is waiting!"
During the game, Caine kept shouting around orders and criticisms, the latter mostly in Lance's direction. Although Sam wouldn't think of telling him off on it, that wasn't fair. Lance did a good job overall, and there were people far worse than him.
First, you had the "hard-working average", like Ihem and Irene. They didn't stand out on skill or strategy, but did what they could.
Behind this group there were the people who were plainly bad, like Petrus and Marco, who let most balls fly by harmlessly, lacking the motivation to do anything with it.
And then, you had Olivia.
Olivia was a London based girl with Jamaican roots and well-educated parents: her mother was a teacher and her father was a lawyer. She had always been of the dreamy kind, but against her parents' initial believes her magical, imaginary friends didn't leave her as she became older, it only got worse and worse.
At the moment, she was supposed to stand in the front with Ihem, but no one thought she was aware of that. Now, she was standing at the fence, chatting with… unicorns? Sam wouldn't know.
Jurrian, though, who was the fourth short stop, made more than up for her. He stood between Caine and Irene, officially, but practically took all balls in the left half of the field. And was having fun. The way he sprinted after every ball, entirely focused on catching it, had something endearing, actually. It reminded Sam most of a playful dog, and just like a playful dog, he often succeeded in catching the ball midair. Don't strike in that direction, he told himself. It was Sam's turn.
He took the bat and observed the field. Natasha stood on the third base, and Olle on the first, although he could have gone to the second a long time ago. Maybe he didn't understand the possibility of stealing a base.
"You can't win anymore, Sammy. You're far too far behind!"
They would see.
He nodded to Jennifer to indicate he was ready. She threw, he stroke, the ball connected and flew high through the middle of the field. Without further looking, he ran and reached the first base.
Marco, for once, was nearing the ball. Time enough to go further, but Olle was still lingering around the next base.
"Olle, go!" He looked at him, bewildered, but this wasn't the time to explain you could take several bases at once so Sam just started running, hoping he would figure it out himself.
He did, and finally proceeded to the third base, but it already was too late. Marco had gotten hold of the ball, hurled it to Caine but it didn't came far enough and Jurrian caught it instead. He whipped around, speeded to Olle and tagged him out forcefully, knocking the frail monster-seer over.
He apologized softly and helped him up, asking if he was okay. Olle give a shy, vague reply and quickly stalked away.
Olle had an unique and extreme form of zoophobia. It compromised all animals that could physically harm him, and sometimes even extended to human beings.
He had told about it yesterday in therapy, after the fight. He had described it as scenes constantly playing in his head, horrifying images of what a creature could do, even though he knew it was not interested in him.
But the worst was when it considered a person. At those times, Olle felt down right guilty for thinking this way. For thinking of the people around him as beasts, as murders! He hated his own phobia, he found it exceptionally unfair regarding the people he had been afraid of. And yet he was the victim.
Sam had felt sorry for the boy. He couldn't help it.
He watched him leaving the field, and it occurred to him Olle might now have a fear of Jurrian, the way he just behaved. It actually made strikingly sense. Sam had to admit his new-found friend may be intimidating to some, despite his carefree friendliness. Jurrian was in many ways a lot like himself, before the FAYZ, except his fanatism. He wondered –
No, he didn't. He didn't want to think about this. It was just like with Quinn, very similar, until disaster stroke, until the FAYZ happened. He didn't want to wonder how Jurrian would have acted, it was useless, Jurrian had never been put through such a situation and would never be, whatever Caine believed, whatever Esther believed, whatever Jurrian believed himself. It was madness.
He decided to stop pondering and focus on the game. It was Ruby's turn, she missed a few times , but that created an opportunity to make a run for the third base. Were Caine was…
"Sam! I've asked Jurrian what Esther predicted, but he said we should ask herself. Hurry with changing clothes after class, and come directly to the canteen at breakfast."
PA before breakfast. Every day. Who came up with this schedule?
Ruby hit, badly, it gave Sam enough time to run home and score a point. When he returned to his teammates, his mind was with the upcoming conversation. Worry gave him an uneasy feeling in his stomach, or it was just hunger, but he was worried nonetheless. Very worried. 'Cause, what if Esther said yes? What would Caine do if there was a way to become powerful again, his old self?
It was a reassuring thought, however, that this chance was very small. Esther would say no, or would have no idea, and this whole, mind-breaking matter turned out to be nothing but wishful thinking from Caine's side. And then they would go on with everyday life. Go on with school, go on with life, let things settle down, turn normal, so he could finally…
Could finally what?
Sam lost his breath for a second. He had never thought about that. He used to be the surfer-boy, no plans for the future but to take some waves. He had actually assumed that that would never change, that life would be normal for him, that he would turn out alright.
Could finally what!?
Then the FAYZ happened, and the only plan he had was to get out alive, with as many as possible others to reassure his state of mind. The only thing he'd wanted for himself was to live happy after, normal, with his mother, with his friends, with Astrid. Nothing special. Just to turn back to his old life.
Could finally what!?
Last two months, the guards, the experts, the shrinks, the media and yet the isolation. He had endured, he had assumed, but he hadn't thought. Until today, he hadn't thought. He was just waiting, actually, seeing where and when he would come out, when it all would finally be over, so he could finally…
He could never pick up his old life.
He would never come out, he would never see the sea again, he would never return to his mother, his friends, Astrid. He would never go to college, never get a job, never get an own house, never get married, have a family.
He could almost see the documentary, Souvenirs From Hell: Perdido Survivors Thirty Years After. One by one, everyone came past.
Quinn Gaither, proudly telling about his fishermen back in the day. Diana Ladris, explaining how it is like to be famous for such a thing. Albert Hillsborough, about how the FAYZ lead to him being the richest man on the planet. John Terrifano, how happy he now was he had survived and met his beloved Abigial, with whom he shared an apartment in Los Angeles. An adorable family shot of Astrid Ellison, Genius of the FAYZ, now Astrid Foster, Nobel Prize winner, bringing her children to school and kissing her husband Jerry goodbye.
It was a good thing he was standing at the sideline. He felt jealous, sick, he knew Astrid wouldn't cheat on him, but she would inevitably meet someone else, and what could he expect her to do? Give up her life for a poor soul stuck in a lunatic house?
Souvenirs From Hell, Sam Temple. Sitting in his cell in some godforsaken institution, talking about the past like a senile old man, thrilled to have some distraction from his dull and empty days. How would they call him? Survivor? Leading figure? Tiran? Monster?
The audience would applaud, the filmmakers would win several Emmy's, calling the interviewees on the stage to celebrate the victory together, and he would sit in the same room he was interviewed in, unaware of the film's success, trying to get some sleep while plagued with nightmares.
Was this how Caine felt? Was this what he was trying to make clear last night? Why had he never seen this coming before?
But there was one chance. One faint shimmer of hope, saving him from the deep darkness of despair.
Maybe he could get his powers back. Maybe he could break out.
His whole life depended on what Esther would say.