Author's Notes: Thank you everyone for the reviews of the last chapter. I'm glad people seem to enjoy Dr. Feinstein as much as i like writing him. I've got some plans for that sassy old guy :0)
Chapter 14
I don't know how long I've been in here. There isn't a clock or window to track the rising and setting of the sun. The coming and goings of the guards are sporadic at best and none of them are particularly chatty when they venture inside the tank. I keep to the corner mostly, with my shell to the wall and my eyes able to scan every other inch of the confining space. I'm not going to let anyone sneak up on me again.
They bring food and water, sliding it towards me on metal trays. I hold out as long as I can. The hunger is easier to ignore. Eventually my thirst is so great I have no choice but to chance drinking. I sniff the water before taking a tentative sip. It hurts to swallow, more than it should and there's the unmistakable metallic tang of blood on my tongue. I force down another sip, swallowing past the pain. I need to hydrate. I won't be able to do anything if my head spins at the slightest movement.
They wouldn't go through all this trouble only to poison you. She wants you somewhat presentable for her buyers. Just drink the water.
The first few sips settle in my empty stomach without complication so I down the rest of the bottle in record time. I crush the bottle in my hand, the loud crack of the plastic echoing off the glass walls of the tank. I peel off the label and roll the paper between my thumb and forefinger. The hunger and thirst are bad enough. I can deal with that. It's a physical need that has a simple solution to alleviate the pain. The forced idleness is another challenge entirely.
It isn't the quiet that is getting to me or even the isolation. I'm used to isolation. I sometimes, actively seek it out. This is nothing like that. I'm not hunkered down in my lab for some peace and quiet with my latest project to keep me busy. No, I'm chained to the floor of a cage with nothing to occupy my mind and body but my increasingly dark thoughts and the occasional silent visit from a stone-faced guard. I need to do something, anything. I can't just sit here.
I pull the metal tray towards me and sift through the meager contents. There's half a bologna sandwich, a pile of wilted lettuce and a cup of applesauce. I eat the sandwich in two bites and follow it with the lettuce. Its iceberg, mostly water and well beyond its intended sell-by date I'm sure. I'm to the point where I don't care and chew quickly and swallow to avoid tasting it as much as possible. I roll the cup of applesauce around my palm. I'm still hungry. I'm still very hungry, but there is a hunger worse than the one in my stomach.
I turn the cup over and smear the applesauce over as much of the floor as it will reach. I tear apart the water bottle into narrow strips and start scratching out equations in the mess. I lose myself to it. I have to, I need to. The numbers settle me. They usually do. I can put all of my focus into the problems. I can block out the dark thoughts and the pain and think of nothing but the numbers. I may not be still. I can't sit for hours like Leo or Master Splinter, but this is my meditation and I need it as much as food or water, maybe more.
The door opens with a loud click and any calm I mustered tightens into anxiety in my chest. I scuttle back into my corner, pressing my shell against the glass. Two guards enter first with their tranquilizer guns at the ready. They fan out and scan the space before giving the all clear. I'm not sure what they think I could have gotten up to chained to the ground, but I feel the slightest sense of pride that they feel the need to worry.
"Ugh, stupid freak made a mess," one of them grumbles with a curl of his lip at my make-shift applesauce chalkboard.
"Don't touch that."
The command is followed by shuffling footsteps and the swish of a lab coat. Dr. Feinstein kneels in front of me despite the hurried warnings of the guards. He waves them off impatiently and leans over to inspect my work. He moves his finger over the equations and mouths them to himself. He blinks and turns to look up at me.
"Where did you learn how to do this?" he asks quietly.
He can't help you. He's not being kind, he's just fascinated. You're an experiment, something to be studied.
I shrug and look down at my hands.
"Amazing," he says with a tiny chuckle. "These are highly complex equations. That is…that is just remarkable."
"Real interesting Doc, but you've got a job to do," one of the guards snaps and I can't help but notice the sudden crease in-between Dr. Feinstein's eyes.
He leans back on his heels and his eyes narrow. I know that look. I've seen it a hundred times on Raph's face when someone tells him what to do. Unlike my brother it's a quiet anger and is gone in an instant. I meet his gaze and there's a glimmer of understanding behind his glasses that makes the tiniest squirm of hope twinge in my chest. He clears his throat and stands, smoothing out his lab coat.
"On your feet," he says with a nod. "If you do as you are told you won't be hurt. Right, gentlemen?" he adds with a warning glance over his shoulder at the guards.
"We're only here for when it steps out of line," the larger man replies with a sickening leer.
He moves forward, the barrel of his gun leading the way. The chain rustles as he pulls the key from his belt and undoes the lock connected to the floor. My instincts scream for me to run. The collar is still around my neck, but I'm free from my tether and the relief is so bright it clouds my judgment. I close my hand until a sharp stab of pain travels up through my wrist. I need the distraction. I can't run. There's nowhere to go. They'd shoot me before I reached the door. The guard wraps the remainder of the chain around his arm and nudges the barrel of his gun into my shell.
"Walk," he snarls with another, less gentle nudge.
I stumble forward through the door and out into the hallway. My entire body aches and the pain in my head and throat seems to grow with every wobbly step. Dr. Feinstein walks along beside me. He's clutching a metal clipboard overflowing with papers. I try to read over his shoulder, but he moves them to hold against his chest.
"Where are we going?" I ask, unable to keep some of my anxiety from creeping into my voice.
"Shut up," the guard replies, giving the chain a yank.
My head snaps back and the collar presses against my bruised throat. I wince and gag, reaching out a hand to catch myself on the wall. The guards laugh and the chain rattles again. I move with flailing hands, trying to take hold of the chain before he can pull on it again. Dr. Feinstein steps up to the guard, waving his clipboard in the face of the much bigger man.
"What is wrong with you?" he demands, poking him in the chest.
"The freak was acting up, I'm just doing my job…"
"Is your job to injure him right before Ms. Zhao has her meeting with the buyers?" he asks, jabbing him again. "Or maybe you would like to explain to her why he's covered in bruises?"
The guard swallows and lifts his gun to hold it closer to his body as if it might offer solace. "No, I mean, of course not. I hardly pulled the chain. It's fine."
A disapproving snort of air pushes from Dr. Feinstein's nose and he shakes his head with an ever deepening scowl. "We'll see about that," he mutters, stalking down the hallway and waving for us to follow.
I fall into step beside him, my jaw clamped tight to keep my chin from wavering. Part of me hoped her threats had been idle ones. That she had no intention of actually selling me to the highest bidder. This can't happen today. There hasn't been enough time. I need time to think of a plan. I need time to try my luck at escape. My family needs more time to rescue me.
If they were going to rescue you, don't you think they'd have done it by now? They're not coming. She's going to sell you like livestock and you're going to spend the rest of your life as someone's lab rat.
"Are…sh-she's going to…to sell me today?" I ask, not caring if the question is met with another yank of the chain.
Dr. Feinstein stares straight ahead, but I see him flinch at the words.
"She's meeting with her buyers for a showing," he replies, his jaw tightening. "She's going to present you and have me go over some of my findings. It shouldn't take long," he explains, stopping in front of a pair of double doors. "Stay quiet, be still and it will be over with before you know it," he adds, low enough so no one else hears.
The guard opens the door and the creak of the hinges is enough to fill me with dread. My chest tightens and panic cuts off any breath before it can reach my lungs. My feet seem fixed to the floor and it takes a push to my shell to make me move forward. A boardroom waits for us on the other side. It is like any other I assume, with a long wooden table at the center and an electronic message board at the far end. Amelia sits at the head of the table, the beginning of a smile tugs at one corner of her mouth and the pleased look on her face is enough to squash my growing panic. I won't let her see me cower.
I take in a slow breath through my nose and raise my chin to meet her gaze. The small group of strangers gathered around the table turn at the sound of the doors opening. More than one of them gasps at the sight of me. I won't look at them. I won't give any indication that their stares and whispers make me feel sick inside. I won't give her the satisfaction. I am not an animal and I won't give her the pleasure of acting like one. I flinch when Dr. Feinstein takes hold of my arm to guide me over to the opposite side of the room. Amelia stands, resting her palms on the smooth surface of the table.
"Ladies and gentleman," she says, quieting any side conversations with only those three words. "I'd like to thank all of you for coming. There will be time for questions after the presentation. If you would please give your attention to Dr. Feinstein, I'm sure you're all eager to get started."
The doctor clears his throat and flips through his notes. Pushing his glasses up onto his nose he reads from his papers, giving a clinical breakdown of my most basic attributes. I do as he said. I'm silent, I'm still and yet it is not over with before I know it. It drags on for what seems like hours. I try not to listen. I clench my jaw until blood rushes in my ears, hoping to block out their voices. I have to detach. I have to think of something else, anything else besides this burning, painful humiliation.
I want to run and hide from the eyes that won't stop staring. This is everything Sensei warned us about as children. Humans will never understand us. Humans will hurt us. There may be a few, rare individuals who can see past what we are, but they are not the majority. They are not normal. Normal is this group of men and women in suits staring at me like I'm a monster. Talking about me like I can't understand every word or worse yet, knowing I can but not caring.
I close my hand and try to focus on the pain. It's sharp and grows with every press of my fingers into my palm. I cling to it like a life raft. I need to stop feeling. I cut myself off before, I can do it again. The cold, heavy weight of nothingness settles in my chest and the force of it is so all encompassing that I don't even register that the meeting is over. The barrel of the gun is back on my shell and I stumble forward with the pull on my chain. The hallway seems shorter now that I know my destination and I stand silent and still as the guard locks my chain into place on the tank floor.
All alone.
I slowly open my hand, but the damage is done and I'm certain it will ache for a good long while. I don't care. It doesn't matter. Everything else hurts my hand might as well hurt too. The lamp overhead crackles and hums. I drop to my knees before I realize my legs are going to give out. I'm not wearing my knee pads and the sudden assault on my joints snaps me from my cold haze. I lean forward and a choking sob rips from my throat. I rein it back in and pinch my eyes shut to keep from crying. I won't let her beat me. I'm sure she is watching. I won't cry. I will not give her the satisfaction.
"You made quite the impression in there, little turtle."
I push back on my knees and slam my shell into the glass wall, preparing myself for an attack that doesn't come. He stands just inside the door, leaning on his cane with one hand, while holding something else in the other. He rolls it over in his palm and my eyes widen when I see the familiar oval shape of my T-phone.
"Your little freak friends can track this, can't they?" he asks, lazily moving his thumb over the screen. "I wasn't able to crack through your security, but it doesn't matter. By now they must have the location," he grins, dropping the phone onto the ground with a clatter. "The rat will come for you, won't he?" he asks.
I shake my head, trying desperately to keep my voice steady. "If anyone was coming they would have been here by now."
He smiles. "He'll come," he says, moving his cane to hover over the T-phone. "And when he does I'll be ready for him this time."
He slams the cane down, shattering the phone in two.