twenty six

- Alex -

'2,364'

Lying there facing the walls, I start to count in my head from one to two thousand three hundred sixty four. The little things, the repetitive things, is what keeps me either sane or maybe it inches me closer to finally going over the deep end. I keep myself extremely still, so that if anyone does come in, they do not have a reason to beat on me.

What number was I on?

I let out a deep sigh and begin counting again. One would think that it is such an odd number two thousand three hundred sixty four, but it makes sense in my head. Looking at the first one, I start there. My eyes scan the wall, looking for it. It is always the first one, the one that I start on. It takes me a couple of minutes and then finally a smile registers on my face, the first etching on the wall, the largest one, the deepest one.

The first one? When was it? The thought begins to file deep into my mind searching and probing. It opens the doors to deep closets and climbs the ladder to the highest shelves in search of it. The first one?

I guess it would have to be the ocean. I nod at the memory, and think, that it is an appropriate first one. The cool wind whips through the opening in the floor of my cell. You would think that it would cause me to shiver, but this time, it actually reinforces the feel of the ocean breeze that day. How it would just work its way up through the smallest cracks in your clothing, getting inside to the warm places. Getting inside. That sounds about right. It is like her, the cool wind, and how it found its way inside. Even now, even from this distance of who know where she is, she still finds her way inside. It was all I could think about, that day standing there explaining it all to a group of strangers.

'Right before the sun rises there's a moment…'

I close my eyes and I see the sun rising that day. It is that moment that I search for. It is what causes my heart to calm down and beat in a regular manner when all the cool winter wind wants to do is speed it up. She was standing there right on the cliff of labs looking out into the bay. Her arms where crossed almost as if she was embracing herself. She just stood there looking out into the horizon, I still don't know how she did it, but that day it was like her gaze stretched all the way, I don't know if it ever ended.

Yeah that is a good one. I think that will be the first one today. The way her eyes could gaze through the anything and everything, like the cool winter wind, that can make it way through anything, how just a small gaze from those eyes and you were locked into her.

I always wondered how she did that.

From what I can gather, I have been here in this little room two thousand three hundred sixty four hours. Finding this little bit of information was like being able to tether yourself from insanity to reality. It wasn't like I was trying to find out, but found out purely by accident. I was able to get the date a couple days ago by overhearing a guard.

'I have been waiting for the 21st for months and now that it is here, me a Janine, we are going to go have Thanksgiving Dinner and, I cannot wait for this shift to be over.'

I couldn't believe how it was already November. How was it that I had lasted this long? Quickly counting down, it was probably ninety six days since last I saw her. It was only a couple of weeks ago that they finally left me alone. The guards stop coming down here; it must have been the fact that the smell just became unbearable. The hole where Lena's mother escaped was never refilled, so the smell from my cell escaped through there.

It was there that I could start to see the changes in the seasons from the hot weather, to the beginning cool weather. I know that the cold weather soon enough will consume me, and hypothermia would set in. The first things that we learned in the Wild, to protect yourself against the extreme cold, was to keep your mind from becoming foggy.

'Ninety six days,' I remember saying out loud. 'I wonder how many weeks that is.'

Thinking of the times I spent in school, and then it comes to me. It is almost fourteen weeks. Funny how you can make yourself feel good about being imprisoned by math. The mind just thinks it is such a short amount of time, that probably I can attribute this to a nightmare. Reality though always finds a way to set in when almost every bone in your body that has been broken begins to ache, or how the cold weather makes it hard to breathe with the bullet between my ribs. When it started to rain that day, my mind took me to another math problem. How many hours are in ninety six days?

It was the day that it rained so hard that I honestly thought it would never end that I finally realized the number of hours that I have been here.

Two thousand two hundred and four.

There are no watches, or clocks, so it is only an estimate, it is only an assumption. Taking naps, in the middle of the day or through the night hinders my ability to know for a fact how many days or hours truly I have been here. It was only until I heard the guard that I had an idea. It gave me the start.

It was painful at first to know that it had been so many days, like the warmth in my body, hope was leaving me. I spent that night staring out of the hole, trying to get the cold to overwhelm me, trying to see if I went to sleep this night that probably I dream and never wake up.

The reflection in the water I started to see the stars up in the dark sky. It was probably the clearest it had ever been in a while. It is always like that after it rains. Everything just feels so clean and calm. It reminded me of the first time she saw the stars out there. Which got me thinking, that if I am here for two thousand two hundred and four hours, might as well think see if I can think of two thousand two hundred and four memories of why I loved her so much.

So what number was I on?

The drip, drip, drip, of the hallway water pipe echoes through my cell. I can hear everything. It seems that in the winter times, people go quiet. I remember that it was when most of the people here in Ward Six, just stopped altogether. The complaining from the first cell, every day and every night, yelling something that he is now cured, or the moaning, the constant moaning that comes from the cell to my right across the hall, that never stops because who knows what pain, either physical or mentally, who ever knows. The one that really gets to me though, is the whimpering from next door. It is a cross between a soft cry of a person, and something like a rusted door swinging in the wind. In the winter, today, it all becomes quiet. Everyone that has been here longer than I have, knows that it is time to hold onto something, if they want to live.

Let's do number eighty five.

I look down at my feet. Still can't believe what she said.

'You know you have weird looking toes,' she says suddenly. I try not to let the comment bother me. It was after all the game we were playing. To say things that would get the other to lose the straight face.

'Thanks, I had always wondered what other people thought of them,' I say looking out towards the sunset. 'Even asked Rachel about them, she told me that they looked okay to her.'

There is a pause but then I feel a pelt of sand on my head. Looking over to her, I see the shocked face she is making and know that I have won the game. I shake my head trying to get all the sand out of it, but of course this is all a distraction, while I grab a little bit of sand in my hand and chuck up in the air, and wait for it to fall on top of her.

She lets out a shriek and quickly stands up. I had checked to make sure that everyone had gone or that they were too far away to hear anything, but the shrieking was a little unexpected.

'Hey,' I say lowly. 'You might want to bring it down a couple decibels; I don't think the sea gulls heard you.'

It is then that I hear her laughing.

'See I win,' she says. 'Got you to come out of character.'

'Yeah? How do you figure' I say. 'After all I got you first, so technically I won.'

'What is more impressive, scaring someone like me that has lived in Portland all her life,' she says. 'Or someone like you, who has been trained for this?'

She does have a point, I think to myself, and of course would never say that to her, ever. It was a great memory. It is the kind of memory that you hold onto when you are trying to not die of hypothermia. The walls look a darker grayish color and for some reason the quiet don't bring any sense of peace but an ominous feeling.

It is then that I hear the click of the hallway door. With the squeal of the door opening I hear the boot hit the concrete and the steps echo with a finality that brings a shiver to my skin. The whistling of someone coming down the hallway is happy and very much out of place here in the Crypts. . Behind it, I hear something, and cannot guess what it is. The jingling sound of keys and then the loud click of the lock bring an immediate reaction of closing my eyes. I put every ounce of effort into the sounds that I can hear and make out.

A rustling, and then a faint click and then a humming sound. It is then that I hear a zapping sound and can only imagine what caused it. It is done two more times, until finally I hear a voice call out.

'This one is dead. Arrange for pickup and scrub down.'

That is when I hear other footsteps walking and then finally a thud and the hallway door opens and then closes with a loud thundering slam. One by one, the zapping sound either gets a yell or silence. You would think that a simple shaking of a person would be enough, but the brutality of the guards is a given here to the ghosts of Ward Six.

I jump every time I hear the door slam. My breathing begins to quicken as I hear my heart beating faster and faster. The clip clop of the shoes as they finally arrive outside my door. My body stiffens and the shivering begins. I quickly look down at my feet and wonder if that was the reason they took away our shoes and socks? It was just before the first snow fall; they walked into each one of our cells and just took them. That night, the shivering started, and it was the first time that I knew that I would die here. The keys jingling outside my door and I brace for what is going to happen. I run through the scenarios, and wonder if I just started talking when they walked in, he wouldn't zap me with whatever he had in his hand. If I stood, it may cause him to be enraged and beat me until I was unconscious. Whatever I must decide to do, I would have to do it quickly. So knowing that fighting back would not be the best way, I just lie there. The door swings open and the footstep edge closer and closer. The click of the device and then the hum of the current, and I wait for it to come. Closing my eyes I make one final attempt to think of her before it happens. I don't know how it is that my body always knows right before the pain hits, because I flinch before anything even touches me. The electricity that runs through my body rips me away from my memories of Lena, and all I think about is not giving in. It is the exact opposite of how it was in the first couple of weeks, when I welcomed death, now all I can do is fight with everything that I have to not allow them the satisfaction of me dying. The screams don't come until the battery of the thing dies out. It seems that in his eagerness to thoroughly check everyone in Ward Six, the battery ran out when it reached me.

"Stupid thing," I hear a familiar voice say. "Chris, give me yours, I still don't know if this one is still alive."

There is a smile to his voice and I know that although everyone can see me move now. The moans and groans that come out of me, is sign enough that I am still alive, he doesn't pity me and wants to just torture me for fun. There is a hesitation from the one guard called Chris.

"Roman," I hear another guard say. "That is it, this one is still kicking."

Probably revolted by the conditions of the cell, or even the way this cell has scribed over and over again the word love, that Chris may think that he can catch the disease from me. I open my eyes and look at him, looking around with horror. He is covered in protective clothing and even has gloves and boot covers on. Amazing he doesn't have a gas mask as the crazies think that this deliria can be passed via the air. I am guessing he is new and seeing how I have never seen him before, probably is transferring in from another Ward. He taps the stick trying to get a little bit more out of the wasted batteries.

"Come on," he says tapping on his watch. "We still have to get the bodies over to the incinerator. Don't want the disease spreading now do we?"

- Julian -

Two weeks from now it will be all over. I think about this standing in front of the empty auditorium. Everything has gone exactly as planned, like clockwork. It was a fight but in two week, they will perform the cure on me, and if the doctors are right, then my mind will shut down, and then everything will stop. My father of course will blame the sickness and the DFA will be stronger than ever. There is though the smallest possibility that it might work. They worked out the statistics to be around 4% that it will be successful. I think about it though for a small fraction of time, and wonder what life would be if it were successful. I have read books, approved books mind you of what to experience one you are cured. It is as if everything wrong in your life is simply taken away. If it was to happen and what I want most to be taken away would be the memories.

That I think would be the most difficult for all of us. To be tied to those memories that hurt us. Like a scar of a long healed wound. It might be that the wound has been closed up, but the memory of it will always be triggered by the scars of it. I wonder though, would all the memories be gone, or would it only be the painful ones? If I could, ask them to keep some memories, would that be possible? I mean I don't know how they do it, and I wonder if specific memories could be saved.

I sit down and grabbing the remote I start to flip through the pictures. It was going to be places that I wish I could go off to. Sometimes I even dream that my brother is there instead of dead. To be free enough to climb the highest of mountains, and see the world from the peak, it was something that I had always wished I could do.

Click

The oceans coast with no one around, the sunrise just a couple of minutes ago. It was the memory of my mother's laughter that stirs something inside of me. I feel it coming from the deep recess of my heart. The sadness that I have held back all this time, the emotions behind missing out on a brother that I truly never got to have known.

Click

It is my favorite picture and of course the hardest to find. All these pictures of places from the time before the cure, always stirs something inside of me. It is something that pulls my heart in the direction that my mind always stops me. I close my eyes and there I can see them, the trees in Central park. I can just hear the single bird that started singing that early morning. I could feel her hand gripping mines so tightly that I felt that it would fall off without any circulation. It happened right after the incident with my brother. She had woken me up very early in the morning. The look on her face was something that I had never seen before. She was genuinely afraid. I think she might have seen the shock in my face, because she quickly smiled and whispered in my ear.

"Grab your things," she says softly. "I have a surprise to show you."

As she puts a shirt over my head I can see her eyes look constantly to the closed door. It was as if she felt someone was coming. She holds out her hand to me and as I place my hand in hers she gives me a smile and we walk to the door.

"Now you have to be extra quiet, Julian," she says. "This surprise is only for you and me. Okay?"

I nod and we walk as quietly as we can to the kitchen door. It is there that I see a book bag on the ground next to the door. She picks it up and then opens the door slowly; trying her hardest not to make any noise, even the clicking of the door. She quickens the pace and all she keeps doing is turn back towards the house. Once we are out the back gate, we walk without talking to park. The sidewalks were empty as it was very early in the morning. Her hand would squeeze every time a car would drive by. Something has her scared and this of course I do not understand. It isn't until we are well inside the park, hidden in the trees that she finally lets out a sigh of relief.

"Mom, what is wrong?" I say.

She turns around and then sits down patting the ground beside her. I sit down and then she looks at me.

"Nothing dear," she says. "How do you like your surprise?"

I look around and find nothing but trees.

"What is it?" I ask.

She lets out a laugh and then leans in.

"This is our special place where you are allowed to be yourself," she says. "You can tell me anything here."

There is a long pause at the thought. I can be myself there? It would be nice to finally not have to have to pretend.

"Can we live here?" I say with a smile.

She only smiles.

"Maybe," she starts. "One day."

A tear begins to run down my cheek. It is then that I hear a thud behind me. I quickly stand and turn around. In the distance I see the silhouette of a person. Could it be that someone has caught me looking, or worst caught me crying. It is the last image someone needs of the supposedly strong leader of the Youth Deliria Free America. The glare from the projector temporarily blinds me as I walk towards the figure.

"What are you doing here?" I say waiting for my eyes to focus. The lights come on and the projector finally turns off. "The meeting's over."

The person lifts up a hand and then says.

"I-I lost my glove."

The soft sweet voice catches me off guard. The girl's face comes into focus and then I realize that it is the same girl that it focused my speech on. Almost immediately I feel a sense of nervousness come over me, and can feel my heart begin to beat just a little bit faster. It is the oddest thing, but when my eyes begin to focus, it is as if As I walk towards her, my breathing begins to even out. Her hair is neatly brushed back into a pony tail. She has on a thick brown coat and there is something about her, I don't know what it is.

"Where were you sitting?" I ask hoping that she couldn't tell that I was nervous. "I can help you look for it."

"No," she blurts out almost immediately. She turns around and starts to look for the gloves. She moves from row to row, catches glances towards me. She moves to the next row and I know that she is almost there. If she would only ask me for help I could tell her exactly where she was sitting. Finally it is almost as if she remembers where she was sitting because she goes directly to her chair and lifts up the gloves.

"Found it," she says turning and beginning to walk back outside. I walk towards her trying to catch her. She is almost at the door when I ask her a question.

"How long were you standing there?" I say loudly. It is the only thing that I could think of. It is the dumbest question. From the location of where she was standing, and from the time that I turned on the projector, she easily could have seen all the pictures.

"What?" she says turning around. Her eyes finally meet mines and I catch something. It is surprise.

"How long were you there? How many pictures did you see?"

I hate him. It is the first thing that I think of. All these years, I have been struggling, swimming against the current, trying every morning to not be like hi and now that I am standing in front of someone, I don't even trust her. The thoughts that come, come automatically. The tools that they gave me, the pre-function security detail meetings. All the prep work from the advisors on how to speak and how to control a conversation, it is as if a button turns on, and everything that I am or trying to be, gets removed.

Instead of trying to accept that this person left their gloves in the auditorium, I am trying to find out if they are lying, if they have "a tell." It is the easiest way to find "a tell" of someone. Something that I learned from my father's security team, to get a tell, you have to get them to lie. I know how long she has been there, by the number of slides the projector has shown. It was the third slide, and if she told me any different then it would be her tell.

"I saw the mountain," she says finally.

"We're looking for strongholds," I say. Some weak attempt to cover up the fact that I am as jaded as him, that all my strengths to change my destiny, and I have ended up just like him. Never really trusting anyone, or questioning everyone's intentions. "Invalid camps. We're using all kinds of surveillance techniques."

She smiles and says, "I hope you find them, I hope you find every last one."

I nod and she turns around pushing the auditorium door open. It is then that I hear something very faint. I can't really make out what she is saying.

"What did you say?" I ask just as she is walking out into the hallway. She turns around and says a little bit louder. "Before they find us."

With that, the door slowly closes. I stand there looking at the door and something compels me to follow her, to apologize to her for my actions. I am not my father, I am not him, I will not become him. The footsteps grow quicker as I walk through the security check-point and then the lobby. The glass doors are in front of me and as I push to get outside, I feel the emotions rising to the top. The pain, the guilt, the anger, the sorrow, it comes back like a rushing wave and as I stand there looking down the sidewalk, all I see is the sea of people just walking by. The buses motoring past me, probably holding this girl that I was especially mean to. Turning around I see my reflection on the doors of the auditorium. It is there that I see him. I don't see me, here surrounded by the buildings; I know that I will never be able to be myself. I only see him. This is my life, if I survive it. No matter how hard I try, I cannot escape him. Hidden behind my smiles, and my actions, there lies the worst possible reflection of me.

I long to be back when I was younger, when it was my mother and me in the woods of Central Park. I don't even remember how long we were there, just lying there watching the sun light trickle through the branches. We didn't talk, but what we did, is we allowed ourselves to believe that we could escape our lives for just a little bit. It was as if nothing in this world matter, and even the seizures would magically disappear there. We didn't make it though. The sun started to set, and she finally gave in, and she took me back, we went back to the house where my father yelled at her for so long that after a while it sounded like noise and no longer human.

She cried for hours and hours, until my father got some doctor to prescribe medication for her. It was never the same after that, and now it is all I can remember. We never did go back to that park. Through the daily injections, through the mountain of pills, I never saw her, the way I remembered her again. It was like she gave up. There were times though that the sunlight would peek through the tree branches and I would see her again, like that day where all I can remember was the laughter and the safety I felt there with her. What will he do, when I am gone? After he took Ben, he took my mother, and now as I stare at the mirror of myself, he is taking me as well.

I look down at my hands and see on the floor a single solitary rock there staring at me. Without think I stoop down and pick-up the rock, and through it towards the door. It is as if time starts to slow down and the rock sails through the air as if it has wings. It is only when the rock hits the glass door that the sound of the city comes back. The noise of the horns of the cars, and the people walking by being to sound louder and louder and louder, forcing me to cover my ears.

The shattering noise stops everyone in their tracks. It is like time stands still. Everyone in this world has been conditioned to be happy. They are told that everything will be okay, but for it isn't. They all look at me with shock faces. Everything goes black and the next thing that I see is the lights on the ceiling of a hospital. The beeping sounds next to my right ear, is the same rhythm of my heart beat. I hear the voice of my father coming from the hallway.

"You see," he says angrily. "He isn't getting any better; the symptoms of the deliria are increasing. Do you honestly believe that the cure will not be better than to let him continue his life like this?"

"Mr. Fineman," a doctor comes into view. "I understand your frustration, but you have to understand, that we have never had a case like your sons. I don't know if we can make a case for the cure now. We might have to postpone the procedure next week, until we know better the effects that they are having on your son's condition."

He places his hands through his hair in frustration. Obviously he looks upset, but at what I don't know. It couldn't be because of my well-being, but more about the promises he made to city officials that I would have it done by next week.

"Look I don't care what your opinions are," he says. "Our lawyer has a decree from the courts saying that this procedure will happen next week. You just make sure that none of this gets out, or I will have your ass."

My eyes move from the doorway, and then finally lands on the big round clock that ticks away the minutes and the hours, ticking towards the day that is sure to come. How can you stop destiny when it was what you were born for?