TRIS
I'm awakened by a loud click, and I'm confused. I roll my head on my pillow and see bright numbers on the clock glowing 5:00 a.m. in the darkness. A switch flips and I'm temporarily blinded as everything goes painfully orange and pink, and I squeeze my eyes shut, hard, to block out the unexpected blaze. I blink rapidly, letting in gradually increasing increments of light until my eyes are able to adjust.
Andrew is standing by my bedside with an armful of cottony linens and towels. But I don't understand why he is here. Usually I wake up on my own long before Andrew comes. It's too early, I think, shaking my head, still groggy with sleep, as if the action will cause my brain to reset and properly order the events of the day.
"What are you doing, here?" I ask Andrew slowly, squinting my eyes at him.
"Matthew wants to get an early start on things. So I'm here to get you prepped for the experiment," he answers simply and straightforwardly, setting the pile on the counter and producing the clippers to remove my restraints.
The experiment. So it's Saturday, already. I knew it was coming, it just came faster, and earlier, than I expected it to.
"Prepped how?" I ask, sitting up and gently rubbing the raw skin at my wrists with one free hand, and then the other.
"You've got to have a shower, to start with. Any dirt or oil on your skin—residue of any kind—could interfere with the sensors that will transmit the data to the computers. You have to be perfectly clean," Andrew says, helping me out the end of the bed.
When my bare feet hit the cold floor, he lets go of my arm. He knows I can walk on my own, now, and I know better than to try anything. He grabs the pile of linens back off the counter and silently accompanies me around the bed to the bathroom, where he holds the door with one hand so I can pass through.
"Can I be entrusted to clean myself or do you have to do it to make sure it's done right?" I ask petulantly, glaring at him from where I stand next to the shower, unwilling to proceed until I have an answer.
"You can do it," he says, looking down at the floor. "I'll stand over here by the door. You let me know when you're done."
I nod and my lower lip trembles.
I haven't had a shower since before Beth stopped coming. She used to help me and, while it was still embarrassing, every single time, I eventually got a little used to her being there. She was nice about it and only helped when I really needed it.
Andrew angles his body away from me so that he's looking out the door rather than at me, and I hastily pull the thin white gown over my head and slip into the shower. It takes a minute for me to adjust the water temperature, and then I step under the full force of it's flow, enjoying the way it feels as it moves over me. I use the soap that's already in the shower and linger until the water starts to turn cool. Even then, I stay. I don't know how long it will be until they make me lie back down in the bed—or whether I'll ever get out of it, again.
Finally, I shut the water off and hear Andrew walk across the bathroom, stopping right outside the shower. He shoves his hand through the curtain, holding out the soft white towel he carried into the room. I run it over my skin, absorbing every last water droplet until I am as soft and dry as the towel used to be.
I toss it through the opening between the curtain and the wall, and Andrew's hand appears, again. This time with a new white gown. I lower it over my head and slide my arms through the holes. It smells fresh and reminds me of flowers my mother used to like. I almost hate that I notice things like that, that all my senses are still so alive and aware. Part of me doesn't want to feel anything. And part of me grasps desperately after it all.
When I'm done and there is no excuse to remain any longer, I come out of the shower and follow him back into the main part of the room. I stand in the corner, watching him busy himself, grateful that he doesn't make me sit or lie down, yet.
"What are you doing, now?" I ask, fidgeting with the hem of the gown.
"Changing the bed-sheets. We're not taking chances with any dirt, dust, or skin cell particles compromising the sensors' conductivity," he says, matter-of-fact, as he strips the old linens off the mattress.
It's not that I can't see what he's doing, or that I even really care why he does it, it's that I suddenly feel compelled to say—something. Andrew and I never talked much, but somehow, the impending possibility—likelihood—of my death loosens my tongue. Like anxiety is bubbling up from the pit of my stomach and spilling out of me. My hands shake, and I concentrate on making them stop. But it doesn't work, so I let them shake.
He throws the old sheets in a pile by the door, lays the bed down flat, and remakes it. When he's satisfied, he tucks the dirty linens under his arm, turns to me with a small smile, and says, "Matthew will be in shortly to start setting up."
"Wait!" I say, coming around the bed and wringing my hands, unable to hide my increasing agitation. "Why is Matthew here? I mean, why is it so—so soon?"
"Because Matthew expected it would take us a little while to get everything ready and, more importantly, he doesn't know how long it will take to—," he pauses and, I think, looks at me sympathetically, "how long it will take to collect the data. And after that, how long it will take to process it."
He doesn't know how long it will take to collect the data. In other words, how long it will take me to die or not die. I breathe, in and out. In and out.
I look at Andrew, again, and ask urgently, "But how is he here, already?"
Matthew never arrived so early on any of his previous visits, and I know he works back in Chicago during the week. I just can't seem process it all, but I need to. For some reason, being able to comprehend even the most minute details feels essential. It is the small things that I cling to.
"The funding for the project included the use of a private plane, when needed. That's how he got here so quickly when you first woke up," he says, looking at me uncertainly, as if trying to determine if it's safe to step out of the room without restraining me, again.
But I don't want to be restrained, yet. I need to be free, for as long as possible. So I try not to look as crazed as I feel and just nod at him to communicate some level of acceptance.
He leaves the room, and I begin to pace the short distance between the walls. It feels like they are compressing me, like the room is shrinking. I'm short of breath and my body feels both heavy and light, and I wonder if this is how Tobias felt when he was trapped in his fear landscape box. I hold my hands to my temples, willing myself to be calm and controlled. But my mind is full of everything and nothing. How can I control that? How can I even comprehend it?
I am startled by the click at the door, and I actually jump when Matthew enters the room, pushing a large cart that holds various monitors and machines. He carefully maneuvers it into place by the bed and begins to untangle and organize the mass of wires. It looks very like the machines Jeanine used to evaluate my brain functions and test her serums in Erudite headquarters.
I involuntarily back into the wall behind me and watch, motionless. I am so tired of being everyone's test subject.
Matthew glances up from his work and notices my tense stance, how I'm pressed into the wall. "Tris," he sighs, as if he's addressing an irrational, childish fear, "I wish you wouldn't be so upset about this. It's all going to be fine." And he smiles at me.
I stare back at him, disbelieving. He is the delusional one, and he doesn't realize it.
I shake my head and keep shaking it until the door clicks, yet again. Andrew walks back into the room, followed by Beth and Terry, the guard. It's getting close, now, and I will not be able to resist all of them. Andrew comes over to me, takes me gently by the elbow, and says, "It's time to lie down on the bed, now."
My eyes widen and my breathing becomes shallow, but I go where he leads me and climb back into the bed, positioning myself on my back. I close my eyes and try to shut down my senses. I ignore Beth checking my heart rate and recede deep into the dark, where it is safer. I ignore Andrew and Terry tightly fastening my wrists and ankles back to the bed rails. I am not afraid of the dark, like a child. And I was never afraid to die. I was ready, once, and willing.
But not like this.
I ignore Matthew carefully and precisely attaching sticky electrodes over the surface of my body. I am not here. I am in a safe place. In the dark. Tobias is there.
We are in the Dauntless compound, huddled together on the rocks above the Chasm. It is dark and damp and the wild waters are rushing beneath us. One mistake and they would envelope me forever. My adrenaline is pumping, but not because I am afraid. It is because he is looking at me—wanting me—the way I have wanted him. He kisses me, and it feels like I am finally alive. Alive in the place where death takes you. Safe in the place that is not.
Because he is there.
"I have a few more electrodes to place on her head—I have to get those just right—and I'll run a few baseline tests through the machines to make sure they're picking up all of her brain functions and relevant systems," Matthew calls into the Chasm, "and then we'll get started."