In The Clear: Pre-Games VIII
Lyanna Coramar, 17, Brandon MB
No matter how long she's spent in similar rooms, the slow passage of time hasn't gotten any easier.
Lyanna traces a scratch along the table's surface, the only one close enough to reach. There are two others she can see without getting up, one longer than this and one wider. The second, longer one climbs down the edge of the table before disappearing below it. The rest of the table is nearly untouched except for the dull spot directly across from her.
She wishes she didn't know so much about a fucking table.
Lyanna sighs and turns slowly around the cell block. She's the only one here, been the only one here since the afternoon sessions ended. While Eris, her assigned partner, disappeared as soon as the game was over, Lyanna still hasn't risen. She doesn't see much of a reason to. She isn't hungry and isn't quite ready to drag a privacy sheet to the bathroom again.
That leaves her with only one option - the boring one. More hours of nothing because she'd rather sit here than explore like some lost idiot. Some of the others seem to be having a good time with it, but not her. Lyanna's not going to pretend this place is anything different from her last prison. She's not going to believe in freedom without proof.
Lyanna wants so desperately to find evidence in the surrounding walls, but she doesn't.
No matter how long she stares.
She cups her chin in her hand and closes her eyes, blinking back the growing fatigue. They aren't tears. Lyanna's told herself enough times that they can't be. She isn't sad, because sadness would be useless right now. Anger, determination - those are the emotions she should be feeling. Lyanna would even settle for content, but that's not what she feels.
If she said she was feeling nothing at all, would anyone believe her?
Does she believe it herself?
Lyanna traces the same crack in the table, because when she looks down that's what it is. It isn't a scratch like she thought earlier, not when her nail disappears within it. A polish or buffing wouldn't take it away, in fact trying to do so might shatter the whole thing. No matter how hard someone goes at the crack with a sander, it'll still be there. It's as much a part of the table as the shiny black colour, no matter that the table wouldn't want to admit as much.
And Lyanna is still only talking about the table.
She sighs and her eyes find the line of cells beside her. It hasn't gotten dark, but her internal clock seems to believe it's getting closer to night. Truthfully, Lyanna doesn't know how far she can trust the feeling. It didn't get dark last night at all. The same glowing haze from the roof stared down at her all night. It was only the actual lights that turned off, but it wasn't near-dark enough to hide.
The cell walls are glass. Lyanna could see every bed in a perfect circle of cells, just as every bed could see her. She stared forward at the staircase for as long as she could keep her eyes open. She refused to meet anyone's eye no matter if she could feel them draining her.
What could Lyanna offer them? Answers? Comfort? A delusional sense that things are going to change - oh wait most of them already seem to have that one. Her bars were as firmly shut as everyone else's. She couldn't give them anything and, if she could, she wouldn't.
She doesn't even have enough for herself.
That's why Lyanna's found herself here while the others cook meals or talk in persistent chatter. She can lie to herself and say she prefers it - maybe it's not even a lie at all - but the real reason is obvious. She doesn't see a point. This place isn't a respite, it's a prison. There might be no guards, but there are just as many exits. She can't pretend that things are okay when they're obviously not.
Maybe that's why she never tried to make friends when they moved. She always understood that there wasn't a point. She always told herself she'd be happier without more goodbye texts to send and for a while she believed it.
Then, she just didn't want to change. Lyanna was good enough without it. If her parents didn't have to move so much she would be popular, happy, and have all the friends she used to want. If her address didn't change, Lyanna would have countless awards and opportunities knocking at her door by now. Prairie Hope seemed to be proof of that.
It is proof. Agent Nguyen chose her out of so many people that knew Amadis better, that were familiar with the school and city. He wanted her help, not theirs. There was something special about Lyanna as she is without friends, without smalltalk, without all the other things she doesn't want to take part in.
Footsteps turn Lyanna's attention before she can move to her cell. She meets the tired gaze of one of the girl's, her pale expression tightening when she sees Lyanna. She's seen her a few times, enough to know that she sleeps a few cells over. That doesn't mean either has ever spoken a word to the other.
Lyanna's not sure why that fact sticks in her mind. It should be fleeting, like every bother that wasn't a bother because she could do little to change it. The kids in her school rarely gave her more than a glance, certainly no second greeting once she ignored the first. Lyanna stayed down here because it doesn't bother her to be alone. In fact, she prefers it.
Yet, when the timid girl slinks towards the cell block with her eyes now downturned, it does bother her.
"Nice seeing you as well," she says through clenched teeth. The girl's expression snaps up to her and Lyanna has to purposely tear her own eyes away. She can feel her cheeks burning and the only thing she can think of to hide it is to look at her bare nails.
The girl stands frozen halfway between the table and her cell. Any thought Lyanna had that she might snap back dissolves in 017's wide eyes. She can practically see the frightened tears welling up inside them.
And for some reason that doesn't feel good either.
"Forget it," Lyanna says softly, turning away from her entirely. Nothing she's doing is making her feel better. All she's doing is attracting unwanted attention. "Have a good night."
017 doesn't seem to get the very obvious hint. Despite not being able to see the girl, Lyanna can still feel her eyes burning a hole in her back. She closes her eyes and tries to relax her shoulders. She pictures all the muscles releasing until her posture is once again perfectly, effortlessly straight. That's what people are supposed to see when they look at her.
If Lyanna could see herself right now, she's sure she'd be humiliated.
"You too," 017 says finally, her voice kinder than Lyanna expected. She half-expects her to say more, maybe to sit down in response to the invitation that Lyanna didn't even extend. That's what's supposed to happen right? That's what she's been so afraid of after all. If she's kind, the expectation is always more. Unapproachable is easier. Unattainable is perfect. It's best for Lyanna to project a persona that's too good for anyone so that no one will try, then be disappointed when she doesn't know what to do next.
She doesn't want any of their expectations. She has more than enough to deal with already.
Yet, there's a part of Lyanna that's disappointed as the girl's footsteps start trailing away.
Shane Kilroy, 18, Whitehorse YK
As the first tone ends, Shane can't help his gaze from flickering straight to hers. When Bridget doesn't so much as move her elbow from the table, it's easier to keep his own feet planted. The surroundings don't change. The people who had been here left long before the tones. It's just the two of them, and it's beginning to feel like it's always just been the two of them.
Shane's hesitant to label anything as 'normal', but this feels as close as he can remember. The table feels secure under him; the air feels natural flowing through his lungs. The way that Bridget sits, her chin cupped in her hand and eyes blinking boredly, tells him that she feels the same. She feels settled, and that makes it easier for him to feel similar.
He lets a deep breath escape slowly between his teeth. Bridget's presence comforts him, and he's not quite sure why. He feels like maybe he remembers her - the sharpness behind her eyes, the surety of her voice - but he knows he doesn't. Shane didn't know her name before she said it this morning. If he's being honest with himself, he'd been expecting a different one.
His brows furrow. She isn't the name that's been following him, yet she feels so familiar. Shane feels more at ease looking towards her, like she'll know what to do when he certainly doesn't. Bridget's eyes aren't familiar, but the feeling he gets when they answer his unspoken worries is.
In the most confusing yet comforting way, she - her presence - feels normal.
Not close to normal, normal.
Shane should worry about that, but he doesn't. He simply follows, like it's what he's always done though he knows he hasn't followed anyone in a long while. He's followed rules, he's followed directions, but not all from the same tongue or pointed stare. Shane followed them because of the guns on their hips, the ones that always turned red if he stared too long.
He followed them because he saw what happened when the others didn't. He followed because he was scared, because he was lost, and because he didn't know what other options he had. This place is different.
There are no crimson guns. There are coloured bands, but he hasn't seen red yet. Orange, blue, grey, but no blood. Bridget's bands are green.
None of those colours scare him.
The only thing that's come close is the piercing tone from moments ago. It sent a chill up Shane's spine that made him want to jump up from his seat. In another room, another prison, he would've done just that. He remembers the rules from the screens. He knows that he should be heading back downstairs.
Yet, that doesn't scare him either. Bridget is firmly planted at the table, bored and certain of the plan she told him hours ago. As Shane remembers her words, he no longer feels any pull to his cell block. They're going to stay out. They're going to find a way out - anywhere that's not here, just like Bridget said. He doesn't know where that will lead him, but he'll follow.
It's the first thing to feel right in a long time.
"Scared?" Bridget says. Her voice is as sudden as the tones, as pointed as it's been each time she's spoken. She stares at him as if measuring every facial feature, as if expecting him to bolt the second that sound begins to leak from her throat.
"No," he answers quickly.
She sits up and her eyes scan his expression a second time. It's as if she's looking for something, but whatever it is she doesn't seem to find it. Instead, her lips pull into the slightest hint of a smile. "Good."
It takes Shane far too long to think about grinning back. It feels unnatural to try, his back teeth landing against the inside of his cheeks and his lips pushed too far forward. Thankfully, Bridget is watching the screens which have come alive with the earlier rules. By the time she looks back, Shane's expression has returned to his usual straight-lipped frown.
She doesn't seem to mind. Her own lips have stopped pulling upward and she looks as bored as before. There's something else there - excitement, anxiety - but Shane isn't confident enough to name it. This is her plan, so he goes with the former. She wants to escape and the time for that is getting close.
And, no matter how many times Shane's heard whimsical whispers of freedom that never came to be, he actually believes she will.
If anyone can do it, it's Teagan.
Bridget. If anyone can do it, it's Bridget.
But the first name sticks far too long in his mind. They feel like one in the same when, in reality, they couldn't be more different. For one, Teagan is a name he doesn't understand. It pushes its way to the forefront of his mind, but as soon as he gives it any attention it's gone. It's not something he can look at or even think about.
At best it's a ghost, perhaps someone that existed or a missing part of himself.
Not real. Bridget is real. She's right in front of him, close enough to touch if there was any doubt in his mind but there isn't. She's real.
That fact itself is more of a relief than Shane cares to admit.
Their shoulders tense in unison as the second set of tones begins. His gaze snaps back to her as Bridget's flickers to the ground. It's back a second later, just as sharp and just as determined as the last time. That's why the silence that follows doesn't scare him. Not even when the lights all snap at together into darkness.
Bridget stands, and he follows quickly. The room doesn't look any different aside from the heightened shadows. Shane glances up and sees, alongside the stagnant shadows, the same blue haze still above them. It's just bright enough that his eyes don't need time to adjust.
"What now?" He whispers.
Bridget doesn't answer immediately. Instead, she looks around the room and Shane allows his gaze to follow. There's nothing amiss, but the silence makes the air feel heavier than it'd been moments ago. Finally, Bridget points towards the stairwell. "This way."
He nods and follows without hesitation. Her steps are slower, more careful, but Shane doesn't think they look afraid. Not until she spins completely to face him, her eyes wide with worry that hadn't been there moments ago.
He heard it too.
Shane swallows as his limbs begin to tremble despite his demand for them to still. He slowly cranes his neck down to the glass floor. His heart is beating so strongly in his ears that he doesn't think he'd hear Bridget if she tried to speak. Even so, the soft creaking beneath his feet manages to push through.
"Don't move." He doesn't need the warning. Despite the shake that pulses through body, his soles are all but glued to the floor.
Shane watches as thin lines start to form beneath them. Identical ones sprout from where Bridget stands. He's trying desperately not to panic, but there's no denying what's happening. The glass is cracking.
And there's a two story drop waiting below.
"What do we do?" Bridget asks. He can hear the tremble in her voice but he doesn't want to. She needs to know, she needs to choose, because he can't. All Shane can do is stare down and wonder if the fall is far enough to kill them both.
She reaches out quickly and grabs his arm, digging her nails in until he's sure she's broken skin. "Shane?"
"I don't know."
The creaking's only getting louder. The only thing Shane can hear over it are her panicked breaths, which are only getting faster.
"That way," she says finally, still not letting go of his arm. "To the stairs and don't stop until you're there."
He nods. Even the slight shift of his weight to the opposite foot seems to lengthen the fault lines. He tries to ignore it, instead looking at Bridget. She clenches her teeth and stares at him with wide eyes. It feels like hours before she finally nods and the pair takes off running.
The sound of shattering glass follows close behind. Bridget's nails still have a firm grip on his skin as he pulls her forward. The solid platform is only a few meters away but crossing it seems to take years. By the time Shane finally pulls her onto it, they're both covered in sweat and trembling enough that the ground itself seems to shake.
"What was that?" Bridget gasps. She still hasn't let go.
Shane doesn't even have time to shake his head before the threshold goes dark in front of them. He starts to stand, but he can't even see his hands in front of him. It feels like the floor is moving, but nothing in the pitch darkness even flinches. Shane's stomach turns as he plants both palms firmly against the floor.
It takes less than a second for him to recognize the scream that comes next - the same amount of time that it takes to realize he can no longer feel Bridget's nails in his arm.
Whatever grabs him next has none of her hands' warmth.
Riley Lenihan, 18, Turney Valley AB
There used to be something comforting about getting locked in a cell at night.
Back then, Riley didn't have to consider his surroundings, who was in them, or what they might do. It wasn't that the other inmates bothered him because, truthfully, most in his old prison left him alone. However, there were always exceptions, always new kids trying to pull up their big boy pants. It wasn't uncommon for them to try their luck with the toughest-looking inmate they could find.
And then there's Noam.
Riley lets his face drop into his open palms as he sits at the edge of his cot. The darkness he finds there is easier to swallow, but he knows it's a lie. Riley would rather lift his head and see pitch black than the glass walls between his cell and the others. At least then he wouldn't feel like a fucking monkey in a zoo.
He peers over his hands just enough to see the next cell over and the back of the person housed inside. Lilliana's already curled up on her own cot, and thankfully facing away from him. She looks like she might even already be asleep. Annoyingly enough, Riley can all but feel Noam's eyes boring into his back from the cell behind him.
He wishes everyone would just leave him the fuck alone. Noam, his stupid friend, everyone that tries to make small talk in the common spaces when Riley's forced from his cell, all of them. He wishes the voice would stop making him look after Lilliana like she was some kind of pet. He wishes he could just be allowed to just be until his sentence is over.
If they're not going to help him, he wants nothing to do with them. Riley knows by now that no one's going to try so neither is he. They won't tell him what's happening with Alec; won't even give him the tiniest ounce of comfort in knowing that he's okay.
They can all jump off a bridge for all he cares. Honestly, if it weren't for Alec, Riley would be tempted to follow to make sure every last one of them drowned. At least that would make him feel better.
He runs his hands down his tired expression. Sleep, at this point, is his only priority. Riley isn't delusional enough to believe there's some magical escape door. He doesn't care enough about the social hierarchy to fight his way to the top. None of it matters. One day at a time. Try not to snap on the lot of them which will get him nothing but a longer sentence.
Riley stiffens as he hears something tap on the glass behind him. He knows what he's going to find, but isn't fast enough to stop himself from turning around. If possible, his frown deepens when he sees not one but both of his idiot neighbors pressing their stupid fucking faces into the glass.
Noam smiles proudly when he turns around. Meanwhile Vasi just continues to distort their features against the glass. Not for the first time, Riley wonders why he hasn't smashed both of their mouths against the concrete just to shut them up.
It's not like the rules are enough to stop him. He doesn't give a shit about the voice that's all but abandoned them since yesterday. Maybe breaking a couple of its precious rules will bring it back so he can ask what the fuck it had to gain by lying to him.
Riley has to physically stop himself from slamming a fist into the glass behind his bed. He knows it won't break. He knows it won't stop Noam or Vasi from making some big joke out of this whole situation. He knows it won't change anything about his existence here.
Yet, it might make him feel better and that's almost reason enough.
Is it against the rules?
Who cares?
Riley hates the answer that comes next. He fucking cares. No matter that there's a mountain of evidence that the voice was lying about freedom, he cares. They haven't heard a peep from the stupid voice all day, only a Siri-sounding asshole that ordered them around. He's still in prison. Riley signed the fucking contract and not a goddamn thing has changed.
Yet, he's still on his version of best behaviour. He hasn't punched Noam square in the face for refusing to stop screaming his name. He hasn't tried to shatter the glass around him. He's playing carefully by their stupid rules even if nothing's going to change for him if he doesn't.
Because this is still his best chance.
No matter how much it hurts to let himself believe that. No matter that every hour that passes here makes him want to rip that optimistic part straight out of his brain. If it'll take him to Alec, it's worth it.
Riley's never been hopeful. Not when police knocked on their door to say that both his parents were rushed to the hospital. Not when Daniel packed up their youngest brother and left Riley to fuck up the family farm alone. Not ever; at least not until Alec.
That's when Riley knew something had changed. The moment he heard about Alec being in the hospital, his first thought was that he had to be okay, that things weren't as bad as people said. He believed he'd rush into that room and find Alec laughing at how worried he looked. For the first time, Riley knew that everything would be okay and, also for the first time, he was wrong.
Optimism does nothing but hide the truth.
Yet, even sitting here miles away from Foothills, Riley can't bring himself to search for anything else.
He closes his eyes as the first sounds start to fill the glass. Riley feels his stomach turn as a shrill creak seems to cut straight through him. The sounds are louder than last night, when the first hours were barely able to carve through his fractured sleep. He managed to get some shut eye, enough to feel about as alive as usual, but he doesn't have high hopes of the same tonight.
Riley swallows and curls into the cot, pulling the sheet up and turning so that he can't see whatever antics the clown car is going to try. Last night it was Vasi pretending to play the violin to the creaking glass accompanied by Noam's pitiful attempts at dancing to them. If Riley cared even a little bit, maybe he'd be curious to see what they'll come up with. Thankfully he isn't.
Instead, he faces Lilliana's cell. One thing he still doesn't understand about this prison is the warden's apparent insistence on bringing them together. Riley doesn't mind as much as he thought he would. She's not even close to the most insufferable inmate, just strange. The first time he saw her, there was an emptiness in her eyes that looked a lot like when the nurses checked Alec's pupil responses.
He can't help but shiver as he remembers.
Yet, there have been moments of almost-clarity that make him wonder. Until late today, she either couldn't hear or couldn't follow the voices' directions, leaving Riley to basically drag her to the various rooms. As far as he knows, they're the only exceptions to the "no touching" rule. It feels like the voice almost… pities her.
Which lends the question, is the voice the reason she's like this… or is it, somehow, trying to help her?
As if she can hear his thoughts, Lilliana suddenly turns on the bed. She doesn't look in his direction, or even seem to really notice him. He can see her expression though, and it's pointed enough to force his eyes to follow.
And at nearly that exact moment, a scream forces him upright.
It's not muffled, there's no mind-wandering thoughts of where it might've come from or whether what made the sound is even human. It's as clear as if the person were hiding under his bed. Every hair stands on end; every muscle tenses as if preparing for a fight but nothing on this level has moved since. Everyone seems to be staring in the same direction - up.
Riley squints as he surveys the upper levels. For a while, nothing looks out of place. He can't see anyone at all, let alone anyone that might've made that sound. Then, a spot of darkness pulls his eye and refuses to let go. He traces the dark shape that's taken over a piece of one of the upper levels and that's when it clicks.
None of the rooms above him have been dark since they all opened up yesterday. Besides furniture shadows, the middle stairwell has been the only dark part of the prison. Now, there's another slice that's gone black.
He can't for the life of him remember what's supposed to be there. Riley searches every memory of the upper floors, but finds every room accounted for elsewhere.
Then, another scream makes him shiver.
And the only thing he can do is tighten the pillow around his ears to stop himself from wondering.
A/N: Hello again. Not much to say here, besides that I hope you've enjoyed this little extra drama (and the flashbacks some of you may be experiencing). Sometimes kids wish to make mistakes and I have to allow it, unfortunately it's the law. I'm sure everything's fine.
Reminder that the poll's still up on my profile for those who've yet to vote. I recommend voting.
~ Olive