Harbinger (11 page)

Dr. Mordoch was getting her audience warmed up. Her voice grew louder as she strode back and forth in front of us. Her tone had an edge to it. And after an hour of doing nothing, people were ready for some excitement.

“Buddha says, ‘There is nothing more dreadful than the habit of doubt. Doubt separates people. It is a poison that disintegrates friendships and breaks up pleasant relations. It is a thorn that irritates and hurts; it is a sword that kills.’”

A few heads were nodding now. They might not know what she was talking about, but they could smell blood.

“This Family has wounded you all with the seeds of doubt they’ve planted. Can you trust them? Can you trust the people sharing the table with you? Can they trust you?” Dr. Mordoch paused dramatically.

Students were looking around their tables, examining their Family members. Dr. Mordoch had them right where she wanted them.

“We must heal that wound through open, honest dialogue. This Family needs to hear how their disrespect made you all feel.” She turned to us. “I will start.”

“I feel like you were selfish to disobey your Aunt.” Dr. Mordoch looked at me, but I refused to meet her eyes. I had no interest in seeing what lurked inside that woman’s mind. “I feel like you were selfish to feed your own egos while the rest of the students were hungry and waiting.

“Now it is your turn to repeat what I’ve said. I must know that you’ve heard my feelings. I must know you are engaged in the healing process. You will answer my statement with ‘We were selfish.’”

Is she kidding?
I felt Dr. Mordoch’s eyes on me again. Daring me to speak. To protest. To struggle against the humiliation. The silence stretched on until two of the Takers stepped toward us, Tasers at the ready. Then Damion’s booming voice shook me.

“We were selfish.” Damion was standing at attention. He frowned at the rest of us, and I remembered what he had said about falling in line.

Reluctantly taking his cue, I mumbled along with the others, “We were selfish.”

“Now who will stand up and go next?” Dr. Mordoch’s face was calm and reverent. Her arms opened wide, entreating the room full of silent students. But they weren’t quite ready to turn on us.

“Only when we understand one another can we be a community. And only then can we sit down and eat together.”

That was the final push they needed. Hearing the word
eat,
a skinny guy sitting in the back stood up. Dr. Mordoch was throwing us to the wolves.

12

“PLEASE COME TO THE FRONT
and share with the Family.”

The volunteer didn’t look like he enjoyed the eyes of the whole school on him as he walked through the tables. But once he was standing in front of us, face-to-face, he seemed more confident.

“You think you’re better than us.”

I knew he was probably just hungry. I knew he didn’t know me personally, but I still felt like I’d just been smacked. Dr. Mordoch turned to my Family, cueing us with the right response.

“We think we’re better than you,” we mumbled, repeating the words.

“Louder!” Dr. Mordoch shouted.

“We think we’re better than you.” My thin voice was amplified by the group, so our words filled the cafeteria. Giving them the weight of truth.

Dr. Mordoch smiled and turned back to the lanky guy. “Thank you. That was very brave of you to go first. You have earned the right to reclaim one of your confiscated possessions.”

That got the room’s attention. Four more people stood up, and standing next to me, even Damion seemed unnerved. He glanced at me, and in his eyes I saw the wall that he had built there. A wall that Holbrook was destroying, brick by brick.
What happens when it falls?

As students moved to the front, I studied the new volunteers. They still looked nervous. But I could see an eagerness in their faces as they tried to think up good enough complaints to earn back their treasures.

A geeky boy spoke softly, focusing in on me. I could smell the sour sweat on him. “You’re on a power trip. You just love us sitting here, waiting for all of you.”

“We’re on a power trip,” we echoed.

Dr. Mordoch nodded her approval at him and the volunteers got gutsier.

“You think you’re such a rebel.” A mousy girl with a long nose jabbed her finger at Nami’s hair. Then she turned on Kel. “And you in those stupid gloves. Looking so goddamned smug.”

The next person interrupted, not waiting for us to repeat. And the next. And the next. All those years of being outcasts, of being bullied by kids, yelled at by teachers, analyzed by counselors and parents, had prepared these students perfectly for this moment. Those endless taunts and accusations had become ammunition they spewed at us.

“You screwed up your life!” a guy yelled at Zach, his twisted face glowing in the suffocating heat. “But you’re not gonna screw up mine.”

People murmured and nodded in agreement. The whole room stank of malice. And they kept coming. Finally, they had someone to blame for being abandoned here.

Our whole line backed away from the horde, but we only gained a few inches before the backs of our legs hit up against the platform that held the teachers’ tables. Damion managed to keep his face blank, but red patches darkened across Kel’s cheekbones. Anger drawing his whole face tight. He pulled on the neck of his hoodie, like he was trying to loosen it. Maya and Zach both turned inward. Zach’s body hunched, trying to present a smaller target. Maya folded her bony arms tight across her chest, like literal body armor. Nami shielded herself with a permanent smirk that only seemed to be making people madder.

“You hate us. You don’t even care what happens to us.” They were building momentum.

“You hate everything about your stupid little life.” Building on each other’s words.

“I’m not gonna take your shit anymore!”

It was an intoxicating chorus. Dr. Mordoch’s eyes sparkled as she called on them, one after another. But she kept the smile off her face. Giving credibility to this mob scene.

“You’re nothing!” a girl screamed at me.

And then a wad of bread hit me in the face.

There was an almost imperceptible pause while the whole room absorbed what’d happened. Dr. Mordoch just stood off to the side, a peaceful look on her face.
Is this the compassion from other troubled kids that she told my dad about?

Then all hell broke lose. A volley of limp green beans pelted us. Blobs of artificial cheese flew through the air. Streaking my jumpsuit. Salty on my lips. Someone shoved Damion and I heard him mutter, “Stand down,” to himself, even as his whole body leaned forward. Straining against his urge to fight back.

“Enough!” Dr. Mordoch’s voice rang out from the sidelines. The whole room froze as her words echoed off the walls.

“I understand your anger. You are here trying to get better. But these students”—she waved in our direction—“are standing in your way.”

Dr. Mordoch’s words seemed to sap the energy from the near riot. A disappointed-looking girl dropped her handful of squooshed vegetables. A squat guy in mid-swing looked up at Damion’s bulk and backed away. One by one, they returned to their seats.

“We must not give in to violence. But, I believe your honesty today has helped these students. Perhaps they will decide, as you have, to seize this opportunity to choose a new path. Let us solidify our new openness by sharing a meal.”

All I wanted was a cool shower to wash off the slime. But now we had to endure lunch. None of us looked around as we threaded our way through the tables to our seats.

Dr. Mordoch’s eyes stayed on me, so I forced myself to take a bite. Bile launched itself up my throat and I fought to swallow. The rest of the Family didn’t even bother to pick at their food. We gazed around the table at each other. Where there had been fear this morning, now there was only anger. It’s never good to know you can be traded in for cold macaroni-and-cheese.

The rest of the day was a sort of fog. The food stains on our jumpsuits were like the bandages on a leper. The other students avoided us, moving as far away as possible as my Family trudged to English class, back to the cafeteria, and finally to our rooms.

The linoleum was clean, without a trace of the disturbing events of the morning, and I hoped it would stay that way. Neither Maya nor I talked as we crawled into our beds, the nightly drugs seeping into our systems. But this time, it was exhaustion that kept us silent. We were on the same side now.

13

I FELT LIKE
I’d been run over by a truck. At least that would be something I could explain. As it was, I was on the floor under the window, my mouth tasting like clay and pennies. Grit crunched between my teeth, and my hands were stained blood-red again. Maya, eyes closed, was sprawled across from me in the same condition, and between us was another picture on the floor. Or more accurately, there was more of the same picture.

In the light of early morning, I could make out a thick, crudely drawn person on the linoleum. Like something out of a cave painting. One solid line outlined stubby arms and legs. But no face.

Instead of a mouth or eyes, there was the exact same symbol from the first morning in the exact same spot on the floor. The V with wings.

Plunk.

A fat drop of water splashed to the floor. The first of a hundred tiny wet circles.

Plunk. Plunk. Plunk.

I turned my palms over, catching the rain seeping from the ceiling. Letting it wash away the red grime from my hands. The water was so cold that it burned my skin. The ice froze my thoughts. It seeped into my chest.

Fear is an illusion.

I forced myself to take a deep breath. But more water surged under the door, its blue foamy fingers reaching for me. Clawing at my feet. Drenching the legs of my jumpsuit.

The waves swirled around the picture on the floor, leaving the drawing untouched. I waded over to the island of dry linoleum in the center of the turquoise water. I’d seen this shape before. I knew I had, but I couldn’t remember where.

Beneath the roar of the incoming waves, I heard the eerie music again. I traced the person and the symbol with my finger, and there was familiarity in the movement. This picture was in my style. These were my lines.
I’m in control.

An edge of excitement gilded my fear. I’d lived so long with these nightmares and visions. And now, for the first time, I dared to think there might be a reason.
I’m in control.

The music rumbled through my bones and my heart pounded with it.
Fear is an illusion.

When I looked back down, the water was gone. My jumpsuit was dry. I was kneeling bloody handed on the floor, but now the arcane symbols were a puzzle to be solved.

“Another one?” Maya was awake now, looking at me.

How does she know about the visions? Did she see the water too?

She pointed at the floor. “But this one’s different.”

Maya was talking about the drawing. Of course she didn’t see the water—it was a hallucination. My excitement drained away. Maybe the symbols were nothing more than my next stop on the crazy-train.

Keeping the disappointment off of my face, I nodded at Maya and she crawled over, inspecting the figure and symbol drawn on the linoleum. In the dawn half-light, Maya was a study in shadows, darkening her eyes, outlining her jutting collarbones, hiding her face behind her hair.

“You know what it means. Don’t you?” She stared at me, her look tinged with suspicion. By now, I recognized her distrust for what it was. The haze through which she viewed the entire world.

I went to the bathroom, grabbing a wad of the scratchy toilet paper. Buying time. Scrubbing at the floor with the flimsy square sheets. But Maya waited for me to answer.

Finally, I forced myself to meet her gaze and she looked back. Her pain infested me, and for the first time, it wasn’t just emotions. Or words. Vague shapes played out scene after scene, like hideous shadow puppets cast against the wall of my subconscious.

A man pinning Maya’s hands behind her, his fingers crushing her wrists.

A boy who promised to protect her, but lied.

Maya hiding under her bed, a skinny cat clutched in her arms.

Suddenly, our first conversation replayed in my head.

“Why do you even care?”
I’d asked her.

“Because someone has to.”

But who had cared about Maya? As the twisted shadows acted out the nightmare of her childhood, we both shuddered. I kept my eyes on Maya, even though I didn’t want to, witnessing her torment. Because someone had to.

Finally, the memories cleared, and on the other side of all that violence was the same steely-eyed Maya. It seemed unbelievable that she was unfazed by the shared vision. Was it possible that those scenes were always unfolding in her mind? That because she lived in that eternal hell, she hadn’t noticed that, this time, I’d seen it too? Or maybe it hadn’t happened at all.

Either way, Maya sat there looking at me. Still waiting for my answer.

What could I tell her about the drawings on the floor or our red hands?
I keep having these hallucinations, but it’s no big deal?

Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure I didn’t kill anyone?

“Come on, Faye. I saw you looking at that column yesterday with the same mark on it. What’s going on?”

A warm breeze trickled in through the open window, whispering of ancient forests and murky seas. I felt the contradictions of this place. This patch of forest surrounded by wasteland. A Family bound together but without trust. And I made a decision.

“Maya, I really don’t know what’s going on.” Nausea rolled in my belly and I was still dizzy from the torrent of Maya’s shadow scenes. Her pain had been so vivid, like the terror I’d felt through Dr. Mordoch in Solitary. But that vision of the beach had been my memory too. Only it’d felt like I was remembering something backward. Or maybe inside out.

With Maya, each memory had been ripe with new horror. That’d never happened before. And I hoped it never happened again. I pushed the images away, filling the space with a stream of words. “I didn’t want to say anything yesterday, ’cause Damion was kinda . . . intense about what’d happened to us. But I think that flying-bird-V-thing is some kind of symbol. It’s like something from a dream. But I have no idea what it means. If I did, I would tell you.”

She squinted at me, crossing her arms. Years of betrayal binding them across her chest.

“I promise.” I willed her to believe me.

The overhead light flicked on and Maya made a decision too. She nodded at me and went to get more toilet paper.

As Nurse’s voice screeched through the speakers, I closed the window for the second morning in a row. A flicker of green streaked across the rooftop of the other wing of the dorm. Then it was gone. And like with everything else that’d happened since I came to Holbrook, I was left with one more question.

Kel wasn’t at breakfast. Damion and Zach just shrugged when I looked pointedly at the empty seat. A cold knot of fear formed in my belly as I remembered how gray Kel had gone yesterday in Socialization.

Today there were grits and greasy sausages on our plates, the first meat we’d had since the meat loaf, and I saw the outrage on Maya’s face. Damion must have seen it too, because he shot her a threatening look, showing her his red-stained hands. Reminding her why we couldn’t risk getting into any more trouble. A war waged across Maya’s face as she stared from the sausages to her own hands. Trying to decide where her loyalties lay.

Nami ended the stalemate. She unfolded her paper napkin and, keeping her hands low, placed her sausages at the center. Then she removed the offending sausages from Maya’s plate too, and handed the napkin to Zach. He glanced quickly around the room, hesitating. But Nami gave him a nudge and he followed suit.

I added my sausages to the collection, but when I offered the oily napkin to Damion, he wouldn’t take it. He and Maya locked eyes, a silent standoff. This time, Maya showed Damion
her
red-stained hands, and gave him a bitter smile. Turning the warning back on him. Nami added a little eyelash batting to the mix and Damion shoved his sausages into the napkin. Crisis averted.

I glanced around the room. Had anyone else noticed our little drama? But the other tables were busy with their own power struggles. Here and there, scattered around the cafeteria, were tiny marks of individuality. A pair of earrings. A baseball cap. Pink lip gloss. All the students with accessories had two things in common. Each of them had a smug smile and an aptitude for berating us at lunch yesterday.

A big guy, with a gold chain around his neck, grabbed the last sausage off a runty kid’s plate and stuffed it in his mouth. There was no protest, no reprisal. A new hierarchy was emerging at Holbrook, and I guess I had my answer about Kel’s hoodie and gloves. And a hundred more questions. Was he spying on our group? On me? Was this why he wasn’t at breakfast?
What secrets is Kel trading for his freedom?

I pushed away the suspicion. Instead, as the Takers led us out of the cafeteria toward class, I focused on the winding hallways of the Compass Rose, searching for another flying-bird symbol anywhere. But there was nothing.

We didn’t go back to the Knowledge Annex for classes. Instead an “Uncle” with a trim beard and a paunch met us outside the Compass Rose.

“Welcome to Art and Life. The essential lesson you must learn is that art is first and foremost about truth. Before you call yourself an artist, you must be able to accurately perceive reality and reproduce it faithfully. Only then can we see the truth of ourselves within this reality.” Art Uncle counted us and frowned, looking as if he didn’t like the reality that he saw in front of him.

There was still no sign of Kel when Dragon showed up with a note and a nasty look on her face. And I regretted the ugly assumptions I’d had about Kel at breakfast.

Worry settled in, nesting in my mind. It whispered nagging thoughts to me.
Maybe he’s sick. Maybe he’s locked up again. Maybe he’s been sent away.

Art Uncle read the note and started down a trail. “Okay, let’s go, then.”

Damion, always the good soldier, was right on his heels. Nami sidled into line in front of me, giving me a wink and a little eyebrow waggle in Damion’s direction.

Art Uncle led us into the woods, and as the trees closed in around me, I could feel their branches reaching down for me. Their roots snaking up through the earth toward my feet. As I climbed up the hill on the far side of campus, the wind picked up. It hissed through the branches like it was calling to me.

I tried to shake off the sensation, but my legs were stiff and my brain was sluggish. A blur of white caught the corner of my eye. Rita, her blond braid glowing in the sun, wandered through the trees, heading toward the ocean. With everything that’d happened in the last two days, I’d forgotten about her. But here she was again, free and alone, without any Takers.

As she disappeared into the woods, I longed to run after her. To beg her to show me how to get out of here. But I remembered Damion’s warning to us. Fall in line.

So I did just that. Forcing my feet to march one in front of the other on the well-worn path, I watched the mix of boot and sneaker treads imprinted in the dirt. And then I noticed the footprints.

I stopped dead. Zach ran into my back and Maya into him.

“What is it?” Maya demanded in a harsh whisper.

Hoping to stop her questions, I said, “Tell you later.”

Then I hurried to catch back up with Nami and the rest of the line. Now that I was watching, there were footprints everywhere. Toe and heel marks where bare feet had walked this path. Recently.

Art Uncle stopped at the top of the hill near a stack of easels. But the path went on, toward the Screamers. The bronze statues lurked in the distance, almost hidden by the trees. I shivered, thinking about their terrorized faces.

“Everybody gets one.” Art Uncle handed me a set of watercolor paints and my mind went blank. All I could see were twelve bright circles of color nestled in the plastic box.

It reminded me of my first watercolor set I’d gotten right before I started elementary school. It must have been just after we moved to Pennsylvania, but before oil levels had peaked and fallen. My mom had taken me grocery shopping. Thinking back now, it seemed impossible that there were ever shelves and shelves of food. A whole aisle of cereal. Twenty different kinds of toilet paper. Now, even with mandatory paper recycling, there was still just the government-issued kind.

But back then, the grocery store had everything. They’d set up a little back-to-school display with markers, boxes of waxy-smelling crayons, and paints. I’d flipped open the lid of the plastic box, and suddenly, nothing else mattered. I wanted those colors so badly.

“We don’t have time for your wandering.” Mom grabbed the paints out of my hands, shoving the box onto a shelf with crayons and colored pencils. “The Samsons are expecting me at their house in twenty minutes.”

She’d loved being a realtor back then, when there was still plenty of money to be made in the housing market. When people didn’t have to go through a whole application process to be accepted into a Cooperative.

In the checkout line, Mom chatted with the cashier, practicing her client smile while she rummaged for her wallet. I could see the back-to-school display from there, the pristine, white box of paints sitting crookedly in the wrong part of the display. My mom was focusing too hard on being charming to notice me.

So I ran over. When I reached out my hand, I swear I was only going to return the paints to their right place. But as soon as I touched them, I knew they belonged to me. I knew I needed them.