Lone Girl (The Wolfling Saga) (23 page)

“I – I am just another patient inflicted with Lycanthropy who-”

To my surprise Tom actually laughed. “They’ve already got you using their terminology.
And did you happen to read the page that defines this so-called ‘illness’ Lycanthropy?” His fingers formed air-quotes.

“Well, yes, I read everything,” I said, a prickle of fear coursing through my spine. I was coming to realize the point he was trying to make.

“Lycanthropy, by definition, is a highly dangerous and contagious disease that causes the sufferer regular outbursts of violence and madness,” Tom recited word for word.

“So I just agreed that-” I couldn’t finish my sentence.

“You have just signed a document stating that you understand and
agree
to their definition of Lycanthropy. You have just
confirmed
that you are suffering from said disease and-” He checked them off on his fingers as he listed all of the mistakes I had made. “-You have agreed that they can forcibly detain you under the circumstance you prove to be violent and dangerous.”

“It’s just a giant trap?”

Tom nodded.

I sat in silence. I’d been foolish. “But – but Professor Colt said I could leave whenever I wanted to.”

Tom chuckled. “Yeah, of course you can leave – unless you’ve got something in your D.N.A they want. Like I do.”

“What will happen if I
try to leave?”

“Exactly what happened with me,” he said. “They will tackle you to the ground
and when you try and fight they will sedate you and drag you back inside.”

“But
why
? Why would they do this? Don’t they want to help?”

“Oh, sure they do,” Tom said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Of course they want to help. They want to heal us, make us better - by any means possible.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“They are using us, Rose. They take blood, tissue,
saliva, even semen. I’ve been told that they’ve harvested some women’s eggs.”

“But
aren’t they doing this to find a cure? Don’t you want to be fixed?”

Tom laughed. “You think they’re trying to find a cure?”

“Well … why else would we be here? Why else would they want our D.N.A?”

Tom smiled. “Why do you think they’re keeping me here?”

“Well, Colt said it’s because you’re a wanted criminal.”

“Right, that’s the excuse they’re using,” said Tom, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “They find any excuse they can, any reason
and then they begin testing. And now they’ve got a guinea-pig that can heal faster than anyone else.” Once Tom had rolled his sleeves up past his bellows he held his arms out for me to look at. I gasped.

The inside of his arms were riddled with bruises made from numerous needles entering his flesh.

“What is all that?” I asked, jumping up from my seat and hurrying to his side.

“They haven’t had time to heal,” he said weakly. “They’re harvesting blood samples every hour of the day
and night.”

“Hey, what did I tell you?” the Orderly banged on the door. “
Do not approach the patient
.”

“Every
hour
?” I gasped, running my fingers along the inside of his elbow.

“
Do not touch the patient
!” The Orderly yelled, fumbling for his swipe-card.

Tom spoke quickly. “As far as I know I’m the only one who is getting this kind of ‘special treatment’. They’ve been injecting me with all kinds of infections and diseases, even poisons. Then they take blood samples to see how my body is reacting to the foreign contaminants. Half the shit they’ve put into my body should have killed me.”

The Orderly burst through the door and grabbed me by the arm. “
Stay away from the patient
,” he repeated to me.

“Let her go!” Tom strained against the handcuffs, the metal digging into his wrists.

“Why are they doing this to you?” I gasped, fighting the pull of the Orderly.

“Don’t worry about me, Rose. Just
leave
this place. They will let you go willingly if they don’t know what you can do.”

“I can’t leave you here,” I said, slipping from the Orderly’s grasp and clinging to Tom. “I can’t-”

Tom pressed his forehead to mine. “Don’t let them find out what I saw,” he breathed. 

I looked into his eyes, frightful, before nodding slowly.
The Orderly took me by the arm again and this time I allowed myself to be steered out of the room, leaving Tom handcuffed to the table.

“So I heard you had a little run-in with one of our Orderly’s.” Professor Colt sat behind his desk, smiling politely at me.

“It was just a little misunderstanding.”

“Is that so? Why don’t you tell me about it?”

I gave a nonchalant shrug. “I just missed Tom, that’s all. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen him. The Orderly told me not to approach him, not to touch. But I did anyway.”

“And you resisted when the Orderly tried to protect you?”
Professor Colt shuffled some papers on his desk.

“He tried to pull me away from Tom. I wasn’t ready to go.”
I fidgeted, remembering what Tom had said.
Just leave this place. They will let you go willingly if they don’t know what you can do.
I still was not convinced that I could potentially change when it wasn’t a full moon. Professor Colt interrupted my train of thought. “You understand that the rules are in place to protect you, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but Tom isn’t a threat to me.” I tried to wave it aside.

“How did your conversation with him go?” Colt asked.

“Good,” I said. “We – we managed to s
ort out a few misunderstandings. If I could just spend some more personal time with him – out of handcuffs, in private-”

“With Tom’s unstable condition we are restricting his access to the facility.”

“What does that mean?”

“Tom will spend his free time in his room. Of course, all of our patients are required to partake in our fitness program for one hour each morning – Tom will be no exception.”

“He will only be allowed out of his room for one hour a day?” I asked in disbelief.

“No, no. He will be granted access to the cafeteria for half an hour at meal times.”

Two and a half hours
; that is all the freedom Tom would get. I suspected they were keeping him under lock and key to take blood samples every hour, just as Tom had said.

“If
Tom can prove that he is trustworthy then we will be more lenient. But for now he must live with the consequences of his actions.”

I knew there was no point in arguing.

Just leave this place.
I couldn’t take Tom’s advice. Not while he was stuck here being injected with all manner of things. It was worse than prison. He was a lab-rat.

“All right,” I nodded. “Well … I’d like to meet the others – properly this time.”
I needed answers from other patients.

Colt nodded in approval. “No detours this time?”

“No,” I promised.

“Good. Well, lunch has just started. Why don’t I take you down to the
cafeteria?”

~

Professor Colt walked me through the facility to the cafeteria. Before he pushed the doors open I could hear a great deal of chatter and laughing coming from the room. As I entered the talk died down and several people looked my way, staring unashamedly.

Colt did not enter the cafeteria with me; he smiled encouragingly and left me to my own devices.

I walked with shaking legs and grabbed a tray on which to put my food. As I picked up a salad sandwich, an apple juice, and a bowl of red jello I could feel their eyes on the back of my head. With my tray full I turned around and looked for somewhere to sit.

The
thirty-six other patients did not sit together. Instead, they sat in groups.
Just like high school
, I thought. Their groups seemed to reflect the different ages of the patients.

Two men and one woman, all in their late fifties and of Native American decent sat together at the far end of the cafeteria. They didn’t talk, nor did they seem interested in staring at me like everyone else in the room.

Five teenagers, two girls and three boys, including the pimple-faced youth I’d spoken to earlier, sat together on the far left. They only looked a few years younger than me.

Three middle-aged women and one man sat with four young boys all under ten years old; the youngest of which appeared to be no older than
seven. I could only assume these were the parents of the children.

A party of ten and the largest group by far sat around a table in the centre of the cafeteria. They were the ones who had been talking and laughing loudly. Made up of four woman and six men,
they seemed to be in their late twenties or early thirties. I couldn’t help but notice that all of them were exceptionally good looking.

The rest of the patients sat in groups of two or three, with the exception of one young woman who was the only person to be sitting alone.

With shaking legs I made my way over to the lone girl, holding my tray in trembling hands. She was one of the few that hadn’t been staring at me. She simply sat and read, her food untouched.

I stopped next to her and saw that
she was reading one of my favorite books; To Kill a Mockingbird. However, the text was in another language.

“It’s a great book, isn’t it?” I said
.

She looked up.
“Oui,” Her bright blue eyes were framed by thick spectacles and her black hair was tied in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. She was thin and pale, but there was something pretty about her I couldn’t put my finger on.

“Hi,” I said.

“Allo,” she replied, staring at me.

“Um, do you mind if I sit with you?” I’d never been good in social situations.

She simply nodded.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, placing my tray upon the table and taking a seat. I looked over my shoulder to catch a few of the other patient’s watching me.
I turned back to the girl, trying to ignore the murmurs in the cafeteria.

“What’s your name?”

“Marcelle.” She placed a book-mark into her book and closed it. “You are Rose, no?”

“I am,”
I said. “Where are you from?” I certainly did not want to talk about myself.

“Quebec,” she smiled. “You?”

“
A small town in Oregon called Halfway,” I said, glancing over my shoulder as the larger group laughed in unison again. I had a horrible paranoid feeling they were making jokes at my expense. Turning back to Marcelle I saw that she was glaring at the group, her expression icy.

“Hey, I don’t mean to be rude, but what’s the deal with everyone
here?”

“What do you mean?” Marcelle cocked her head to the side.

“I mean, like, does everyone get along?”

“For the most part,” she shrugged. “There are no physical fights, anyway.”

“I just noticed it seems very … segregated.”

Marcelle pulled her glasses off and folded them on top of her book. Her eyes looked small without them.
“That big group over there,” she nodded to the party of ten. “They all knew each other before coming here; a high school camping trip twelve years ago gone wrong. They were all turned at the same time. Two of their group died from the attack. They’ve all stuck together ever since.”

“What about the others?”

“Almost everyone knows someone. There are friends, siblings, parents, husbands and wives. When someone is turned it’s highly likely they will also turn someone close to them on their first full moon. If they don’t kill them,” she added darkly.

“And they’re happy here?”

Marcelle gave a tiny shrug. “They know the devastation an attack can cause and this is the safest place for them.”

I could see no hint of a lie in her eyes
. “Have you ever left this place?” I asked. “Or ever tried to?”

Marcelle shook her head. “I have been here
one year.”

“Has
anyone
ever left?” I pressed.

Marcelle pursed her lips and seemed to be thinking back. “Not since I’ve been here. I mean, I hear the others talking about past patients that have since left, but that was before my time.
Why?” she asked slowly.

I didn’t care that I wasn’t being subtle. I wanted to
find out as much as I could about the patients.

“I’ve just … I’ve never met
such a large group of Werewolves. It’s intimidating.”

“We prefer the term ‘afflicted’ here,” Marcelle said. Even the patients didn’t refer to themselves as Werewolves.