Distortion (Den of Deception #1)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

‘ I want my mom.’

I draw my knees up to my chest and rock in the chair, breathing in the unfamiliar scents of disinfectant and the stale smell of nicotine. The doctor, or one of the orderlies is a smoker. They just had a cigarette, too, I’ll bet. The smell is all around me. It’s strong and it makes me want to plug up my nose. The chair under me has a leather seat and back, but it’s hard and it slips, making it difficult to sit in it comfortably.

I close my eyes a little under the fluorescents in the office. They’re harsher than the ones I have to deal with every day in school. I didn’t think that was possible, but as I try to keep my gaze away from the glare of them, I’m sure it’s not just the fact that I’m tired and scared. They emit a low buzzing sound, too. Not for the first time today, I wish I could shut off all my senses.

I shift, trying to make my jeans gain purchase on the seat as I take in more of my surroundings. I try to find something, anything I can focus on that doesn’t make me feel worse. But it’s too hard. Even my favorite jeans aren’t comfortable right now. They might as well be made of sandpaper. The tag on the back of my new shirt with the landmarks of London in it that Mom bought me tickles the nape of my neck for the thousandth time today. I asked Mom to cut it off this morning, but John told her not to. My shoes are too tight and my socks feel wrong. I blame him for that as well. He wouldn’t let me fix them before we left the hotel this morning. Said we were in a hurry and he wasn’t going to be late because of me.

As usual, Mom did what he wanted.

I try not to think about John. He’s an asshole and thoughts of him will get me worked up even more.

How long am I going to be here?

Mom and John told me this was a sightseeing and shopping trip, but as soon as we were done in London, they brought me to this place. They left me in the car and, at first, I’d thought John just needed to have an impromptu work meeting. He’s in pharmaceuticals and I’m pretty sure he said he had a board meeting sometime today, so it was logical to assume.

But then two men in white uniforms came out and ordered me out of the car. When I resisted, I was dragged from it and they locked my arms behind my back. I screamed for my mom, but she didn’t come. I was marched up the impressive stone steps and into the building I thought was a stately home like one of the ones we saw while we were exploring the capital. There was a sign that said, ‘The Heath’.

But once we got inside, I saw it for what it was.

The Heath is an institution. I can tell because it looks like they do in the movies down to the off-white linoleum floors.

John threatened to send me somewhere more than once, but I hadn’t realized how serious he was, and I’d thought Mom would ...

‘Do you know where you are, Marguerite?’

My eyes find the doctor who’s sitting at his desk. He’s wearing a white coat over a suit with a name badge that says, ‘Dr. Stoke’. He’s got sandy hair that’s greying at his temples and long features with an angular nose. The rest of his body looks a little too short for his face.

‘I want my mom,’ I say again.

‘Your mother and father have brought you to us to be cared for and treated for your condition. Do you know where you are?’ Doctor Stoke asks again.

‘John isn’t my father.’

Doctor Stoke seems to puff up in his chair. ‘You’re new here, so it’ll take you some time to learn the rules, Miss Novelle, but when I ask you a question, I expect you to answer it.’

I’m not a Novelle.

I say nothing, but my arms flail a bit, and I look at the desk.

Stoke lets out a long breath. ‘I can see that Doctor Novelle wasn’t exaggerating when he explained your case, Marguerite. Looks like we’re going to have our work cut out for us.’

He smiles.

I don’t like it.

‘But, not to worry. We’re very good at what we do here.’

What do they do here?

But I don’t ask. I want my mom.

Stoke stands up and I see that I was right. His body doesn’t look in proportion to his face. He’s probably not much taller than me and I’m five foot. He moves around the desk slowly, but my eyes don’t leave it’s dark wooden surface as I catalogue the items on it.

A laptop.

A white spot lamp.

A fancy-looking fountain pen made of wood that I like the look of .

‘Look at me, please.’ The words are polite, but I don’t like them either.

My eyes flick to him and then away.

‘No, Marguerite, into my eyes. We look into each other’s eyes when we speak. That’s one of the rules here.’

But I’m not speaking, I want to say.

I steel myself because I know what he’s doing. John made me look at him often enough. I hate it, but I can do it.

So, I do.

My arms flail as I glance at his eyes quickly and then look away again.

Stoke lets out a soft snort. ‘Well, I suppose that’s the best I can hope for so early on. Let’s begin, shall we? Here, we put our feet on the floor and fold our hands on our knees. Sit up straight with your shoulders back. That’s how we sit. Do you understand what I mean?’

I frown. I didn’t see him sitting straight with his hands in his lap.

I don’t move. My eyes flit around the room, and I rock a little harder.

Stoke steps closer. He looms over me, and his hands dart out. He pushes my legs down and takes my wrists in an iron grip. It’s gentle but firm.

I balk, rearing back in the seat and making it teeter on two legs for a second before he pulls it forward and he forcibly guides my hands down. He puts them on top of my thighs, his weight baring down on me and making me panic.

‘Here,’ he says calmly.

My fingers straighten and splay out as a cry bubbles up from deep inside of me.

He holds me in the position he’s put me.

‘You will sit like this unless you’re told differently,’ he states while my head swims and I struggle in his grip. ‘Now, we need to put a special belt around your leg. This is for your wellbeing and for safety of the staff at The Heath, all right?’

He doesn’t wait for me to answer; just looks past me. ‘Around her left leg, please, Douglas.’

An orderly steps forward. He kneels down and carefully rolls my pant leg up. His hands are cold. Like a lizard or a snake. A shiver runs through me as he fastens a band around my calf. It’s tight and has a long, metal piece attached to it.

‘This is called a GED,’ Stoke says, his face much too close to mine as he keeps me in place. ‘Or, some of the staff call it ‘the stinger’.’

I flinch away from him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

‘We find these helpful in reinforcing the rules at The Heath.’

Douglas, finished with his task, stands and takes a couple of steps back.

Stoke finally lets me go, and my arms immediately flail. I draw my legs up to my chest again.

‘That’s not how we sit here, remember?’ Stoke shakes his head a little in my periphery when I don’t move.

‘Very well. It appears that I’m going to be showing you how it works, Marguerite. I want you to know that this correction will only be administered once today. This is so that I’m sure that you understand the consequence for noncompliance.’

He then looks at the orderly and nods.

Pain courses through my body, and I squeal, falling out of the chair and crumpling to the manila linoleum of the office floor.

When I come to a moment later, the orderly is picking me up gently and depositing me back into the chair. My hands are placed in my lap and, though my fingers splay out, I leave them there.

‘The GED will be activated in two-second bursts whenever you’re in need of correction while you’re here, Marguerite. Now, do you know where you are?’

I’m not stupid. If I don’t answer, I’ll get another shock.

‘In England,’ I whisper.

‘Yes, that’s right. Clever girl . You’re in England. This is The Heath, a home for youngsters with problems like yours. Do you know why you’re here?’

Because of what happened after school.

‘Because I’m ... difficult.’

He chuckles. ‘I wouldn’t quite put it like that but your father has told me the details of some of your recent behaviors and we think we’ll be a good fit for you.’

He smiles and sits back at the desk while my mind reels and my arms jerk as I crush my hands together. Did John tell them what happened? Do they know what I did? Is that why I have the ... stinger on?

The doctor keeps talking, discussing me aloud as he looks at a file that I suppose John gave him from the doctors at home because it’s thick. There’s more in there than they could possibly have found out about me in the hour I’ve been here.

He says something about my good grades in school and how I’m clearly brighter than I seem, that I must be able to understand verbal commands and how that’ll make my treatment a much simpler process so long as I cooperate. Being here is what’s best for me, he explains, and one day, I’ll thank my mother and father for bringing me here to learn to be like the other children.

But John isn’t my father. I’ve already told him. Why is he still saying it?

After that, I tune him out.

I want my mom.

‘... to the second floor. Get her showered and changed. Then, show her around her new home and tell her the rules. Her comprehension looks to be fine according to the documents her father has given me, but give her a few days to settle in. After that, begin following the correction protocols if she misbehaves.’

He’s not my damned father!

I glance up at the wall behind the desk. The doctor looks at me, still sitting how I was told, and writes something on the paper in front of him.

‘Very good, Marguerite. You’re already learning, I see. You will be allowed a pudding at dinner tonight.’ He gives me a small smile. ‘That’s dessert to you. You’ll also be permitted to sit with the others in the common room afterward for one hour. Once you’re settled in at The Heath, we’ll begin our work. We have several classes you can try, including art. Would you like that?’

No, I wouldn’t. But I remember Jack told me about questions like this after I had a problem with one of the teachers in school last week. He said that the question is pretend because the adult has already decided the answer, so you have to tell them what they want to hear because they don’t really care.

They want a ‘yes’, so I jerk a nod.

Looks like Jack was right because Stoke doesn’t ask me anything else.

‘Good. Good. I know you’re going to be very happy here with us, Marguerite.’

Stoke motions at the orderly, and I’m unceremoniously pulled to my feet with a firm hand on my bicep. When I pull away, I vaguely notice the orderly’s finger on the button on one of the several clear tags hanging from his belt. It has my school picture on it. But he doesn’t press it.

‘Now, Marguerite. You don’t know your way around yet, so Douglas will show you to your room and find you some clothes in your size. You must do as you’re told. You wouldn’t want Douglas here to take your pudding privileges, would you? I think it’s treacle tart and custard tonight. Won’t that be nice?’ he asks with a condescending lilt that I don’t like.

I’m thirteen. I’m not a baby.

Douglas takes me by the arm again and yanks me out of the office. In the wide corridor, he pulls me along toward some steps and urges me up them. He makes an annoyed noise at me when I stumble.

‘Do as I tell you, and we’ll get along fine,’ he grates out. ‘But if you take the piss, my girl, you’ll know about it!’

He fingers the button with my face on it again, and I hang my head, meekly following him up the stairs and wondering when my mom is coming back for me.

The trip was only for two weeks. She’ll come for me when it’s time to go back to Connecticut ... won’t she?