Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Daisy
Isit at the table and wince as my marker slides across the page, ruining the coloring I’ve been doing for the past two hours.
Ugh! Do I actually care? Is this how far I’ve fallen?
I’m bored out of my mind. There used to at least be classes like art and music that we could do, but I haven’t seen any evidence of anyone external coming to teach the residents anything.
I’m also not allowed anywhere near the computer, and, as far as I can tell, no one else at The Heath is either. It’s not even plugged in.
They did let me go out for another jog today, though. No Blanks attempted to come with me this time either, but I’m sure they kept tabs on me from sections of the path that are visible from the house.
My lips twitch. I guess Sue and Philip learned their lessons.
Sue does keep staring at me more than usual, and I think she might be giving me nasty looks, but she hasn’t bothered me.
Philip hasn’t been back to work since his shift ended the day he fell.
I heard one of the Blanks say to another that he’s off with a sprained ankle for a few days.
Janet, that reporter, is definitely gone.
I haven't heard anything about her at all. I went up to the art room and checked under the floorboards. The papers were gone, but the flash drive was still there. I’m guessing she didn’t see it.
I’ve left it there for now in case she comes back, but it’s been a few days since she told me who she really was.
I’ll have to take it with me when I escape.
It shouldn't be too long now.
Even though no one was with me on the run, I still made sure to do exactly the same one as I did before, and I’m keeping to my plan of not drawing attention to myself in any way. It's important that nothing I do seems suspicious.
So, even though I can hear that William is being bullied by Crewes and one of the other Blanks, I make myself sit still though my body is shaking a little with the effort it’s taking not to help him. I find another page in the coloring book and begin again. I can’t intervene. What good would it do?
But then I hear a slap, and Crewes threatens William with the Board again. I clench my eyes shut. I shudder. It's been a long time since I was subjected to that, but the memory has stayed with me.
I hear another slap and a low cry. I don’t even know what William’s done wrong this time.
I’ll bet he doesn’t either. And, all at once, I can't take it anymore. It’s wrong.
It’s so wrong! Before I know what I'm doing, before I can talk myself out of it or remind myself that this is a very bad idea, I’m rising and turning around to face them.
They have William trapped in the corner. He's up against the wall, tears tracking down his cheeks. They're looming over him, saying nasty things, telling him he's useless and asking him why he can't understand anything. Why can't he just do what he's told and follow the rules?
I see myself in his place a decade ago, the Blanks goading me, breaking me down, correcting me for stupid things, trying to change the way my brain works.
Crewes is jabbing William hard in the chest with his finger, scolding him in a hushed voice, and then the other one takes William by the throat and squeezes.
William isn’t looking at them, but his hands rise to pull ineffectually at the fingers around his neck.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen something like this, but I can't just sit here and take it today. Before I know it, I'm across the room, wrenching the other Blank away, and punching him square in the face.
'Bloody hell!' Crewes snarls, yanking me backward.
'You bloody bitch!' the other Blank snarls, his arm swinging in an arc and backhanding me across the cheek.
Pain explodes in my eye and the side of my face, and Crewes lets me fall. I go down hard onto the linoleum with a low thud.
Crewes says something to the other Blank in a hissed voice I don't catch, and I’m grabbed by my hair and hauled to my feet. I scream through clenched teeth and flail, trying to get out of his grasp.
'You're going to Stoke,' Crewes snarls, dragging me down the hallway toward the office.
'Good!' I yell back, my fingernails scratching at his hands.
He lets out a muffled bellow as my nails rake across his skin. As soon as we’re at Stoke’s door, he pounds on it hard and grabs the walkie-talkie from his belt.
'Code 43,' he says into it and I let out a gasp.
I know what that means.
Crewes pulls my head up so that he can look into my face and smiles nastily.
‘Good luck,’ he grates out. ‘After that stunt, you’re going to need it, you little bitch.’
Stoke opens the door. I'm dragged in and pushed into the chair in front of the good doctor’s desk.
'Stay where you are,' Crewes snarls at me.
He tells Stoke what has happened in the doorway. I turn around to stare at them, giving Crewes the nastiest look that I can muster.
'I’ll take care of this,' Stoke murmurs, calm and stoic as ever.
He closes the door and comes slowly toward his desk. He sits down. He just watches me for a solid minute, and I watch him right back.
I've just blown my plan to smithereens. There's no way he's going to let me out on a jog after this. I won’t be going anywhere without close supervision. I won’t be by myself at all.
God, did I really just assault a Blank? What was I thinking?
My stomach twists. Code 43 is for a very specific correction. A bad one.
I glance outside. There's frost all over the adjacent roof. This isn't going to be fun.
'When did you realize?'
I blink at him slowly, his sudden question taking me by surprise.
'Realize what?' I ask after a few seconds.
He rolls his eyes and writes something on a notepad.
'That there was no illness, no delusion. That the story we told you is a lie.'
I say nothing.
He lets out a chuckle. 'You think you're quite clever, don't you, Marguerite? But you aren’t. You have no idea what's going on.'
'Why don't you enlighten me, then?' I say through my clenched teeth, tilting my head at him, even though everything in me is telling me to get out of the chair and run from the room.
But there’s nowhere to go. Instead, I clasp the seat, making myself stay rooted to the spot.
'Your father—’
‘He’s not my father!’ I snarl.
‘Your father has offered me—' He shakes his head a little at his slip. 'Offered The Heath a sizable donation that will keep us open for many years to come.’
‘And what do you have to do for it?’
‘He simply wants you kept here, safe and sound, while he deals with some business. He sees now that you weren’t quite ready to leave us.'
I scoff loudly. ‘Spare me.'
Stoke’s lips turn downward, mocking me, I think. ‘And it’s likely you never will be.’
The threat is clear, and it makes my fingers splay out in my lap. I don’t bother to hide them.
'So, I’ll do what he asks,' he finishes, now ignoring me completely. ‘And if we can remind you of how a young lady is meant to act at the same time, then all the better. Perhaps, if you are ever permitted to leave in the future, I can send you back better than when you returned to us. But you clearly aren’t equipped for life in the real world.’
I openly sneer at him.
'And when your father is ready—'
'John Novelle is not my father,' I snap again.
Stoke rolls his eyes. 'It’s time to grow up, Marguerite. When it’s time for you to marry—'
My eyes narrow. 'I'm not marrying. Joe Banderville is dead.'
'The groom’s name is immaterial. Your family has already decided that it will happen one way or another.
’ Stoke smiles. 'This isn’t a debate. You don’t have a choice.
The ceremony might even happen here, actually.
And after it’s done, perhaps I’ll advise your new husband, in my capacity as your doctor, that you remain at The Heath indefinitely.
It’s quite obvious from your outburst that you’re much too fragile to leave your home, my dear. '
‘This isn’t my home,’ I hiss.
‘Of course it is.’
My lip curls. 'I’m not going to play your games anymore, nor John Novelle’s.'
But Stoke doesn’t say anything more. He’s pressed the small red button on his desk. The door opens behind me, and two Blanks come in. One of them is the man I just hit.
'Take hold of her,' he says.
I stand up and futilely try to escape around them, but of course they catch me easily. Held firmly in their grips, I feel the jab of a needle in my arm.
‘You won’t get away with this!'
But then I feel my body weakening.
When I open my eyes, my spirit sinks even though I knew this was coming.
I'm lying on a dirty cot in the corner of a stone room. White paint peels off the walls in great, flat pieces. The tiny window high in the wall is barred with a thin pane of glass just beyond the iron rods. I shiver. There isn’t even a blanket in here.
I walk across the room to the door. There's a cup of water by the slot they open to give me my meals.
They've put me in a quiet room, one of the cells they keep clear in the cellar for purposes of extra correction.
The door is iron, and I vaguely recall that this place was used by the forces in World War II.
They kitted out the cellar of the manor house into a kind of bunker.
The walls are naturally thick and they installed practically impenetrable doors.
The cold is as pervasive as a winter storm. It seeps up from the very floor.
I go back to the cot and huddle in the corner, trying not to touch the cold walls. I fold my arms and my legs underneath me, my teeth chattering violently.
How long can Stoke conceivably leave me down here?
I’m not sure. There’s a camera in the corner, its little red light blinking once in a while to show me that the system is actually up and running.
I guess it’s to make sure I don’t die down here.
But the blinking light stops as I stare at it.
It’s down again. Are they even going to know if it gets too cold?