D. MacHale - SYLO

The door to the outside opened and two more medical guys in white jackets entered.

“Oh, man,” I said. “Again? What else do you want to squeeze outta me?”

“Please remove your clothing,” one of the guys said.

I looked at Granger, who had his eyes on his tablet. Glancing to the door, I saw the SYLO guard with his hand resting on his holstered pistol. I decided to cooperate.

“You’re not gonna use Q-tips again, are you?”

“No,” was the medical guy’s simple answer.

I took off my jacket and handed it to the first guy. He immediately searched through it, turning out all of the pockets. They did the same with my pants and my shirt. Whatever it was they were looking for, it wasn’t part of my physical body—which meant that Kent had just saved me by asking for the Wiffle ball. He must have known I would be searched.

I didn’t have to drop my boxers, I’m happy to say. The two were satisfied that I wasn’t carrying anything suspicious and handed my clothes back.

“Get dressed,” the first guy said and the two left.

“What was that for?” I asked Granger.

“A random check.”

“What did you expect to find?” I asked as I got dressed. “A weapon?”

“Information,” was Granger’s curt answer.

“How often are we going to be having these little chats?” I asked.

Granger’s answer was to turn out the light. The clear glass turned back into a mirror.

“Okay! See you next time!” I called out cheerily. “I’ll have the same answers for you!”

The SYLO guard opened the door and motioned for me to leave. I stepped out of the hut to see that it was getting dark. It may have been warm but it was autumn and the days were growing shorter. The guard led me back through the now-empty recreation area toward another gate in the fence. I followed silently until I caught sight of something beyond the fence near the food tent.

“Stop,” I said to the guard.

He spun around as if surprised that I would challenge him. His gaze traveled to what I was looking at.

“Can I have a minute?” I asked.

The guard hesitated as if unsure of what to do. Finally, he relaxed and said, “Make it quick.”

He stayed put while I walked to the fence. It was the longest walk I’d ever taken. Part of me wanted to get there faster, the other part wanted to turn and run in the other direction. My feet felt leaden, but I kept moving until I was standing right at the fence…directly across from my mother.

“Hi, sweetie,” she said softly. “How are you doing?”

Her eyes were red and swollen from crying.

I didn’t know what to say.

“I heard you would be by this way,” she said, her voice cracking. “I wanted to see you.”

“Quinn is dead,” I said flatly.

Mom closed her eyes as if the words physically hurt her.

“I know,” she said in a soft whisper.

It was all I could do to keep from crying myself. This was my mother. I loved her. She had taken care of me my entire life. She didn’t even want me to play football for fear I might get hurt and here she was standing on the other side of a fence from me in every way possible.

“Why?” was all I managed to say.

She opened her mouth, but didn’t answer.

“Did you know all along?” I asked. “Is that why we moved to Pemberwick? Was this all part of some plan?”

It seemed as though it was physically painful for her to keep the words in, but she did.

“Talk to me,” I begged. “Why can’t you tell me?”

I was starting to lose it. As much as I didn’t want to cry, I couldn’t help myself. Once I gave in to my emotions, I couldn’t hold back and the waterworks began.

“You can tell me the truth,” I said, pleading. “I mean, why not? It’s over for me now, right? I’m in prison. What harm can I do here? I just want to know what’s happening. You owe me that.”

Her tears flowed too. I honestly believe that it pained her not to tell me what I wanted to know, but something was preventing her. She wasn’t allowed to talk to a prisoner, even though he happened to be her son.

“Tell me!” I shouted.

The SYLO guard walked up behind me, took my arm, and said, “That’s it. Let’s go.”

“No,” I bawled and pulled away. My defenses were gone. I had become a desperate, lost little boy.

“Mom!” I screamed, my throat already sore from crying. “You’re supposed to watch out for me! How could you let this happen?”

Mom put her hand up on the fence and said, “You’re safe here. Tell them whatever it is they want to know.”

“But I don’t know anything! You never told me anything! Mom, what is happening?”

She pressed closer to the fence as if she wanted to get through to hold me. At least that’s what I hoped she was doing. I couldn’t be sure of anything. Not anymore.

“Tucker?” she said, crying. “Don’t trust anyone.”

Those words cut through to me. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I wanted her to tell me that everything was going to be fine and that she and Dad would take care of things and explain it all. Instead, she issued a warning.

My tears stopped. My head cleared. That was the moment that I fully accepted the truth.

I was completely on my own.

“Really?” I asked. “Does that include you?”

Mom winced like I had punched her in the stomach. It felt good—and made my heart ache.

“C’mon,” the guard said and pulled me away from the fence.

“I love you!” Mom called, sobbing.

I didn’t turn back and it killed me not to. I loved her too. She was my mother, for God’s sake. But she wasn’t taking care of me. Not anymore.

“That was a mistake,” the guard said. I sensed a touch of compassion.

He led me through the gate and along another corridor of fencing until we reached yet another fairway and a large, temporary wooden structure. He opened the door and gestured for me to go inside.

“What happens here?” I asked. “More questions? More searches? More tests?”

“It’s your barracks,” he said flatly.

Oh.

Inside were two rows of cots along the walls. It looked like a military barracks, with a small locker at the foot of each bed.

“Take number fifteen,” he said. “Soap and towels are in the locker. There are clean socks and underwear too. Leave your clothes on top and they’ll launder them overnight. There’s a library in back next to the bathrooms. Take what you want. Three-minute showers. Lights out at twenty-one hundred hours. Breakfast call at oh seven hundred. Any questions?”

“Yeah. Why am I here?”

He left without answering—no big surprise.

I counted forty bunks in all, twenty on each side. I wondered if any of them belonged to Kent. A few guys read in bed while others showered. With nothing else to do, I wandered to the library. It wasn’t much, maybe a hundred paperbacks tucked into a corner of the tent in a cheap bookcase, but it was more proof that this operation had been planned and prepared for. The books were brand new. Most of the bindings had never been cracked. They had been chosen, collected, and shipped to Pemberwick for the purpose of being used by prisoners in this camp.

I grabbed The Catcher in the Rye , one of my favorites. I sat on bunk fifteen and tried to focus on it, but it was a no-go. It felt too odd to be doing something as normal as reading. I was more interested in watching as the other men wandered in. I didn’t recognize any of them. Like in the food tent, nobody spoke and I wasn’t about to break the tradition. I decided to take a shower and grabbed a towel out of the footlocker, along with a new toothbrush and flip-flops. I put my clothes on top of the locker and went to the bathrooms.

It looked pretty much like the showers at school, with pump soap and shampoo dispensers on the wall. I took a quick shower in water that wasn’t quite warm enough, brushed my teeth, and headed back to my bunk.