Zachary Rawlins: The Anathema

They were twelve dull metal doors arranged in a rough circle around the chamber. An interrogation platform, strewn with the tools of the trade, sat in the middle of the room, where it could be seen from every cell. They didn’t do any actual work there, Todd explained nervously, but it was effective psychologically as a reminder of the prisoners’ eventual fate.

“Never mind that,” Rebecca snapped, striding past him, walking around the perimeter of the room. He noticed that she trailed her hand along the cell doors as she passed, touching each one, but he could not imagine why. She glanced inside the little observation window inset in the metal door labeled ‘8B’, and then snarled at Todd.

“How do I open this?”

Todd rushed forward, glad to be of use. He keyed the code into the terminal mounted flush with the concrete wall next to the cell, and the magnetic locks clicked open with a sigh. Rebecca stepped inside, wrinkling her nose at the smell, while Todd watched through the partially open door.

Prisoner 8B was lying on the concrete in the corner of the cell, as far as she could get from the hole in the floor that served as the toilet. The sheet draped across her shoulders was torn and dirty, her clothes underneath little more than rags. Rebecca crouched down, brushing the woman’s tangled hair back from her face, revealing black eyes and a bloody nose. For the first time, Todd noticed that the prisoner’s hair was not actually black — there was a half-inch of pure white at the roots, and he stared at it, trying to wrap his mind around it. The woman didn’t look much more than thirty, but her hair was as white as the paint on the walls.

“Oh, poor thing,” Rebecca clucked, cradling the prisoner like a child. She reached into her sweatshirt pocket and came up with a black bandana that she tied around the unconscious woman’s head. “That should protect your little secret, you conceited bitch,” she said, with obvious fondness.

The prisoner’s eyes fluttered open, and Todd felt a sense of genuine shame for a moment. Then fear reasserted itself.

“Alice? Do you recognize me?”

The prisoner stared blankly for a long while, and then she gave a slow, hesitant nod.

Rebecca smiled and patted her forehead.

“You don’t have to talk, sweetie, I can hear your thoughts just fine. You don’t have to remember anything. My name is Rebecca Levy, and I am your friend. I have been your best friend for years and years, and I am here to take you back to your home, where I can help you get better,” she said softly, her voice so soothing that even Todd felt lulled by it, suppressing an urge to yawn. “Everything is going to be alright, and nothing is going to hurt, I promise. Now, I’m going to put you to sleep, and you aren’t going to dream at all, and when you wake up, you will feel better, okay?”

She didn’t get a response, because the prisoner was already asleep. Rebecca dragged her carefully out of the cell, laying her down on the cleaner floor of the hallway. Todd made a motion to help, but she batted his hand away with a glare so fierce that he shrunk back into the corner, crouched with his hands up protectively.

“You don’t touch her, you bastard,” she hissed, advancing on him with a cold and cruel expression twisting her face. “You should have run away, I might have forgotten about you. Since you didn’t, I have something for you. A gift for what you’ve done to my friend, and all the others.”

Rebecca paused to light another cigarette from her pack. She coughed once, cleared her throat, and then continued in the same sharp, angry tone.

“You see, Todd, this is what I really do. My other job, my day job as it were, is working as a councilor at a school. I even have a degree in psychology for all the good it does me. Over the years, I have seen many lonely, hurt kids. A lot. Some of them I can help, and, some of them,” Rebecca said, with a failed attempt at an indifferent shrug, “I can’t.”

She loomed over him, her shadow seeming to fall down on him from high above. Todd felt as if he were nailed to the ground, his limbs moving in a bizarre pantomime of swimming as he sought enough purchase on the concrete floor to crawl, to scamper away from this terrible woman and her blazing, unforgiving anger. He muttered apologies that were incoherent even to him, begging for mercy that he knew with certainty he would not receive.

“Kids feel things more, you know? And I can’t forget all of it. I wish I could, let me tell you. I would sleep better. What I can do, though, is share them,” Rebecca sneered at him, and he felt as if he were the vilest, smallest thing on Earth. He wished he had not left his. 38 revolver back at the security desk, because then he could have used it to kill himself. “All I needed was someone who deserved it.”

Rebecca pitched her cigarette and it bounced off Todd’s forehead, causing him to cry out in surprise.

“Sometimes it’s overwhelming to live with all of it, even for me. Years worth of trauma, abuse, rejection and despair, extracted from the minds of too many children to count. You’d be surprised what people will do to kids. It’s a sick world. But it amazes me, how tough children are, what they can learn to live with.” Rebecca smiled, and it was the least pleasant smile Todd had ever seen. “I doubt you are as resilient. You can scream, if you want. It turns out that no one ever comes to save you.”

Todd flinched away from her hand, but Rebecca moved faster than he did, and caught him by the wrist, her fingers knotting around his arm. Then he was assailed by emotions, by the echoes of memories that were not his own and yet were firmly embedded in his mind. It was like a yawning void of despair placed directly in his heart, a sense of betrayal and guilt and disappointment so profound that he could not even cry out against it. He could feel the inescapable weight, the violation of trust and confusion and repulsion, and his mind recoiled in the face of it. He felt tiny and naked, shattered in the wake of fear and self-hatred that ate away at the very foundation of his being, eroding his mind away as inevitably as a cliff disintegrating into the sea.

Rebecca shook her head in disgust and walked away from the drooling, whimpering shell of a man. She composed a narrative of the events that had occurred, from the moment she had received the tip about Christopher Feld’s last whereabouts from the remnants of the Society three weeks ago until now, and then thought hard in Alistair’s direction. He must have been looking for her, because the response was almost immediate.

Rebecca? Where the hell have you been?

You’ll have to read it off me. I’m too beat to manage an explanation.

There was a moment of silence, then a brief stinging sensation while Alistair probed her thoughts, absorbing the record of her experiences, and then another delay while he processed the data. Normally, the lag in communication between two telepaths would have been virtually unnoticeable, but she had expended most of her power in the last day and a half of hunting, and had exhausted her reserves implanting terrible memories and emotions in Todd’s shithole of a mind.

I understand. What do you need?

I need an apport. I need a medical team waiting for Alice on arrival. Then I need Xia to come down here and burn this whole fucking place and everyone inside it to ashes.

Are you… certain, Rebecca? What about the other prisoners?

It’s too late, Alistair. There is no one in the building that both deserves and wants to live.

Vivik wasn’t the kind of person to have many bad days. Nevertheless, today had been exceptionally good, even by his sunny standards.

At breakfast, for example, the cafeteria had French toast, which normally only happened on Tuesdays. He had two pieces himself, and then he finished one from Emily’s plate when she could not. Vivik loved French toast; plus, well, breakfast with Emily, right?