Escaping Elysia

Chapter 4 - Test Subject #354

"Where am I?" I ask him. He grunts, and doesn't respond.

"Is Secretary Sheer here? I need to talk to her. I'm not supposed to be here." He chuckles, but doesn't answer. I notice the phone clipped to his wrist. "Please, just call her." He stops so abruptly that my arm jerks where he's gripping it.

He swings me around to face him, eyes burning. "Shut up," he says, and slaps me across the face. I freeze, stunned. A stinging sensation blooms across my cheek. I can't believe he just hit me. No one has ever hit me before. He grabs my arm again and pulls me along beside him. This time I stay quiet. So much for answers.

We turn down several more hallways lined with the same doors before coming to a larger set of double doors. Brandt holds his badge up to a small, black box on the wall and a light on the box turns from red to green.

As we walk through the doors Brandt says, "Wouldn't want to try going through any double doors without one of these," he taps his badge, "if you're wearing one of those." He points to the bracelet on my wrist. I glance at the metal strip that runs along the door frame. What would happen if I did?

On either side of this hallway are several big rooms. Their walls are made of glass or some sort of plastic, so I can see into them as we pass. In one, people sit at rows of tables, eating. My stomach rumbles. I haven't had anything to eat since breakfast. The people are all dressed in the same grey clothes that I'm wearing, and some of them are connected to tall, metal stands through plastic tubes attached to the back of their hands with needles. The words "Test Subject" from Sheer's screen flash through my mind, and I shiver.

We come to another set of double doors. Brandt uses his badge to pass through these as well. They lead into a room that reminds me of the clinic I go to for my yearly physical. It has chairs for waiting, though no screens mounted on the walls to pass the time, and a woman sits behind a window. If it weren't for the guard, the clothes, and the bracelet I could almost fool myself into thinking this was just another doctor's visit.

The woman looks up when we enter, and Brandt pushes me into a seat before talking to her. "New test subject." He nods his head toward me. "354. She needs to be processed." The woman smiles and turns on a screen.

"You have duty out there tonight?" she asks, pointing to the doors that exit the clinic.

"No." He shakes his head. "Tomorrow." He winks at her, and leaves the room without so much as another glance at me. I notice that he doesn't use his badge before going through the doors, and I glance again at the bracelet on my arm. A door beside the window opens then and a different woman, older and heavier, calls me back.

"Stand there," she says once we're in yet another hallway, gesturing to a scale that's pushed against the wall. Her face is round and fleshy, and her cheeks are flushed a harsh red. She records my weight and then my height on a small screen before showing me into a room, where I'm directed to sit on an exam table.

The exam starts out normally; the woman, a nurse, I think, takes my blood pressure and temperature, then looks in my ears and nose before asking me to say "ahh". She pulls her hair, a color that might once have been described as a reddish brown but has since turned more gray, back into a bun. Over the next few hours I'm poked and prodded until I bruise. Several times I ask the nurse where I am or why she's testing me, but she only looks through me and continues to work. With each silent response I feel my frustration rising, until I finally give up and endure the tests.

She draws several vials of my blood, and I look away as the needle slides into my arm. She tells me to undress, and when I ask why she threatens to call a guard in to do it for me, wrinkling her small, button nose. I don't ask why again. She checks my spine and pinches my fat with a metal instrument and then has me lie on the table. The next few minutes bring back vivid memories of my first exam at the gynecologist's, about two years ago.

Finally, I'm x-rayed, CAT scanned, and stuck in an MRI machine. She tries to put me on a treadmill, electrodes stuck all over my body, but my head hurts too much to run and she figures out soon enough that that isn't happening today.

When the tests are finished Brandt returns and escorts me back to my room. I notice that this time he uses his badge to leave the clinic. As we turn back the way we came I glance down a short hallway. There's another set of double doors at the end, with the same red and green light.

The cafeteria is empty as we pass it, and I don't see anyone else in the hallways either. My stomach growls again but I ignore it. I have a feeling that Brandt isn't likely to run and grab me a sandwich. I don't ask either, remembering the sting of his hands against my face.

When we reach my room he shoves me inside. Before leaving he pauses, and meets my eyes.

"Welcome to Elysia," he says, and slams the door.

For a moment I don't notice the young girl sitting in the other bed.

She's so skinny. She has a book spread open in her lap and her legs stretched out in front of her, and I imagine that if I wrapped my hands around one of her thighs my fingers would easily touch. She looks about fifteen or sixteen. Her light blonde hair reaches just past her waist, though it's dull and limp. She's hooked up to one of those metal stands I saw in the cafeteria and it's positioned beside her, next to the bed. Dark shadows circle her eyes and her lips are pale and chapped. She doesn't look up when I come in.

I walk quietly to my bed and am about to sit down when I look more closely at the book in her hands. It's not a projection but a paperback, like before the war.

"Wait, is that real?" I ask, forgetting myself and breaking the silence. "It's made out of paper and everything!" Most books were destroyed in the hurricanes and floods, and it's illegal to print new books on paper. Most people don't mind this law, preferring to read on projected screens anyway, but I've always been fascinated by the real thing. Dasset Prep has one shelf of real books in the student activity center, and I've read each one at least once.

My enthusiasm doesn't seem to be contagious though, because the girl simply nods and continues reading. Her bracelet glints in the light and I noticed that it looks like mine, except the number inscribed on it is "118".

It feels wrong, inhuman to know someone only by a number, so I ask, "What's your name?"

"Nadya." She doesn't ask for my name, but I offer it anyway. I don't want to be known as a number either. She doesn't respond. Is she always this quiet, or did I do something to offend her?

The light above us suddenly goes out, and I hear Nadya place the book on the floor and scooch under the blanket. I guess that means it's time for bed. I get under the blankets myself and turn to face the wall, the day's events replaying in my mind.

It's hard to believe that this morning I woke up in my own bed and had breakfast with Grandfather like usual. Now I'm...well I don't know where I am. And I don't know what tomorrow will bring. I wonder if Grandfather is missing me. I wonder if he thinks I'm dead. I close my eyes and turn over again, hugging the blankets close to my chest. Just as I begin to drift off I hear a small voice coming from the other bed.

"Goodnight, Evita."

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Author's note: Thank you for reading! Please don't forget to vote if you liked this chapter :).