Three weeks later, everything fell into place. I had been here a little more than a month, and already I had five allies in the facility: Taylor; Torrin; Finni; Cassidy; and, most oddly, Mr. Link. Turns out, he really disliked his job and would do anything to help one of us get out. He, too, didn’t approve of how the government had reacted to the animal’s uprising and wanted to join our cause.
We had come up with an effective way to communicate using notes scribbled on paper we pilfered from our worksheets: If I wanted to send it to Taylor, I could just write it out and give it to Mr. Link (Taylor had the class later in the day), who would deliver it to her. We didn’t use code. We never got caught until Torrin accidentally dropped a note on his way to deliver it to us:
I saw him walk by and anticipated the dispatch, which never came. Worry filled my veins. I looked down the hall from where he had come from, and saw the tiny little crumpled up paper one cell down. I thought he must have dropped it early by accident. It seemed within reach, so I walked to the other side and stuck my arm through the bars. So close! Only two inches away, I strained to reach further. No dice. The only thing I accomplished was giving my shoulder a bruise.
Cassidy saw my struggle and she tried, hoping she had longer arms. She didn’t, but her thinner arm didn’t bruise. That was when I panicked. Someone was going to see. Someone would find out our plot, and separate us.
A person in the cell closest to the note noticed us, and she easily snatched up the note. Reading it with glee, she cackled. I didn’t know what the note said, so at least I wouldn’t have to lie when I was questioned. The reader muttered something under her breath, and I struggled to hear. Something about a time, possibly? It was hard to tell.
Mercifully, she tossed the note to me and said something I didn’t catch. “What?”
“Be careful,” was all she said before retreating back into her room, where I couldn’t see her.
Look outside. 10:30. -F
Finni’s false name was Monique, but she didn’t use it in notes so that they couldn’t be traced back to her. What should I be looking for, I wondered. 10:30 was past the time when the grates shut, so I wouldn’t be able to see much. No matter what, I needed to follow what she’d told me.
So I waited until the appointed time. The only way I could tell the time was through the digital clock down the hall, which I had to squint at to figure out what it said. When 10:30 rolled around, the grounds outside were inky-black. A heavy cloud cover over the half-moon darkened the land.
The lights, though off, flickered on once, then died with a whine. The power was out! My eyes adjusted to the dimness as the doors slid open, and I went out while the other prisoners, fearful of punishment, stayed in. Sure, I was afraid of being caught, but if I got out, I would be able to go back to my own dimension.
A half-dozen guards ran down the hall with flashlights. I ducked around a corner and hid. Three ran right past without ever noticing my presence. I slipped past them and, a few twists and dead ends later, made my way to the entrance.
To the right and left were flat, empty concrete lots, used for unloading supplies. Straight ahead was the gate. In the faint moonlight, I could see the open gate, which I ran toward. As I got just ten feet from it, the lights flickered, revealing me. Thankfully, they went back off, but came right back on for good. The gate rumbled and started to close, and I raced to it in a burst of adrenaline.
The gate shut and I put on the brakes, but too late. I slammed right into it, dumb prisoner that I am. My glasses flew off and I fell to the ground, clutching my bloody nose. Guards rushed toward me, not out of concern for my welfare, but out of duty. Two picked me up while another handcuffed me. I didn’t struggle, it would be useless.
They led me to the dean’s office. She was a diminutive woman, even shorter than I am. Her oily reddish-blonde hair, pulled back into a ponytail, revealed a tense face with sunken brown eyes perched on an athletic frame. Somehow, her thick makeup didn’t hide her large, scattered facial freckles. The nameplate on the door said, Elyssa Massingale, dean. Her reputation, or at least what I’d been told about her from Cassidy, was all about her ruthlessness. She sure seemed ruthless, from the rigid way her hair parted to her infallible personal dress code.
When she spoke, her words were clipped and her voice was like steel. “What are you in my office for?”
I could tell she already knew, she just wanted me to tell my story. I shrugged and pretended to be one of those huge stone heads on Easter Island: mysterious, expressionless, tall and intimidating.
She repeated herself, talking a little slower and gesturing wildly. I shrugged again, and could almost see her blood boiling. Finally, she snapped. “I have been the dean at this facility for twenty-three years, and I have never seen anyone here as stupid as you!”
That hurt, but I brushed it off and stood tall. She was at least eighteen inches shorter than me, but right now she gave me a good tongue-lashing. “The power goes out, so what do you do? Instead of staying in your room like a good rehabee - you run off! And so, as an example, you will be punished. Doogan, take her to solitary.” She motioned us away.
Solitary? As in, solitary confinement? This was going to be fun. Torrin led me down two flights of stairs, past row beyond row of cells. How big is this place? He unlocked a door at the end of the hallway and uncuffed me. “Sorry,” he muttered, then shut and locked the door.
I took a look around. A barred window, ten feet above my head, gave in a little light. The cell was small enough that I could touch both sides with my arms outstretched. A tiny cot took up most of the space, and a toilet the rest; leaving very little floor space. I sat on the cot and stared at the gray wall. There was no lightbulb in the room, forcing me to sleep when it became too dark to draw and write on the dusty walls with my finger.
Three days later, I had all but given up. There seemed no end to my solitary confinement, and I had not seen Torrin or any of my allies since I was placed here. It wasn’t the first time in my life that I felt lonely, but this was the longest time and the most intense feeling of loneliness I had ever experienced. I wondered why we were going to try to break out of here. There was no point; we would be captured and I would have to endure this again. I decided that when I got out of this place, I would go back to my own dimension and forget that I ever knew about mirror portals.
I sang sometimes, to keep me occupied. My meals were twice a day, shoved through a slot in the door. Usually they were cold and barely cooked, which did terrible things to my digestive system, if you can imagine. After eating, I put the tray back through the slot. There was little floor space as is, and I didn’t want the leftover food on the trays to start to smell.
By the seventh day, I smelled bad. Like, really bad. Not sure how I could smell myself (I read somewhere you really can’t, if the smell is slowly getting stronger), but it was horrible. I’m sure whoever delivered my food was disgusted. I could do nothing about it. I had no soap, nothing to clean myself with. The jumpsuit I wore was the only one I had.
At the usual time of the second meal that day, the door unlocked. I stood up, preparing for whatever came. A guard opened the door. She cuffed me again and walked me to the dean’s office once again. My heart started racing, and I wondered what caused the dean to bring me back.
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I was amazed to see other human beings. I gained a newfound appreciation for companionship.
Maybe my punishment was over. My heart beat even faster, and I got a spring in my step. After a few more twists and turns, the guard knocked on the dean’s door. “Come in,” she called, and the guard opened the door. “I have been waiting for you, Byrd.”
I shivered, though my temperature wasn’t the problem. I endeavored to be respectful, though my anger for her came back once I saw her.
“How are you?” she asked. The way she spoke and arranged papers on her desk reminded me of a snake. Stealthy, slippery, crafty.
Before I answered, one paper in particular caught my eye. It talked about the laundry truck’s arrival times. It came twice a week, on Mondays and Thursdays, and both dropped off and picked up jumpsuits. The paper proposed a new time: instead of coming at 11 pm, it would arrive at 7 am on those days.
She saw me studying the paper and pushed it toward me. “You’re planning to escape? Here, get all the information you need.”
I paled. She knew we were going to escape? Had I been talking about it in my sleep? How had she been monitoring me?
“Are you wondering how I know? Well, I’ll tell you then. Your roommate, Cassidy, spilled the beans to me yesterday. I’ve fired Doogan Flores, for his involvement. Who are you planning this with?
“What - what breakout? Why would I want to break out? A partner? I haven’t even talked to anyone here except Cassidy! It’s not allowed to talk to anyone at lunch, and barely in the rec room.”
She smiled. Something seemed off about this, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. She dismissed me, and I dreaded going back to the tiny cell. “Oh, Byrd, you will be put in a shared cell now. I believe your punishment is over.” I felt so relieved. I almost thanked her, but instead drew the leftover scraps of dignity I had and let myself be led out.
We climbed two flights of stairs to get to my new cell,and walked to the end of the farthest hallway. The new cell had one very bubbly occupant. She started peppering us with questions as soon as we were in view. I got the sense she wasn’t all there. She seemed older than me, maybe mid 20s? Strawberry blonde, deep blue eyes. Large freckles scattered along her nose and cheeks made her look younger than she really was.
The guard gave me a sympathetic smile as she closed and locked the sliding door; the first emotion any of the real guards had shown (Torrin didn’t count). Meanwhile, my cellmate got right in my face and kept jabbering, asking me all sorts of personal questions, as if she had no sense of personal space and privacy.
I pushed her away and calmly asked her name. “Thalia,” she replied in a moment of clarity, then kept rambling on.
“Okay, Thalia,” I edged around the room, which was identical to my last one. “Which cot is mine?”
She ignored my question. I briefly wondered why she was in here, and repeated my question. She didn’t answer again. This girl was really testing my patience (not that I had much to start with). “Calm down for one minute so I can talk to you!” I said loudly.
Her eyes widened and welled up, and her mouth stopped moving. Her bottom lip quivered, and she started crying. Loudly. Is there anything she does quietly? In the five minutes I knew her, she had not shut up.
I laid on the nearest cot. She sat next to me and tried to shove me off, so I assumed that it was hers. I sat on the next one, and she did the same. So I sat against the cold, hard wall until the sun sank, darkening the room.
Finally, Thalia settled down on one of the cots. I crept to the other, but she woke up. She must have killer hearing. After attacking me and pushing me away, she settled on the cot I had been heading to. I walked to the other, and the same thing happened. Tired, I laid right down on the floor and fell asleep.
I woke up shivering in the middle of the night, all curled up yet cold. My eyes adjusted to the dark and I saw Thalia tenderly take a blanket from the empty cot and lay it over me. I pretended to be asleep. What strange mood swings this girl had! What was wrong with her?
I waited another 20 minutes until she had fallen back asleep and crawled into the unoccupied cot. How much I had wanted a pillow while I slept on the floor, but how much I wanted to avoid another confrontation with her! The sheets were not soft, but they felt like silk to me at this point.
I woke up to find Thalia staring at me, much like Cassidy did that one morning. “What?” I asked groggily. She mumbled something, then pointed out the window. It was raining. “It’s raining,” I told her. She looked outside as if she had never seen rain before. I checked the clock in the hallway - almost time for breakfast. “Are you ready for breakfast?” I asked her, trying to be civil when all I wanted to do was yank her hair out.
She silently stood by the door, shaking with anticipation. I had only been with her for 12 hours, most of them sleeping, and already I was at my wit’s end. Had her previous roommate been annoyed to death?
A bell rang, and everyone else’s door slid open noisily. Our’s didn’t, and a guard came to personally escort us to the cafeteria. Were we “high risk” or something?
For breakfast, they ladled steaming globs of what could be called oatmeal. I called it slop, because that’s what it sounded like when it fell from the ladle. It should’ve been maple-brown sugar flavor, sweet and sticky and all the things oatmeal should be, but the stingy dean allowed only a little maple-brown sugar flavoring, resulting in flavorless paste that stuck between your teeth. I always ended up, when they served oatmeal, eating about four bites out of hunger and dumping the rest. However, those four bites always stuck to the roof of my mouth and I would spend until lunch trying to pick it all out.
That’s what happened that day. I had the same schedule as before my solitary confinement. I saw Finni at lunch, and she slipped a note under my bowl of mac-and-cheese. Normally, I hated mac-and-cheese, but I was so hungry after four bites of breakfast that I gobbled it down. I didn’t read the note until I was back in my cell, since I was too terrified of being caught.
Sorry about solitary. Massingale is suspicious. -F
The short note was not typical of Finni, but desperate times call for desperate measures, I suppose. Did Finni not know about Cassidy’s turning traitor? Another thought struck me: what if Cassidy hadn’t betrayed us, and Massingale had said so to see if I would tell her anything?
I sat back. This was a new development. I had vastly underestimated Massingale’s intellect. This would be interesting. A whole new level had been added to the breakout. She even showed me the paper! Obviously, that was how she expected us to break out; she would be closely monitoring the laundry trucks. We needed to find a different way. But what?
What goes out of the facility? I counted on my fingers: laundry, garbage, prisoner transport…. That was as far as I got. Laundry was a no, because that’s what Massingale expected. Garbage, ew. But if it’s the only way out, I would go. We would need to get ourselves in the Dumpster or something, get dumped into the truck, and hope not to get crushed by garbage on the way out. Sounds like fun. As for prisoner transport, why would we need to be transferred? And where would we go? How would we break out of the armored van?
I stuffed the note into my pocket and sat back on my cot. Thalia watched me again. Every movement I made, she followed with her eyes. She seemed troubled, so I asked what was wrong. She immediately started bawling. What was going on with her?
Without speaking, she walked over to me and sat on my lap. She cried into my shoulder while I awkwardly patted her shoulder. I repeated, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” and rocked her like I would a small child. After a minute or two, she calmed down and smiled at me, overjoyed.
Then she fell to the floor, sobbing again. And wailing, and crying out. She held out a hand to me, but it slumped down before I could help her up. Where did she get all this from? Why was she put in here, anyway? Being crazy isn’t a valid reason - if it was, half the female population would be in here.
I didn’t know what to do. She laid there, crying. I didn’t want to have to touch her; who knew what she would do then. So I remained very awkward on my cot, not sure whether to stay or go, until dinnertime.
At dinner, I slipped a new note to Finni, using the back of the note she gave to me. I wrote that Cassidy had betrayed us, and that we should not escape using the laundry truck. She acted nonchalant when she slipped it into her apron, but I knew my note would surprise her. And not a good surprise, like when your friends plan a party for you that you didn’t even know about. No, this surprise was like finding out from someone else that your best friend actually hates you.
I ate my food slowly this time. I like to read when I eat, and if I don’t I eat really slowly. For a lack of anything better, I read the cheesy motivational posters that hung crookedly on the walls. All were torn at the edges, others stained somehow. ‘Hang in there!’ One read, showing a kitten about to fall off a branch. “I am,” I grumbled to myself. Someone across the table looked at me like I was crazy. Might as well be - I’m from another dimension, for goodness’ sake!