Chapter Twelve

When I start getting up, it occurs to me that, I don’t know where I’m supposed to go next. I mean, ‘training’ isn’t exactly self-explanatory, is it? However, when I’m about to give ask Eddie where I’m supposed to go for ‘training’, Julie from tests appears at my elbow. She flicks her blond hair out of her grey eyes and looks at Eddie pointedly. He stops trying to talk to me and scarpers.

“Elizabeth, I’m taking you to training.” She informs me before walking away briskly. I assume that I have to follow her.

The entrance hall is filled with people, some of whom I’ve never seen before but, they part like a school of fish before a shark. We make our way along the corridor where I hid last night and she opens one of the large, solid oak doors and ushers me inside.

I’m in a large, darkly furnished room. In the centre is a large, black leather chair which is reclined almost to a lying position. Next to it is a hard-backed wooden chair behind which is a solid oak desk. Several book shelves line the walls and, in another corner is a small wooden table which has a single piece of paper on it. Julie makes her way towards the wooden chair and motions for me to sit on the leather one.

I perch awkwardly on top of it, unsure about whether or not I should lie down. Meanwhile, Julie turns to the desk and begins shuffling papers. Once she’s done, she turns back to me and laughs.

“You’re supposed to lie on it.” She tells me, smiling slightly.

I shrug my shoulders and recline on the chair, staring at the ceiling, trying desperately to work out what they’re going to do to me in here. Not more tests, surely?

“Ok, Elizabeth,” Julie says, “As you know, you’re special to all the other kids here; you’ve been singled out. Therefore, we expect both your mind and your body to be in peak condition, do you understand?”

“Yes.” I say, a feeling of dread spreading from my head to the tips of my toes.

“Therefore, we are going to try and combat your fears today.”

“My fears?”

“That’s what the tests the other day were for.”

“So, what’re my fears?”

“Why don’t you work that out?” She says, smiling slightly, “Ok, I’m going to attach some wires to your arm, ok? Then, I’m going to blindfold and you will go into stimulation. We’re going to see how you deal with your fears.”

She busies herself attaching wires to my arm, ensuring that they’re perfectly placed. Eventually, she places a plain black blindfold over my eyes and ties it around my head. It all goes black and I can hear nothing.

Suddenly, I’m running through long grass. The grass is waist-high and almost yellow in colour, indicating a lack of rain. In the centre of the field, there’s a small hill which all of the beaten paths lead to. Several people are standing on the small hill so I head to the far side of the field by the trees. The grass is long and dense so I lie down, trying as best as I can to hide my black hair. In the end, I take off my khaki jacket and place it over my head. It was bullet-proof but, if they can’t see me, they can’t shoot me. Suddenly, my heart flies up into my throat and a pair of feet stomp past my hiding place. I pray that they don’t see me.

My prayers aren’t answered.

“Rebecca?”

I look up into the face of Charles Grey. Suddenly, I know what I’m expected to do. I have to kill him. I stand up and face him. His face breaks into a wide smile, revealing his white teeth. In one lightening motion, I whip my pistol out of its holster and pull the trigger. I never look at his eyes. I flee as soon as I’ve shot him; I can’t watch as the life pours out of him and his eyes glaze over. I can’t see the betrayal in his face. I just can’t.

Suddenly, the scene swims before my eyes and my feet are tugged from the floor. I’m swirling around in a murky mixture of thoughts, of hopes and dreams. Then, another scene comes into focus. I’m in a large, homely kitchen. I’m wearing an apron and I’m baking a cake.

“Mum,” A little boy runs into the kitchen, screaming. “Mum, there’s a man outside and he’s got a gun.”

I put down the bowl of cake mixture with a clatter and reach inside a kitchen drawer and pull out a silver pistol. I push the boy, who I assume is my son, under the table and whisper at him to stay hidden before walking into the hallway. I walk up the stairs and into a child’s messy bedroom. I walk over to the window and pull it open, knowing instinctively that I will be above the man. I spy the man’s head and, as he glances up at the sound of the window opening, I pull the trigger. He falls backwards and I see his face; it’s my father. I fall to the floor, screaming.

The scene swims again and I’m uprooted, blissfully swimming through an ocean of fears. Then, the next scene begins to take shape.

I’m in a large, damp and dark room. The walls are made out of dark grey stone and are covered in slime. There aren’t any windows in the room but, on one side, there’s an enormous, solid-looking iron door with an iron grill set into the top of it. The floor is pristine from frequent washing but, there’s a large puddle of sticky red stuff in the corner. In the centre of the room, there’s a large bench which is covered in large screws. A man is lying naked on it, his exposed body smeared with blood and the remnants of human misery. His hands are attached to arm rests on the side of the bench and screws are attached to his fingers. I walk over to him, smearing blood onto the white butcher’s apron which I’m wearing.

“What were you doing there?” I growl, my hand on one of the screws.

“Nothing,” The man mutters.

“Liar.” I grunt, twisting the screw. He screams in pain, begging me to stop. “I’ll ask you again, what were you doing upstairs at three in the morning?”

“Nothing.”

I twist the screw again and there’s a sickening crack as his bones are wrenched out of the sockets.

“What were you doing?”

“Nothing.”

I pick up a knife and draw it down his bleeding leg, cutting through his flesh and down to the bone. He writhes in agony, trying to get away but he’s bound to the bench. He closes his eyes.

“What were you doing?”

His eyes open a crack. “Nothing.” He whispers before closing them again for the last time. Disgusted, I stab him in the leg. He does not writhe in pain. He is dead.

Suddenly, the door flies open. George is stood there, his face less ugly in the darkness.

“What the hell are you doing Elizabeth?” He demands, “You were supposed to get answers, not kill him.”

“Sorry,” I mutter, “I lost control.”

The scene changes again and, suddenly, I’m stood in a quarry, facing a line of twenty gunmen. I stand straight-backed and proud, refusing to weep. I am not afraid. They raise their guns and point them at me. I throw my arms out wide, embracing death as the bullets sink into my chest. I fall backwards, feeling blissfully free and when my eyes close and my breathing stops, I know that I am not afraid.

With a jolt, I wake up. It was so vivid that I forgot that it was all just in my head. Then again, even if it was just in my head, why would that mean that it wasn’t real?

“You ok?” Julie asks, having removed my eye mask. She rips off the wires on my arm but thankfully, there aren’t any hairs there for her to rip out anymore.

“I’m fine.” I mutter, forcing myself into a sitting position.

“Ok, well that will give us a better idea of how you cope with various situations.” She tells me before turning back to the desk and scribbling something down. She turns back around a couple of minutes later with an envelope in her hands. She hands it to me. “Read it here.” She says.

I slide open the letter, hoping that it isn’t what I think it is.

Dear Miss Elizabeth Hitches,

                                                   You have been with us for several says so, it has been decided that, the time has come for you to undertake your first assignment. You will get Matthew Bryan alone and you will kill him, staging it as a suicide. If you do not complete this assignment, there will be consequences.

All the best,

A

I make sure that my face is impassive as I read the letter. This isn’t hard since I already know what’s in it. I know that, I have to kill Matt and that, if I don’t, they will kill me. I didn’t know his name was Matthew Bryan, though. There are so many things I don’t know about him and so many things which I will never know.

“Have you read it?” Julie asks me after several minutes. I nod and she holds her hand out for the letter. I place it in her hand and she puts it into a small box under her desk. I can smell burning and then the letter is gone. “Ok,” She says, looking at the silver watch on her wrist, “It’s time for dinner so why don’t you head to the hall?”

Author's Note

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