Terminal Regression Page 5

  Soon enough, all the days were blurring together as this new lifestyle became my normal. And, in a way, it was like I’d never left home. The work was menial, the company was artificial, and night after night I found myself aching for permanent silence.

  I felt compelled to put on a show when I was at work. Now that I had to face these people every day, their judgment became more concerning. They hardly ever spoke about their suicides or their lives before, so I did the same out of fear I’d become the weirdest of the weirdos. But when I was alone, it was much harder to ignore the constant anguish eating away at my soul. Maybe I was supposed to feel relieved to be alive, maybe that was how the train expected us to heal ourselves, but I didn’t. If anything, I felt the same bitter regret as always but with a new twist of stupidity and just a dash of crushing apathy. More than ever, my existence meant nothing. If I were to die, hardly anyone would notice and no one would care. The quotas would be met, the other farm workers would maybe gossip about me for a day or so before returning to business as usual, somebody would clear out my apartment, and, just like that, all traces of Laura Baily would vanish into the air.

  So why couldn’t I do it? Why couldn’t I simply find some new means to exterminate myself? Well, I had a history of failure. Every job I’d ever tried, every established enjoyable activity, I somehow found a way to screw up everything I touched. Even death. I’d actually managed to fail at dying. If I tried again, with a more involved process, I could only imagine the horror that would ensue. I pictured myself lying on that cold, concrete floor, definitely injured but just shy of fatally. I imagined hours of writhing and crying, willing myself to let go and the universe to hurry up and expel me. I was afraid. I was terrified to try anything anymore, so I just had to waste away in my stupid, sorry existence and hope for a miraculous accident.

  Weeks went by, and I was still standing. Nothing had changed. I just kept working, kept breathing, kept living.

  Interestingly enough, the farm wasn’t purely horticultural. If one traveled far enough from the greenhouse, there was a barn of equal volume. Naturally, the emotionally unstable suicides weren’t trusted with slaughterhouse duties, but we could do smaller stuff like feeding, milking, and egg collecting.

  I found myself there one afternoon. Grant had come with us, so I was basically on my own. It was great that he and Mimi were getting along so well, but I felt like I was being prematurely weaned off my mentor. They’d gone off together to feed something but not before Grant handed me a bunch of empty egg cartons and sent me into battle.

  I’d never reached underneath a chicken. I’d never wanted to or thought I’d ever have to. But there I was meeting the threateningly beady eyes of a mama hen, about to totally invade her personal space.

  “Please don’t make this hard,” I muttered quietly, hoping no one would hear me talking to a chicken. “Maybe you could stand up for me?”

  She just stared, her head making quick, jerky movements now and then.

  I sighed. “Fine. But this is on you.” I reached for her hesitantly, trying not to be too sudden or threatening. She pecked at me. She missed, but idiot me screamed like a child.

  “Not cool, chicken!” Of course, I neglected to keep that comment quiet.

  “Need help?” Mimi’s friends from her support group were usually lurking not too far from wherever we chose to work. The guy with the man-bun appeared to also be on chicken duty.

  “I think this one’s evil,” I said halfway seriously.

  He looked at the chicken. “Could be. But unless you’re willing to go vegan, it has to be done. Remember, she can’t actually hurt you.”

  I nodded. The chicken and I faced each other once again. I’d just never seen that much anger in an animal’s eyes before. But I reached out my hand. She clucked, most likely the chicken equivalent of a growl. I shut my eyes and stuck my hand under her.

  And just like that, I had an egg.

  “I did it!” Sure it wasn’t the greatest accomplishment, but it was the first victory I’d known since my arrival.

  “Nice job,” Man-Bun said. “Just a few dozen more to go.” He expertly grabbed an egg from under the next chicken. He didn’t even flinch. “I’m Seth by the way.”

  “Laura.” I found my next opponent and met her beady eyes.

  “I know. I also know you call me Man-Bun behind my back. Seth is my preferred title.”

  I shrugged. “To be perfectly honest, I’m probably going to keep calling you Man-Bun. Easier to remember.” I tried to snatch the egg quickly like he had but had to try three times before I was brave enough.

  “Fair enough,” he said. “Aren’t you supposed to be shadowing Mimi?”

  “When she’s not gallivanting through the stables with her pretty-boy boss.” I immediately regretted that. “I mean, she’s working with Grant. They’re probably doing the tougher stuff or something.”

  “Grant and Mimi? No, they’re totally in love. Neither of them has the guts to admit it, but they’ve been like this for months. I was here before either of them. I’ve seen the whole thing play out.”

  Gossip never dies. I could tell he was begging for me to ask for more, but things were delicate enough between Grant and Mimi. Their personal lives were none of my business.

  “You don’t say? Well, I’m pretty sure this is the evil half. I’m going to try farther down. Nice talking to you, Man-Bun.”

  He wasn’t too concerned when I left him. He just went back to work, saving his stories for another occasion.

  All the chickens were evil. All of them. But after a couple hours, I had a sizeable yield and only a couple scratches.

  Rain started coming down on the roof as I left the chicken enclosure and entered the main barn area. I put my eggs in a storage room, literally just copying what Seth had done.

  “There you are,” Mimi said as if she’d been looking for me.

  “I didn’t exactly go anywhere.” She might have checked in on me from time to time. Not that I was needy or anything, but it was sort of her job. If Seth hadn’t decided to buddy up to me, I wouldn’t have had any instruction at all.

  “I thought you’d have taken a break at some point,” she said, catching the subtle resentment in my voice. “You’re a very good worker.”

  I shrugged. I knew she was just trying to appease me, and Mimi’s compliments were too common to be meaningful anyway. “Thanks.”

  Grant took hold of my arm. “Did they get you?” he asked teasingly. I had a few scratches from the less cooperative chickens, no thanks to my mentor.

  I pulled my arm away. “They’re very protective.”

  “That’s why we keep our sleeves rolled down.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s hot in here.”

  He looked up towards the roof, where the sounds of the storm were only getting louder. “Rain will cool it down. Come on, time to go.”

  I was stuck in the truck bed with Seth and some others. The rain came down on us as we rode back to the greenhouse to clock out. Rain was so much more entertaining to my travel companions. They were whooping it up and holding their mouths open and being completely unnecessary.

  I clocked out as quickly as I could, hoping to get an inside seat on the way home.

  “Are you staying today?” Mimi asked tentatively.

  Support group. Most days I skipped, but she’d pressured me into it a couple times. I felt sort of bad for being so angsty toward her. It was too easy to forget she was all messed up inside. If Grant made her happy, I could live with taking a backseat for a little while.

  But there was no way in hell I was going to another group meeting.

  “I think I’ll head home. You guys have fun though.”

  “Come on. Grant’s staying today. You like him, don’t you?”

  I paused. Was this a test or something? Was I some sort of threat to whatever was happening with
them? I tried to be delicate. “Well, I mean, he’s okay. As far as bosses go. Do you like him?”

  Boundaries, Laura, boundaries! But I was curious, and the words couldn’t be unspoken.

  She smiled. “Of course. You know, he was my mentor when I first came. I hope you and I will stay close like that once you’re fully trained.”

  No romance, just my own misinterpretation. I relaxed a little bit.

  “Yeah, I’m sure we will. But I’m still heading home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She let me go. Why was I so interested in this Grant thing? Sure there were few other sources of entertainment available to me, but these were my coworkers’ lives. It shouldn’t have interested me that much.

  I got a truck to myself for once. Usually, somebody else would ditch with me and we’d carpool back, but rainy days must have been more popular.

  I got the windshield wipers going and settled in for a nice, peaceful drive. Maybe the cafeteria would be empty too for a little while. Maybe I could get my food and go without a single forced smile.

  I passed the plant. Nobody was outside, thank God. Those poor guys would probably die if they saw rain. It was tragic how confused they were. Sometimes on the way home, we’d have to wait for them to clear out of the road like they were ducks or something.

  I stopped suddenly. I hadn’t really thought about it, but my foot was on the brake. I shifted into park and tried to see through the downpour. There he was on the side of the road, crawling in the mud. One of the plant workers.

  I wasn’t afraid of them per se, but they definitely made me nervous. They were like children; you had to be careful what you said to them. But he was obviously struggling.

  I got out and ran over to him.

  “Are you okay?” I had to shout a little over the rain.

  He looked up at me and shouted back, “No!”

  I stared at him. He was covered in mud, but I knew that face.

  “Will?”

  He seemed startled that I knew him. “What?”

  “It’s me. It’s Laura. Do you remember me?”

  He squinted in the rain. “My friend?”

  I nodded. “That’s right. Come with me. I’ll help you clean up.”

  I took his arm and started to pull him up. He suddenly clung to me, sobbing a bunch of nonsense followed by, “I don’t know! I don’t know!”

  I felt sick. I couldn’t handle this. I knew him. Will Noble wasn’t supposed to act this way.

  “Everything will be fine,” I promised. “Come on, get in the truck.”

  He stumbled a bit, but for the most part he was cooperative. Neither of us spoke during the drive. I glanced over from time to time, but he was never any better. He couldn’t stop shaking and crying.

  If I’d hated this place before, it was nothing compared to what I felt now. Will was a competent, able-bodied, mentally stable man. He was not the trembling mass in my passenger seat. The plant workers weren’t disabled. They were being tortured. And the nicest guy I’d ever known was among them.

  Chapter 9

  <<<

  I got him into my apartment, albeit with some difficulty. He was covered in mud, as was the interior of the truck, but that was someone else’s problem. I pushed him towards the bathroom.

  “I’m sleepy,” he mumbled. He could barely keep his eyes open, and he was breathing like the short trip to my room from outside had exhausted him.

  “You can sleep in a minute. Can we get you cleaned up first?”

  He nodded and we continued towards the bathroom. I tried not to think about what I was doing. After all, he could have been at any level of stability health wise. I very well could have invited him to die in my home. But I couldn’t have left him in the street. Will deserved better than that.

  I took him into the shower corner. There was no curtain, just a showerhead in the wall and a drain in the floor. I unzipped his jumpsuit. He had a white T-shirt and boxer shorts on underneath. Both were soaked through with muddy water, but I didn’t exactly know him well enough to strip him bare.

  Once the shower was going, he seemed to relax. He slumped against the wall and let the warm water pour over him. I rinsed his jumpsuit out in the sink, careful to keep an eye on him.

  He looked awful. Even when the mud was gone, there was a hopelessly disheveled quality in his appearance. He looked thinner too. What were they doing to him?

  While he showered, I changed out of my work clothes. I had only one pair of comfortable pants, and they’d become my best friend in the time I’d been here.

  I gave Will a towel, but he proved too far gone to be able to use it. So I helped him get as dry as possible before putting him to bed. He shivered under the covers, but I had no way of fixing that.

  “Will, can you hear me?” I asked gently.

  He looked up at me. “Yes.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  His eyes were so wide. I could see him trying to remember, but he was struggling.

  “I work,” he said. “I pull the levers.”

  That made sense probably. “Anything else?”

  He shut his eyes. “There’s water… And it’s cold. And I have to pull the levers.”

  “What do the levers do?”

  He reached for my hand and pulled it. He made a buzzing sound.

  “They’re part of the power plant? Electricity?”

  He nodded. “It hurts.”

  I tried to figure it out. Levers and water? Was it hydraulics or something?

  “I know it hurts… The levers hurt you?”

  He nodded and buzzed again.

  “The levers…shock you?”

  I saw tears welling in his eyes. Why would anyone hurt him like that? Why would they hurt anybody like that?

  I squeezed his hand. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay. I’ll take care of you, all right? We’ll get you better.” The more I looked at him, the more I felt like crying myself. It was pitiful. Horrible and inhumane and just tragic.

  He couldn’t stop crying. I knew he wanted to, but he’d lost all control. “I’m sorry,” he said weakly.

  “No, it’s not your fault.” At least, I didn’t think so. I remembered how concerned he’d been with his interpretation of justice differing from others. I had to wonder if maybe he was being punished, if that innocent fifth grader I remembered even existed anymore.

  “Why don’t you get some sleep?” I said. Of course, he had my bed, so that left me with very uncomfortable options that evening.

  He held my hand tightly. “Don’t go.”

  “I’ll be here. You’ll be fine.” I tried to pull away.

  “No!” Sickly as he was, he had quite a grip. He was terrified I’d leave him.

  “Okay. Move over.”

  He was injured. He had brain damage of some sort and the mentality of a six-year-old. But nothing had ever felt so awkward as getting into bed with that boy. It was barely twin sized, so of course we were right on top of each other. Will was a snuggler evidently. He latched onto me and made himself comfortable. He was still crying a little bit. No one had ever cried on me before. Near me, sure, but never so close I could feel their tears seep through my shirt.

  He did stop shaking eventually. He seemed healthier when he slept. Maybe he’d be better in the morning. Meanwhile, I was trapped for the night. But there are far worse prisons.

  If fifth-grade Laura had even imagined the possibility of spending a night in the arms of Will Noble, she probably would have burst into a cloud of raging, pre-teen hormones. Granted the circumstances couldn’t have been less fortunate, it didn’t feel that weird. I mean, there was a foreign body in my personal bed, but I almost liked having him there. It was oddly comforting.

  From what I’d seen of Terminal B, it was a lonely place. We lived alone in single-bedroom apartments
and did general labor with hardly any expression of our individuality. Anyone can conform; accepting the weird in people is what makes the difference.

  Will hadn’t had much of a say in our situation, but it felt good to be needed, and, judging by his cuddling, he appreciated my taking him in. I wasn’t sure how I was going to fix this, but in that moment he was safe and warm and cared for. And a moment can make all the difference.

  Chapter 10

  <<<

  “Laura?”

  I wasn’t terrible with mornings. I wasn’t great with them either. I woke up exhausted for some reason. I guess I hadn’t realized how hard it had been to drag Will around the day before.

  He was watching me when I opened my eyes. He seemed confused, but the vacantness was gone. He was more aware.

  “Hey,” I said. “You feel any better?”

  He shrugged. “I guess. I don’t really remember much. What am I doing here?”

  I sat up. “Oh my God, you’re okay!”

  I’d half expected to find him dead that morning. But it was as if the previous day had never happened.

  He smiled. “Yeah. You saved me, didn’t you? I remember I was lost or something.”

  “You were in the mud. And you could hardly speak. You kept crying. It was awful.”

  He nodded. “That’s how it goes. I have a rotating work cycle. I go in every other day so I can have a recovery period.”

  “You keep going back? After they do that to you?”

  “I have to. If I don’t go, I don’t get credits and I can’t eat. Believe me, they know how to keep us motivated.”

  “Why? How do they justify all that? It’s cruel.”

  His smile fell. “I, uh, I guess I brought it on myself. I was sent away for disturbing the peace…and assault.”

  I stared at him. There was no way. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you know how there are recommended rations back home? For food and clothes and stuff? For years I’d watched people take twice what they needed, people I knew who were practically worthless, and one day I snapped. I tried to enforce equality. I had no authority, so we got in a fight right there in the market. I was arrested, and they held me for like a year before deciding to kick me out… I’m a prisoner.”