The Numbered

Chapter Thirty-Five

The lift doors opened and Zeke walked out first. The doors closed behind her and the noise of the descending cabin faded away. Unlike the rest of the building, the top floor was different. The Arctic-white walls and floor, with bright fluorescent strip-lighting above replaced the plush patterned carpets or wood panelling. It was garishly stark in comparison. They walked down the long corridor passing a number of key coded entry doors on either side. The sound of their footsteps broke the oppressive silence. At the end of the corridor was another door. Above it hung a sign-- Department of Screening and Genetics. The nearer they got to the door, the harder and faster Hannah's heart seemed to beat.

"Are you coming in with me?" Hannah asked in a little voice that echoed around them.

"No, I have to return to my Office," Zeke replied.

"But... I don't want to go in by myself."

"Sorry Hannah, I don't have the time to babysit you again!" he snapped back.

"Oh!" said Hannah, shocked by his response. Why was he being like this? She searched his face for meaning, but it gave little away. His eyes met hers for the briefest moment and she followed their path as he looked up and to the left. Hannah followed their direction and spotted a camera mounted on the wall, above them. Now she understood the reason for his short, formal tone.

"Good bye, Hannah."

"Thank you, Mr Matheson," she replied.

Zeke turned and walked back towards the lift. Hannah fought the urge to run after him, her pulse fast, sweat beading on her forehead and her clenched hands clammy. A bell sounded and the doors parted, Zeke entered and turned back to face her. He nodded discreetly and mouthed "you'll be fine." She shrugged, took a deep breath, turned and opened the door.

Hannah walked into a reception area. On the left side were two rows of functional grey plastic seating, half occupied by an assortment of men and women of different ages and all of them were staring at her. She dropped her eyes, hoping they would return to whatever conversations her entry had interrupted.

"Yes?" said a voice behind her.

Hannah turned. "Err, hello, I'm Hannah. I was told to come here for an SPR."

"You're late! Mr Clairbourne is a busy man; he doesn't appreciate lateness," said a severe looking thirty-something brunette. The woman sat behind the reception desk. She wore a formal navy blue jacket, with a starched white shirt beneath. On her lapel was a name badge; Gloria Weston, Receptionist. A telephone headset sat nesting on a mass of tight brown curls, most of the apparatus hidden making the small black mouthpiece looking like it was a growth coming out of the side of her head. The woman tapped her long claw-like fingers with pointy manicured nails repeatedly on the desk.

"Sorry. I only found out about it half an hour ago," she explained. The woman's stern facial expression did not change.

"Here is a file for you to complete. All standard information- age, address, doctors' information and a consent form for you to sign." She looked Hannah up and down. "Would you like someone to come and read and write for you?" she asked, a flicker of amusement flashed across her eyes. Somebody sniggered behind Hannah.

"That's fine, I can read and write very well actually," Hannah said, trying to sound defiant, but not succeeding very well.

The receptionist pushed the paperwork attached to a red clip board toward Hannah across the desk. "Don't forget to sign the bottom of the page, or just make a cross if that's easier for you?"

More than one person now sniggered behind her. Hannah glared at the receptionist, but a poster on the wall behind the rude woman caught her eye.

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