Burlap

17 - Friends and Alibis

I spent all of the next morning waiting for something, anything, to happen. But, had it not been for Lottie waking up in my bed, the one sign that what had happened the night before wasn't some terrible nightmare, I would have never guessed it had been anything other than a normal night. No mention of Marcie was made. Not from Lottie, not from Esther, and not from George or Paul in Group Therapy. I was just beginning to wonder if I had imagined the entire thing, despite the proof in Lottie staying the night in our room, when it all came rushing back in the form of a rare and serious altercation in the ward lounge.

George, Lottie, and I walked back from Group Therapy, George with a protective and commanding hand on each of our shoulders, when the sound of furious shouting reached my ears. A glance up at George made my fears solid. The slight tic in his jaw, as if he knew exactly what was happening behind the door, gave it away. Lottie faltered a few steps until her body became shielded by his. The movement looked practiced and certain, like she saw him as her own plastic bubble to keep harm away from her.

"What were you thinking?!" John yelled from the lounge. I flinched, then straightened up and let my jaw hang slack. John never raised his voice. He never talked to any of us like that.

"I'm sorry!" Marcie's distinct, lilting voice cried out between sobs. "I just couldn't leave! I had to make sure they didn't discharge me!"

Pushing past George proved uncharacteristically easy. Pressing my ear to the door while he watched on would have made me uncomfortable any other time, but after pulling my friend's body from a noose the night before, the only thing running through my mind was the desire to find out why I'd been put in that position. She didn't want to kill herself, I was sure. The nicks in the rope, the loose noose, the lack of bruising around her neck... It all pointed to the fact that she'd done it for.... What? Attention?

"Did you know that they were taking you to the thirteenth floor?! Do you realize by how little you escaped that fate, Marcie?! What you did was stupid! Stupid and reckless and it would have killed everyone in this ward to see you get taken up there!" John roared. My tongue left the security of my dry mouth to lick my lips as a tremor of unease and fear dripped down my spine. I'd never heard him so infuriated before, and, quite frankly, it scared me.

I'd only just pressed my ear closer to the cool wood when a hand on my upper arm pried me away. George's intense glare focused in on me, commanding me to step back without a single word. How was it that this sixteen year old boy thought to protect a full grown woman? A woman and a frail teenager, at that? He dismissed my calculating frown and twisted the doorknob, watching it swing open and land against the wall with a soft thud.

Three sets of eyes swiveled our way. Marcie stood, dainty hands clenched together at her chest as tears streamed from the corners of her doe eyes. John towered over her, his face scarlet with rage and his knuckles white. Fire loomed in his gaze, daring on of us to say something to set him off. Esther, bless her soul, stood between the two friends, a hand to each of their sternums, pushing them away from each other with her face twisted in anxiety. I knew John would never lay his hands on Marcie, and Esther knew that as well, but it didn't mean he wasn't livid with the young woman.

The tension in the room suffocated my thoughts, and judging by the looks on everyone else's faces, it suffocated theirs also. John's shoulders heaved as he struggled to calm down. I took a tentative step toward him, questioning him. My heart dropped when he looked away from me, clenching his fists tighter.

But, I couldn't let him shut me out. Not out of this. If he could look at a situation concerning me and make a judgment call on my behalf, he owed me that same courtesy, and I planned on cashing it in.

Squaring my shoulders, and giving Power, who was watching then entire scenario fold out with morbid interest, the slightest amount of freedom so I could siphon off her courage and boldness, I glided over to him and took his fist in my hand. He turned, glaring at me through narrowed slits.

"Come with me," I whispered, focusing all my energy on sounding calm and collected. Was this what he did when he took over a situation for me? Did he feel the panic and swallow it down like I found myself doing that very moment? If so, he deserved a lot more credit than I gave him.

He stood firm, refusing my gentle pull, for a solid ten seconds. Ten tense, terrifying seconds, where he bore his eyes into Marcie's. His anger rolled through the air toward her in tidal waves, so thick we might have tangibly touched it if any of us had dared move.

But then, as if the gates opened and his resolve to verbally berate Marcie fled, he flicked his earthy eyes back at me. With a neanderthal-like grunt and a stiff nod, he motioned for me to lead the way.

I wasted no time. After a cursory glance at Esther to make sure she'd comfort Marcie, I squeezed his fist in my hand and tugged him out of the lounge with me. The lounge doors slammed shut behind us and I walked the two of us further down the hall, until satisfied we wouldn't be interrupted and he had adequate space to cool down.

I leaned against the wall, sliding down to sit on the frigid tiles that felt like ice against my thighs. "What's going on, John?"

He glared daggers at me, but I knew enough to know I wasn't the cause of them. He shoved an irritated hand through his blond hair. I noticed for the first time how much longer it had grown since I'd arrived at Rosenton. It had barely touched the top of his ears then, and now it grazed his chin, though he normally shoved it back away from his face. Doubled with the stubble he tended to let grow recently, I was astounded at just how much older he looked.

You look different, too. You look better than you ever did before. You look more like me and less like a hobo you'd find on an empty train, Power quipped, unable to resist commenting on anything that made her out to be better, stronger, or lovelier.

Though I was loathe to admit it, she was right. Every day, with every round of primping and prodding Esther did to me before bed, I seemed to glow a bit more. Some mornings the image in the mirror shocked me when I couldn't tell if I was staring into my own reflection or one of Power's parlor tricks. Yet, it always showed me, without any glamor infused by my counterpart. I wondered, if the two of us stood side by side, could anyone tell us apart?

John's gruff tone snapped me back to reality, a faint pinkness in my cheeks that I'd dazed off so easily.

"She was reckless and stupid. She knew what happens to people who try to kill themselves the way she did. She knew what the consequences would be, and she pulled that stunt last night anyway! If she knew what I had to do... If she knew how close she was to being taken..." he ranted, barely acknowledging my presence. He paced the hallway, yanking his hands through his hair and raving so quickly I barely caught a few words at a time. I watched him stalk back and forth like an enraged, caged panther. When he paused in front of me, I half expected him to bare fangs like a furious jungle cat.

"What do you mean? What you had to do?" I asked, tilting my head up to meet his eyes. He stood there, fuming, looking like he hadn't heard me speak at all before something clicked and he blinked.

"Huh?" he replied, as if he'd been in a trance the entire time.

My teeth sank into my bottom lip for a moment. "You said you had to do something to keep Marcie from being taken. What do you mean?"

All the pent up aggression in his body released, leaving him a slumped mess as he sank to the floor beside me, leaning his head back on the hard white wall. He stared up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused.

"I had to bargain with Shilling. Again."

If his words had been any quieter, I wouldn't have heard them at all. Something foreboding and sinister rolled in my stomach as I took them in.

"Bargain?" I whispered, covering his hand with mine. The chill in the unforgiving floor seeped through his hand and into the tips of my fingers.

"I had to give him some details I didn't want to give, Kate. He's been working on me for years, and I've never told him a thing about Normandy. Never told anyone. Never wanted to and never will want to. But, it was the only thing I had to bargain with anymore. I've already used up everything else I have to haggle with."

Every functioning cell in my body stopped.

"You... He makes you tell him things to keep from hurting us? Why?" I blabbed, nothing in my head forming into coherent sentences.

Without moving his head, he looked sideways at me. "He doesn't make me tell him anything. He just knows that I'll do it if there's a threat to any of you. But, now... Now there's nothing left to give him. And, the only reason he hasn't sent me to the thirteenth floor is because he doesn't know that. He's sick, and wants every ounce he can squeeze out of me before he decides he's the top dog in here. If anything else happens, Kate, I'm done. He'll send me to the thirteenth floor, knowing he's taken everything he can."

"Then leave! You told me you can go at any time! Get out before that happens!" I cried, twisting my body to face him. I grabbed his face in my hands and forced him to look me in the eye. His stubble itched at my palms, and I took a split second to savor that before putting myself back to business. "It's only a matter of time before one of us screws up enough to get sent there. You have to get out!"

Power grasped at the strings to my sanity, nudging me to let her take control. My breath quickened and I nearly choked. I wasn't being threatened, and there was no burlap to be seen to trigger her desires. There was no reason for her attack, albeit a gentle attack. More of a strong suggestion than a demand.

Unless...

John stared at me, studying my the emotions I knew were flashing across my face.

Let me out, Sane. I can convince him to go. I can make him leave so he doesn't get hurt, Power purred in my ear. She wanted to protect him. When had she become anything but self serving? What benefit could she possibly gain from his safekeeping?

Don't be so dramatic. You know I like him as much as you do.

"I would never leave any of you here without my help. You know that," he replied finally. The despair and hopelessness swimming in his eyes told me his self-implied duty wasn't so much out of care and honor as it was obligation and responsibility. We relied on him. We looked to him to guide and protect us. John was our leader, and by seeing him as such, we'd all inadvertently chained him here. He may have had the means to leave whenever he wanted, but his code of ethics, his moral guide, prevented him from leaving and casting us off to the wolves.

And then, it hit me. Like a train crash exploding in my head, it hit me. The realization left me breathless. John planned on dying in this place. People like us, we didn't get better. We didn't get reintroduced into the real world. Esther and I were lifers, and as long as he held onto this moral obligation to see us protected and safe, he knew he'd never get out of Rosenton Home for the Criminally Insane alive.

"Oh, my gosh." The words breathed from my lips as the impact sank into me, wrenching my heart into painful, impossible knots.

"I won't leave any of you here. That's why I've been talking to Robbie. If I can get all of you out of here, we might all have a chance to live," he murmured in my ear as I crashed into his chest, letting the sudden burst of tears soak through his cotton shirt. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me tighter to him.

"John, what are they doing on the thirteenth floor? I know you know! Please! Just tell me!" I sobbed, the thought of losing him to an unknown menacing force too much for me to handle. I had to know what we were up against. I had to know what I was fighting.

But, just like every other time I asked about it, his body and voice became like stone. Cold, calculating, and hard. He wrapped his hands around my upper arms and pushed me to sit on my own. A flicker of emotion ran across his face when he took in the tear stains on my cheeks, but it was gone just as fast.

He looked me dead in the eyes, piercing me so hard I was sure I'd be nailed to the wall when I tried to stand. I begged him with my eyes to open up to me, tell me what he knew, but I got nothing else from him.

"It. Doesn't. Exist."


***


I twisted and twirled my plastic spoon between my fingers, a nervous habit I'd picked up with Jensen and Sons, except the flags and batons I used to play with were much larger than the utensil in my hand. I imagined an extra foot on either end just to sate my nerves.

No one at the cafeteria table spoke to one another. Even George and Lottie remained silent, him eating what I assumed was supposed to be mashed potatoes and her pushing the food around on her plate, only bringing the spoon to her lips when the tiniest bit of potato remained on it. Ed seemed oblivious to the thick tension, but he rarely spoke anyway, so maybe he didn't notice. Esther watched each of us, her ample chest rising and falling in short bursts, showing just how anxious she felt. Marcie was back to being catatonic, her platinum hair damp and stringy, and her eyes watery as she gazed at the far wall with unfocused, enlarged pupils. For once, she had eaten even less than Lottie.

John seemed to be the most normal of us all, clearing his plate and leaning back in his chair. He studied Marcie, biting the inside of his cheek. So quick I nearly missed it, he glanced at me, asking for reassurance for what he was about to do. I nodded, offering him a small ghost of a smile for encouragement.

"Marce," he spoke. Every set of eyes at our table turned to him in shock. Except for Marcie, who didn't even hear him for all her reaction.

He reached over and placed his hand over hers on the table to get her attention. In an agonizingly slow motion that had my insides twisting at the unnatural feeling it gave, she turned her head to look at him, cocking it to the side the tiniest bit as a replacement for having to use her vocal chords to ask, "what?"

They stared at each other for a moment as the rest of us took in the scene. As long as I'd been at Rosenton, there had never been an altercation between any of us, and the rift in our dynamic left us all on edge and jumpy. Except for Ed, of course, who simply looked around at all of us as if he had no idea what was going on.

"Marce, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for upsetting you. You scared me, is all," John expanded, giving her dainty hand a little squeeze.

She didn't respond at first, but as we all grew more and more uncomfortable, shifting in our seats and trying to decide when the best time to bolt would be, she gave a slight nod alongside an even smaller smile. 

She accepted his apology.