Chapter 8 – “Achievement of your happiness

Walking back to the orientation room, I run my hand along the wooden walls. The smooth veneer prevents slivers but not the bumps and knots. Numbness coats every cell in my body except my fingertips.

Bump.

Knot.

Smooth.

I need to snap out of this funk. So what if Uncle John can’t help me. I don’t need him, I’ll escape on my own.

Back in the painted room, an egg-like stink fills the air. I don’t remember it being there before, but it doesn’t smell new. I shake my head, hoping to dislodge the scent. Doesn’t work.

I slump into my seat. The four of us sit at our original tables.  Everyone’s quiet. No doubt they were violated the same as me. And, I can guess, if they made phone calls they were equally unsuccessful. Maybe we could team together to plan an escape.

But that’s stupid.

Mario and Fisher are criminals and Dee Dee’s barely a teen.

No, I’ll have to get out of this place on my own. The lights dim. The screen illuminates a satellite map of what must be the entire center. I lean forward and smile. This is perfect. I recognize the top of the Snowcat parked next to the roof of the building we’re in. This isn’t an old shot. It’s current. Real time. Now.

My attention is pulled to a round building in the middle of the map. Eight paths reach straight from it like a child’s drawing of the sun. Other scattered roofs peek through snow and trees. Green, white and brown cover the majority of the screen. All except one gray patch of open cement that sits in the upper left corner. I can just make out what looks like the lines of a maze.

What I can’t see is the fence. My best escape option would be to head down the path the Snowcat came up. Risk the electricity. Or better yet, hide and wait for another vehicle to enter and sneak thru while the gate is open.

On the map, hundreds of lighted dots float around.

Some yellow.

Some red.

Very few blue.

Not wanting the distraction, I stop watching the floating dots and study the perimeter of the map for escape routes. Jackson drops a leather band on the table in front of me. I rub the pain from my temples. Seriously? How many torture devices does this place have?  

“It’s called The Shackle.” Rowena lifts one in the air like a flight attendant demonstrating the use of air bags. I could use an oxygen mask right about now, but I bet we won’t get one of those. “The Center uses this device to keep track of you. Jackson told you the windows don’t have bars and when you get to your dorms you will see that the door to your room locks from the inside. You determine what to secure both night and day. Your carry-on bag has already been taken to your room.”

I raise my hand. It’s easier to pretend I’m in a school rather than a jail. A trick to fool my brain from the horribleness of this place. “Why did we bring our own things if we can’t wear them?”

“Oh you can,” Rowena’s smile creates an ugly crease across her face. “As soon as you earn them. But hopefully your bag doesn’t only have clothes or shoes. Any personal mementos can be kept in your room for comfort.”

My Louis Vuitton carry-on has clothes, shoes and make-up. I didn’t bring a freaking teddy bear. Man, this place is seriously twisted. First tasers, then a strip search, now mind games.   

“The Shackle will track your location at all times.”

At all times?

“Yes,” Rowena smiles at me. “At all times.”

Great. I pinch my lips together. Wouldn’t help me at all for this hag to hear what I really think of her. I turn my attention to The Shackle, picking it up with my free hand. It’s made of real leather, soft as a Birkin bag. The opposite side has breathable holes. Imbedded in its surface are flat metal disks the size of a nickel. I touch one and it hums to life. I drop it on the table, afraid it will shock me.

“The Shackle monitors your GPS location as well as your pulse,” Rowena continues. “Once The Shackle is attached to your ankle it provides data to the guard tower here,” she points to a wooden square on the screen. “Here.” Another tower on the opposite end. “And here.” The third appears near what looks like the entrance the bus came through.

“Right now you will arm your device by speaking your full name into the small microphone.” She points to The Shackle in her hand.

I study mine and see on the leather side a small exposed section of mesh.

“Courtney Anne Manchester,” I whisper into the thing more out of curiosity rather than obedience. 

Rowena zooms in on the map to the building we are sitting in. A few dots move around outside the building and only one yellow dot blinks inside.

“Good job,” Rowena looks at her handheld, “Courtney.”

The witch couldn’t have heard me say my name. No way. She must be reading it on the electronic device in her hand. Wow, how stupid could I be, the yellow dot is me. I just locked myself into the system. Great. On the bus ride up I hoped for constant monitoring. Big mistake. As I watched my yellow dot blink, I realized I’m trapped. Forget about freezing while hiding under the Snowcat, this blinking yellow light will give me away quickly. Even past the fence. It could probably follow me home. Who needs 20,000 cameras when they have this? 

“DeeAndra Thomas.”

Another yellow dot blinks next to mine.

“Mario Rodriquez”

A red dot appears and starts to blink.

“Dillon Fisher.”

The fourth blinking dot is red.

There we are. Cataloged and assigned. Under constant surveillance, twenty-four/seven. Prevented from escape. Obviously red dots are lottery and yellow are not, I’ve no idea what the blue dots could be. Honestly I don’t care. All hope of escape has been swallowed into illuminated lights. If I find a way out, I’ll have to leave this stupid thing under a bush somewhere away from a camera.

“Check to see if your Shackle is functioning by attaching the device to your ankle.” She demonstrates by plopping her size ten on a chair and wrapping one around her thick ankle. Based on the amount of hair on her legs, I wonder if she had ever been a he. While most transsexuals made beautiful women, this one should have stayed a man.

I lean over and place The Shackle on my ankle and remove it quickly when the metal discs starts to hum.

“Don’t worry,” Jackson says. “It won’t hurt you. The technology only measures your pulse.”

I watch the other three inmates tentatively strap on their Shackles. As they do, the lighted dot on the monitor stops blinking. I go ahead and connect the complicated clasp, not wanting to show the rising fear inside of me. The entire device creeps me out, but I can’t let that show. No matter how scared I get, I’ll never let these jerks see it.

The metal hums against my skin like a parasite. Not sucking my blood but monitoring it. I stand up and walk around without asking permission. I’ve tried on enough new shoes to know that even the softest leather can rub. This one doesn’t.

“Comfortable, right?” Jackson smiles. “Everyone else, join Courtney to see how The Shackle feels.”

“I’m not a princess and I don’t parade.” Fisher leans back in his seat and folds his arms.

No one else gets up and I start to feel stupid. Jackson’s condescension irks me. They can monitor me all they want. But I’m not a puppet. “What about taking a shower?” I ask. I might be able to escape when I take it off.

“You might have noticed,” Rowena taps her finger on the screen. “That when you are wearing your device, the light doesn’t blink. When you take it off, the light will blink. An alarm will go off after thirty seconds of separation. The device will beep and let you know when time is ending. So don’t imagine that you can take it off and leave it somewhere. We will know. And,” she leans forward, her face stern, “we will also monitor your pulse to make sure you don’t get too excited, if you know what I mean.”

Dee Dee wrinkles her eyebrows together and I shake my head, confused.

“No sex. Got it?”

My jaw drops and I sit hard in my seat. Wow. She’s serious. I plop my head onto my palm. What makes her think I would ever be so desperate as to have sex in this place? Cameras everywhere. What a joke. The last thing I’m thinking about is sex.

Man, I’ve got to escape. But how? Unless I can find a way to trick The Shackle and mimic my pulse, I’ll never be free.