Chapter 9 – is the only moral purpose of your life.”

We had what they call dinner delivered during our stay in the orientation room. Sandwiches and fruit with a bottle of water as we went over class registration and job descriptions. Any hope of light in the sky is gone when Jackson takes Fisher and Mario from the room. After about fifteen minutes, Rowena signals for Dee Dee and I to follow her.

Outside, the dying sun burns an orange glow on the mountain’s rim. The piney silence and crunch of snow enhances the sense of isolation. My feet hurt. My head aches. I’m more tired than I’ve ever been in my life. We each have our own flashlight as we climb toward the North Dorm. The girl’s dorm. The boy’s outnumber the girls three to one at The Center, so they occupy the South, East and West dorms.

Within fifteen feet of the building, a motion detector alerts a spotlight. A poster flaps on a tree, nails hold it on the top and bottom. Not a movie this time, but an image of the reality-TV-show Big Brother. The cast of want-to-be-famous people have X’s over their faces. And scratched into the paper under the show’s title are the words WATCHING YOU.

I glare at the offensive sign. Rowena chuckles as the mocking message entertains her. Probably a reality TV fan.

“Another art project?” I ask.

“An old one.” In the odd shadows, Rowena’s grin appears more sinister.

Call it an impulse. Call it fatigue. Call it whatever. All I know is I can’t stand one more freaking reminder. My fingers are on the edge of the poster before Rowena can fully grasp my intentions. The paper is thick and doesn’t come off the tree in a single pull. The words TCHING YOU remain and smack against the tree in the wind.

“You’ll pay for that.” Rowena reaches into her pocket.

I step back.

She doesn’t pull out a Taser or a gun. Instead she types something into her handheld.  I drop the portion of the poster I’m holding and wait. A dark wind picks it up and flutters it into the wilderness. Dee Dee stands frozen. I can’t stand it. I’ve been awake since 4:00am Eastern Time and it must be close to 9:00pm here in the god-forsaken Mountain Zone.

I can’t wait any longer. I push past Dee Dee and yank on the heavy wooden door at the side of the building. It doesn’t budge. I yank again. No luck.

“Where are you going?” Dee Dee follows me.

“Nowhere, obviously.” I lean against the log structure and wait for Rowena.

It takes the witch forever to pocket her handheld and come to the door. Stupid hag.

“Courtney, you’re in 366, Dee Dee 219.” Rowena hands us each a yellow, smiley-face keychain with two keys on it. “The big key gets you into the building, the small one your room.” She glares down at me from her Frankenstein height. “Make sure you ask Jackson about The Mark tomorrow, seems you now hold the record for getting one the fastest.” She clomps away cackling over her shoulder, “Nighty night, ladies, nighty night.”

Whatever. Stupid witch. Rowena, Jackson and Mark can all take a flying leap for all I care. I struggle to put the metal key into the lock. Where’s their fancy electronics now? I exhale a breath and try once more and the key slides into the lock and opens with a hard click. I yank hard on the door and we step inside and let the outside door slam closed. In front of me is an inner door, obviously to the first floor. To my right a half flight of stairs. 

“Now what do we do?”

“Go to bed.” I climb. Been to enough hotel rooms to know that 366 would be on the third floor, and 219 on the second.

As I ascend the stairwell, I spot the cameras immediately. They’re positioned to see the flight up and the fight down.

We climb and turn. Another camera. 

Coming and going.

Up or down.

Every step recorded.

My head hurts.

I eye the camera directly, refusing to give another inch.  Although I don’t feel it, I send a look that says, watch if you want. My I-don’t-care attitude is total bluster but they don’t know that.

We arrive at the second floor landing.

The words, BIG BROTHER �" WATCHING, are carved into the wood.

Hard to know if this is another art project or some mental game from The Center itself.

I exhale my exhaustion and begin my final climb to the third floor and Dee Dee follows behind me.

“Where are you going?”

She shakes her head and says, “I don’t know.”

“219, you’re on the second floor. Go through that door.” I point and take another step. I’m at the half landing when I see Dee Dee hasn’t moved. She’s frozen. I remind myself that I’m not her friend, but since it’s my fault Rowena didn’t finish the tour, I head back down the stairs. I’m too tired to help her, but refuse to leave her on my conscience all night.

“Come on, I’ll take you.”

“Thanks.” The nibbled-down nail on her index finger ends up in her mouth. I try not to be completely irritated by the childlike gesture. “How old are you?”

“Thirteen.” Dee Dee stays on my heels.

“Pretty young to be in this kind of trouble.”

She doesn’t answer. I immediately feel stupid for asking. Too parental. “Sorry.”

She remains quiet and I open the door.

The hallway stretches long. The walls narrow and compress. Lines tighten as I look down. Normal, like any perspective drawing, but the mood was artist M. C. Esher surreal. I shake out my hands, wishing I had a paint brush now. Doors on either side. Like any other hallway, I tell myself. Millions of buildings have hallways like this.

Keep moving.

We walk past door 200 on the right and 201 on the left. The building is large, silent, creepy. Hundreds of girls must live here. But no light shines from beneath doors. No giggling voices echo in the tight space. They can’t all be asleep.  

I push back thoughts of sedation. If Rowena was going to drug me, she wouldn’t have hesitated. As we continue down the hall, I listen hard for a single giggle. I search the bottom of every door for a light. But no signs of life present themselves. Alone in the cold, or so it seems.

We get to 219 and I deposit Dee Dee in her room. Before I can get two doors down the hallway, the girl calls to me. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Seriously?” There’s no way I’m holding her hand while she sits on the toilet. “It should be one of the doors near the front of your room,” I say over my shoulder.

“There’s only a closet.”

That can’t be. The bathroom is always near the front, unless it’s a suite. I go back and push open her door. What I thought would be like a hotel room was less than that. No small bathroom in the rectangular room. A lone bed, dresser, closet, desk and chair. Her carry-on suitcase sits abandoned in the middle of the room.

I step back. They can’t be serious. Deeper down the hall, right past number 225, I find a large public bathroom. Ten toilet stalls and three exposed showers. The promised camera winks at me like a dirty old man in the Metro station. First I’m supposed to get undressed with guards watching blurry images of me. I’m not a virgin or anything. Not likely any of the kids here are, but if I want to take off my clothes for someone, it should be my choice. And if that wasn’t bad enough, now I have to poop and pee in front of other inmates.

I march back down the hall. I point Dee Dee to the public bathroom and leave her to it. Enough charity for one night. I need to get to the disgusting room that will be my home for the next two years. By the time I make it to the third floor and lose my dinner in one of the communal toilets, I no longer care whose watching me. When my stomach finishes convulsing, I lean my head on the commode and cry.