The Center

Chapter 4 - in his own image.

It was Nanny Bella who taught me to pray. She'd rub her thumb and index finger over rosary beads while I watched. I don't own a rosary. In fact, I don't own a belief system. That didn't stop me from asking Nanny Bella's baby Jesus to help me as I bury my face in my coat.

The smell of wool and perfume causes my stomach to stir. I pull it from my face and lean back against the Plexiglas behind me and close my eyes.

"Looks like the princess ate a poisoned apple."

I flipped Fisher my middle finger again while wishing he was right. Seriously, wouldn't it be great if this all turned out to be a nightmare? A really long one, starting from almost a year ago when I left San Diego. I close my eyes tighter and beg Mother Mary Full of Grace to take me back to my previous life. I will do better. I promise.

Problem is, I know no one's listening. I won't wake up from a cliché dream. Nobody is going to help me. No halo-toting, celestial being will swoop down. Not now. Not ever.

I have to do this myself.

I'll show them.

All of them will see.

"See what?" Dee Dee looks over at me.

Great! This isn't the time to have my body betray me. "Nothing," I growl at her. My weakness angers me until the Snowcat grinds to a stop in front of a massive log-cabin. We've arrived. Tall pine trees stand guard around the remote lodge. Packed paths carve their way around the building. It's late afternoon and at least six workers dressed in identical blue-green snow pants and parkas shovel snow from rocky paths.

Jackson uncuffs us from our seats and takes us one by one into the building. When it's my turn to exit the orange tank, my breath puffs into the air. No cars. No buses. No loud shouts across busy streets. The outside air hangs in an eerie silence.

How could it be so cold here when it was so hot in town? I'm literally doing everything I can not to freak. I don't want to think of torture, but I do. I don't want to think of Fisher or Mario being violent, but I do. I don't want to think that I'm going to die in this awful place, but I freaking do.

The wide porch is the same image The Center uses on the internet, only today it's iced with snow. I push back my thoughts wishing I hadn't done any research. But I did and now I can only hope the rumors aren't true. Even detention centers have to abide by human-rights laws. They can't do anything really horrible to us. They can't let anything horrible happen to us. Especially not me. Uncle John would shut this place down faster that Fisher can spit.

On the wall by the wooden door, a movie poster hangs protected in thick plastic. It kills whatever optimism I have left. Printed in black, white, and blue tones, the number 1984 reads bold across the front, but that's not what makes me think it's from a scary movie. A creepy face glares out past thick red letters that bleed "BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING."

I shiver. I hate all of those supernatural-keep-me-up-all-night-and-make-me-wet-the-bed stories. They can forget about me watching some psycho carve up college kids with a chainsaw. Or worse, that redrum movie Fisher keeps talking about. I'd rather read a book and that's saying something.

Inside, the big open room has a high, log ceiling. Decapitated animals hang on the walls. The eyes of a stuffed wolf follow me across the room. A huge stone fireplace sits cold and empty in the middle of the room, gutted like the mounted animals.

Jackson leads us into an enclosed conference room that smells like wet kitty litter. Six long tables, four folding chairs each, face a platform and wall monitor. Dee Dee, Fisher and Mario all sit at their own tables. Jackson signals me to a separate one as well.