The Hunt

Chapter 40: Hanna

I've lost track of time completely, but I think it's morning when Garik comes in.

"Hanna, how are you feeling?"

"Good. Great, in fact, can you let me out of here?"

He doesn't appreciate my answer, "I'm serious, can you walk? Are your physical functions up to standards?"

"I wouldn't really know considering I've been sitting like a rotting vegetable in this bed for who-knows-how long."

"Hanna, do I need to run the soldier's health clearance test on you, or can you answer me seriously."

I try to think of what Jonas would say. What would he say to Garik's authoritative orders. He would probably laugh at the fact that the man is trying to tell him what to do, and then he would make a snarky comment about how he could fight an army single handedly.

But Jonas is dead.

I stiffen a little, and I think Garik notices because he says, "Fine." He walks over and swings my pale and weakened legs over the side of the bed. Then he puts his arms under mine and lifts me up onto my legs.

I'm shaky on my knees so I lean all my weight onto him. As much as Garik annoys me, I'm thankful for his help.

Then he opens the door and drags me out of the room slowly. Standing outside is Mr. Anderson.

"What is he doing here?" I try to keep my feet steadily under me.

"Good morning to you, Ms. Laine. Garik," he nods to the Commander in Chief, "I'll take her from here."

"Garik, you give me to this man and I swear, I'll never work for you again," I attempt to rely on my own weight.

"That's the idea," Garik lifts my arms, and Mr. Anderson takes hold of them. I struggle but to no avail. "I'm sorry but you've just become too unstable. And with Jonas gone, I'm afraid you're slipping over the edge. I can't trust you with such a heavy responsibility like this mission, so I've talked to your team, and they're going to be assigned a new captain, and continue your work. You've done a great job for such a young age, and I acknowledge your efforts towards the greater good of Surga."

"Wait, where am I going? What is this, are you firing me? I know you think I'm crazy, but I'm the best chance you've got. I'm the only one here who has even a remote chance of finding Naya. I'm getting closer, just give me a second chance!" I plead.

"I have. I've given you far too many chances. And maybe it was my fault you went this way, I pushed you and Jonas too far at too young an age. You may be prodigies, but you are just kids and I should have realized that before it was too late."

I detect sorrow on the Commander in Chief's face, like he is actually sad about Jonas' death. He did raise us, after all. But any pity I have goes away when Mr. Anderson drags me down the halls, and I realize where we're going.

The mental hospital. The psychology ward, where they take soldiers who have gone nuts. I've seen it happen many times, but I never thought I would be one of them.

I laugh a little, "Oh, I get it. You finally got the signal from Garik, so you're going to lock me up in here, do some therapy, keep me isolated, all that, right? Because I'm crazy, right? I've gone off the deep end?"

Mr. Anderson doesn't reply, he keeps walking.

"If I had the strength, I would punch you in the face so hard, your teeth would fall out. Is that crazy enough for you?"

He stops in front of a door and takes keys out of his coat.

"So this is my room? It's nice. I was expecting a jail cell or something," I stumble into the small cube of a room. A bed in one corner, a desk in the other, a dresser, and then a door to a small bathroom.

"I'll call you when lunch is served," Mr. Anderson says, and then shuts the door. I hear the sound of the door locking, and collapse onto the small bed.

I scream into the pillow.

This is ridiculous. I'm not crying or breaking down anymore. Yes I have nightmares, but as long as I don't sleep I can keep them at bay. I should not be in a mental hospital.

Maybe I should pretend to be insane. Just to give them the satisfaction. Maybe I'll put scratch marks on the walls counting the days, cut words into my wrists, mumble or talk to myself.

I laugh again, because of how stupid it all is. How stupid Garik is for thinking I'm crazy. How stupid Mr. Anderson is for locking me up in this hospital for mentally damaged people, which I am not. How stupid this whole damn military is for not understanding how dangerous Naya can be.

They don't know Javaar. They don't know exiles. They'll never find the girl, much less kill her. She's just going to keep ambushing the city, strange things are going to keep happening in the forest; as the riots get bigger and the city has to step in, I'll be sitting in here, laughing because I was the only one who knew.

I reach into my pocket to feel the comforting stone in my hands. I sit on the bed and rub it in between my fingers, staring at the ceiling with fluorescent lights much cheaper than the ones in my old room. The room where all my stuff is, and Jonas's stuff.

When I hear the keys unlocking the door, and Mr. Anderson comes in, I sit up, "What are you going to do to my old room?"

"We'll put your things in storage, don't worry," he replies with not even a hint of compassion.

"Do I not get to keep any of it?"

"Maybe later, if you show emotional stability in your therapy. For now, we can't risk having anything that could trigger your meltdowns."

"Right."

He leads me out of my room and down past more identical doors, until we reach a small cafeteria. It's actually very nice. I've never been in this area of the building, and to my surprise, it's just as nice as the actual hospital branch.

The tables are clean, the walls aren't peeling and there aren't padlocks on the windows. The food looks decent enough, but the smell of the whole place makes me ill. It smells like cough medicine and hand sanitizer.

Mr. Anderson walks with me the whole way, through the line and everything. As if I'm going to run anywhere, or start trouble. The lunch ladies seem to like him just as much as I do. Which is very little.

"Hi," I nod to a woman in line next to me. She glances back at me with a look of terror and turns away quickly.

"Don't talk to any other patients. You'll just disrupt them," Mr. Anderson states quietly.

"Why aren't there that many people in here?" I ask him, taking an apple and putting it on my tray.

"Most of our patients aren't stable enough to eat lunch around other people. Much less in a public environment," he nods to the woman I just tried to talk to, "She was just cleared."

I glance at the fidgeting woman and then back down at my tray. The apple on my plate looks in better shape than most of these people.

Mr. Anderson finally leaves me, and I sit at an empty table in the middle of the cafeteria. There, I sit and eat my food in silence, staring down at the tray.

The cafeteria for regular soldiers and staff is much different. Jonas and I would always sit at the table with our team, or we would go out to get food in town. It was never like this. I never ate alone, feeling the stares of other people on my back, listening to the sounds of shuffling trays and chewing that break the silence.

It's like some weird twist of a high school drama.

Suddenly, I see a boy stride into the cafeteria. He grins widely at the lunch ladies and ravenously scoops up food onto his tray, sneering at the other patients in line as he cuts in front of them.

Javaar.

I pick up my tray immediately and weave through the tables, throwing the rest of my food into a trash can as I leave.

I can stand crazy people. I can stand eating alone. I can stand Mr. Anderson breathing down my neck.

But if there's one thing I'm not putting up with, it's that psychotic Prince of the Forest.