The Manipulation Room

Chapter 11 - One Soul

Manipulation Room victim no. 73228
Name: Blake Ezekiel 
Age: 64-year-old
Occupation: School Teacher 
Family Member: 29-year-old son, Rafferty 
Description: Hydrofluoric Acid thrown at the face, 5 ml swallowed. Caused 79% body burns and serious organ damage. 

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Weeks passed, they felt like days. Time had begun to dissolve into itself, as shapeless as the rain. Maybe this was because I was finally enjoying life again. Summer comes fast, as music turned up to full volume. The sky blazes blue and the sun is a celebration of yellow, free and bright. The trees rise to the occasion, donning their best verdant hues, and everywhere are the flowers, the scattered rainbow that they are. I mainly keep to myself, spending all of my time with my face either stuck in a book or talking to Kierra or Ezra. I've tried hard to avoid Credence and Maddox, and have succeeded so far.

Jaxon came and went, but Kierra and I were as close as ever. I knew I was wrong to worry. It would take more than a boy to tear us apart. Jaxon and Ezra also became close, which made me happy for some reason. I'd walk down the corridor and see them joking and laughing together and it filled me with a weird sort of joy. I spent almost all of my free periods with Ezra, in the place that was now ours. We did all sorts of different things, all of them weird and wonderful. 

One the first day he showed me the music he often listened to. It was music with no words, but it somehow told a story. I even began to tear up at one of the songs, which was slightly embarrassing till he put up his hand and wiped the tear away. It was a magical moment that was overshadowed by how embarrassed I felt. He made me feel better by playing a song about a duck meeting a cat, it was hilarious and soon I'd forgotten that there were ever tears in my eyes. 

On the second day he taught me how to sketch and even ripped a page out of the back of his sketchbook for me to practise on. I drew a hilariously rubbish portrait of him and he pretended to be offended before holding my hand and showing me how to draw properly. I ended up drawing an okay-ish picture of a cat and a duck. 

One the third day and the fourth day I brought in books to show him, and flicked to all of my favourite parts of the books, allowing him to read them. I explained each plot thoroughly, telling him about my favourite characters. He made jokes and silly references, which made me laugh, and soon we were too busy joking to even think about literature. 

On the fifth day I helped him with his classwork, which he struggled to take seriously. My bossy nature kicked in and soon enough, he caved in. I helped him with his homework, even though he hadn't asked me to, and he was completely up to date by the end of that free period. He brought me my favourite chocolate bar (that I'd told him on day three) at the end of the day, to say thank you and we split it in half, eating it on the way home. 

On day six we did nothing but talk. Talk about anything and everything. I'd found out by the end of it that he got his blue eyes from his father; he has a serious fear of woodlice and the dark; he used to be able to fit his whole fist in his mouth; he met Jaxon when they fought over the sandpit in year 2; his mum makes the best chicken soup and he's not gay. (sorry, Credence) I came incredibly close to telling him about my father before deciding that he didn't need to know and keeping it to myself. 

On the seventh day I couldn't come because Echo had a serious fever and Mum wanted me home to look after her. A half hour into elder-sister baby-sitting and he came knocking at the door with his Mum's chicken soup. He didn't stay for long but Echo and I both agreed that the chicken soup was culinary genius. 

And now it was a new week. A new week, a new day, a new free period spent with Ezra. Pretty much the highlight of my days. I walked down the field till I reached our secret spot, looking left and right to make sure no one else was watching. I pulled back the ivy and saw Ezra in his usual spot, on the horizontal tree trunk. He was so engrossed in his sketching that he didn't notice me entering.