Shatter

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Chapter Sixteen

Jaison was determined.  That was one thing I was sure of from day one.  He was someone that knew what he wanted and wouldn’t give up until he got it.  What did he want?  Freedom and he was unwavering.

Four days went by as Jaison thought up a plan.  Time passing meant that the gifted children were going into the experiment room.  One left the day after we came back.  He only just returned yesterday.  Everyone knew that I was next and that the boss would show no mercy for me speaking out and for not destroying Jaison like he had planned, not that it was my fault.  For whatever reason, my gift just wouldn’t work on Jaison, and I didn’t want it to.

We were always touching now.  We would hold hands, or hug, or lean against each other, but whatever it is, we always had some kind of physical contact.  It’s insane how much you miss human touch after years of not having it and fearing any type of interaction.

            Jaison had a way of making things better, more bearable.  He used the white sheet that was on the bed and covered the tally marks.  He said that it was kind of like putting a Band-Aid over a wound, that it wouldn’t heal it entirely, but at least I wouldn’t have to sit and stare at a bleeding gash.  He made me open up about what I was feeling and how I viewed myself and forced me to realize that it wasn’t me who was the bad guy, that it was the boss and he was the one that was making me hurt people.

            Jaison had bad dreams.  I had never noticed it when he slept on the floor, but now that we shared the same bed almost every night, I could tell how his facial features would twist into something pained and wounded.  He would murmur fragments of speech, mostly apologies or justifications like “I tried,” which he said often.  He explained that they were mostly about his mom, some about me and how much he felt like it was his job to get me out of here.

            He talked to the other gifted children.  Usually at night, while the hall lights were turned off, Jaison would make his way to the cell door and talk to the people around us.  In all my years of being here, I never thought about talking to the other kids, but Jaison did, and to my surprise, they talked back.  He would tell them about wanting to escape and needing to make a plan.  They made plenty of plans but all of them had flaws.

            A major flaw that was consistently a problem was that none of us really knew where an exit to this place was.  No one had ever seen a door that lead to anything other than the torture room, the bathroom, or the boss’s office.  Jaison concluded that we were probably underground somewhere that it rained often, gathering what he knew about the wet stones and the bucket that was constantly collecting water and it also explained why no one had a window in their cell and didn’t remember one in any of the rooms we often visited.  That meant when we escaped, we needed to find stairs that went up.  I remembered when the woman from the state came to check on the conditions of the hospital, that I was lead up some stairs.

            Jaison drew out a makeshift map in the dirt on the floor.  He included what we knew about the cell area which we were calling the living room.  He drew the hallway leading to the torture room which we were calling the kitchen.  Then there was the showering room, aka, the bathroom and the boss’s office which we were calling the bedroom.  He drew another floor which we were calling base because that’s where we want to be…we think.

            So now that we knew where we needed to go (sort of), we tried to think about how to get there and what to do afterwards.  It was pretty obvious that once we got out of the building we would run like hell to where ever we could hide, woods, water, public places, wherever we could.  After that though, where would we go?  Luckily, number Ten, or Urbana as I was beginning to replace names with numbers, had family that was still desperately trying to get her out of the hospital and would be more than willing to hide us all out until we learned to cope with our gifts and move on in the world.  That only left the how.

            How would sixteen children break out of a highly guarded mental hospital?

            We would have to break rules, maybe kill a few people, but would it be worth it?  Urbana and I thought a lot alike in this matter and often asked the group if we were really worth the trouble.  Jaison and Urbana’s partner, Ronny, insisted that we never asked for this life and that we didn’t deserve it.

            There were three of us with harmful powers.  Me, with my shattering, Fia, or number Six, who could create fire with her mind and her partner, Calder, or number 14, who could manipulate water.

            There were the two healers, Jaison and Urbana, who could see illness in people, but couldn’t really heal them.

            The third group were what I called the manipulators.  There were six of them.  Athan, number One, who could change objects around him so he couldn’t die.  Kate, Athan’s partner and number Fifteen, who could change bodies.  Austin, number Eleven, could enhance or weaken someone else’s power, and his partner Ashley, or Four, who could take on someone else’s power.  Matt was number Eight and could change what people saw, and his partner Natasha, or Thirteen, she could feel other’s emotions and manipulate them.

            The final group was what I called the seers.  That group consisted of Eleanor, number Seven, who could read auras, or people’s energy.  Her partner Hugh, or Five, could read people’s minds.  Then there was number Twelve, Neveah, who saw the future and her partner, Avan, number Nine, who can see clips of people’s past.  Lastly, there was Ronny, number Three, who was clairvoyant.

            Planning the escape was the hardest part.  Everyone had a specific role to play and would have to stick to their role or else the whole thing would fall apart.  For many of us, that was the hardest part, trusting that everyone would do what they were supposed to do.

            At night I lied awake in Jaison’s arms, nerves keeping the sleep away.  He pulled me closer to him, kissing the top of my head and mumbling something about everything being okay.

            “Jaison?”  I asked, my voice sounding small and feeble.

            “Yeah?”

            “What if the plan doesn’t work?  What if something goes wrong and one of doesn’t make it out?”  Jaison pulled away to look me in the eyes.

            “Mel, the plan is solid,” Jaison said softy.  “It’s going to work.”

            “I know but-“

            “Hey,” he said, cutting me off mid-sentence.  “Trust me, everything’s going to go fine, we’re going to get out of here.”

            I nodded despite my doubt.  I wasn’t just worried about the plan not working, because Jaison was right, the plan was solid.  I was worried about what would happen afterwards.  How would I function in the real world?  After all, the only thing I knew was this cell and the torture room.

            I took a handful of Jaison’s shirt and burrowed my head under his chin.

            He was right.  Just stick to the plan and everyone will be okay.

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