The Boy in the Gray Hoodie

FOURTEEN | Games

Lie still. Very, very still.

Don't open your eyes.

Don't move.

Dead.

He knew what that felt like. No room to move. Muscles paralyzed. Weighed down by something heavy, pressing the air out of his lungs. A lingering darkness that fell over his eyes. Blind. Cold. Empty.

E7 opened his mouth to suck in a breath, squinting to force his eyes shut. It's not real, he thought, breathing louder, anxious. His skin was clammy and cold, a sheen of sweat glistening in the pale buzz of fluorescent lights. It's not real.

"Think of it as a game," James had said. "Just between the two of us."

A little game.

"A trick. No one else can know."

Trick.

Now James was gone and E7 had to think about his words and try to understand them. Games, tricks, pretending—what did it mean? It means don't move, he told himself. That was all he knew for sure, and it was the safest thing to do. James wanted everyone to think he was dead. The kind of dead that had never happened before. The one that couldn't be undone.

E7's thoughts came out in a burst of air, a breathy gasp shifting into a moan as it scraped up his throat. Quiet! Have to be quiet!

His hands started to shake, fingers twitching uncontrollably. How long had he been laying like this? His stomach growled, loudly. He held his breath for a moment, then opened his eyes wide. Lifting his head, he stared down at his waist like it had betrayed him, his mouth open enough to expel another breath. This wasn't going to work. No one would think he was dead. James was going to be so angry.

Still breathing heavy, E7 pressed himself against the metal bed and shut his eyes. He had to do this. James had told him what would happen if he failed this test.

"They're going to take you away. Strap you down. Keep you drugged out of your mind. Not just between tests, so you can heal. They'll do things to you that I would never do."

"Who? W-why?"

"Dr. Blair."

That woman with black gloves.

Thoughts of the rabbit had flitted through his mind, followed by the memory of blood all over his hands. He was thinking about it now, too, and trying not to let his anxiety grow. It was already too heavy on his lungs, forcing him to breathe harder just to get enough oxygen to ward off the dizziness spinning the room.

"She thinks you're dangerous," James had said, "that you can't control yourself. But I know that's not true, E7. You can control yourself. We're going to show her that."

The game was for Dr. Blair. It was supposed to trick her so that she would not want to take E7 away. Panting, he squinted again, trying not to see the images flashing through his mind. But they wouldn't stop. Seconds into his thoughts, it was like he was actually there.

It was a small, dark room lined with tables, each one covered in metal objects. He saw a few recognizable items like a scribbler, flashlight, a clipboard—and other things—silver objects reflecting light, some flat, others curving and sharp—that he couldn't name.

In the center of the room was a bright, round light that didn't flicker. Underneath it, directly in the beam, was a chair with no back on it, just a seat and a thin metal bar on either side that joined and curved at the top to support his head. Two thick straps under his armpits pressed each shoulder to the bars, keeping him upright. His left arm was kept straight out in front of him, held in place by a metal brace that extended up from the leg of the chair and curved over his thigh to his torso. He was drooling and moaning softly, unable to fight back as two doctors with black gloves hovered on each side, needles gripped tightly in their hands.