The Great Below

The Test

Each layer of sleep peeled over Octavia like a thick, gelatinous tarp. She perceived, at a distance, the surface and harsh, white light. A distance impossible to close. It would be easy to give up – effortless, in fact – but something drove her to fight it, to scratch her way up even when her body seemed incorporeal and useless. She thought maybe it was the memory of freedom, or something like it. Standing in the parking garage and feeling the night air on her skin. Alex, asking her if she could be trusted, as if she were the dangerous one.

She heard the wrestling before realizing she was involved, and when her mind crashed to the surface, she was in a bathroom. Literally. Not like the bathroom attached to her room, with a toilet and a sink and a shower. This room was full of baths and nothing else; just white, porcelain tubs on either side, forming short rows. She must have been rolling around, trying to get up in her sleep. The smell of bleach burned her lungs.

Octavia lifted herself up onto her arms and scrutinized the floor. It was tile, and not well-laid. The glazed squares, once white, went up or down at amateurish angles, suggesting that either the floor was old or not installed properly. It all sloped down to a drain at the center of the room, not far from her elbow.

She had to get up. Octavia rolled over to her back when her arm caught and she grunted, trying to shake it loose. Sound came from beyond the tubs in a jumble, like finding the volume knob on a stereo in the dark. Someone was coming. She squinted against the overhead light and saw what impeded her: a set of handcuffs, fastening her wrist to the foot of a tub.

"Victor?" she asked.

Two figures appeared under the orange glow of the exposed overhead bulb, but all she could make of them were silhouettes. They were wearing black from head to toe, including masks that covered their hair and faces. Octavia tried hard to remember the last thing she had been doing, to make sense of how she'd arrived here, but all she came up with was taking the pills and, perhaps, sinking through the floor into a nightmare. She rolled onto her elbows again and tried getting up. Even with the tub for assistance, she couldn't go past resting on her knees. The distance from her handcuff to the foot of the tub didn't give her much space.

She tried taking in the whole room at once, which – even if she'd had her sober skills of observation – didn't add up. There were several tubs in two straight lines. Beyond those were walls, she assumed, but the light from above didn't illuminate much past a circle of dirty tile she found herself on. When she focused on the men, all she gleaned was that one of them had a gun tucked into the front waistband of his pants. They looked at one another, deliberating.

The chemical smell of the bleach had become unbearable, scorching her nose all the way down to her lungs, and she buried her mouth against her free arm. It was too oppressive, too real to be a nightmare. The armed figure reached down by his feet and lifted a white bucket.

"What do you want?" she asked him.

He hesitated then, weighing the question, arms suspended as he held the bucket. She could hear ice rattling inside. The medicinal fog prevented her from recognizing him, but she suspected. Victor and one of his new lifer friends. Could he have snuck in while she slept? She pulled against the handcuff, testing it. The water would help her wake up. It could help with other things, too. "I fucking dare you," she said.

And he did.

She was soaking heavy after that, each move weighed by a chill so deep it gummed up her joints, making her sluggish. Still, it had felt good to stand up to him – even if she'd been kneeling. She coughed out water until she could breathe again, then Octavia turned her attention to the handcuffs, sliding the ring with her free hand against the curve at the base of her thumb. She didn't have enough strength yet, shivering as she was.