Sleeping Dogs Lie

Chapter Nine

Next to the door in my room that leads out to the hallway, there's a laser scanner. I had the Snap before, and I guess I never paid much attention through that haze to notice it. Flat Top showed it to me when he brought Freya and me back from the doctor, though. I can open the door now when I wave my Mark over it.

Wave. Pop.

I open the door and look out. My room is on a long hall with closed doors up and down both sides. Ends in a closed door at one end. Closed door at the other. I know that Daniel's room is the door just to the right of my own.

Flat Top told me that my Mark will only get me in and out of my room for now, and that's about it. Fat lot of good that does me. Supposedly, once I've taken my aptitude test, it'll let me into whatever area I'll need to enter to go to work.

But not today.

I make Freya come over to the door.

Wave. Pop.

So Freya can open the door, too.

I spend about a half hour just opening and closing the door while my Snap wears off and the aches and pains crawl back into my skin and muscles and I remember who I am.

As I wave Freya's little arm in front of that odious laser, I get angrier and angrier at these people for putting that freaking bar code on her arm so they can track her every movement. I will no longer be in charge of her. They'll send her to some school for Permanents, where she'll be indoctrinated into their mindset, whatever that is. They'll ask her questions. Find out things about her over which I have no control.

Sugar comes in, all white and sparkly, with her little caddy, and sits me down on the bed. She makes a pouty face when she informs me that she won't be giving me Snap anymore. Then she leans in real close to tell me in her ridiculous, exaggerated stage whisper that if I want some, she promises she won't tell anyone, and she'll let me have it just one more time. I wonder how many "just one more times" there would be with Sugar if I were to take it now.

I assure her I'm just fine with whatever it is that the powers-that-be want me to have. Although, in the back of my mind, I have to admit I'm terrified by the implications of that conversation I overheard between Flat Top and the doctor and their concerns about my possible "deterioration." But really, I'd be happy if they never, never, ever put that Snap crap in my neck again. Ever. And if it comes down to a choice between getting a Snap and whatever "deterioration" encompasses, I choose "deterioration."

Sugar pouts some when I tell her I don't want the Snap, but in the end, she gives me a regular old syringe full of some regular old liquid for pain, and another for my "throw-ups." And then she's back to her sparkly self as she takes off, promising to "be back in four, baby doll!"

Whatever medicine she gave me is much nicer than Snap. It still makes me feel a little floaty, but it doesn't make the world go bye-bye the way Snap does. It makes my pain bearable, but I'm still aware of the fact that I'm in a less than satisfactory situation, in more ways than one.

And above it all, I am aware that it is my own fault I am here.

But at least now that my brain's not floating around in the clouds, I can maybe spend some time trying to figure out what's really going on in this joint. And once I get that figured out, maybe then I can figure out how I'm going to take care of me and mine while I'm here.

Wave. Pop.

I let myself out of the room. This time I let the door close and lock behind myself. There's another laser scanner on the outside of my door, too. Each door up and down the hall has one.