Chapter
1
The
National Institute of Mental Health
The National Institute
of Mental Health loomed like a giant medieval fortress, a dismal and imposing
figure against the orange sky. Two
towers, remnants of the war, flanked the Institute’s entrance. Atop each tower, a sniper sat in waiting,
laser rifle in hand, his index finger lightly caressing the trigger. A young man was making his way toward the
entrance.
Joe Raymond
couldn’t see the shadowy figures whose sights were aimed his direction, but he
knew they were there. His stomach gave
an unsettling lurch. He took a few more
steps. Fifty feet from the entrance, slid
up his legs, his torso, his nose—finally coming to rest on his forehead. Their scarlet glare floated just outside his
vision.
Though he had
never visited the Institute before, Joe knew the drill. Legs quivering, he raised his hands above his
head slowly, deliberately.
“Stay right
where you are,” commanded one of the snipers over a loudspeaker. “Security will be with you shortly.”
Minutes passed,
but it seemed like hours to Joe. When at
last the door in front of him opened, he breathed a sigh of relief. Three men attired in black uniforms stepped
through the opening. The insignia on
their shoulders revealed them as the Institute’s police detail.
An older man
with a scarred face stepped forward.
“State your name and your business.”
“Joe…Joe
Raymond. I am here to visit Marietta
Lee.”
The man pulled
a small electronic device from a pocket in his uniform. He pressed a button, and the device projected
the details of Joe’s visit in the form of a hologram. A fuzzy reproduction of Joe’s face
accompanied a few lines of type. Only
one word mattered to Joe. Approved.
“It would seem
you have been approved,” said the man.
“Please come with us.” His eyes
examined Joe thoroughly. “Also, now
would be the time to inform us if you are carrying any weapons.”
“N-no, no
weapons,” said Joe.
“Come with us.”
Joe followed
the security detail hesitantly. He
couldn’t shake the feeling that something would go wrong as soon as he stepped
through the door.
“You must go
through the detector,” said the same man.
“Okay.” Joe stepped into a large, metallic box. This box was currently dark, but it would
light up quickly after he entered it.
The light, he knew, would turn green if he was deemed safe and red if he
was deemed unsafe. A few anxious moments
passed before the light turned green.
“Alright,” said
the head of the security detail. “Please
come with us. There is some paperwork to
fill out.”
As Joe followed
them, he couldn’t help but think the word paperwork was a bit outdated. No one used paper anymore. However, paperwork was, and always had been,
associated with bureaucracy. And seeing
as the National Institute for Mental Health was a part of the government, he
had expected bureaucracy of the most tiresome sort.
The only man
who had spoken thus far took a seat behind a table. He pointed to the seat opposite him. “Sit.”
Joe
acquiesced. His heart pounded against
his ribcage as he lowered himself into the chair.
“What is the
reason for your visit today?” asked the man.
“Didn’t I
already tell you?” Joe noticed his words
appearing on the hologram, exactly as he had said them.
“Yes, but I
would like to know your actual reason.”
“Th-that is my
actual reason,” said Joe nervously, eyes intent on the text that was appearing.
“I don’t doubt
that. What I’m looking for is the
ulterior motive.”
“Does their
have to be an ulterior motive?” said Joe.
The man
scrutinized Joe with a piercing look.
“Don’t play the whole stupid act with me. It won’t fly. This is not a pleasant place. People don’t come here unless they have a
very good reason.”
Joe fidgeted in
his seat. “Well, I just heard that an
old friend of mine was here. Marietta
and I grew up in the same housing unit.
I wanted to see her.”
“Very well,”
said the man as he rose from his chair.
“Follow me.” He turned to the
other guards and ordered them back to their posts. The head of the security detail clicked a
button on his device, and the fuzzy hologram of type faded.
Moments later,
he opened a door, then beckoned Joe through it.
Joe shuffled hesitantly through the door, peering back at the man
warily. There was no visible expression
on the guard’s scarred face.
Hundreds of
doors lined the long hall Joe had entered.
The floor beneath his feet was white, as were the walls and the
ceiling. The general effect was
blinding. Joe slowed his pace, prompting
the guard to prod him from behind.
“Keep moving.”
Joe tried to
calm his nerves, but he couldn’t help feeling like a prisoner as he marched down
the hall. His mind drifted to the
horrors of life in the Institute. He
couldn’t fathom Marietta’s misery in this bleak place.
