فصل 28

Chapter 28: Sharon Vey

Thirty-four marks. Sharon Vey had counted the days of her captivity by scratching marks into the concrete floor of her cell. Her room was only ten by ten, two-thirds of it occupied by her metal cage.

She was sitting back against the bars when Hatch walked into the room. “Hello, Sharon.” A buzzer went off and he typed in the required code. Mrs. Vey turned away from him.

“Miss me?” Hatch asked.

Still no answer.

“I trust your accommodations are to your satisfaction.” “You can’t keep me here.”

“Of course we can.”

“You won’t get away with this. They’ll find me.” Hatch’s brow furrowed with mock concern. “Who will find you?” Mrs. Vey didn’t answer. She knew it was a stupid thing to say. No one would find her here. She wasn’t even sure where she was.

“Surely you don’t mean that inept little police department in Meridian, Idaho. In the first place, we own them. Secondly, you, my dear, are a long, long way from Idaho. And the only way you’re ever going to get back there is if you no longer wish to return.” “I know who you are,” she said.

“Do you?” He sat down in the room’s lone chair, an amused grin blanketing his face. “Don’t make me wait, tell me.” “You’re Jim Hatch.”

“I prefer Dr. Hatch, but yes, they used to call me that.” “My husband told me about you.”

“And what, exactly, did your late husband have to say?” “He said you are an unstable, diabolical, delusional man with megalomaniac tendencies.” Hatch smiled. “Did he also tell you that I’m dangerous?” Mrs. Vey looked at him coldly. “Yes.”

“That’s the thing about your husband, he always called a spade a spade.” “Where is my son?”

“We have him safely locked away as we reeducate him.” “I want to see him.”

“When we’re done, you’ll see him. When he’s broken and subservient, you’ll see him. You may not recognize him anymore, but you’ll definitely see him.” “You’ll never break him.”

“On the contrary. If psychology has taught us anything, it’s that everyone has a breaking point. Everyone.” “I want to see my son!” she shouted.

“Poignant. Really, I’m moved. A mother crying out for her son. But what you want is of no relevance. All that matters is what I want. Besides, he’s not ready. He’s a special boy. And when we’re done, he’ll be of great value to our cause.” “You have no cause except your own lust for power.” Hatch grinned darkly. “You make that sound like it’s a bad thing.” He leaned toward the bars. “The lust for power is the only way the world has ever changed. Of course we dress it up in noble intentions, but in the end politics and religion are like sausage—it may be good, but it’s best not to know what goes into it.

“Trust me, the day will come when I will be honored as the visionary I am.” “You’re delusional,” Mrs. Vey said.

Hatch smiled. “All great men are delusional. How else could they be crazy enough to think they could change the world?” He leaned back. “The day will come when I will be as celebrated as George Washington is today. And the electric children, including yours, will be held up and worshipped as the pioneers of a new world order. You should be pleased to know that your son will be held in such high esteem. You cling to the past only because you fear change. But nothing good comes without change. Nothing. Change is evolution, nothing more. And if it wasn’t for evolution you’d still be living in a tree eating bananas.” Mrs. Vey just looked at him.

“Speaking of eating, has anyone told you what you’ve been eating for the past month? Those tasty little biscuits are called Rabisk. They’re made of ground-up rats: meat, fur, and bonemeal.” Her stomach churned.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” He walked to the cell door and opened it. “You may come in now.” Tara walked in. “Hi, Mrs. Vey.”

Mrs. Vey looked at her with surprise. “Taylor?” Tara smiled. “It’s so good to see you.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to help. What Dr. Hatch is doing is wonderful. For all of us.” “Have you seen Michael?”

“Of course.”

“How is he?”

“He’s great. He’s having a good time.”

Mrs. Vey couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “A good time? Has he asked about me?” Tara shook her head. “No. I mean, he knows you’re okay and we’re all just so busy and going places. But I’m sure he’ll find time to visit before too long.” Mrs. Vey knew her son better than that. Something was wrong with the situation. Something about the girl’s eyes was different—not the color or shape of her eyes, but something less definable. It was the light in them. Or lack of it.

“Does Michael still wear the watch you gave him for his birthday?” Mrs. Vey asked.

Tara hesitated. “Uh, most of the time. Not when he plays basketball or stuff.” Mrs. Vey nodded. “So, Taylor. What do your parents think of you leaving home?” “They’re really happy for me.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. They’re so proud that I can make a difference in this world.” “Even your dad?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t he be?”

“Well, you know how schoolteachers worry about kids. Especially their own.” “No, he’s good with it all. He’s good.”

Mrs. Vey stared at her for a moment, then breathed out slowly. “No, he’s not. Your father’s not a schoolteacher, he’s a police officer. And you didn’t give Michael that watch for his birthday. I did.” Tara glanced nervously at Dr. Hatch.

“Who are you and why do you look just like Taylor?” Mrs. Vey asked.

Hatch slowly shook his head. “It was worth a try. Sharon, this is Tara, Taylor’s lost twin. And she’s going to be your new best friend. Every day until we bring Michael in, she’s going to make your stay a little more . . . interesting. Just like she did for your son.” “What did you do to him?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. Tara, Mrs. Vey likes rats. She’s been eating them for weeks now. So, for your first session,” Hatch said, tapping his temple with his index finger, “I think you should give her a few hundred to keep her company.” “Yes, sir,” Tara said.

“Thirty minutes’ worth.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hatch smiled. “Very well. I’ll go now and let you two get better acquainted.” * * *

Hatch walked back to the others, who were still in the theater. “Let’s go,” he said.

The youths immediately stood, unnoticed by the others in the room. When they were outside the theater, Bryan asked, “How many times do they have to watch that movie?” “As many times as they need,” Hatch replied. “A few of these prisoners have seen this particular presentation more than a thousand times. Remember, repetition breeds conviction.

“When the prisoners are brought in for reeducation, they go through our boot camp, a carefully orchestrated psychological assault guaranteed to drive them to submission or madness. We’ll take either. First they are shown a rat feeding, then told that they will be fed to the rats the next morning. While they await their fate they enter phase one: They are locked naked in a three-by-three cell without food or water. We call this ‘think time’—time for them to contemplate the fragility of their own mortality and their own powerlessness.

“In their cell there is no sound, no darkness, just a bright light and their impending death. Since there is neither a clock nor contact with the outer world, they do not know when it is night or day, and minutes begin to feel like days. On the third day they are given two cups of water and three Rabisk biscuits. They are told that their fate is still being considered.

“They then enter phase two. During the next seventy-two hours loud music is piped into their cube, nonstop. We usually choose something primal with a heavy beat, like heavy metal or grunge, as we find that it has a decidedly unsettling effect. Believe me, it works.

“After those three days comes phase three. The music stops. They are told that due to the mercy of the Elgen and because we believe that they still might be saved, their life has been temporarily spared. This is when their education begins. We start by playing a looped audio presentation we call The Scold. This recording consists of different voices screaming at them, condemning them for their crimes against humanity. After three days of The Scold they are usually reduced to whimpering idiots. They are then invited to confess their crimes, real or imagined.” Hatch grinned. “You’d be surprised what they come up with.

“They are then reviewed by one of our therapists, and if they are sufficiently penitent, they are moved to a cell and allowed brief interaction with others—in supervised group therapy, of course. It is here that they are given a new identity. They are allowed to confess and seek forgiveness. All this time they are allowed only four hours of sleep a night, and the rest of their time is filled with studying the Elgen plan of forgiveness and our new global order. Every moment is planned, and they become deeply dependent on us. By the end of the process, they belong to the order and we reinforce their condition by allowing them to help reeducate others. It’s a beautiful thing to watch.” Tara appeared in the hallway.

“How did it go?” Hatch asked.

“Good. She’s strong, but not that strong. She passed out.” “Next time tone it back so she experiences the full therapeutic effect.” “Yes, sir.”

Hatch looked back at the group. “It’s time for dinner. I want you to go to bed at a reasonable hour. The guards begin arriving early tomorrow. We have a special few days ahead, and I want you at your best for all of it. This is the time for you to show them who you are.” Hatch smiled. “My eagles.”