From the Ashes of Victory: The Complete Series, page 26
part #0 of From the Ashes of Victory Series
"Are you all right?" he asked as Millie gave the doorframe a suspicious once-over before darting through and pulling Elise in after her.
"I'll tell you on the way out," she said, not waiting for the look she may have gotten in response. She appreciated the concern, but if he didn't feel what she did, he either knew to expect it or would think she was crazy if he didn't. Neither possibility sat well.
As Millie boots thumped across the floor of the lobby, the nurse behind the desk looked up. It was a different one from the first time, but she had the same cool look on her face. Millie supposed they had been expected.
"May I help you?" the nurse said. NELSON, her badge said.
"Yes, I'm here to see Victoria Ravenwood," Millie said. "If she's able."
"Just a moment," Nurse Nelson said before disappearing into a doorway behind her, leaving the three of them alone in the lobby, and the visitor log on the counter.
Millie signed in absently before noticing something as she dropped the pen. "Only one person has visited since we were last here." She pointed to the single illegible scrawl between her signatures.
Bertram took the pen and signed in himself. "That doesn't seem all that unusual to me. There was only an hour after we left that someone could have visited."
"It's been 48. What about the postman? Shouldn't they be getting a lot of deliveries?"
Millie's suspicions were clearly not shared by Bertram, as all he had by way of an answer was a small shrug. "Logistics was not my purview."
Though Millie didn't have any idea how many people the hospital currently housed, only one visitor during open hours the week after Christmas seemed on the pitiful side. Then Ivy's words about forgotten souls came back to her and it seemed like the darkness around her deepened. She hoped Vickie was at least taking some solace in that she hadn't been forgotten, even if they couldn't actually meet face-to-face.
"I'm afraid Miss Ravenwood is still unfit for visitors, Miss Brown," Nurse Nelson said upon her return. "Would you like us to contact you should her condition improve to the point that she can?"
Millie slid the visitor log back across the counter.
"No, that's quite alright. Coming here gets me out of the house, at least," she said, returning to Nurse Nelson her own dead smile.
"Why did you turn down her offer?" Bertram asked once they were outside, hurrying to keep up with Millie's long strides down the gravel path. Only once they had passed back through the gate did she turn to answer him.
"I don't like that place. There is no way on Earth I was going to give them any more information than they already have."
"But they only have your name."
"You can do a lot with a name. They also know I know Vickie, and that we both know you. And now they know Elise."
Without even knowing she'd started, Millie began to pace the lane along the wall. Only now that she was on the other side of it did she begin to feel some semblance of normal again. The dimness, the chill that she had felt had lifted, leaving the world much the same as it had before she'd gone in, save for her memories of how it had felt. She shuddered.
"You're crazy," Bertram said.
"Excuse me?"
"Ever since we first set foot in that place, you've behaved oddly."
"You have no basis for comparison."
"This isn't a joke. Being difficult isn't going to get Victoria out any sooner, and frankly, your paranoia about the hospital's intentions is off-putting. They know what's best for her, and you are in no position to challenge that."
Millie couldn't help the bark of laughter that exploded from her. "You know nothing about me. Or us. Doesn't any of this seem odd to you?"
"Why would it? It's a hospital. They have rules and they follow them."
"Just what you're good at, eh? Don't question it, just do it."
"What it that supposed to mean?"
"It means something is very wrong in that place and you can't see it, because you don't want to. Or you can't," she said more to herself than to Bertram.
"That's uncalled for," Bertram said, his one eye narrowing in irritation.
"I'm not talking about your eye," Millie snapped. There was something else. "You really don't feel anything about that place? If feels completely normal to you?"
"Yes, if you need me to spell it out so clearly for you."
You're a witch, stupid, said a little voice in the back of Millie's mind. A Manifested witch. When she had arrived at ADAM, she hadn't believed in magic, or that witches were ever real. She had learned her error in spectacular fashion, but in only a few short years spending all of her days among witches and falling in love with one, it had become so normal she'd all but forgotten how different that fact made her.
"Apologies, Mr. Jones. This has been very stressful for us. I forget myself sometimes."
This seemed to mollify him, and even earn her some consideration. "It's all right. I understand. Losing a friend is not easy."
"She's not lost," Millie said, looking from Elise to the building that lurked beyond the wall, "I know right where she is."
November's lungs were on fire and her heart beat like it was trying to get away from them. She strode down the hall in the longest strides her legs could manage while trying not to look like she was in a hurry. Glancing back over her shoulder, she didn't see anyone following her, but that didn't mean they weren't. The halls of the hospital could be labyrinthine if you weren't paying attention, and at the moment, November felt she didn't have any to spare.
The further she got from the dining hall, the closer she got to Dr. Garland's office. The closer she got to Dr. Garland's office, the more she began to panic about what exactly it was she was going to say, even though she knew she had to say it. There was no question, in that moment. The thing she had feared happening had happened, and now she was going to have to face it.
Telling Dr. Garland herself, before anyone else had the chance, was the only way to keep something already ridiculous from being exaggerated all out of proportion to what she'd actually done.
You stopped a bullet, and now you accelerated a knife, she thought. And broke two people's legs. Her hands began to tremble in the simple truth of it: she could've done a lot worse. A few degrees different, and the knife would've gone into someone's eye instead of the ceiling, a third push a split-second later and it would have been skulls in addition to legs.
As she made the turn around the final corner to the doctor's office, she saw a shaft of light splitting the hallway, meaning his door was already open, but not all the way. As she got closer, she could hear him speaking, but no-one else. Speech. Silence. Speech. He must have been using a telephone.
November sidled up to the door to wait, keeping one eye down the way that she'd come while shaving away at her thumbnail with her teeth. But as she strained to hear the approach of pursuing footsteps, all she could hear was half of a conversation happening behind her.
"No, we haven't tried the procedure yet. I've told you, we can't be sure of its effectiveness as long as the current damage is unhealed… No, she has shown no signs as of yet. The memory loss seems to be inhibiting it… Yes, I am aware of that… It won't be replicable in that case… I see no reason to rush her only to come away with invalid data. There are other subjects before her, including the new one you just sent me… Tonight… If you want this to be provable and repeatable, I strongly suggest you abide by my assessments… Thank you. Of course I will… No, not yet. If she comes back alone, perhaps… Very well. Good-bye."
November's heartbeat was more akin to thunder now, and she'd forgotten all about what might be down the hall in favour of what might be on the other side of the wall. The floor had already fallen away and the ceiling was nowhere to be seen.
Memory loss! Some tiny part of her was shouting the word 'hubris' over and over again, but her instincts were holding it down and stuffing rags in its mouth. There was no-one else he could have been talking about other than her. Surely he would have mentioned any other patients who had the same affliction as she?
Then the word 'procedure' shone in her mind like polished steel: shiny, bright and dangerous. If he was talking about her, he had never made mention of any procedure.
While you were awake.
Suddenly and violently, the notion of confessing her abilities was wrenched from her bag of good ideas and dashed against the floor to be trod upon with all the bad.
If they wanted to tell everyone she'd hurled a knife across the room with her mind, they were welcome to invite the response they would get, and the one she would encourage. What she did not want to encourage was any notion of a 'procedure' being the response if she told the truth.
If the truth could change her forever, all a lie had to do was survive until her memories returned. As she scurried down the hall like a frightened mouse, she hoped the cat could look away just a while longer.
"Mallory!" Millie bellowed. Her fists thundered against the door to his office without care as to whether or not he was even there.
When the door flew open, she was actually surprised to see him. She was not, however, surprised to see that he was perfectly groomed and in uniform.
"What is it, Miss Brown?" Mallory said in a way that precisely conveyed just how little an answer was of concern to him.
"We need to get Vickie out of that hospital."
The faintest twitch yanked at the corner of his left eye. "And why have you brought this imperative to my door?"
"They won't let me see her, and you're in charge. I need you to get her released."
Mallory scoffed. "Miss Brown, Miss Ravenwood is not a child, and I am not a parent. I have no authority to do any such thing."
"You run this program, and she's part of it!"
"Your agreement with His Majesty's government clearly states that if you run into any difficulties outside of this program's purview, you will be disavowed and left to fend for yourself, just as any other member of society would be. Miss Ravenwood left of her own accord, and if you and Captain Jones are to be believed, gave herself up voluntarily to those currently caring for her. She did so after having left without authorisation, and so, therefore, absolved us of any responsibility for what may have happened to her. So you see, I must do nothing."
"But she's mentally impaired! What if she talks about ADAM while she's in there?"
"If your testimony is correct, then she has no memory of this place and therefore cannot disclose its existence. Should her memory return, she will sound like a raving loon."
"But—"
"Miss Brown, I sympathise with your desire, and I admire your loyalty to Miss Ravenwood, but as an agent of the state, my hands are quite tied."
"What about as a human being? As a man who's known her for years, who knows she's suffering right now? What does he have to say?"
"A game attempt to appeal to my better angels, Miss Brown. Unfortunately, I do not have the luxury to act as that man. Officially, I do not know Miss Ravenwood and have no affiliation with her."
"I see."
"Indeed you should. I do, however, have some good news: as Miss Ravenwood has suffered an accident and is currently institutionalised, you may no longer worry about her being prosecuted for absconding with secrets. It would be nearly impossible to prosecute such a case, given her condition."
Fury warred with disbelief and the resulting conflagration exploded from the wreckage of Millie's self control. "She doesn't even know what she is, damn you! She is a Manifested witch in a mental hospital! One that stopped a bullet without even meaning to! God knows what else she can do if pushed, but yes, fine, leave her alone and terrified, surrounded by crazy people. If you don't see how dangerous that is for them and you if word gets out, then maybe you need to be thrown in there with her!"
"If your argument has devolved into insults, Miss Brown, then I'm afraid our conversation is at an end," Mallory said, but Millie could see in his beady little eyes that she'd gotten to him. She should have known rightness and sympathy would have failed where threatening his job, or worse, his reputation, would succeed.
"You really don't care about her, do you?" Millie said. "I'd always thought your haughty aloofness an act to keep you separate from us, but you really are that callous."
"Good night, Miss Brown," Mallory said, and shut the door in her face.
"I'll be sure to let her know," Millie said, before spinning on her heel and stalking away down the hall.
The curtains in November's window billowed inward, letting in the cold air of night to cool her brow as she paced circles around her room. That the world was starting to make less sense instead of more was filling her with a nervous energy that she had to burn off or it would surely drive her mad.
Though she had been locked in for sleep, she knew full well that it would not be forthcoming in any reasonable amount of time. In fact, she was sure that it would only be sheer exhaustion that would take her if she couldn't get her mind to stop bouncing around her skull like a swarm of bees to the point she felt the beginnings of a headache.
Not only had the orderlies not dragged her away, they'd not even mentioned what happened in the dining hall. It was like it had never happened. Perhaps they knew how ridiculous the truth would sound and had papered over it with a lie of their own. She wouldn't allow herself to think she'd gotten away with it, especially after the conversation she'd overheard.
She tsked herself at how willing she'd been to walk right up to Garland and tell him what she'd done. Though if she hadn't, she would have never heard him talking, and she supposed she should be thankful for that. But the sight of Gretchen clutching her face and the sound of her scream made anything else November might have felt moot. Gretchen was in the infirmary and being treated, but November knew she was the one who'd put her there. Bea may have intended to hurt Gretchen no matter what November said, but November had made it one of the most painful ways possible.
Pacing about her room, the wheels in her head turned and turned, but with so little grist to work with, all she was making was a fine dust that was carried away by every errant breeze. But after what she'd overheard Dr. Garland saying on the telephone, she wasn't about to let her guard down.
Who was the 'new one?' Provable, replicable procedures… The more November thought about it, the less she liked it, and the less she liked it, the closer she found herself getting to the window. When she reached it, she found herself looking down and wondering if she would be able to walk away if she needed to jump.
It was something she should have thought about earlier, she chided herself, if for no other reason than if the building caught fire. If the doors couldn't be opened from the inside, she would have little choice but to jump. Well, now she had another reason. It wouldn't be an arrogant bully with a butterknife at her door if they really wanted her.
Though she'd been spared the choice of fight or flight twice by means she didn't understand, the very fact that she didn't understand it meant she couldn't count on it for a third. But then again, she'd had similar thoughts after the pub, so maybe she really would manifest some astonishing capability every time she was in danger. If she didn't, however, flight would be the only real option open to her.
Something within her recoiled at the thought. Steel she hadn't known was there rattled and shook in silent fury at the very idea, and her left arm began to itch. Curious. It was about time one of her tattoos had conjured something that wasn't pain or a bottomless well of sadness, but she had not expected it to be anger.
"Do you not want me to give up?" she asked her arm. Fire streaked her veins, curling her fingers into a fist. An auspicious sign of strength, she thought.
"Then tell me more!" she hissed. "I'm not a fighter," she said, looking down at her soft, almost translucent skin. Hers were hands for crunching numbers, not skulls. If she were a markswoman, she wouldn't be afraid of guns, and any weapons older than that would leave calluses or other signs of repeated wear.
There was no physical sign to justify the strength of her reaction. Something down in her memory hole was coiled and angry, like a dragon guarding its hoard. She just wished her dragon wasn't blind, deaf and unable to speak in anything more than base emotions.
Scared and angry was a combination that didn't sit well with November—it was a combination that she would expect if some brute had her cornered in her own home. The thought that paranoia could also bring on such a toxic amalgam was one that dropped her to the edge of her bed.
Paranoia dies in the face of information, she told herself, worry slain by facts.
If 'the new one' was connected to November, if she was under the same duress November felt herself under, she had to know about her. November knew this mystery woman had to be up on the third floor, a black void from which nothing ever returned. She hated the third floor. She hated the idea of the third floor, but since she couldn't recall seeing a single new face since she'd arrived, she knew that's where the newcomer had to be. November cursed under her breath at the thought, but she needed to know. If they were tampering with Mary's mind, they might be with the newcomer's, as well.
At the thought of the third floor, November became aware of something else up there besides dread. In the back of her mind, she felt a small tug. The suggestion that what she had chosen was correct and that she needed to go up there. She looked up to that dark place without thinking, and felt herself drawn to it, the word 'tonight' echoing in her mind.
The answer was up there, she thought. No, she knew. The steel returned, and she sat up straight again. The bees were gone and her mind was still, but she had no intention of sleeping—she needed it to solve a problem she, in that moment, became determined to solve: how to open the door.
Jumping out the window was survivable, but she had no way of getting back, especially if she snapped her ankle on the way down.
She stalked across the room and looked down at the sturdy steel lock for what it was: a puzzle.
You can stop bullets and start knives, you can do this, November told herself, though she had no idea how she was going to follow through with it.
