Page 21 of The Flame

Belinda Hart was a lot older than me, a lot older than Janice. Her hair still held color, although the blond seemed to be washed out, limp strands cut into a bob that sat just shy of her shoulders. The rest of her was staid and neat. She wore a thick woolen skirt with flat boots and a cardigan buttoned up to her throat beneath a matching woolen jacket.

Janice was also dressed in a black pantsuit and flat heels, while I was in my comfortable jeans, stylish boots and a long-sleeve t-shirt beneath my winter coat.

Janice ushered us outside into the blustery chill and fine drizzle, speaking as we hurried up the street and to the corner across from the Guard Station. “The shuttle runs on the hour throughout the day to the Quantum Zone, but there are additional early morning services. The Rehabilitation Center is the last service stop.”

We weren’t the only people waiting for the mini-bus, mostly men dressed in sharp suits but two other women as well, dressed in the gray pants and tunic shirts of the guard uniform. They looked as out of place as I felt, catching a morning shuttle towork.

The lack of privacy meant we didn’t speak much more, except for the odd pleasantry.

“I’m delighted to finally meet you,” Belinda said, her smile warm, almost grandmotherly. “I only know you by reputation, and what we’ve seen on the screens, but I feel as if I know you.”

“Thanks.” What else could I say? I blushed and awkwardly returned the smile, and then the shuttle arrived, already half full, and we packed on and found spare seats scattered amongst the other passengers.

I’d never visited the Rehab Center. Everyone knew where it was situated, set apart from the hub of the Quantum Zone, all the way across on the far end, but it was an institution ofnightmares. Despite my usual overactive curiosity, this was one place I’d never felt any desire to explore for myself.

We drove through the symmetrical streets of the Quantum Zone residential area, then deeper into the power hub of our scientific and medical research facilities. Massive glass buildings and sleek laboratories shadowed the streets, the shuttle making regular stops along the way to drop off and pick up new passengers.

It was roughly thirty minutes before we left the buildings behind and arrived at the final stop.

The only other passenger still on the shuttle was a middle-aged man. He climbed off with us, shooting a couple of glances our way before he strode on ahead. We walked in the same direction, down a paved driveway that curved into a shallow forest that seemed to act as a boundary between the Quantum Zone and the Rehabilitation Center. A different kind of wall, hiding Capra’s little secret from the more respectable citizens.

It wasn’t long before the building came into view, a low sprawl of brickwork built in a fat U around a bland, paved courtyard. Towering conifers pressed close on all sides, hugging the manmade compound, as if nature were doing its best to protect the lost souls trapped within.

The entrance was a thick glass door with a guard standing sentry just inside. The reception area was warm and welcoming, the floor carpeted in cream and brown tones, the walls hung with oil landscapes, the lighting soft. Even the man behind the reception desk greeted us with a gentle smile and kind eyes.

The next hour was taken up with sorting out our security access. Belinda and I had our photograph taken, and then we were given a laminated card with our photo, name and citizen number and instructed to wear it clipped on our person, in a visible spot, at all times. We also had to hand the card in atreception each evening, and collect it again in the morning. They took security very seriously.

Janice had disappeared at some point, but she returned to bring us into the heart of the building. We passed through an internal door, one at a time so we could unclip our security card and scan it. It was a laborious effort just to walk through a doorway.

“All access and attempted access to secure areas is registered and recorded,” Janice informed us.

That was unfortunate, although not unexpected.

The long corridor behind reception was somewhat less inviting than the reception lounge. The walls were more eggshell than cream, the floor tiled instead of lush carpet, the click-clack of our footfalls echoing in the hollow space. The air also felt colder, and my nostrils twitched at the sterile, clinical smell.

Numerous doors dotted the passageway, all closed, with Janice’s office at one end, across from a set of swing doors labeled Ward Z.

She invited us into the visitor chairs and settled in behind her desk, which looked like ordered chaos. Pens and notepads, various piles of blue binders and a coffee mug within easy reach.

Janice pushed the mug aside and planted her elbows on the table, leaning in. “As I’m sure you can understand, the members of staff here are highly trained and currently all male. We do intend to initiate a trainee program for women, but that’s not why you’re here. First of all, your positions are voluntary and temporary, to help us clear the backlog. Depending on how that goes, I may recommend you for the trainee program, if you wish.”

I settled back in my chair, not at all interested in the trainee program.

“What do you mean about backlog?” asked Belinda.

“I’ll get to that.” Janice steepled her fingers beneath her chin, her sharp blue gaze pinned on Belinda. “Your younger sister underwent a stint in rehab, and you’ve spent the last five years caring for her.”

I snuck a look at Belinda. If her sister had needed ‘caring’, it meant she wasn’t one of the lucky ones who’d escaped unscathed. “I’m sorry.”

They both ignored me, and Janice continued, “Your application said you were keen for this role, so you could learn more about what she’d gone through, and apply that to help your sister. You’re compassionate and sincere, have life experience as well as firsthand experience with women who’ve been through this ordeal. That’s why I wanted you.”

Janice’s gaze swerved to me. “You are without doubt an intriguing young lady. You have grit, I’ll give you that, but most importantly, you chose to throw off the blinders and seek the truth. You’re not afraid to see the ugly side of reality and you appreciate that sometimes we have to take the hard paths instead of easy shortcuts. That’s why I wanted you.”

Belinda and I shared a look.

Janice placed her palm on a stack of binders. “We have twenty-three women here at the facility, all in different stages of rehabilitation. We want them released as soon as possible, but also as safely as possible. Your job is to help with their transition.”

I wasn’t qualified? Was I? “What exactly does that entail?”

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