The Energy Room Read online



  THE ENERGY ROOM

  By Styna Lane

  The Energy Room

  Styna Lane

  Copyright 2013 by Christyna Whatman

  Copyright © 2013 Christyna Whatman

  Lyric Copyright © 1992 John L. Whatman & Brian Earley

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  All characters and events in this publication are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real events are entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1484902622

  Revised Edition

  Edited by Ryan McDonald

  Dedicated to my father,

  John Lane Whatman.

  “The time has come to say farewell

  To a life I knew so well

  Time to break these chains that are holding me down.

  I walk away, not look back

  And wipe the tears from my eyes

  Thinking of my little girl I'll never leave behind.”

  -Aesthesia, Firm Place To Stand

  Table of Contents

  ☼

  CHAPTER ONE

  Monsters, Shackles, and Pancakes

  ☼

  CHAPTER TWO

  Airborne Anti-Psychotics

  ☼

  CHAPTER THREE

  Adolescent Rascality

  ☼

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Infinite Whiteness

  ☼

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Sweet Dreams, Angela Dawson

  ☼

  CHAPTER SIX

  Butterflies and Cockroaches

  ☼

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jealous Little Hamster

  ☼

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Wardrobe Malfunction

  ☼

  CHAPTER NINE

  Burning

  ☼

  CHAPTER TEN

  Lava

  ☼

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jaloux Petit Hamster, Reprise

  ☼

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Shrinking Affection

  ☼

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Surprise, Darling

  ☼

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  In Honor of Angela Dawson

  ☼

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Quake

  ☼

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  In Honor of Edward Stein

  ☼

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Effective

  ☼

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Sand Castles

  ☼

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The Bond

  ☼

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Lily of the Valley

  ☼

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The Lost Generation

  ☼

  CHAPTER ONE

  Monsters, Shackles, and Pancakes

  I awoke suddenly to a loud screeching directly in my right ear. I jumped from my tangle of sheets, lunging unswervingly at the throat of the monster that was surely planning to kill me, bashing it against the wall as hard as I possibly could. As I watched the pieces of its innards fall to the lush, white carpet around my feet, I realized there were no droplets of warm blood, no pieces of bruised flesh. Confusion quickly turned to embarrassment as I stared down at the cord hanging from my hands, the beaten alarm clock dangling defenselessly a foot above the floor.

  A mumbled curse found its way sleepily out of my mouth as I turned on my heels toward the door. I stopped to glance in a mirror hanging from one of the four white, punishing walls. A puffy-eyed creature stared back at me through a mess of knotted, blonde hair. I snorted, pushing the strands off of my face and securing them back into a loose bun using the elastic band, which always found its home around my wrist. A dark, red indent was left in its place, beneath what I could only describe as a shackle. The proper name for them was ‘Electro-Cuffs’, and the small, green lights on top of both of them were constant reminders of the pain they could cause me.

  Chilled, I pulled a shapeless sweatshirt out of a random drawer next to the mirror; it fell lifelessly, just over the bottom of my shorts. I nodded in approval, as the creature in the mirror transformed into a typical girl who had recently woken up, and who hadn’t dramatically slain her alarm clock.

  I sighed as I pulled the bedroom door open, dragging my feet into the small, white apartment, which felt more like a jail than a home. The enchanting smell of strong coffee weaved its way into my nostrils, drawing me straight into the kitchen, which was only a step away from the white sofa in the living room. I poured myself a mug of what really ought to have been considered the nectar of life, and stood there for a moment, sipping the scalding liquid.

  I squinted at the small, green numbers on the microwave. A feeling somewhere between irritation and confusion struck, as ‘7:45’ peered back at me. What could have possibly warranted my waking up so early? I stared into the shadowy liquid of the mug, trying to remember the happenings of the previous day. I was just starting to remember someone saying something about something or another, when a loud, static sound emitted from the ceiling, startling me into trickling a bit of coffee down my front.

  “Good morning, Angela,” a strict, male voice with an English accent called over a concealed speaker.

  “Morning, William,” I said angrily, struggling to fake sincerity while I ineffectively brushed dark stains from my shirt. “What gives me the pleasure of hearing your lovely voice so early in the day?”

  “We’re bringing in a new psychologist for you to meet with. Alvin Waldreck? We had a conversation about this yesterday,” William said, raising and lowering the tone of his voice at precisely the right moments to make me feel like a complete idiot.

  “Ohh,” I sighed, remembering being told the night before. It had been more of a lecture than a real conversation, and I always found it rather difficult to pay attention during lectures. “Right. Alvin. Shrink. Yeah.”

  “Psychologist. Please be polite this time. We’re running out of candidates who meet the standards for this type of research,” William said, obviously a bit frustrated.

  “How horrible,” I murmured sarcastically, taking a sip for the half-empty mug. “What time will he be here?”

  No sooner had I asked, than there was a loud, cautious knock at the door. My eyes widened as I sat the mug safely down on the counter, before I could crush it in my angry grip.

  “He’s here now?!” I hissed at the ceiling.

  Anyone who didn’t know about the speaker system would have had no problem brushing me off as absolutely insane. I wouldn’t have blamed them.

  “Yes, well... had you paid any amount of attention last night, you would have known that he was due to arrive at 8:00 a.m.,” William said, probably satisfied with my being caught off-guard. “Don’t be rude, let your guest in.”

  Slumping my shoulders forward, I glared angrily at the small camera in the corner of the ceiling, which would have been easy for untrained eyes to overlook. I shuffled through the kitchen to the white door and glimpsed through the peep hole. Not only had William taken me by surprise with the time of day my ‘guest’ would arrive, but also by the guest himself.

  Alvin Waldreck. Picture an elderly man with wild, gray hair, and small, square glasses hanging from a large, bulbous nose, the smell of menthol emanating from him as he puffed on a fancy pipe. Brown, tweed suit, corresponding leather briefcase, and penny loafers, which went out of style ages ago. He probably had a lot of grandchildren who sat on his lap at holidays and listened to him tell stories about the old country in his funny accent. He probably had to hold onto a handle in the shower to keep from fallin
g down.

  Now, flush that image down the crapper, and picture an attractive man in his mid-twenties with ear-length locks of wavy, mahogany hair, and eyes as blue as a tornado would be if tornadoes were, in fact, blue. Not wearing a suit, but jeans and a blazer, which perfectly fit his lean build. No suitcase, but a worn messenger bag, which probably followed him through high-school and college; through heartbreak and noodle-based malnutrition.

  I scrambled to unlock the door, staring in awe for a moment as I looked over, what was allegedly, my new psychologist; I wasn’t buying it.

  “Angela Dawson?” he asked in a melodically masculine voice. He greeted me with a smile and a handshake, but I didn’t return either.

  “Huh?” Was all I managed to get out of the mouth that I realized had been agape since I glanced through the peephole, before shaking myself back to sanity. “Oh, yeah. Hi.”

  I reached out for his hand. It was warm and soft, but strong. My eyes started to fog over. For just a moment, I could see…

  “OUCH! Son of a—” I cursed in pain as a mild, though unexpected, shock of electricity began at my wrists and coursed all the way up through my arms.

  “Uh… Are you okay?” Alvin asked cautiously, clearly startled by my extremely senseless reaction to his handshake. He noticed the metal bonds on each of my wrists and took an apprehensive step back.

  “She’s fine, Mr. Waldreck. Please come in,” William’s voice said from the ceiling, as I absent-mindedly rubbed my wrists.

  I walked to the undersized couch just a few feet away, leaving the door open behind me for Alvin to follow. My manners were less than decent, but after being somewhat electrocuted, I didn’t particularly care. Alvin followed slowly, quietly closing the door before making the short trip to the living room. He sat on the very edge of the white recliner across from me, as if he felt he might have to make a quick escape. His bright eyes, which were happy enough when I had opened the door, had quickly filled with fear, and lingered on my wrists. At that point, I realized he had no idea what he was getting himself into.

  “Mr. Waldreck, thank you so much for meeting with us today. I’m sorry that I have yet to speak to you personally. I’m afraid I have a very busy schedule,” William’s voice called at us from overhead.

  Alvin’s eyes finally left me, trying to find the body from which the voice was coming, before blankly falling back onto me for an explanation. I simply pointed to a speaker placed in the middle of the ceiling, which had been convincingly camouflaged with white paint. He nodded in understanding.

  “It’s my pleasure, Mr. Slate. And please, call me Al,” the young man said, his voice cracking a bit as he undoubtedly began to wonder what he’d become a part of.

  ‘Al’ I said inside my own head, smiling to myself a bit at the thought of someone his age named Alvin. ‘He must have been teased very badly when he was younger,’ I thought. I imagined him with thick-rimmed glasses, a piece of white tape binding them together at the bridge. I caught myself actually beginning to smile at the man across from me. Before I could look away out of embarrassment, he grinned back at me, making me feel a bit less like a massive creeper.

  “Very good… Al.” It must have caused William physical pain to address someone informally. I had always encouraged him to call me Angie, as everyone else did, but he could never quite bring himself to do it. In fact, I couldn’t remember ever hearing him call anyone by a nickname.

  “I’m sorry that I must keep this meeting so short, but I have very important business to attend to today. I trust Angela will give you a decent tour of The Facility. Her main doctor will inform you of our expectations. By the end of the day, I hope that you will have made a decision as to whether or not you choose to be part of our family here,” William recited.

  I sat up a bit straighter at William’s words; Al wasn’t actually part of the team yet. They’d brought him to The Facility without even telling him what went on within its walls. Surely they had told him something about his patient? What did they tell him? What didn’t they tell him? I started to fidget with anxiety, when the man I’d suddenly become very worried for spoke up.

  “Thank you, sir. I have no doubt that this is a wonderful opportunity,” Al said sincerely, speaking a bit too loudly in the direction of the speaker on the ceiling. This pulled a small laugh from my lips.

  “Indeed, it is. Angela, I’m sure you’ll behave and give Mr—… Al a tour of the building, and introduce him to the teams,” William said. It wasn’t so much a question, as it was an order.

  “You betcha, Willie!” I exclaimed, knowing that it would annoy him to no end.

  “Wonderful,” William said in a displeased tone. “I look forward to meeting you at the end of the day, Al.”

  The speaker clicked off at the end of his sentence, informing us that the conversation was over. There was a long period of awkward silence where I stared at Al, and he pretended not to notice, as he looked around my small apartment. We both started to speak up at the same time.

  “This is a nice place—” Al began.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked, blushing slightly as I cut him off.

  I was instantly annoyed with myself for acting so ridiculous. You would have thought I had never met a member of the opposite sex before!

  “It’s alright—” I started.

  “Yeah—” he responded at the same time.

  Again, we were both surrounded by silence, before I took it upon myself to get us out of the confining room.

  “Come on, I’ll take you down to Caf 1, and we can talk,” I said, rising from my seat.

  By that point, I had decided to take it easier on him than I had on the past shrinks. After all, he had no clue what he was going to experience by the end of the day. I could have gotten it all over with right then, but I had caused too much trouble recently and I really couldn’t afford to get into any more of it. I had almost reached the door, when Al stopped me.

  “Do you think maybe…” he began, looking to the floor.

  “What?” I asked, wondering if my new shrink was shy.

  “Do you… want to put on some pants?” he asked, trying to conceal a grin as he looked up at me from under the locks of hair that perfectly framed his rigid face.

  My eyes widened in horror, realizing I had been in boxer shorts the entire time. It wasn’t anything I would have typically been ashamed of, but I also wouldn’t have typically been standing in front of a very attractive stranger.

  “Excuse me a moment.” I squeaked as I ran past him into my bedroom, haphazardly grabbing a pair of jeans from a random drawer. I nearly tripped over myself trying to pull them on, when I caught a peek of my reflection in the mirror. The sleepy puffiness in my eyes had gone, but I looked absolutely horrible. I quickly pulled my hair down and brushed out the knots, before tying it back into a neater bun. I considered makeup and changing my shirt, then told myself that he’d already seen me at my worst, and there was no taking it back. I emitted a sigh of defeat, before leaving the room to meet Al again. He was staring at the window on the far side of the living room, which showed a lovely back yard filled with lovely sunshine, and lovely chirping birds, and all those kinds of lovely crap. He looked completely befuddled.

  “Aren’t we underground?” he asked, turning back to me.

  “It’s just a hologram. They think these windows will keep people from going insane,” I answered. I stuck my hand into the window, and the image blurred slightly, as holograms apparently do. “It’s easy to lose track of what’s real and what isn’t, down here.”

  “And how is that working out for everyone?” Al asked, sounding a bit more like a psychologist.

  “Stick around long enough, and I’m sure you’ll find out,” I said, frowning at a particularly cheerful, computer-generated finch.

  He backed away from the window, getting one last glimpse at it before we exited the sickeningly white apartment into a sickeningly white hallway, illuminated by sickening fluorescent lights. The Facility felt sterile
and somber; it had always reminded me of a hospital, or perhaps a mental institution. Five doors led to apartments exactly like mine in every way; if not for the fact that they were all empty.

  We followed the hall to a large, white elevator, where I pushed the down button. We stood in silence, waiting for the lift to arrive. My mind started to wander. What had compelled them to bring a young man like Al in to work with me? All of my previous shrinks had been at least forty years old. I found it hard to believe that someone like Al could meet the ‘standards’ William had spoken of earlier. They couldn’t have honestly expected him to possess the ability to crack a mind that had remained un-cracked for almost eighteen years. What were they up to?

  “What are you thinking?” Al asked as we stepped into the open elevator. Maybe he was more of a shrink than I had thought.

  “I’m thinking that I’ll have pancakes for breakfast,” I said, so used to lying about my thoughts that it came out without hesitation.

  Al chuckled. He couldn’t have known me well enough to detect that I was lying. Maybe he wanted pancakes, as well. Maybe one of the things they had actually told him was not to believe anything the girl in the shackles said, that she lied about everything. Then I thought… maybe I wanted waffles instead of pancakes.

  The elevator was such a smooth ride, Al asked if we were even moving. I assured him that we were simply traveling so incredibly fast that it couldn’t be felt. Lie. It was just an efficiently designed elevator, working with a track system in the place of pulleys. We really only had to travel down two floors.

  We arrived at floor twelve, and were welcomed by the smell of nearly every breakfast food you could imagine. Sausage, bacon, pancakes, waffles, porridge, cereals, fruits, hash browns, eggs, grits… The whiteness and brightness of The Facility may have been migraine-worthy, but at least we had good food, which was all grown on floor twenty, or raised on floor twenty-one.

  Al followed me to the place where a line would have been, had we not been nearly the only people awake so early. There were a few stragglers sitting around Caf 1, but it was obvious that they were from night shift and hadn’t been to sleep yet. In actuality, there were a lot of people who were already at work, but they had naturally conformed to that schedule. Very few people in The Facility worked more than four-hour shifts, and were permitted to spend the rest of their time as they pleased. Those who didn’t work early didn’t seem to find pleasure in waking up at horrible-thirty in the morning, and I did not blame them. We walked down the line of hot, fresh foods, and were free to pick whatever appealed to us. I hadn’t been to Caf 1 early enough for breakfast in a long time, but I also had the privilege of ordering food to my apartment whenever I chose. Breakfast—for me—wasn’t usually until around noon.

  I threw a quick wave to Paula, one of my favorite chefs, as I loaded my plate with both waffles and pancakes, unable to decide. I glanced over at Al, who seemed to be overwhelmed with choices. He finally decided on bacon, eggs, and toast. We sat at the table nearest to the door, and ate for what seemed like a very long time, before we actually started speaking.

  “So… What is expected of me, then?” Al asked with a fake accent, which was obviously meant to mock William. I decided right away that we would get along just fine.

  “Well, that’s for the ‘main doctor’ to explain to you. Don’t worry though, he’s really cool. His name is Eddie. I guess he’s a type of doctor…” I trailed off, having never really thought of him as a doctor. He had poked me with enough needles, I suppose.

  “Then what are you meant to tell me?” Al asked, taking a bite of toast.

  I thought for a long time about how to respond, pushing syrup around my plate with a fork.

  “How about you tell me what they told you, and I’ll fill in the blanks.” I decided this was the best approach. Perhaps not the best, but at least the safest. Well, maybe not the safest, but at least the easiest; I was all for minimal effort.

  “Fair enough,” he said, dropping his toast to his plate and brushing his hands on his jeans. Having had a life-long disdain for napkins, I liked him even more. “They offered me a job as your personal psychologist. They said you’ve had trouble relating to your prior therapists.”

  That’s when it hit me. They brought in someone young and inexperienced, hoping that I would be more likely to relate to him. Clever. I was surprised they hadn’t tried that before. Too bad it wouldn’t work.

  “They said you have suppressed memories and violent outbursts”—I snorted—“passive-aggressive tendencies, possibly post-traumatic stress”—more like current traumatic stress—“and that you’re a pathological liar,” he rambled indifferently.

  At this, I looked up from my plate, which had been the main focus of my attention.

  “I am not a pathological liar,” I said firmly.

  “And why do you think that?” Al asked, taking on the familiar tone I had heard from every one of the shrinks who came before him.

  “Because pathological liars don’t know when they’re lying,” I stated bluntly, a slight flare of mischief in my voice.

  Al reacted in a manner that surprised me: he smiled.

  “That’s just what the other therapists have written in your file. Obviously they did something wrong, otherwise they’d still be here,” he said, winking at the end of his sentence. I felt my cheeks burning, and had to look away. “Do you know why I’m here?” he asked, genuinely curious about how I would answer.

  For some reason, I wasn’t caught off-guard, even though nobody had ever asked me that question in the past. Instead, I felt a pang of sadness, or maybe guilt. I thought of Eddie and his family, who lived down on floor sixteen, of Paula, who lived on eleven.

  “Do you?” I asked simply.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Airborne Anti-Psychotics