The other children, in Nettle’s section, are not here. Only the children housed on Rose’s side of the corridor are with her in the library. The others must have a different schedule of activities, she figures.
One by one, each boy and girl is freed from their handcuffs, then their ankles are released, and each, in turn, is backed up against one of the library walls. Two green men enter a cage, large enough so they will be safe from anyone reaching in to get at them.
Rose watches and waits. Feeling that the other children must already know what’s to happen next, she’ll follow their lead, and sure enough, when the green men climb into the cage and lock the door behind them, the children go to their favorite shelf, to collect a book to read. She does the same, proceeding to the bookshelves while making sure to keep a wary eye on the green men in the cage.
There are many old books here, standing full of information that the world is too far gone to need anymore. Some of them are covered in dust. Very few are in decent condition. They all have a particular smell that only old-books can have, after a long time. Rose observes the other children as they retreat to a row of wooden tables to read what they’ve chosen.
When she delays one of the green men points his rifle at her and shouts “Read! Now!” She does as she’s told and chooses a book: A History of Man, from Prehistory to Present Day. The author’s name is rubbed from the binding from overuse.
The others are quietly reading, except for Hawthorne and his sister, Ivy, who seem far more interested in the large mirror on the library room wall. Rose glances at it too. It’s a curious thing. Who would hang a mirror that large on a wall and why? Dark, blurry shapes crisscross each other, swimming across the reflective surface like ghosts. There’s someone behind the glass, watching them while they read. Why would anyone do that? Rose wonders what it is they want to know about them, and why they want to know it, and why, whoever it is behind the mirror just doesn’t come into the room and watch for themselves, instead of sneaking around like rats. Hawthorne and Ivy occasionally lock eyes on each other, before going on to concentrate on the mirror again.
Rose is startled when one of the green man rap on the bars and the resulting clang sends everyone, who wasn’t before, back to reading their selections. She watches the two siblings from the corner of her eye. They turn their heads to each other again, and something is being relayed between them, though they never say one word out loud to each other. Spoken words aren’t needed for the brother and sister pair. They communicate without them, without signals, or objects, or code. They speak to each other, directly, with their thoughts.
Rose can feel the dull warmth of jealousy rising within her. How they do it? She wishes she could do it too. Hawthorne begins to whistle his tune; the one Rose heard from inside her room last night. He blows it so softly that even she can barely hear it.
As if he could possibly hear the tune from so far away, one of the green men in the cage starts to whistle too, mirroring Hawthorne almost note for note. Hawthorne and Ivy giggle softly to each other. The boy tilts his head, nodding to his sister. He’s proud of himself that much is clear. They raise their eyes to see Rose staring at them, and simultaneously they lower their heads to hide their eyes from her.
The day was long. Rose was able to read much of her book, A History of Man, from Prehistory to Present Day, before the green men made her return it to its spot, on the library shelf. Most of the text and information about Mankind is new to her, she leaves the library feeling… informed, disgusted, and sad for Mankind. She’s mentally drained. Was it the reading that removed her strength? Is it being treated as if she were some cunning, wild animal on the prowl, and thinking endlessly of feeding on fresh meat? This is not the way that she feels of course. But it’s the way the green men and Dr. Shaw think of her.
They misunderstand her… it’s okay because they don’t know who she is, but does she know who she is? She only feels confused and curious for now, but the soldiers treat her as if she is a dangerous monster. She just wants to be loved and safe and wanted. She wants to be a normal child. But then, what is normal?
The children are taken back to East Wing, and in reverse order of the morning’s lineup, they are put back into their rooms, secured behind the heavy padlocked doors, safe and sound.
Rose sits on her gurney rubbing a small label on her arm. It’s a marking that she hadn’t noticed before. It’s a tattoo of her Wayfinder number; R – Zero – Five – E.
The light above her head flickers and dims. She kicks her slippers from her feet. They land with clunking sounds to the floor. The little, painted stars glow soothingly overhead. Again, she is reminded of the monster under the bed, the heat of fear rising in her stomach as it prepares to pounce on her, and the glaring red eyes of the clothing-monster, stalking her from the corner of her distant memories. But, Rose wonders, what does one do when you are the monster?
Chapter Four
“It was night, and the rain fell and falling, it was rain, but having fallen, it was blood.”
On Tuesday, Rose wakes to the sound of scuffling in the corridor outside her room.
A green man calls out “Wayfinder, R – Zero – Four – E, sibling, Hawthorne.”
Her Wayfinder will be called next. Hopping up from her bed, her feet hit the cold, tiled floor. She doesn’t much care for the feeling of it, and she draws her small toes skyward, to lessen the amount of skin meeting it. She finds her slippers, exactly where she kicked them off, dirty hospital slippers (one size too large for her). She slips them on, taking some indistinct comfort inside the tattered fabric shoes.
There’s a predictable rhythm to the morning routine; a marching beat that can be measured and timed. When Rose’s door is opened, she walks through the doorway and into the hall, nice and neat, as not to make anyone, ‘get crazy on a trigger’, as some of the green men say from time to time, mostly to Hawthorne, because he’s real trouble.
Rose believes the boy is always pushing, not too hard, mind you, just a little, but still pushing. He’s always testing the green men’s patience.
Ivy often encourages him, just to see how far he can push the them. She seems to like it when chaos is the order of the day. She the type who thrives on it, which doesn’t help anything much at all.
Hawthorne whistles the same tune… always the same song, always in the same key, always at the same tempo, so that it drives Rose so crazy that she wants to scream, but she doesn’t.
The troubling, but airy, melody floats in and out, like the sound of a wind chime tussled by a warm summer wind. She wonders if it’s the only one he’s ever known. She wishes he would learn another one.
The repetitiveness of it grates her soul and makes her brain feel all itchy, like ants crawling in her head looking for cake crumbs. She sometimes finds herself scrubbing her scalp with her fingernails, trying to lessen the itch, but it doesn’t help.
Today her section is led to the room labeled, Research 06. The way is right, left, left, and then through a door that leads one floor down, and all the way down a long corridor to the last room on the right. This room is easy to remember because there is a big poster tacked to the wall. On it is an ancient looking, white-haired man. He wears a red, white, and blue suit, and the words around him read: I WANT YOU FOR U.S. ARMY. Rose gives him no consideration. It’s not her concern. She doesn’t care about what he wants from her right now. People in Hell want ice water. She has wants and needs too. She doesn’t want to be a prisoner in this place. She needs to be with a family that loves her and cares for her.