Prologue

For as long as I could remember, it had been like this. I'm sat in my room, waiting for my alarm clock to go off. It's always the same. I have the nightmare every night. The explosions, the shouting, people screaming, crying, angry, and then a really bright, blinding light coming towards me. Then I wake up, at pretty much the same time in the early hours, not able to go back to sleep. So, from between the hours of 5 and 6am, I just wait to hear that familiar beeping sound.

When the noise comes, it always shocks me. As if it didn't happen every day. And then I eventually reach down and hit the button to make it shut up. I do the same today too. I grab my towel and make my way to the communal bathrooms. Always pretty empty at 6.01am, I have the bathroom to myself. The shower is luke warm, but by the time I am awake it has got a little hotter. I rinse off large, frothy bubbles from my pale skin, shut the shower off and wrap the towel around myself.

By the time I make it to breakfast, the canteen is busy. I stare at the grey porridge in my bowl and try to pretend it doesn't taste like warm gravel slipping down my throat. I want to imagine it tastes nice, but I can't remember the last time I tasted something appealing. I have vague memories of one thing we used to have – before The Centre. Small beans, hot, in a sweet tomato sauce. They tasted really good on toast. I don't really remember what they were called. Memory of before The Centre isn't really encouraged in here.

I don't see anyone I know at breakfast, but it's likely they stole some fruit from the kitchens last night and are feasting on it in their rooms. I didn't go to the kitchens last night because I had a headache and wanted to get to bed early. Sometimes we have quite a lot of fun. No-one would know we're supposed to be crazy!

Well, that's what we think we're in for anyway. No-one's really sure. A bunch of reasons were given in the beginning, but those memories are beginning to slip away too. Maybe that's a symptom of a seemingly endless drag of days on end? Starting with grey porridge, ending with watery stew. Always the same. 

In the lounge everyone sits in the same seats, stands in the same spots, and plays the same games in the same order. Roy always gets the pool table first, and he takes turns with Dave for the first hour. Eventually that gets old, and they sit on the floor and try to remember what real coffee tastes like whilst the tea lady comes in with the powdered stuff. 

I usually sit on the sofa, staring at the pages of magazines. The dates on all of them have been blacked over. For all I know the people in the pictures are all be dead now. They do get changed, who knows how often. I'm not counting the days. All I know is that sometimes the stories are different. Maybe they keep re-using them? I might have read or flicked through these pages thousands of times. It's just habit now.

At some point I'm joined by Steph. Steph is some kind of sanity for me in The Centre. People rarely laugh here, but she's one person who can get a laugh or smile from anyone. She tells rude jokes. I don't know where she gets them from. She swears people keep writing them on the bathroom walls, but I've looked everywhere and can't find them.

Today she's arrived at the same time as the tea lady, so she hands me a cup of the weak, warm tea.

“Yo, so anything new?” she raises her eyebrows and looks at the magazine in my lap.

“Same as yesterday.” I note.

“It's really bad that the most exciting thing that happens to us is that we get a new magazine, or Dave finally manages to beat Roy at pool.” She smirks.

“Dave's never beaten Roy at pool.”

“I keep hoping. I've got a bet on him.” she winks. 

We don't bet with money, we bet with fruit. Steph's always lucky with the bets so she always has the most. Generally fruit is a real treat we get at weekends only.

The inner door opens and one of the security guards appear. This isn't common place, not unless there's a real commotion. Once Lisa Banks whacked Dave one in the face because she thought he'd stolen her plastic cup of tea. Security came in then. I don't think I can remember another time. 

“Jemma Right?” the guard questions, looking around the room. At the sound of my name I jump. The magazine falls from my lap. Steph stares at me, mouth open, eyes wide. I can sense other eyes on me as I get up and walk, like a robot, to the door.

“Come with me, please.” he says in a stiff voice. 

Once out the door I take nothing in but following him. He keeps looking behind at me, as though I'm going to run away. I'm too bewildered to do anything of the sort.

Eventually we arrive at a small box room which is generally used to isolate inmates during incidents like the Lisa/Dave scenario I mentioned earlier. I don't want to be in this room because it means discipline. And no fruit, even at weekends. And no chance of getting down to the kitchens tonight.

Inside the room is a small desk with a chair at either end. The security guard sits in one, and I automatically sit in the other.

“Jemma.” The guard says.

I nod, wordless.

“Don't say anything, just listen and nod, whatever I say, got it?” He demands.

I nod. I'm scared. I feel as though I'm in hot water.

“Tonight, at midnight, you're going to go down to the kitchens. There, you'll meet me. I am going to get you out. I can take more with me, I'd take you all if I could, but not now. It has to be done at another time. You know people. Tell who you can. Maybe five or six others, okay?”

I nod. I wasn't expecting this. It doesn't make sense. I don't even know what's outside. I don't remember what it's like. What if I don't like it? What if I want to come back? I probably wouldn't make it out. Why the kitchens? I had so many questions and the guard seemed to sense this.

“Quickly, ask me what you want to know. Just two questions, come on...” there was a sense of urgency. I guessed he didn't know how much time he could steal like this.

“Who are you?”

“I'm someone sent here by someone else. And any thanks you have are for him, not for me. I don't know too much about him, but I have a debt to pay him. This is how I'm paying.” he answers in a whisper.

“Do you know why I'm here?” I ask, the only other question that occurs to me at this time.

“You don't know?” he seems shocked.

I shake my head.

“After they found the felony gene, the government acted on it. I don't know if you remember the DNA tests, what with the memory erasure that goes on in here...”

“Memory erasure?” I begin.

“Yes, but there isn't time to explain it all...” the guard cuts me off, “After the test you all got taken in here. There's a number of other centres across the country, and all of you are a suspected danger to society. Prevention, it's said, is better than cure.”

“We're here because me might commit a crime in mainstream society?” I question.

“If you'll believe it.” The guard says with a large measure of scepticism.

I am stunned into silence by this revelation. The room is spinning. I don't know how I feel, and I don't know if I'm just having another nightmare. Or perhaps the guard is toying with me? It would be a cruel joke, but how easily played...

“Do you remember the time and place?” Suddenly I'm hurtling back to the here and now and realise the guard has just asked me a question.

“The kitchens, midnight.” I manage to reply.

“Tell five others. In secret.” he says, and then I am escorted back to the lounge.

***

I don't sleep. At least tonight there is no nightmare to be had, because I am simply in no state to dream. I watch the minutes as they barely move into hours. I wonder if anyone thought it odd that I didn't stay long in the kitchens after dinner? I knew I'd be back there very soon. I felt weird about the whole thing. Of course, I told Steph and Roy and Dave. Roy and Dave looked at me with some sympathy. I don't think they believed me at all. Steph was supportive, but I wonder if there isn't a part of her that thinks I've finally cracked? She assured me she'd tell two of the other girls she plays hockey with on Sundays. I wonder how they'll react.

I didn't put an alarm on, I knew I wouldn't catch a wink. Nothing alerts me to the presence of 11.55 but somehow it's there, and with my constant staring at the clock I realise within the sixty seconds that follow that it's time to get moving.

I put on my black, soft soled shoes. I doubt they'll make much noise on the landing. With a heart beating fast, adrenaline pumping, feeling anxiously sick and wondering if maybe I did make this whole thing up after all, I make my way, slowly and surely, across the landing, down the stairs and down the corridor to the kitchens. Every shadow has me jumping.

My hand on the handle of the kitchen door, I hesitate before slowly pulling it open and entering the dark room. It seems I am the first one here. Warily, I walk to the island in the centre of the room. I hear a noise behind me and sweep round, fast and on my guard. The door opens and in walks Steph and two other girls I vaguely recognise. I watch as doubt crosses their faces as they see me in the empty room.

“Hi.” Steph says, “Where are the other two?”

I shrug, “Maybe they won't come?”

Minutes pass. By now I'm doubting it too. I invented the whole thing. My imagination got the better of me. Now, I'm glad I didn't tell anyone the part about why we're supposed to be here – the felony gene – what a joke! They'd have a field day.

“Jem.” Steph whispers, “I don't think...”

And then the door opens behind her and Dave and Roy peer in.

“Come in!” I say, excited by their very presence. I can't believe they turned up. Then I remember that we don't seem to be doing any escaping and my heart sinks.

“We thought you'd be gone.” Roy says, and he doesn't seem sceptical, even though he should be.

“What's the plan?” Dave adds, in a soft voice that's barely audible.

“I'm the plan.” a voice comes from the darkness. 

We turn around and face the light thrown into the room by the open door at the opposite end of the room. A door I'd never seen until now. The silhouette of a man blocks the doorway. 

We stare at each other, not knowing what to say. Then we all share a look and blindly, trusting oh-so-easily, we follow the silhouette into the light.