Chapter 1
I’ve been kept at this asylum for years now, along with other patients. Some of the group I was transferred with have at least something wrong with them. Yet another patient and I, we grew up together and befriended one another. While we were little, I would teach him what I learned with spelling, writing, and simple math. In return, he protected me against abuse. Mutual respect and the favor of protection has been constantly exchanged since.
His name is Atlas. His hair coiled to create dark waves and his eyes an icy blue. His skin chilled and gray, resembling stormy evenings in autumn. Memories of his visage shown his lips contrasting against his pale skin with shades of smeared ruby and crimson. His cheeks and fingers rosy when he’s had his fix of flesh. He appeared healthy back then. He must look so parched now. So starved. He must also be driven insane by having no place in his cell to hang upside-down to sleep. It’s his preferred way of being comfortable.
My name is Judith. And as for me, I look normal next to him. Long, golden brown, wavy hair and fair skin contrast like day to his night. Yet my copper eyes hold a sort of bright, murderous fire beyond my control. Something that I was not given the advantage to learn. The power kicked in at the orphanage that Atlas and I lived at when we were younger. I killed another girl while playing outside by looking into her eyes. I was as shaken as everyone else. My stomach churned, making its way up my throat as my heart raced to the troposphere.
Within the following weeks, the kids would tell Sisters I was hovering in my sleep, mumbling in gibberish. They also claimed I was speaking in freakish tongues to spirits in corners of the halls. Spirits tied to the land, ghosts passing by looking for help, or strange and distorted specters. Those abnormal beings know who I am, whispering my name. Yet I did not know who they were. I ignore them all now after enduring multiple whippings from Mother Superior.
Years dragged by as I was cast off as being nothing with Atlas. The children avoided us at all cost. Even the Sisters. We got each other ready every day, made sure we both ate and stayed clean. The loneliness strengthened our bond. That bond was challenged when the orphanage called a priest on us when we were both nearing the age of twelve. The church and orphanage made an arrangement to have us transferred to this corrections facility without hesitation after the massacre.
The asylum got word of my sporadic power. Once I stepped foot through the gates, I was blindfolded to make sure I wouldn’t cause more casualties. It’s on when I eat, sleep, bathe, and go outside when permitted. One day during lunch, Atlas mentioned that it has a funky eye drawn on it; a big one too.
The buzzer of the chamber door screeched, startling me out of bed and out of my thoughts. I’m in my cell, where it smells strongly of sterile cotton and leather. The space around me seems endless while my sight is covered. Yet bumping into walls close me in. The staff never manages to pad the walls or the floor no matter how much we complain. Everything is either sleek tile or lumpy brick. I scatter my hands below to the floor, exploring the emptiness for my slippers. My fingers are greeted by their softness and I pull them over, slipping them on my feet.
Getting up, I wobble to keep my balance, tapping the brick walls with my palms. I direct myself to the door where the buzzer keeps piercing my ears. When I made my way to only entrance and exit of my room, it swished open and two people pulled me by my arms. Metal enclosed around my hands and bound them to keep my movement limited.
As I was escorted to the mess hall, chatter of guards and nurses echoed along with their footsteps. Upon entrance, my seat scraped against the tile floor when it was pulled out. The hairs on my arms and neck stood up, creating bumps on my skin. Scooching in made my shoulders ache from the weight of the cuffs and my arms were forced to hang to my side. They couldn't fit under the table. The guards left me and I heard them walk away to the far wall of the cafeteria.
“How are you, Judy?” It was Atlas. He sounded hoarse and dry. I wonder if someone stuffed his throat with the roughest sandpaper.
“You sound horrible.” I replied.
“I didn’t ask about me.” He cut me off. “I’m wondering about you. How are you, Judy?”
“In pain and still can’t see.”
“Open up.” He said immediately. “And stretch your arms while you’re in your cell. It will help.”
I opened my mouth and he fed me his food, even though I had my own tray. The guards know he does this and let him. “You need to eat too, Atlas.”
“You know I can’t eat this diet, Judy. It has to be raw.” There was a pause. Like he was deep in thought. “And fresh.”
“At least drink some water. You sound like nails on a chalkboard.”
He laughed and gave out a wheeze. “How horrid. And I’ll try.”
We sat in silence as he acted as my hands, feeding me for the rest of dinner.
It’s a routine here. Every day we sleep, spend hours in our cells to rot in our brains, eat breakfast, and back to our cells. Then there is lunch and back to our cells. Then dinner and outside for an hour. We were lined up after dinner and the guards did a headcount to make sure no one ran off. No one spoke besides them. We were guided outside to the court like ants.
I was led by Atlas to sit in the middle of the yard and we sat by each other. The evening breeze was soothing. Yet I suppose it couldn’t calm down his nerves. My ears twitched to the sound of him itching his skin.
“What I’d give to walk free under the moon again.” There was a moment of silence, some peace in the growing chill of the night. It broke when he placed a shaky hand on my shoulder. “Judith, I’m sick. I know you can tell by not even looking at me. I can’t last without sustenance.” He then lowered his voice to a whisper. “We must move fast.”
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