Blackout

There was ten kids in my room the first day. The next day they added six more. Two weeks in the twenty-six beds were filled.

All of us green.

Well, posing as green. I doubted I would ever know if anyone else was dumb enough to pull what I’d done.

Eleven boys and fifteen girls.

We were all so young in the beginning that they didn’t even bother with separating us by gender.
~*~

We weren’t allowed to speak at night.

But that first night, when there’d only been the first ten of us, we sat in a small, tight, circle on the cold floor anyways.

Hushed whispers, comforting each others silent cries, and straining our ears for the sharp clicks of officer boots in the halls.

“My dad said that we’re just here till they find a cure,” One boy murmured.

“Yeah,” a girl chimed in, “My mum and dad said it wasn’t safe for little kids to have these symptoms.”

“Symptoms.” A dark haired girl scoffed, “they’re scared of us. Thats why we’re here.”

The first boy hesitated, “Is that what your parents told you?”

“No. But look around.” She gestured to the room around us. The stiff beds, locked door, the barred up windows. “I’ve been to summer camp.” She said matter of factly, “This is not summer camp. This is a prison.”

A boy on my left nudged me, “What did your parents say?”

I don’t know what possessed me, “My parents are dead,” a lie. But I couldn’t let them know why my parents had turned me in. The looks of disgust on my mum and dads faces burned into the backs of my eyelids. Haunting me.

“I wish my parents were dead,” the dark haired girl said simply.

I gasped. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?” she demanded. “They sent me here. If they really loved me, they wouldn’t have. Even if there is a cure and we get to leave, I won’t go back to them. I’d rather live on the streets. Jump trains like in that one cartoon.”

It was silent for a long moment.

Then, quietly, I said. “I don’t think I can go back home either.”

She nodded once. “It’s okay. You and I can stick together. And when we get out if here, we’ll go where ever we want.”

~*~

Her name was Lucy. Short for Lucinda.

She was equal parts dreamer as she was a pessimist. Always bitter about the conditions that we were in but somehow also convinced we were going to get out one day. For two years we slept in beds next to one another.

She’d been the one to start calling the guards dementors.

“‘Cause their demented,” She’d whispered one night, just before lights out, “Get it.”

It got around fast.

At night I would wonder aloud. And she would listen to my wonderings.

If there were other camps like ours. What they called their guards behind their backs.

I wondered if they were made to build things. Maybe sew together uniform coats. Or even made to grow the food sent here.

We made boots.

The boots the dementors wore.

~*~

I’d like to say we stood up for each other.

But in all reality, Lucy stood up for me.

I was too meek. Too afraid that if I’d drawn too much attention to myself, they’d find out what I was.

Then came the day in the workshop.

We were lined up, stitching boots. Looking back, I think the guard was just bored. Maybe he had a quota, a certain number of kids he had to break each day.

I felt him step up behind me before he spoke.

I forced my fingers to keep moving.

“How many have you made?”

His breath was hot on my neck.

I swallowed, my throat dry. “Sixteen, sir.”

“That’s it?” He scoffed, grabbing one of my boots. “Pathetic.”

He shoved it in my face. “Look at this! That’s wrong. You’re not even doing it right. Look at me when I talk to you!”

A trick.

That was one of the rules. We weren’t allowed to look at them.

He yanked more boots from my bin.

“Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!” He threw each one over his shoulder. “How can a Green be this stupid?”

“That’s actually my bin.”

Oh no.

The Dementor turned to Lucy at the next station.

“What?” Rhetorical. He was giving her an out.

She didn’t take it.

“I said, that’s my bin. And those boots are perfect, and you know—”

He grabbed her by the hair before she could finish.

we all watched through the workshop windows as she knelt in the mud, rain soaking through her thin uniform, and took her punishment.

And somehow I was the one frozen that night when they’d finally let her back in before lights out.

She wouldn’t look at me. 

She gathered up her sleep clothes and made to head tot he washroom before lights out neared.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to speak, “Lucy—”

“No.” She snapped the word like a whip, lashing at me. “You just stood there.”

“I—I just,” I couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t tell her what I’d be risking.

Her voice softened, but it was worse than anger. Defeated. “I get it. That’s just how you are when they’re after you. But you couldn’t even stick up for me?”

I think it would have been better if she had cried. Instead of that familiar look.

Disgust.

I opened my mouth. What to say, I don’t know but it didn’t matter.

“Just,” she sighed, “leave me alone.”

She went to walk away but I had a sudden burst of desperation in me. She was all I had. And I made a mistake.

I grabbed her arm.

Flashes.

A childhood that wasn’t mine. Memories. First days of school, a loyal dog, a room shared with an older sister.

Then more recently.

The halls of Azkaban, lines and lines of boots, and me.

My own face.

Pressed to the scratchy fabric of the mattress I was lying on, murmuring words of made up nonsense.

I ripped my hand away from her arm as if she burned me.

She reeled her head back confused. And then, like a nightmare, she asked, “Are you new?”

My mouth dropped open in horror.

She looked at me with a sense of pity in her expression, “Listen, I know it sucks here, but at least let us know your name.”

She knew my name. I told her two years ago.

“Regulus,” I whispered.
She shook her head. Muttered, “Newbies,” and left to go shower.

A couple of months later, they separated us into gendered rooms. But it didn’t matter.

I hadn’t spoken a word since.
Not for four years.

~*~

A dull heartbeat pulsed behind my eyes, each throb sending aching waves through my body, drowning me in a thick, suffocating fog.

The lights above were too bright. I blinked sluggishly, the world swimming in and out of focus, the steady hum of the medical bay filling the empty spaces in my head. The rhythmic beeping of a monitor grounded me in the present, though my mind still felt like it was wading through molasses.

“Regulus."

I flinched. Someone was watching me.

Squinting against the harsh overhead lights, I made out a figure sitting beside my bed. Not a guard. Not a scientist. He wore scrubs, different from the lab coats the camp medics usually had.

“My name is Remus,” he said, leaning forward slightly in his chair. “I’m a student in training from the Riddle Foundation.”

The Riddle Foundation… right. President Riddle had a son, Tommy, just a year older than me, an IAAN kid. Practically the poster child for the whole damn thing. His face was plastered on the walls of Azkaban for years, until we barely saw him anymore. Ink-black hair, just like mine. But his eyes were dark, almost black, where mine were grey-blue. I was sure our differences didn’t stop there.

Because unlike the rest of us, Little Tommy Riddle wasn’t sitting in a camp like this, wasn’t breaking his fingers stitching boots or flinching at the sound of dementor boots. No, he probably still got to see his parents. Probably still got to pretend he had a normal childhood while a fleet of researchers tried to figure out what was “wrong” with him.

Yet even staring at Remus, I could tell he wasn’t much older than me either. Probably Sirius’ age, if not a little older. And still, he looked aged beyond his years, worn down in a way that no privileged student should be. So escaping IAAN didn’t mean you got off scot free. Still better than being in here, though.

“Do you remember what happened?” Remus asked, leaning closer over the bed rail to meet my gaze.

There had been a fight in the mess hall. Something stupid. But stupid was enough for them to use the white noise on us.

“They used the calm control to subdue an altercation in the cafeteria. Do you remember falling and hitting your head?”

I hadn’t said anything in so long. I just shook my head.

I remembered.

I always fell harder than the other kids when the noise hit. But this time was different. It wasn’t just pressing against me, it felt like it was inside me, like it was clawing its way through my skull, trying to rip its way out.

“Do you always bleed when the use the calm control,” Remus asked, gesturing to his nose.

My fingers flew to my face. My brow furrowed as I felt the dried blood caked beneath my nostrils.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he muttered, scribbling something onto his clipboard. When he finished, he leaned back in his chair, his posture shifting, more casual, cocky almost. “When they brought you in, did the scientists go through all the usual tests with you?”

My breath hitched.

Something was wrong.

Through the thin curtain beside me, I could make out the shape of another kid lying alone in the next bed. One of the boys who started the fight, probably. But I was the only one with a visitor from the Riddle Foundation.

Asking questions I’d bet he already knew the answers to.

The sharp click of boots echoed down the hallway, dementors making their rounds. Remus barely spared them a glance as he set the clipboard on the table beside my bed.

I grabbed his arm before he could pull away.

Taking a slow shuddering breath, I forced out a single word, my voice raspy, foreign even to myself. “No.”

Remus nodded removing his arm from my grip and tapping the clipboard twice. “Thank you for talking to me, Regulus. If you continue to have lingering pain be sure to speak up.”

He turned and left without another word, nodding once to the passing guard before disappearing down the hallway.

Lingering pain? Speak up? This guy doesn’t know what these places are like, does he?

Alone, I took the chance to see whatever he was writing about me.

I grabbed the clipboard quickly. The first page was blank. Confused I flipped the page to find Remus hurried scrawl and a little baggie with a pill taped to the bottom of the page.

Calm Noise is a test to find Yellows, Reds, and Oranges who slipped through the cracks. Your reaction means you’re not a Green. Now they know. They will kill you. I can help get you out. Take the pill just after lights out and I’ll do the rest. I can’t protect you while you’re here. – R

I ripped the note from the clipboard and shove it into the pocket of my issued uniform pants. Beneath it, my real medical chart lay in neat, clinical print.

Black, Regulus [Subject 00203]
Hit head against table. Fractured nose. Possible concussion.

I slummed back against the stiff pillows, my mind racing.

Could I trust this Remus? Was this a setup? Some reverse psychology trick? I could hear the whisper of paranoia slithering through my thoughts.

The pill sat in my pocket, burning against my thigh like a brand.

If I took it, would I die? Would I just be doing their job for them?

I slid the clipboard back into place just in time. The curtain shifted. A shadow loomed. A dementor.

“Come on, get up!” He barked, “Back to your room.”

My vision swam as I forced myself upright, gripping the rail to steady myself.

“Hurry up,” the guard sneered, grabbing me by the arm and yanking me forward. “Milking it won’t keep you here any longer.” My sluggish steps racing to keep up for the long walk.

When we reached my room, he shoved me inside with careless force. I hit the floor hard. The door slammed behind me with the sharp click of the lock.

The other boys moved without hesitation, hauling me up, guiding me to my bed. Used to my silence by this point they murmured about my condition around me as if I wasn’t right in front of them. Like they weren’t tucking me into bed like a baby.

“Jeez, they couldn’t at least keep him over night?” One said.

“Or clean the blood off his face,” another said trying to rub the dried blood off my face despite me trying to dislodge myself from his crib on my chin, “Fine, fine. Clean it up yourself,” He pulled his hands away frustrated with me.

I fingered at the pill in my pocket as the other boys settled into their beds for the night. I listened to the crude joke they told each other and the odd comment about a girl. I listened as Tony at the far end of the room started to snore a full minute after the lights went out and the exasperated laughs that followed.

I laid there and just listened for a few moments and wondered. Wondered if I would miss this. The familiarity of it all. How used to it we all got.

Fifteen minutes after lights out, I slid the pill from my pocket and placed it on my tongue.

I swallowed dry.

And waited.