Mortal - Chapter 9

Premise: In this young-adult dystopian novel, people can no longer die. But they still feel pain, and suffer--and it's maddening. Because of the chaos that ensued, the US Government created a program to figure out how to kill people. When Garrett, a teenager, falls into a coma for weeks as a result of an experiment, the Program sets its malicious sights on him.

This is the ninth chapter of the novel, Mortal. Click here for the beginning of the story. Or, click here for Chapter 8.

“My poor baby…”

The buzzing of lights wake me. I keep my eyes closed as I process what has happened to me. There is an ache in my chest, where the bullet exploded my heart. There is a mild, but very noticeable throb in my head. My mouth is dry when my sluggish tongue slides across the roof of my mouth. I hear the monotone beep of a monitor, the pumping of a machine. My eyes flutter, and I finally muster the energy to lift my eyelids just high enough so I can see through the lashes.

There are several nameless machines surrounding my bed. Cords and wires are hooked up to my arms and head. I see a woman replacing my IV, and instinctively, I think it’s her.

“Mom?” I croak.

The woman turns to me, and her gaze lingers before she snaps her chin towards a man in a chair near the door.

“He’s awake,” she says, as I realize this is no woman I know, “Mark the time.”

She presses a button above my head before she grabs a thin flashlight and points the sharp light in my eye. I cringe, and jerk my head away, making me dizzy.

“Can you tell me your name?” the woman asks me firmly, yet calm.

“I—“ I blink repeatedly as I try to regain the vision the flashlight turned to blackness. “Garrett…”

“Good. And where are we?” the woman asks.

“At the…” my voice trails as my mind begins to clear.  “Project Eden.” I scrunch my eyes, and shake my head slightly, terribly confused. Dread seeps into me like a poison. My body tenses. I had thought that I was safe.

But I am back.

The woman continues to ask me questions, one after another, so that I cannot interrupt and beg for answers of my own. I try to answer as best as I can though some of the most simplest of questions take me a moment to process through the haze of my mind. It’s only been about five minutes, yet my eyes begin to droop, and I gradually lower my head into the mass of pillows.

“Garrett. I need you to stay with me. You’ve been asleep for a long time.” The woman squeezes my hand, and I flinch from the pressure.

 I stare at her, and begin to realize how unusual this whole situation is. Terror stirs in the bottom of my stomach. “And how long…” my voice is slurred and lethargic, and I have to catch my breath before I continue, “How long have I been asleep?”

The woman’s gaze doesn’t falter, “Two weeks.”

My eyes dart to the door as it opens. Dr. Long and a few other doctors crowd around the doorway with anxious expressions.

“Just give me a moment longer with him,” the woman says to the doctors.

They nod reluctantly and leave.

I slowly pull my knees up to my chest, my whole body shaking as I do so. The woman watches me with solemn eyes as I grit my teeth and comprehend this unbearable news.

Coma.

The Secretary was right.

I am the first person, in over twenty-five years, to fall into a coma.

I have given them results.

“How is this even possible?” I breathe as I squeeze my knees closer to me. The woman is easy to talk to. Her lack of any emotion at all is somehow soothing right now.

“We believe it has something to do with your injury, and the emotional distress it caused you.”

I reach my arm into my shirt, and move it up my skin until my fingers feel the fabric of the bandage wrapped around my chest. A panicked thought splits my mind as I press my hand against the place where my heart should be, and to my relief, feel the slight vibrations of its beating. “How…how do I have a heart beat?”

“The doctors removed the bullet and stitched it up once they were confident you would survive no matter what,” the woman replies.

I scrunch my eyebrows in confusion, “…Why?” I ask incredulously.

The woman shrugs, “The Secretary insisted.”

Chills run down my spine, and my hand drops from chest. Now I have to be suspicious of my own heart. My shoulders slouch and a sigh escapes me. “What does this all mean?” I ask glumly, resting my chin on my knee.

The woman rises from her chair, as does the man that I hadn’t noticed since the woman first spoke. “The world is changing,” she responds with a flash of a smile. “Goodbye, Garrett.”

And they both leave.

I gnaw on the inside of my cheek as I think. What could all of this mean for me? Why did this happen to me? What would happen to me? I begin to pull the sensory pads from head, and rip the air tube from my nose. I lean back against the pillows and grunt in irritation. They forced us to believe that there was no way we could die, no matter the pain.

No escape.

 And now.

Nothing makes any sense.

I glance to the door as the Secretary enters with a crisp smile, “Why, good morning to you.”

I can only stare at him.

The Secretary sighs as he walks over to me, and takes a seat on the foot of my bed. “Did the coma affect your speaking abilities? Or just your manners?”

“I don’t know,” I manage to say, “I did just get my heart blown to bits.”

The Secretary nods with a smirk as he rests his left leg on his right and reaches for the remote to the television. “The statement was released thirty minutes ago. And already, you’re a star.”

I stare at him as the cold understanding settles in.

“See for yourself,” Arthur Paracot shrugs and presses the power button on the remote, turning the TV on.

The first thing I see is the flashing BREAKING NEWS streamer across the bottom of the screen followed by a line of small words I’m too tired to read. A news reporter talks in front of a large concrete building, and a picture of me, the picture they took of me before I entered the halls of Project Eden, appears to the side of her face.

“Again, I’m standing in front of Project Eden headquarters where a breakthrough in solving the problem has occurred. A volunteer, by the name of Garrett Sane…”

My nose twitches in annoyance at the fake last name. The last name that the Secretary clearly gave me. The world now knows about me. Which means it must be very soon when they find out about the torture. But I’ve given up on being an optimist.

“What did you tell them?” I ask coldly.

The Secretary raises a finger to me as he turns on the closed captioning and mutes the television.

“A breakthrough in neurological therapy,” the Secretary sighs with satisfaction as he stands up and heads over to the wall to examine a picture.

“You can’t be serious,” I scoff with disbelief.

“The public will believe anything as long as they get to hear their statistics and their scientific words. Especially when there is a particular problem that hinders their intellect.”

I glare at the back of his head. The lack of any contentment for the rest of the world sickens me. The fact that he thinks he can just lie, and easily get away with it, whether the public knows it or not startles me. “How can you live with yourself?” I growl.

“Simple,” he says absently while he wipes at a smudge on the wall, “I attempt to succeed in making it actually possible to live. Now listen here, Garrett. There is no death. Therefore, no life.”

“Only pain,” I whisper, seething.

“Ah,” the Secretary turns to me with a witty grin, swinging a finger toward me, “You got it.”

I hear a buzz, and the Secretary rummages through his pocket. He pulls out his cell phone and glances at it. “If it isn’t Mr. Gild…” he looks to me with glinting, black eyes. “I assume he wants a word with you. Be a good boy, Mr. Sane. I’d hate to suddenly hear of a snap in mentality. That would, I’m afraid, force my hand.”

I swallow as he answers the phone, “Hello, Edward. I’m sure you’ve heard the news. …Yes, indeed! I’m sure this will definitely boost the magazine ratings after your interview with young Garrett…Oh, well of course! He’s here right now. One moment.” The Secretary pulls the phone from his ear and hands it to me, “It’s Edward Gild,” he says before I reluctantly put the phone to my ear.

“Hello,” I say.

“Hello? Garrett? Is that you?” Edward Gild’s eager voice speeds through the speaker.

“Yes.”

“What the hell is going on?”

I clear my throat as I glance to the Secretary who seems like he is earnestly watching the news report. “Therapy works wonders.”

“Yeah. Works wonders my ass. But Garrett,” his voice lowers and is dipped with concern, “What happened?”

I sigh, “You’re an idiot, Gild.”

“Well, I’m honored by that…” his voice trails, “What did they do to you?”

I can hear the concern in his voice and my throat swells with terror. What won’t they do now that I’ve given them results? Given them more time to avoid a harsh view by the public eye? “I’m fine…” I say.

“Garrett, you can tell me…If…if they’re hurting you then—“

“I’m fine,” I growl. But I’m not. Tears sting at my eyes as the overwhelming hopelessness of the situation slams into me.

“Alright,” Edward Gild sighs tiredly, “And who is this person you’re trying to protect again?”

I am silent for a while as I stare into the back of the Secretary’s head. My stomach tightens as I breathe out, “Me.”

“Oh, for the love of God!” Edward exclaims angrily, “Do you know how moronic, how stupid, how freaking stupid you—“

“Shut up!” I scream into the phone. He has no right. He has no idea what it is to be afraid for the inner of your being, to lose yourself in the void of pain. I am so angered that for a split moment, I think of throwing the phone into the wall, but then this man would never know how I feel about him.

“You don’t care about me. You don’t care about anyone, but your smart ass self and your god damn story! You sicken me, Edward Gild. And I can only hope I never get to see your face again.”

I’m about to yank the phone from my ear when I see the Secretary watching me with a curious smile.

“Hey, you finished whining, Gare-Bear?” Edward asks with a huff of frustration.

“Go to hell, Gild,” I mutter before pulling the phone from my ear.

“Try again,” the Secretary says with chilling brevity.

I stare at him subdued horror. I can slightly hear Edward yelling into the phone.

“Try again,” the Secretary smiles, “The last thing Project Eden needs is bad press. Well, go on.”

I bite my lip, and return the cell phone to my ear, my head reeling. “Yes?” I ask with oozing sweetness, but with the undeniable edge of impatience.

“Yes?!” Edward Gild repeats with strong irritation, “Don’t you ‘Yes?’ me!”

“I’m…sorry,” I explain, raising my eyebrows though there’s obviously no point in physically playing my part, “I guess the coma put me in a sort of mood.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

It seems I have hurt the poor man’s feelings. I would have smiled if I didn’t know better, that this is one of his many ploys to get a story.

“Did you have any more questions, Mr. Gild?” I ask innocently.

“Oh, yes. First of all, don’t you ever go off on me like that again. It’s hard enough as it is to not write an actual story about you,” Edward Gild says firmly.

“Oh gee, Mr. Gild. That seemed more like a statement than a question.”

Edward scoffs, “And I’m the smartass?” he clears his throat after a moment of the silence settling, “I’m done asking questions for now. Because I’m sure Mr. Secretary is staring you down right now, and I know you wouldn’t dare step out of line, eh, Garrett?”

“Eh,” I respond cheerfully.

“Yeah…but mark my words: I’m not finished with you just yet.”

I grimace and shift my gaze to my lap. No…and I don’t think I’m finished with him either. Why am I trying to push myself away from my only outside contact? And a good one at that? Why am I trying to push away the one person that could bring the Secretary and Project Eden down for good? Yeah, no. No way am I done with him. And I need a way to let him know that.

“So yeah,” I laugh and run my free hand through my hair. The Secretary lowers himself onto the end of my bed once more and blinks at me. “This neat, new therapy the scientists tested me with I guess, put me right out.”

“And you want me to quote you saying ‘neat?’ Really?” Edward Gild interrupts with scrutiny.

I ignore him, “And when I woke up! Man, it was weird. And this woman points a light at my eyes, and felt like I was getting flashed with…with headlights.”

“That’s…that’s an interesting simile, Garrett,” Edward Gild replies blankly.

“No kidding!” I exclaim, “For a few minutes, I had no idea where the heck I was!...Well, hey. If you want a more detailed recount you could totally come back for another interview…No? Well, alright.”

“Uh…what.”

“Just…call me if you change your mind. Or rather, Mr. Secretary here.”

There is no response, and I’m confident he understands.

“Have a nice day, Mr. Gild!” And I end the call and hold out the phone to the Secretary.

He takes it with lethargic hands, his eyes never leaving mine. He stands up and pockets the cell phone before moving closer to me.

“Was that okay?” I ask blandly.

He taps his chin with his bony index finger. “You intrigue me…” he says quietly, and in response, I can only look up into those pitch eyes of his.

The Secretary shakes his head after a dreadfully long moment, and begins to turn towards the doorway. “You’ll stay here over night, but you’ll join up with the others in the morning. Take care, Garrett…”

“Thanks,” I say dryly as I lean my head against the pillows and watch the man leave.

I stare at the television trying to read the subtitles, but I’m so tired I can’t even get through the first three words before the set is replaced with another. A few doctors step in to check on how I’m doing, sometimes running a few simple tests like asking me odd questions or listening to the rhythm and sound of my heartbeat as I perform tasks they tell me to do.

They feed me a light meal of fruit and crackers with cheese. For dessert, they give me a cup of blue jello. My stomach squirms at the sight of it, but I don’t know why because when I force myself to take a bite, it’s delicious. The hand that holds the cup twitches and a feeling of doubt crosses over me. I quickly return the jello to my tray.

What is going to happen to me?

Project Eden made a mistake in telling the world about my coma. Everyone will now be expecting, waiting for something that will never happen.

Could it happen?

I scrunch my eyes shut and turn on my side. My reaction to the gun…still sends shivers down my spine. Thinking back, it doesn’t even seem that I had any control of myself at all. That…thing was not me. That was pure terror, something I’ve never had.

And this makes me unsure of the possibility.

My eyelids loosen, and I allow my wariness to take over.

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