For three years of our young lives, we were treated like lab rats in the recesses of the Cheyenne Mountains. They kept us in large, blank rooms with nothing more than a bed, toilet, and a one-way window. The only time we saw another human being was when tests were being done. I hated the wires, the shots, the running until I collapsed on the treadmill. Most of all I hated the men in their white coats with their sadistic grins. They enjoyed the tests. I was eight when it ended, sort of. The end wasn't really the end for me. My mom left when the experiment started. She begged and pleaded with my father to exclude me but it was no use, when there's something he wanted, he got it. No matter the cost. Which, in the end, cost him both of us. We were widely considered a failure, a waste, of both time and money.
In the end I moved into a quaint little house in Arnold, Missouri with my mother. For the first six months I lived on the first floor, but quickly became bored with it and moved to one of the basement bedrooms. I had a dragon puppet that I hung in the far right corner of my room, away from any vents and windows. In our basement the air conditioning/heater didn't circulate through and all the windows were always securely shut against the wind. My puppet, Hot Rod, was still for the first month and all was well. Then he began to spin. Nothing violent. He would simply spin in one direction, stop for a few moments and occasionally swing around, spinning in another direction. There was no explanation for this and if you stood near the spot next to or under the puppet it would get chilly and you could hear faint talking next to you, even when you where alone.
I didn't think much of this until one night, when I had a particularly vivid dream. I was a French woman who was being married off in 1874 to a member of the aristocracy. In the dark, I could feel his hands holding me down, choking me, and awoke gasping. I looked over to my puppet, which I could hear swinging violently, to see a man staring at me with frightened eyes and holding Hot Rod in his left hand. I had never seen him before but I felt like I knew who he was. He looked protectively towards me.
"Who are you?" I asked, still gasping for air, and a little frightened myself. He let Hot Rod drop to the floor and stepped over to my bedside, placing his cold, nearly transparent hands on my visibly shaking hand.
" Cécile, don't you remember?" he replied wistfully with the slightest French accent. I shook my head slightly and he smiled at me, a forced change. "My name is Henry. We knew each other once. I promised to always protect you, and I always will."
He sat next to me on the bed and, feeling incredibly safe, I curled up next to him as well as I could and fell back into a dreamless sleep. I woke up the next morning alone, thinking it was all simply a dream. As I got ready for school, Hot Rod didn't move, but when I started to leave the room I heard a slight noise behind me and turned around. In the corner, Hot Rod spun to face me, stopped, and made a waving motion then went back to an idle state. It looked like someone had been sitting on the edge on my bed and a pen was lying on the blanket. I was confused but left for school. When I got home that day, I went to my room. Under the pillow was a piece of paper that had music written on it. I took it upstairs to my mom who played it on the piano for me. The song she played was beautiful and sounded so familiar, however I couldn't place it.
Since then, I've felt safe on dark and lonely nights. Sometimes I could almost hear that song playing and lulling me to sleep. Well, that was until my junior year of high school.
* * *
"I am so sorry I'm late. My mother wouldn't leave with the curlers in her hair." Lucy said, " Save me a spot while I go get my schedule."
"Ok." I said smiling. She then went running off down the courtyard. I was glad she had gotten here when she did. Crumbling the gray stucco wasn't as much fun as it was an hour ago. I scuffed my shoe on the ground then looked up. The line had moved about a good five feet. Ah the joy of getting text books for another horrid year of high school. I picked up my empty backpack and moved along the wall. I stared ahead. The person ahead had long dark brown hair, he turned to the side. His face it looked familiar... could it be? The boy in front of me.... Is it the boy I used to know? Is it the boy who was once my best friend? The one who helped me stand when I could barely walk? Is it really you?
