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“Just go to the corner and be quiet,” I say, a little gruffness in my tone.
She does as she told, rolling her pretty eyes at me until I make a circular motion with my finger, indicating she needs to turn around and face away.
“This is stupid,” she complains.
I say nothing. While I’m waiting for something approximating a lesson to be learned, I check my email. There’s a lot of documentation coming through about her, but a lot of it is useless thanks to the big black blocks over most of the text. Redacted reports aren’t worth the electrons it takes to display them.
Glancing over at Electra, I see her fidgeting. That would be another no-no, but I’ll take her obedience for what it is right now. I’m teaching her the ropes of discipline, getting her used to what I expect from her. If I put too much pressure on her too fast, I have no doubt she’ll revert to her feral state.
A few minutes later, a new email appears on my phone. The subject line reads: QUARTERS READY
“Come on out.”
She turns and comes out, raising her hands and letting them fall in a what was the point of that gesture.
“So what now?” She forms the question verbally as I get up.
“Shall we go see where we’re going to be living?”
“What do you mean, we?”
“New digs,” I wink. “For both of us.”
“A different cell, you mean.”
I hope not.
The Fourth Floor
The fourth floor is incredible. I’m sure that just hours ago it looked like every other part of the facility, but it has been transformed into an entirely unique living and learning space. When the Head wants something, she can get it done almost immediately. Electra is right. There’s something about this facility which has the feeling of being the Head’s realm. She controls every bit of it, every living breathing person, every molecule of building. I don’t think anything escapes her.
Part of the fourth floor has been partitioned off into what looks like a modern apartment. The rest of it doesn’t seem to be finished yet and is hidden behind big black temporary walls.
“This is fucked up,” Electra says.
“Language,” I say, almost reflexively. Yes, it is old fashioned to care about curse words, but in Electra’s case, I think it won’t hurt to be disciplined about how she speaks.
“Yes, I’m speaking English,” she smarts off.
“Already building up to your next spanking, huh?”
She gives me a narrowed look through her lashes, but doesn’t say anything else.
“This is actually a nice place,” I tell her. “Feels almost like a luxury apartment.”
“Oh, does it? Is it nice, is it?” She snaps at me, her arms folded over her chest. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve been institutionalized my entire life. I didn’t know that weird padded things everywhere were nice.”
“Those are couches,” I say, surprised she doesn’t seem to recognize basic furniture.
“Are they?” She snaps the question, and I realize what the Head meant when she said Electra needs to be civilized. She means that Electra needs to be introduced to what the world is from beginning to end. I need to talk to that woman, and soon. It’s starting to look as though Electra has never been outside any kind of military facility in twenty years, as though she has absolutely no ability to function in society.
“Have you ever been outside?”
“Sure I’ve been outside.”
“I mean, in a city or a town, or to someone’s house?”
“I assassinated a man in New York, does that count?”
“I suppose,” I say. “But it’s not really what I mean. I mean, have you ever lived in a house, been outside and gone to school, made dinners and done laundry and…”
“What do you think?” She looks at me. “Do I look like I’ve been doing laundry?”
“You do not,” I smile. “Just ask if you don’t know what something is. You don’t have to call it stupid first.”
“I like calling things stupid. Makes me feel better.”
“Understanding feels good too.”
“Eh,” she shrugs, as if she doesn’t believe me.
As much as she might pretend not to care about any of this, she follows me around as I check the apartment out. Two bedrooms, double beds in each, rooms facing one another. One has a pink bedspread. The other has a blue one.
“I’m taking the blue. You can have the pink,” she says.
“You don’t like pink?”
“I like black. Blue’s closer to black.”
“I’m sure we can get duvets in any color you want,” I reassure her. She makes a grumbling sound, but keeps following around after me. I think they’ve done a good job here. The place is clean and modern, and spacious. It even has a view out the window over a small grassed area at the back of the compound. It almost feels like a normal home.
Almost.
There are plenty of places where the institutionalization of the place is all too clear, like the bars over the windows, and I’m sure we’re under constant surveillance.
