Internment(80)

“Okay.” I raise my hesitant fingers to my cheekbone.

Dr. Han smiles warmly. “You’re a brave young woman. Can you tell me what happened when the Director came into your cell? The more detail you can give me, the better. And I’m going to record what you say, okay?”

“I understand,” I say, and tell her everything that happened. How the Director tried to get me to cooperate, the times he hit me, his threats. Jake keeps one hand wrapped around mine. I see his jaw clench when I speak, and his neck go wiry. I’m sure he feels guilty, but honestly, I don’t even have the energy for it, or to imagine anything other than this nightmarish reality that is actually my life.

“I think that’s all I need.” Dr. Han stops her digital voice recorder.

Fred enters the room and holds up a small thumb drive. “I got the recordings,” he says to Jake and Dr. Han.

“Recordings?” I ask.

“The cameras,” Jake says. “He’ll be charged. High Command can’t protect him. Won’t protect him.”

Dr. Han stands up. “Let’s get Layla back to her quarters. Specialist Adams, I’m escorting you off-site with that. You’re not to say a word to any other Command on-site. For now we’re keeping this quiet, until we can get charges pressed. Corporal Reynolds, I’m stationing you outside Layla’s unit. This supersedes all other orders. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jake moves to stand and salute her, but she motions at him to stay by my side.

“At ease.” She hands me a white envelope with six blue pills in it. “One pill every twelve hours with food, okay? It will lessen the pain and help you sleep tonight. You tell Corporal Reynolds if you need anything. We are here for you. We should’ve been here for you sooner. I’m so sorry this happened to you. I’m so sorry for everything that we’ve become,” Dr. Han says before she and Fred leave Jake and me alone in the room.

“I’d like to go back now.” I try to stand up, but I’m wobbly.

“Put your arms around my neck.” Jake speaks in the softest whisper. Like he’s afraid his voice will break me. I do as he suggests. He lifts me into his arms, and I rest my head against his chest and close my eyes. He carries me out of the room and through the back exit of the brig.

It’s early—before roll call—but the sun is bright and cresting over the lower peaks of the mountains, casting its rose-tipped glow across the sleeping camp. It seems impossible, doesn’t it? That beauty can exist amid all this cruelty. Maybe that’s why it has to be here. Maybe the sun has to rise to remind us of what truth is.

My body sinks deeper into Jake’s arms. I’m drained, like I’ve been exsanguinated and all that’s left is flesh and the memory of bone. I could sleep for days. But images flash against my closed eyes—the Director’s leering red face, a drop of my blood falling to the floor, David’s smile, the Mess, the crackle of the fence as Soheil clutches it, Jake. My parents. My parents. I can’t imagine what they’ve been going through.

As we approach my block, I raise my head and look at Jake. “I think I can walk from here.” I try for a smile, and he gradually lets me down. “My parents would freak even more if they saw you carrying me in. My mom is probably going to faint when she sees my face, and my dad, he’ll—” I head toward my trailer.

“Layla. Stop. Please.” I turn around and look at Jake. Whatever he may be about to tell me, I can’t hear it. I can’t. There can’t be one more thing. “Layla, I have to tell you something. I didn’t want to tell you earlier, before, in your cell. About the Director and what else he’s done. I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—”

“What is it? My parents? Oh my God.” I run to my trailer, throw open the door, and rush in. “Mom? Dad?” I walk into the bedrooms. The trailer is empty. I turn back toward the door and to Jake, who came in behind me. I glance at our small kitchen table, where a mug has been knocked to the ground, tea spilled on the chair and floor amid the broken shards. “No. No. No. Please, no.” I sink to the floor.

“I’m so sorry, Layla.” Jake kneels by my side. “The Director had them seized and taken away.”

I double over, clutch my knees, and rest my head against the floor, sobbing, choking. Jake rubs my back. “I didn’t know until it had already happened. It was his private security detail. I’m so, so sorry. I couldn’t stop it. I wish I could have done something. Anything. But I was too late.”

I rise to my knees, then stand, steadying myself against the kitchen counter. “But they’re alive? Right? They’ll be okay? You can get them out?”

Jake moves closer to me without saying a word.

“Tell me, Jake. Just say it.”

“I don’t know, Layla. I don’t know where they are.”

I nod. I rub my forehead. My chest tightens and begins to cave. My breath is ragged. “Okay, okay. Well, I have to figure out where they are and how to get them out and how and if… if I can and when… who…” I move away from the counter. My legs feel weak, and the room spins. My knees buckle.

“Layla.” I hear Jake’s voice like an echo before everything goes black.





My body jerks from sleep. Adjusting my eyes to the tomblike dark and quiet, I shift around, shivering under the thin blanket. I’m back in my room in our trailer. It’s not home, but it’s not that holding cell, either. I rub my index finger across my infinity necklace, and the silver cools my skin. My brain feels blank to everything, like a mound of clay, smooth, uninterrupted, and shapeless—without scars or memory. I reach for the fleece dangling off the back of my chair and pull it over my head before curling back into a ball and pulling the blanket up to my ears. In the stillness of the room, I listen. Hoping to hear something, anything, that would mean my parents are back—the whistle of the electric teakettle, the clatter of teacups, the dull rubbery thud of the fridge closing, my dad humming, my mom clinking her spoon as she stirs sugar into her tea. But there is only the sound of my breathing and what I’m sure is the stretching of my heart’s sinewy muscle as it reaches its breaking point. The roar of truth reverberates through me. The Director wants to bury me. He wants me to break. And he’s succeeding. Because I’ve never felt more broken. And I’m so tired. And being tired is a luxury that I can’t afford.