When I get to Stoke's office, I try the door, and it opens with a soft click.
My smile is satisfied as I go inside and quietly shut it. I make sure that his blinds are closed in case anyone walks by, so no one sees the light. As I turn on the small desk lamp, I look around, opening drawers and finding a pack of cigarettes…Stoke's little vice…and a lighter. I'm tempted to pocket it, but if I'm caught with an incendiary device, I'll be in veryverybig trouble.
I peruse his old-fashioned paper calendar, going back to the day that I think I was returned to The Heath. There are no names, but his time is blocked out with a meeting that simply says ‘JGB’.
Joseph Banderville, perhaps.
I turn to the filing cabinet behind the desk and open it. I find my file first. It's thick, thicker than the others, which I find odd because there's no way that I'm the worst behaved resident who's come through these doors.
I go through it, page by page, finding all of the police reports from Richmond when I was a kid, all the evidencethat Stoke used to keep me here. I read his comments about me, darkly amused at how he underestimates me, how stupid he thinks I am and all the ways I’ve ‘come along’ because of him. But there's nothing really of note, nothing I didn't already know.
Just as I'm about to put it back, I notice some pages at the end. They detail all the times that I've been corrected and all the punishments I have received. Like William when I first came here, there were many. Every day. Sometimes multiple times in a twenty-four-hour period. I'm surprised that everything is cataloged so neatly, meticulously. It even says who administered the correction. Crewes’ name pops up a lot, and Sue’s. There are others who don’t work here anymore. A name I don’t see is Douglas and I realize that despite his threats, he never did zap me, never even gave me a demerit.
I take the page out of the file, biting my lip a little as I wonder if I dare do what I’m thinking of doing. I carry it through the other door that leads into the reception area.
There's a photocopier in here.
I glance at the hatch window that opens into the foyer to the main doors of the building. It's closed but the blind is open.
Do I risk it?
If the machine is too loud, the Blanks will hear.
I go to the blinds, and, very slowly, I let them go down, closing them so that no one can see into the room if they do happen to patrol this way.
Next, I pick up the phone, but when I try to dial a number, I get a beep. I look around the desk and see a note to dial ‘9’ for an external call along with the country codes. I find the one for the USA and try Shade, glad I memorized his number even though it was programmed into my phone.
It goes straight to voicemail.
‘It’s me,’ I whisper. ‘Daisy. I’m in…The Heath.’ My voice breaks and I force myself to carry on. ‘I’m going to try to escape. I love you guys and I miss you. I’ll call again if I can.’
I hang up the phone and close my eyes, fighting a sob. But I get it together and I put the paper I took from my file on the glass of the photocopier. Holding my breath, I listen for sounds of the Blanks. When all stays silent for several seconds, I press the print button.
It's a new machine, I realize when it scans so quietly. In the darkness, I grin down at it and then I go into the files of all of the other residents who have been here over the years, systematically taking each of these finalpunishmentpages out, and making copies of every single one.
Some of them are quite detailed in their descriptions of the correction, almost as if the Blanks enjoy inflicting the pain and humiliation they do. This isn’t a surprise. Some of them love the little taste of power lording over us gives them.
I recognize Douglas's writing here and there, but it looks like he rarely corrected anyone. It's too bad he's not here anymore. I might have been able to get him to help me. He may have been an actual ally in this place.
When I'm finished, I have a stack of about fifty pages—residents who are here, some who no longer are. But where can I put them where they won’t be found?
I make sure that the reception area is left exactly as I found it before I leave, twist the blinds back to exactly where they were and pull them up slightly. Then I go into Stoke's office and position his chair back under his desk and close the file cabinet drawers completely.
I slipout into the hallway, thinking about where I'd be able to hide this stack of incriminating paperwork safely. My room is off limits. They ransack it every couple of days, looking for contraband. Where they think I'd get any is beyond me.
The art room.
I sprint upstairs to the second floor of the old Victorian building. The art room only has bare floorboards, and I found out during my many years here that it is possible to pull up the ones in the corner, as long as one is careful.
I do just that, tiptoeing to the back corner, moving a couple of easels, and tugging up one of the floorboards with my fingers. The nails are rusted and worn, so they no longer grip the wood underneath. I slip the papers under the floor and reposition everything so that no one knows I was ever here.
I'll have to see what else I can find because I need evidence to build a case against The Heath. I'm taking this place down. I promise myself and everyone else who has suffered here that I’m going to make sure Stoke and his minions go to prison.
Mav
‘You have Joe Banderville’s phone?’ Blake regards me in surprise.
‘Yeah,’ I say, shifting in my seat as the plane shakes a little.
