BOOK SAMPLE
For his first seventeen years of existence, Hom’s life was an empty vessel. He was unaware of the emptiness at first, but when he was allowed to view the screens to watch TV shows and movies, he found out other people aren’t raised in labs. They don’t go through endless mental conditioning and physical training. They don’t get asked about the demons and angels that visit them in their dreams. Some people in the world are happy.
For a short amount of time every day, however, Hom’s life is not so empty. When Frieda comes to visit him in his chamber, Hom’s glass of life is full. Frieda’s face is one of the first he remembers from childhood; always warm and smiling. She sits and watches the screens with him to explain what’s real and what’s fantasy. She talks to him without a clipboard or needle in her hand. In the mornings, she shares breakfast with him. Not the brownish-gray slop that’s placed on his tray for the other two meals. Her food has flavor and texture, and she’s happy to share it with him.
But Hom cherishes Frieda’s visits because they share more than food. They share opinions, ideas, and most importantly, feelings. It’s because of Frieda that he has an idea of what freedom might feel like. Because of Frieda, Hom knows love.
Today, Hom is thinking of Frieda just before he hears her talking to the guard outside his door. The digital lock beeps and she walks into the chamber to greet him.
“Good morning! I thought you would like some waffles this time.” Frieda comes into the room like one of Hom's angelic visions. She has straight black hair and bright emerald eyes that sparkle with life. Frieda holds a plate with a tall stack of waffles. Butter and syrup cascade down the sides and pool next to the two forks. Of course there’s two forks—they always share from the same plate. Breakfast is placed on the metal table in the center of the room. They settle into chairs on either side of the table and begin to eat.
“What are they going to do with me today?” Hom asks.
“I don’t know. They never tell me anything. They have no reason to. Anyway, don’t worry about it.”
Hom studies her face and reads her like only a true friend can. “I think you know. I think you’re too nice to tell me how I’m gonna be poked, prodded, and tested. I think you’re a nice person. But it’s just a theory.”
They both smile at this comment. Hom cares for Frieda, and that was planned from the beginning. What wasn’t planned is her feeling the very same way about him. Being with Hom is the best part of Frieda’s day, but she also has to do her job.
“What did you dream last night?”
This is the difficult part of breakfast. Hom hesitates before answering. “Another one came to me.”
“Angel or demon?”
“Demon. He kept saying awful things.”
Frieda furrows her brow. “What kind of awful things?”
The pain of the encounter comes back to him and dims the joy of breakfast. “I don’t want to talk about it. Can’t we just eat?”
“Did he threaten you?”
“No, he threatened you. He said soon he would take you to his domain and we would never see each other again.”
Frieda is disturbed to hear this, but she keeps a pleasant face for Hom. “That guy’s full of hot air. What was his name?”
Hom hesitates again, as if he’s afraid to speak the name. “He called himself Malphas. He said you would go with him, and I would be stuck here. Forever.”
“Well, I don’t plan on going anywhere. At least, not until after breakfast.”
They spend the next twenty minutes sharing waffles and each other’s company. The conversation flows from current events, to philosophy, to faith. Lately, Frieda has been choosing paths of discussion that lead to ideas which are strange to Hom. The most radical is the thought of him making his own decisions, living his own life outside of a sterile cage. They never discuss freedom outright, but lately their talks have brought Hom’s slavery into focus. For a slave, the thought of rebellion is dangerous.
Hom watches Frieda as she pushes the last bit of waffle through a puddle of melted butter and syrup. She’ll be leaving right after the meal. “Do you have to go?”
“I have to go, but I’ll be back with omelets tomorrow.”
“In the meantime, I’m Bishop’s lab rat.”
“He’s not that bad. It can’t be that bad.”
Hom looks into the green of her eyes. “It’s that bad.”
Frieda leans over the table and kisses Hom on the cheek. “Nothing bad lasts forever. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Frieda walks out with the empty plate in hand. During his seventeen years, Hom has calculated that on average it will be twelve minutes and seventeen seconds after she leaves before the escort comes to take him to Dr. Bishop. During that time, he contemplates how empty his life would be without Frieda. If he is to escape this place she has to come with him.
***
In the hall outside of Hom’s chamber, Frieda is lost in thought as she walks toward the elevator doors. Before she can press the “up” button, the elevator opens to reveal the scowl of Dr. Bishop. His tone is as sour as his look.
“We need to talk, young lady.”
He grabs the upper part of her arm like an arresting officer and pulls her into an empty room. Once there, Frieda twists her arm out of his grip.
“Don’t ever do that again. What’s your problem?” she asks.
“You’re my problem, and you’re going to be Hom’s problem if you’re not careful.”
“What do you mean?”
Bishop’s response comes through clenched teeth. “Do you really think your little talks are lost on me? You’re filling his head with dangerous concepts that will make him difficult to deal with.”
“All we do is talk about how life is in a free society. What’s the danger in discussing that?”
“You and I live in a free society, but he doesn’t. Hom was brought here to be developed for a specific purpose, and you know that.”
Bishop towers over Frieda as he takes a step closer to her. “Stick to the script and the subjects we give you. Hom isn’t the only one that can be put in a box.” After an icy stare, Dr. Bishop turns on his heel and leaves Frieda to ponder in the empty room.