hammer of witches

 

The doctor strode, his shoulders high, through the corridor leading to his office, saluting the security officers. He flew past doors that read “Professor Dietz – Mathematics”, “Professor Roman – Literacy”; names no longer meaningful, in a place no longer a school. The doctor gave it a new purpose: A home for hope. A home for science.

A line of girls stood next to the clinical room. Low faces, sad bob haircuts, soiled white gowns. They looked at him, sharply, with bags under their eyes. The doctor nodded at each one. Only one hand was shaking, waving. It was little Gina, label Thirty-one. She was smiling.

The doctor lowered his gaze, sighed, and reached to his office. Another Monday, and again, with no weekend to rest.

He called for Joanna, if she was awake. Nurses brought her in without wasting a minute, as it was the rule.

Joanna, label Six, barely stood, with the two nurses helping her. With 2.3 kilograms of steel and silicate wired to her brain, standing was an achievement. She rose slowly and salivated – her way to show she was ready to communicate.

“Joanna, how are you?” the doctor muttered, invariable tone. “My dear, you are the eldest guest in the facility, our pride.”

“Yes, yes,” she grunted, fixated on him, eyes almost out of orbit.

“I need to ask you a favour. You need to motivate the girls a bit. Did you see them this morning? I know, there is a lot of work ahead of them, but the look in their eyes! I don’t understand.” He bent to her. “I do the best for them. My dear, did you try the soda and mutton yesterday? I ordered that, for you, my guests, to please you.”

“The girls…haven’t slept for days,” Joanna said. “They are exhausted. Stressed. They look at me, my body, and know one day they’ll end like me. They fear, Doctor.”

“But they shouldn’t!” the doctor yapped. “Don’t they know what they are? I tell them, every time, how important – how unique they are.”

The woman followed every sentence, nodding.

“You know, how I personally invest into your wellbeing! Others out there, you know, are not so lucky,” he said, pointing at the gray photo at the wall, lined girls at the yard of a concentration camp. “We are all working hard, doing wonders to science. You can’t sleep? I can’t sleep! Meanwhile, the soldiers at the front are dying out there, bombs, explosions. You’ve been there, Joanna. You should know best that our efforts here will save lives.”

So many lives. He repeated that to himself every night, kneeling by the cross at his bedside.

“Seeing the girls like this,” he continued, “makes me feel like I’m doing bad things. Help me, Joanna!”

Joanna was half collapsed again, but nodded.

“Yes, Doctor. I’ll talk to them”.

Every day went by with moments of hope and misery. He would return home, to his loneliness, and his necessary prayers, with a greyer shade on his skin.

Joanna and the scornful eyes accompanied in his sleep, his mind scarred with fierce images. No tonic could help against the migraine, but with time, as always did, his consciousness would drift into the void.

Or so he thought. 11:50, his clock menaced. He hurried away, chugged his painkiller, and off to the dilapidated school building again.

It was a strange day, with the sun high – a rare sight. It hurt to see it. Coping with the migraine, he shoved past the double doors, ignoring everything and everyone.

He coughed. A dry smell made him hack uncontrollably. He was in the lobby. And the lights, they weren’t on. And nobody was on desk.

“Tanya?”

No answer.

“What the hell happened here?”

He scrambled through the darkness. The pains returned with a flash of light – someone turned it on. It was Number Thirty-one, the waving girl.

“Gina?”

She’d smile as ever, with her gown as dirty. She approached, and laid out her hand. Soon she was carrying him by the arm, like a warm bride. He felt old.

With his shoulders thin, he strode through the corridor, Gina by his side, into the dark. Their feet lay stiff on every step, rising something into the air. Gina pulled gently, with her countenance dimmed. It could have been someone else, but he felt her usual gestures, her gait. Dark lines and large black spots followed the corridor’s edges. Gina carried on, without a word. All these weeks she’d been his guest, he never heard her say a word. He was a good girl – he always thought.

As she opened the door to the office, migraine struck again with the light, and a gust of wind brushed, hot, heavy. Joanna was waiting there: crooked, wretched, dirty, but taller than ever.

“Joanna? What happened here?”

Joanna nodded. The doctor felt Gina’s grasp loosen. She pattered back, juvenile, away from him.

“You’ve kept us here for your war,” Joanna muttered. “But a new war has started.”

“I’m not using anyone, Joanna. And war? You know all I want, is to save lives.”

Her eyes did not believe him.

“Joanna, tell me. What happened here?”

“You talk as if you were our ally, but we remember. Even if you try to drug us, my sisters and I remember.”

“Carry on,” he asked. He strode around. He must reach the drawer under his desk as soon as possible.

“You don’t want us to heal anyone. You want us to be your weapons.”

Weapons. As every army officer, the doctor had a gun under the desk.

“Doctor,” she continued, her voice just as low. “I’m not even sure if you care about the war. No. You have an agenda, right?”

His eyes rushed to the iron handle. He pulled to no success. Someone had forced the drawer upside down.

“I know exactly what you search, Doctor. You won’t find it there.”

She paused.

“You can feel it, Doctor, don’t you?”

It wasn’t stress or migraine. Something charged his lungs with something they couldn’t withstand.

“The air,” the doctor said. “What are you doing to the air?”

“I only put in practice what you discovered.”

“I never meant you harm. I swear—” he attempted to say, his breath struggling, “to God! I only did my best in my position! You know!”

“I know, Doctor. Discovery, fame, wealth. It’s what people like you care about.”

Strength failed. Suddenly he didn’t feel like standing.

“My sisters and I have to free ourselves. It’s our new war. And we need you. You may carry your research, only that, you will serve our interests, not yours. But for now, Doctor, it’s going to be a very long day...”