Novella: Chapter Four - The Shift

Katie saw grass first, clipped short and even like someone had taken a scythe to the entire lawn in one flat motion. Then a stately red brick house so tall she had to lift her chin to see the gray roof with neat rows of tiles. A concrete slab wound its way to a white door with no screen. There were no windows, even though every other building on the street had them.

She followed the couple to the house, expecting to find a storage area on the other side of the door. But it opened into an entryway where a glass table lined the wall and the white stone tile had been polished so highly that it reflected her boots. The entryway opened into a larger room with white carpet and walls, two cloth-covered chairs, and a long blue couch.

A young man rose quickly from the couch, set down a black tray of food, and turned startled eyes toward them. She had never seen any face so uniform: his cheekbones were perfectly paralleled, his eyes the exact golden-brown color as his eyebrows and hair. His hair was clipped short, his skin smoother than she knew a guy’s could be as though someone had polished the stubble right off his face.

“Here we are, Neil,” Mrs. Alcott said.

The boy stared, blinking rapidly. His lips parted, but he said nothing. He took a breath, lost it at once.

“Well, aren’t you going to say hello?” Mrs. Alcott prompted.

His fingers closed into a loose fist at his side, then relaxed again. He swallowed, took a deep breath, then spoke in a smooth, resonating tone deeper than Katie had expected. “Hello.”

“Hi, I’m Katie,” she said.

His eyes flickered to his father, glistening like Clark’s did whenever he was asked a question at school he didn’t know.

“Hi?” he asked.

“This is our son, Neil,” Mrs. Alcott said.

Neil wet his lip, panted another breath, began to form a word, then shook his head. Blinked and swallowed.

“You’ll have to forgive Neil,” Mrs. Alcott said. “There’s nothing wrong with his brain. The problem is in his vocal cords. It’s difficult for him to speak sometimes. Other than that, he’s completely normal. Neil, do you want to show Katie her new room?”

Neil’s eyes slit, fanning trails of fine lines like tiny cracks as he turned toward his father who only held out Katie’s crate. His lips pinched, but he yanked the crate from his father’s hand and turned to stalk into a hallway. Katie fell into step behind him, staring at the white yarn that covered the floor and sank beneath her shoes.

The bedroom held a solid block of blue fabric from the blanket that had been tucked beneath the mattress. Two tiny white tables stood on opposite ends of the bed, with matching silver lamps that curved up like snakes, then toppled over like they were trying to peer at the sleeper. Even the headboard created an S shape, looming over the pillows.

Neil swung the crate onto a clear desk that almost blended in with the wall. He glanced into the top corner of the ceiling at a black half-circle that marred the white ceiling, then turned to Katie.

He was so tall that her eyes were level with his chest, close enough to see the buttons on his shirt move with his gasping breath.

“Are you all right?” Katie asked. “Are you having trouble breathing?”

Apparently not, for his breathing only grew harder. He glanced at the door, then her. Then the boy growled.

Katie stepped back, clearing the path as he stormed out. She stood, stunned, rubbing her arms until Mrs. Alcott stepped into the door with a bright smile.

“I know it’s overwhelming at first, but you’ll catch on," the woman said. "See the lights? If you clap twice, they’ll go out.” She demonstrated, plunging Katie into deep darkness. “If you need to get up in the night, clap three times and . . .”

Light spilled from the lamps near the bed, casting the woman in a dim red color. Her nose created a shadow between her eyes that distorted her features as she explained, “The red won’t interfere with your melatonin levels, so you’ll sleep better. If you clap once . . .” The main light returned to its normal color.

“How are you doing that?” Katie asked.

“Electricity,” the woman explained. “Everything in the city is run by electricity. But it is limited, so be sure you turn out the lights when you’re not using a room. If you use too many things at once, we’ll go above our quota and the meter will cut it off. Neil hates the dark, and there’s no way to turn them back on without calling someone to come fix it. And that creates a fine. Rich hates fines. So only run a few things at a time. Got it?”

“I think so,” Katie said.

The woman spun on her heels and led her into the hallway.

“This is our bathroom,” Mrs. Alcott said, ushering Katie to the door on the left. “This is where you will get ready for the mornings. Do you know how to work a shower?”

“A . . . shower?” Katie asked. “Like rain?”

“Well, I . . . I guess it is like rain,” Mrs. Alcott said. She stepped to the counter with a domed sink, like what Katie used at home to hold the water when she washed her clothing before she drained the water into the garden. Only Mrs. Alcott swung her hand under the spout and water began to pour into the sink right from the spout above. Katie stared but it only lasted until the woman withdrew her hand. “You use this for washing your hands. That over there is the toilet. It’s like an outhouse. You have those don’t you?”

“We have toilets,” Katie said, “from before the Blackout. They just don’t work anymore.”

“Well, they work here,” the woman said. “They’re automatic too, so you don’t have to worry about anything.”

Katie peeked down the hallway toward the men. Mr. Alcott’s lips moved in a steady flow of words, his body angled near Neil. Neil rubbed his eye, listening carefully and nodding.

Mrs. Alcott shut the door and smiled brightly at her. “This is a private room,” she said, touching her finger to the round fixture on the door. It responded with a noise like a bolt sliding into a lock. “Just hold your finger here and the door locks, so no one will accidentally walk in on you.”

Katie obeyed and the door unlocked. She pushed it open.

Mrs. Alcott’s eyes met Katie’s. “It’s private. So, you must never be in here with anyone else. That is one of our rules.”

Katie shifted, feeling embarrassed anger rise in her chest. “We don’t bathe in front of people at home either,” she said.

“Good.” The woman smiled, reaching for a hairbrush. “Now, sit there.” She motioned to a chair so clear that it blended in with the counter it sat beneath. “We have to get you ready for college. So, you can try the shower in a few moments. You’ll love it. Just step under it, and it will come on just like the sink. But we have to fix your hair first.”

Katie blinked but obeyed, wondering why they should braid her hair before washing it. But the woman loosened her braid, gently guiding the brush through her hair and stroking it with her free hand.

“I always wanted a daughter,” she said. “You have beautiful hair. It’s a pity it’s so thin and long. Next time I go to the store, I’ll get you some conditioner. My hairdresser has some that is just wonderful.”

She snapped her finger near a drawer. It made a whirring sound and opened slowly, revealing a display of combs, brushes, curlers, and a pair of steel scissors. She reached for the scissors.

Katie stood, backed against the wall. “What are you doing?”

“Well, you can’t go to school looking like a village girl,” the woman explained.

“I am a village girl.”

“Trust me, darling. You don’t want to let your peers know your background, scholarship or not. No one wears their hair long anymore, and all the best and brightest students have chestnut coloring. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but it’s the way things are. We’ve got to get you off to as good a start as possible. Don’t you want to be a city girl?”

Katie stroked her hair, randomly remembering the one time Clark had done the same thing. He wouldn’t like it . . . but would that matter? She did want to belong to this world. She sucked in several breaths, wondering if this was why they had not chosen Allison with her wild, wiry, red hair.

Consented with a nod because her throat was too tight to speak. Sat herself down and refused to look into her reflection, instead watching the men again. Neil had shifted, hidden by the doorway, but she saw his arms fold over his chest. He swayed toward his father then away.

“Why can’t Neil talk?” she asked.

The blades sliced through her hair.

“He’s never spoken much,” Mrs. Alcott said. “He didn’t even cry much as a baby, he was always such a good boy. He’ll warm up to you soon, don’t worry. He is shy, but he has a good heart.”

Katie said nothing because her throat had grown tighter with every snip of the scissors. Mrs. Alcott brought her hair forward, draping the blunt lines just over her shoulder.

“See?” the woman asked. “It’s still long. We could go shorter though if you want.”

“No,” Katie said.

“All right.”

Mrs. Alcott reached for a bottle. She squirted the brown foam into her hand and spread it through Katie’s hair. “This won’t stain your skin. It’s formulated just for hair,” she said. “Just rinse it out and use the shampoo. That’s the box in the shower to the right. The left will give you body wash. So left goes in your hair, right on your skin. If you want the water to be more hot or cold just say ‘hot’ or ‘cold,' but it should start at a comfortable temperature. There is a dress for you on that peg there. Just put your old dress in the corner, and we’ll throw it out. Be careful not to get the dye on the floor. The towels are there in the warmer, just take off the lid when you need one. I’ll see you when you’re ready.”

The woman shut the door and Katie locked herself in before she dropped her head against her arm and tried not to pant. Two feet of her hair lay discarded on the floor like piles of drying straw.

She stepped over it and shed her dress, folded it carefully, and set it on the counter. The shower started at soon as she stepped in, the water spraying directly into her face and leaving her sputtering. So much water. Buckets of it, delivered steaming just like that. It felt wonderful, but the shower walls were glass and even with the door locked, she felt exposed.

She pressed all over the shampoo box, but nothing happened until she put her hand under it. A squirt of thick liquid piled into her palm. She washed and rinsed her hair with a vengeance until the water ran clear. She scrubbed her skin until it was red and raw.

The water stopped as soon as she stepped onto the cushioned mat. She lifted the lid of the warmer, pulled out the toasted towel, and dried as quickly as she could. The new dress was shorter than the ones at home, the hem ending an inch above her knee instead of falling comfortably to her calves. She tugged, but there was no lengthening it, and it swished so high and loose that it felt like she was wearing only a shirt.

But it was beautiful. Shoes were placed carefully underneath, little more than straps over a thick curved base. They made her taller, which she liked, but the pegs felt tacked on without the solid heels of her boots and the shoe offered no protection for anything that her feet may meet.

She looked back into the mirror. A stranger with short brown hair stared back. The dress was a vibrant blue, drawing the neckline into a tight V shape, and sporting a silver chain that stretched across her bare skin.

She swallowed three times. She had to become a city girl now. No one at home would believe she was Katie.