FIFTY-THREE:  Hot White HaleSpa North

“I’m here to see Jason Simmons,” Arous said to the receptionist behind the desk at the HaleSpa.  Before leaving her apartment, she put on her best face, literally, her best Amalgamese face.  She shimmered, skin-dancing as an Amalgamese to everyone.  She was a good-skin dancer.  As long as no major catastrophes erupted, she could skin-dance for about six hours.

“Just one minute please and I’ll have a Novice to escort you.”

“If I wanted to talk to a, er, the head, uh, the main person in charge -” Arous floundered.

“The Abbot?  I’m not sure she’d have time to talk to you but our Ministers are fully licensed by the Mercy League and are skilled in all the healing arts.”

“A Minister would be fine, so would a Novice.”

            There was a lot of hot white, but it was scolded by the smell of urine and burning hair. Arous was nervous and couldn’t escape the smell. She kept thinking gardenias and roses with a hint of cedar; but the pungence was shocking.

            “Hi, I’m Novice Hopeful. Right this way,” said the Novice dressed in pastels with her hair in a tight bun.

            Arous followed Novice Hopeful into a large recreation area bright with sun-light and fresh breezes. She zoomed in on a boy sitting in a chair, hunched over, strapped down. He didn’t move he didn’t look up.

            The Novice pointed to him, smiled at Arous and walked off. Arous walked over and sat in a chair beside him. He mumbled and drooled. He lifted his head up enough to look at her and let it fall back down. It was Jason.

            Jason was here because Mike hadn’t been okay.  His pet projects killed him and Jason got blamed for it.  CCTV caught him unlocking the cages.  Jason was paying for his murder as they tried to rehabilitate him.

            She looked at Jason. His hair was fried on the ends from too many electroshock treatments. As he raised his head a little higher, a tear barreled down his nose and dripped off the end. Jason pointed at her.

            “It was me,” she whispered.

            Like an old Charlie Chaplin film being eaten by its projector: he jerked up to meet her gaze. His still pointing finger could move only a short distance from the chair it was strapped to.

            “It was me. I was the one who let the dogs out, not you. It’s my fault but it wasn’t supposed to be like that,” she said. “No one was supposed to die. No one was supposed to get hurt.”  She was crying. Her face hovered so close to Jason’s that her tears soaked his hand.

            “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do to make it right,” she said.

            Arous felt an arm on her shoulder. She jumped. Fearing her confession over-heard, she couldn’t look back to see who was standing behind her.

            “It’s alright. He doesn’t feel a thing. I doubt he even knows who he is now. You’re his sister?” asked Novice Hopeful. She then continued like she was reading from a script, “Sibling guilt is very normal.”

            She bent down and smiled at Arous before walking away.

            “Luna,” he said.

            She cringed. Could he see through her skin-dance?

            “I just wanted to say, I’m sorry,” said Arous.