Platformed

Chapter 2

2

She followed the woman through the doors in a daze, foolishly expecting to see Bea waiting for her on the other side. The hall she entered was wide, with crisp right angles and concrete walls so smooth they looked soft. The floor sloped slightly downward and the overhead lights hurt her eyes.

Another woman greeted her with a now-familiar empty smile, wearing the same tight bun and simple blue cotton clothes as the first—the most stylish scrubs Sara had ever seen. They could have been the same person, in fact, except that this woman had warm brown skin and much darker hair.

The blonde woman returned to the entry hall without a look over her shoulder. Sara caught one last glimpse out as the door swung closed. She looked through the windows to the horizon instead of seeking out Zach’s face, avoiding his searching gaze and instead trying to burn the vast expanse of cool coastline into her mind. She could not see the ocean from where she stood, but from the curl of the clouds and sweep of the salt grass on the sand, she knew it was there.

“Welcome to the processing center,” the woman said. She put her hand on Sara’s arm. “I’ll be taking care of you today.”

The place looked like some kind of clinic. Which would make sense, she thought. They’d want to understand your health before admittance.

Sara decided that it all made sense.

She was in no position to protest, anyway, and far too tired to wonder.

The woman asked Sara to step inside and remove her clothes, motioning toward a gown.

“What should I do with my things?” Sara asked, approaching the room. “Is there a locker?”

“Just leave them there. They’ll be donated. We’ll provide you with everything you need.”

Sara balked at the idea of not carrying a bag with her.

Ever since college she’d carried her backpack whenever she left the house—phone, wallet, laptop, water bottle, snacks, tampons.

“But…”

The woman’s smile broadened. Of course it did. “Don’t worry. We’ll provide you with everything you need.”

Her expression took on a note of performative caring, but her eyebrows drew together with a sense of unnerving urgency. Sara offered her own tepid smile in response.

The tears that had threatened to spill out of her eyes made another move, and this time she couldn’t fight them back. She blinked mascara down her cheeks.

The woman pretended not to notice.

“In here, now.” Her tone was calm and steady, but Sara heard the command.

She crossed the threshold into a room that might have been any dressing room in any department store anywhere and dutifully peeled off her clothes, damp from the rain and still smelling of smoke from the fire. That scent had come to be a perverse comfort.

The gown was barely more than what was typically provided at a doctor’s office, but again she reminded herself that it all made sense. This all made sense. She pulled it on and realized just how cool the air felt against her skin.

She knelt and looked through each of the pockets of her backpack as if she might select a few items to keep. She wanted to remember each of these things.

The solar charger for her phone.

A crushed granola bar she meant to eat that morning but had forgotten.

The old water bottle that she had carried daily for years.

An almost finished tube of lip balm.

A half-chewed pack of gum.

Keys to the apartment that had burned to the ground.

The detritus of a life she no longer lived.