(no subject)

[bossymarmalade]

Found pasted up against the backwall of the bookshelf in the Longhouse. It is partially hidden behind old paperbacks from the 70’s.

When he first finds the paper up behind the old children’s novels, Ramsey doesn’t give it much thought. He’s nine years old, not even in fifth grade yet, and stuck in an unknown place without his mother. His cognitive processes are not that advanced.

The second time he sees it, as he’s removing the next in the Hardy Boys series he’s been reading when Lian gives him breaks from Cacheena-watching (because the doll apparently needs a supervisor or else she’ll go missing, an idea Ramsey can’t even begin to process in its entirety), he takes it from where it’s posted. He reads it, twice, and then tucks it into his pocket. He doesn’t think about the meaning because for his situation it cannot hold a higher meaning.

His mother is gone and his step-brother has appeared from nowhere. Ramsey spends a long time underneath a table in the Longhouse reading the comic, thinking about it. At first he thinks it’s Transformers—that Gallant is going to turn into some sort of sentient big-rig and, at nine years old, that sounds pretty appealing. At least big-rigs can escape wherever they’re at.

Ramsey follows his stepfather, everywhere. He can’t help it, he’s a child autotuned for adult assistance—in his very nature he wants to be compliant to his parents, and with one missing and two far, far away, he only has one left.

He notices the first bump under his skin the next time he reads the paper. Right where the doctor gives Gallant the injection, a hard knot like something lodged beneath his skin. His mother is not there to look at it.

Ollie begins talking to himself. Heaving up needles and mud and apples. Ramsey watches, behind trees, behind buildings, behind anything that can hide his small form. There are many things that can hide his small form in this place.

The bumps multiply. They’re hard on his bone, immovable, like spines coming from the marrow itself, seeping through to harden just under his skin. He touches them, counts them, daily, and daily their numbers change. One to two to ten to twenty. All over his body. No one asks. No one cares. They are all talking to themselves, whispering to themselves, all of them have the machine in them too, and Ramsey can’t see a reason to disobey when he’s never disobeyed before. If the adults can’t stop it, then maybe it shouldn’t be stopped.

Cacheena is missing, his mother is missing, one of the small paring knives from the kitchen is missing.

Ramsey sticks it under his skin to see what the machine has made for him.