Thursday. Intake

This woman named Helen said I should start a Journal about my time here, so that I could make some sense of it all. That it would help me to put things into perspective. It’s really hard to do that, but I’ll try, for this week at least.

Last week I was picked in the PCB lottery (Population Control Board). My first time eligible, and I was picked and notified. My mom freaked out, and everyone in the family got upset. My sister Heather cried like a baby, and told mom that she should try to switch our assignments. Heather is so tired of being in the hospital, and with it being just the two of us, there isn’t much for mom and dad to pass on to us.

My mom is a fighter. Dad says she is almost a force of nature, and that if anything can be done, she can do it. So he is going to follow her lead and help any way he can.

My parents separated a couple of years ago. Marriages don’t last too often in our society these days, with the woman to man ratio of almost sixteen to one. That is better than it used to be a few years ago, before the lottery. Back then it was almost twenty to one. So they instituted a rule to start to bring the population into balance by culling one percent per year of the female population for ages 18 to 40. The idea is that the population will gradually swing into balance within forty or so years, even with the birthrate imbalance.

So the idea is to have a one percent solution repeated to bring things into phase. It is hard luck on the one percent, but the rest of the population absorbs it pretty well. At least that is what the social sciences professor at my high school said.

And it is not like they are doing anything in public or anything. You report to a termination facility and that is your end of story. And since human meat is now USDA available from slaughter-houses, (which defrays termination expenses) you really are not going to waste.

And the legal ramifications of trying to bribe someone or running are pretty gruesome. They hold public execution in a real painful way, usually by impalement. They got around the “Cruel and inhuman punishment” protection by having the guilty party reclassified as no longer human. That was the outcome of the court cases years ago. And that applies to all parties in the conspiracy. Not just the selectee. So getting help on the run is pretty much a thing of the past.

So mom spent Monday and Tuesday hitting the phones to find a way around this situation. She called everyone she could think of, and got squat. Then on Wednesday, we were watching the news when this broadcast came on about this place in south side of Chicago called Findley’s. The reporter was talking about the selected women all trying to get into Findley’s, because of some story that came out about how they treated people differently, and that they had legal help for selectees and all the rest. Mom figured maybe to find a way to cut a deal with them. So she gave them a call and they said for her to come in on Thursday for something called an intake session, and that we could talk to the legal representatives there. And regardless, they would not term me then, I could wait until Saturday.

Mom was kind of at her wits end by Wednesday night. No one had any advice. A couple of her competitors were asking when and where I would be sold. Which really set her off on a tear.

I took a different tack. I was wondering why this Findley place was so different that it was in the news. So I did the old web search thing and then tapped into Socials. It was a shock. Evidently Findley did a lot of careful screening that other places didn’t talk about. And a lot of women had come in on Wednesday since the blogs hit on Tuesday night and all of them said the same thing. Everyone coming was screened for any exemptions, rejections, or complications with their selection. And they had a lot of questions about things to finish up, like wills, rental and lease agreements, mortgages, utilities and a host of other things. It listed all the stuff that was in your face when you are getting ready to die. A couple of women even talked to a woman lawyer that worked there, and got advice on things to finish up before they were termed. They got a roadmap on what to do before they came back at the end of the week.

The news article was pretty good too. The camera caught this guy throwing the reporter off of his property and getting out of the way of blockage. And he was the only man that anyone saw on the property. Women did all of the intake stuff and evidently showed people around. No bums and thugs.

So, here I am on Thursday morning, standing and listening to this naked lady talking with my mom while we are waiting for the owner’s wife to come into the waiting room. And there we are with a bunch of other women and my mom, wondering what is going to happen. I have to tell you, dear diary, I was scared. And mom was nervous as heck too.

So we sit and talk with a couple of different women, and things get pretty tense. The owner’s wife, Margaret, said that there was nothing she could see that was wrong with the paperwork or the process and that “some people can’t get a break”. Then she huddled with another woman who then took her place and talked with us for a while. As she and my mom were talking, a blonde about my age came up.

She was cute. A little taller than me, skin a little darker, and with grey eyes. Real sharp looking. And oh yea, she was naked too.

So then Carol (the woman talking with my mom) suggested I go with her for some preliminary blood work and then come back up while she and Margaret talked with my Mom.

Candy is different. She is very warm but kind different. I think I would say she was really strong and decisive. She said she was the oldest of four and she had to do a lot of work with the kids while growing up. And her mother let her swap herself for her so she could get to exception. She is a real no nonsense sort of person, which is funny cause she is only a little over a year older then I am ... Apparently she was picked out to work here with people as sort of a guide and helper. She was real nice and friendly, and I felt comfortable with her.

So when we got away, and after we talked for a few while I got my blood drawn, I asked her some questions about how she was here, what she did and I was kind of shocked to hear that her mother offered her as a substitute for herself.

I remember thinking “That sucks”.

Candy didn’t’ seem to be too upset. “I landed here and they let me help out.” After a while I worked up the courage and asked “So, how do they?”

I have to tell you, I was scared to hear.

But she said, “It’s a secret. But it is real smooth and someone is with you the whole time.”

That got me to feel better, strange enough. She said,” Couple of sharp pinches for a minute, and then you just drift off to sleep.”

I thought that must not be so bad. I had seen that news program two years ago about the woman spitted live on camera and I was afraid of what I saw there.

When I asked her how many she had seen, she said over a hundred. But she didn’t count. That kind of shocked me. But she said that even then, none of them felt anything, and it was all over in a couple of minutes.

So then she got me to piss in a cup. Pregnancy testing she said. I joked a bit with Candy and asked her “Don’t you have to have sex to get pregnant?”

We talked about that for a while, and I found out that she was a lot more experienced that way than I was. She had even had sex with a few boys.

When I finished with my cup, we put it on a shelf and a lady came and took it and we went into the other room. I saw a lot of boxes standing behind some tables and a couple of other women setting things up. Candy said that this was where we did our stripping of clothing and then had it shipped back the following day to the address of record. It struck me that my stuff was going to be shipped just like that. And I felt a cold chill.

Just then a woman from the side called my name and asked me to come over and get some papers. It turned out that her name was Barbara and she was a nurse who did blood, urine and a lot of other stuff there to validate and test women as they came in. She was about to buzz me back up when a man came in and over to Candy.

David Findley was a pretty ordinary looking guy. He had on slacks, sport-shirt, shiny shoes and a smile. Kind of like all of the people my mom worked with. He asked me to hang around with him and sent Candy back up to the front office.

Candy looked at me for a moment, and then said real quietly,” Go with him. It will probably do you a lot of good.”

I looked at her for a second, and then figured I would take her advice.

So I tagged along with Mr. Findley (call me Mr. F) and we went through some double doors while and came into a large room that looked a lot like the multi-purpose room at the High school. It had high ceiling, a couple of doors, and a set of gym seats on one wall. We walked over and opened a couple of doors and let some people in and Mr. F gave them instructions on building a tall platform, and cleaning up the area. As we talked, it sank in that they were building a gallows. It made me feel funny when he said “Those who fall off of the platforms wont’ be worried about being injured”.

While they were cleaning the area up, Mr. F asked me to walk over to the bleachers and we talked.

I told him about Heather, and mom, and some of the frustrations she was having. He asked me about school, and what I did. And said we didn’t have a piano, yet. But I could probably study here if I stayed with them. He really seemed to be a nice guy. After a little while, he said, “I think we need to get next door. I am getting thirsty”.

So we went around to the front and came in that way again, and saw mom, Margaret and Carol talking.

Mom was doing her business woman taking charge thing, and the other people were real quiet. Until I heard Margaret said to mom, “Just remember, Jane. Most of our people end up like that, But we treat everyone like they are all top shelf”.

Mom said that “Candy was just here and went back through the door with some women like Cindy did.” I remember that because of what Margaret said next.

“Actually there are a couple of differences. All of them are naked by now. And most are already dead.”

I felt a shock. Then she said “Don’t forget, that is what we do here. Cindy is going home with you today. She won’t after Saturday.”

The rest of the conversation was kind of short, but I didn’t really hear it. Mom said “Let’s go” and I followed her out.

I have to admit. I felt numb. These people killed people. And when I came back here, they were going to kill me.

The ride home was quiet. Mom didn’t say much except that she was going to talk with dad and a couple of lawyers this afternoon, and we would have a talk later at supper.

I called my friend Lisa and told her that I had been at Findley’s and she bugged me all about it. The more she talked the more I was upset, cause she acted like I was going to summer camp again. Then she asked me if she could have my designer boots. “After all, you won’t need them, and they just throw stuff away, anyway.”

I got angry, and told her no, they didn’t. I told her I saw all the boxes of for stuff that was used to ship things home, and she said she had never heard of that, cause her cousin was termed last year and they never got anything back but a notification that she was sold at Hill’s Meat’s.

Mom heard me talking with her, and when I hung up, she said for me to come downstairs cause she wanted to talk with me.

Mom said that Carol and Margaret offered to have me stay there for a week while they sorted through the Substitution paperwork for Heather, and I would have to stay with them for a while. There were some stupid rules about having to stay on the property, and that I would have to be naked, but I would be Ok, and they had a place for me to stay in a room like a dormitory, and she would be able to talk to me and she would have time enough to work things out.

“You mean I have to be naked like the other ladies there were?” I asked.

“Evidently. I don’t have any choice because it is the law, and we can’t get around it. It is only for a short time, probably a few days, while we get this straightened out. In a way it is for the best for both of you. Heather is tired of living like she is, and I hate it. I guess it is better to just get the grief over with for her and we can move on.”

“Can we see her tomorrow?” I asked mom.

“Yes. I think we should.”

I remember not being able to sleep that night. I tossed and turned all night thinking about what mom said, and about Heather, and about the boxes in the room.

Friday. Hospitals and other downers.

Mom and I were going over to see Heather when visiting hours opened up, but first she had me call the school. The school secretary had called to tell me that they had gotten notification of my selection and wanted my locker cleaned out, and for me to return all my access keys. Mom asked if they could keep me registered so I could keep up with classes while she got this fixed, and Mr. Murphy said it was irregular, but he could put me on the remote learning schedule for classes.

I guess if anyone is going to read this I should explain. In Illinois now, you can ask for a suspension of public school when you are sixteen, to do things like public services, or for personal or medical reasons. I took a sabbatical in my sophomore year for the two years after Heather’s accident to help with her at home while we tried to get some proper treatment. So while I was eighteen, I was only a sophomore still, in the public school. I was taking accelerated courses (I was always pretty bright) and carried an adjusted GPA of 4.85, so I was actually ahead of everyone but I was still legally in public school earning credits toward graduation. Which is why I was in the Lottery while still in school. I wasn’t a dummy.

We do a lot of remote learning now. Technology lets’ people home school in the public systems, which saves money all around. And it drops crime a lot. So I only went to school three days a week, with home study work two days a week. But I went to get my assignments so I could take them with me.

The only bad thing is my classmates are pretty juvenile compared to me. And they said some things that were pretty hateful while I was there.

I got to school and dropped off my keys at the office, and talked to Ms. McCormick in the office and we set up my remote learning. Which is why I was there in morning break period waiting for mom to pick me up to take me with her to the hospital.

I remember talking with Lisa, Sally and Gwynn while waiting for mom. Lisa was still bugging me about my boots. But Sally said something to Gwynn that really shook me.

“I wonder if she is going to be spitted like that woman from the news show last year?”

“I’m standing right here, biyatch. “ I said feeling sick to my stomach. “No, the woman I was with told me they didn’t’ do that there.”

“Well, do you know if you are going to be sold whole?” Gwynn asked. I really wanted to smack her. “Cause it would be kind of neat to know you were dinner for us some night if you weren’t sold whole.”

Lisa smacked her, and I felt a real funny twist in my stomach. “No, I guess that would be, in a sick way. I don’t know what they are going to do.” I remember saying

“I heard that Findley’s sold mainly soup and dog food. I guess you may be in a can someday” Sally said with a smirk.

“I don’t guess I will really care.” I said. I was almost crying. “What happens to me after I am gone, I won’t be able to say much about it.”

Conversation kind of dried up after that, and Sally and Gwynn left. Lisa stuck around with me for a while and we talked. She said she really didn’t know what to say, and I guess I didn’t either. But she still couldn’t have my boots.

Mom picked me up and we went to visit Heather. Mom left me with her while she went to find the attending physician to get some legal information from him. And Heather and I talked while she was gone.

“Heather, do you really want to do this?” I asked her.

“Yes, Sparky. I do.” She always called me that because of my hair. My hair is not just red, it’s fire engine red. Real red. And with my green eyes, and pale skin I look like a movie star from old television. I don’t’ freckle real badly, but I do have them on my nose. “If they will take my skinny assed body over yours, and this mess here with tubes and being helpless will just be over, I will be glad. You actually are doing me a favor.”

I remember starting to cry right then. And I went over to Heather and wrapped my arms around her, getting in between the cords, and the tubes and the inhalator. I remember saying into her ear I was so sorry and I loved her.

Mom came in then with a genetic neurologist who was saying that he didn’t want to sign off because he had hopes for a new treatment. And that Heather qualified for it as part of a NIH grant. So they were to start the field trials with her next week.

I remember feeling glad for Heather if it would work. I was sad that I wouldn’t be around to see it. And I remember both of us crying for a long time.

Mom had left with the doctor and finally came back to pick me up. Visiting hours were almost over and I had to leave anyway. Mom told Heather she would probably not be back tonight, as I had to report tomorrow. Heather and I hugged, and I remember mom told her I was going to be staying for a week at Findley’s, and that I could probably call Heather from there. So it was not like I was dying in the morning or anything. We could still talk again.

The hospital resident physician came in then and asked that we talk with him in the hallway for a few moments. After we went outside and down to the hall a little ways, this doctor Grant started tearing into mom about making the substitution request, and called me a selfish and spoiled brat for pushing my sister on this. I remember he said “It’s bad enough that we have this travesty, but to pressure injured people to die as your substitute is unconscionable.” He said that we both lacked humanity, ethic and any sort of morality.

Then he threatened to call security to have us removed so that we would stop pressuring his patient. And he told me not to call my sister.

Mom was furious and angry and upset when we left, and threatened to sue the hospital. I was sick to my stomach and I could not help thinking he was right. I didn’t want Heather to die for me.

When I got home, I had three calls waiting on my com-phone (I had to leave it home because you aren’t supposed to take it to school or the hospital) two were from kids asking if it was true I was going to be spitted, and one from Lisa. I didn’t call her back. She was probably going to ask me about my boots again.

Dinner was pretty quiet. Mom and I went over the instructions Margaret had given us for what to bring with me tomorrow. I was supposed to bring any medications, personal items, and readers, but no phones or communicators, and only the clothes that I was going to wear there.

“Well, I guess packing won’t be much of a problem” I thought to myself as I went up to go to bed. I didn’t sleep that night either.

Saturday. Reporting for Real

I was groggy when I got up. And I had bags under my eyes when I went into shower and wash my hair. I remember thinking “How many more showers do I have?” As I brushed and dried my hair, I couldn’t help wondering what they would do with it? I looked at my face in the mirror and wondered what makeup to put on? And if I should take any of it with me? I petted Gigi (my cat) and was lost in thought for a while.

I started to cry, then stopped. Time for that later. I was going out with Mom after all, and you want to look good when you are in the public. I didn’t want to look a fright.

What to wear? I mean, what kind of etiquette is there for going to a slaughter-house to get killed and parted into pieces? I figured on comfortable, so I picked a green blouse and my best lightweight bra and panties. (I don’t have much, but I am proud of what I have. They stand up firm and proud.). I put on a pair of kaki tan slacks, and a timeless pair of sensible loafers. I am in a matching brown bag, brown wallet, brown belt and brown shoes. Damn, I looked good. I made my bed, put my towel in the laundry hamper, petted Gigi, and went downstairs.

Mom was a mess. She had called H&S to see if she could get a longer layover deal for me there, instead of Findley. Mom works both sides of any trade to get the best deal she can. She does that in real estate all the time and she is good at it. She pisses a lot of people off, but as she says “that’s business”. Her clients love her, and other agents hate her. Lots of that is envy, I think.

Anyway, H&S told her that they would hold me until the afternoon for grading to determine if I was spit ready or should just be parts. They had no holdover for anyone. And since I was due to expire today, that was it.

So it looked like mom had only one game in town. And she hates that. She always wants to make the deal before she signs. She keeps her deals when she does sign. Her reputation is really good about delivering. But she says all the time “Not everyone is honorable. You get them to sign a commitment. No one really does handshakes any more”.

She is just such a bitch to do a contract with.

So at eight o’clock I put on a light jacket, and met mom at the car. And there was almost no traffic going over to Findley’s. And we parked across the street. And mom gave me her pep talk.

I remember her saying “Cindy, don’t say anything until I get a contract out of these people for at least a week, so I can find a way to get things fixed. I am not coming out of there without one.”

Things didn’t quite work out that way. First mom tried to press Carol. And Carol was nice at first but she was a lawyer (I found out she was a senior lawyer and really good). She didn’t budge. Mom dug her heels in doing her “this isn’t a demand, but is a protection for both of us” spiel, when Mr. F came over. He never raised his voice, just asked about the issues and gave his opinion. I never will forget mom’s face when he said, “Carol, if this woman won’t come to her senses, move on to another group”

Mom never compromises easily. She and Carol continued to argue when Carol said “So go. We close doors at noon.”

Mom kept pushing and kept saying “That isn’t enough”

When Carol stated to stand up, I almost freaked. I thought about what I had read, and how Candy had treated me, and I made my decision.

“It is for me.”

The rest, as they say, is history. I gave Carol my notice to report and said I was reporting. I watched mom start to argue, until she suddenly crumbled. I promised to call her every night for the week, and Carol told her that I would be able to. And mom left.

Down the Rabbit hole

I squiggled this on the top of the page because it was kind of like that. For me anyway. Everything up to now, is from memory of this last week. Tonight I am spending my first night at Findley and it is a real shocker and really different from the reality as I knew it. Helen (the lady here who did my first intake) is a shrink. In fact, she was teaching classes in Psychology at the university. Helen gave me some advice at dinner tonight, and so I am following it. She said that writing things in the diary or journal was the best way to remember things that I might forget. It also keeps me from making rationalizations without knowing all the facts. If you don’t write it down, it didn’t happen. And that writing a journal was a great way to talk myself through issues. What she didn’t say was that I would be able to read this in my old age, because I might not get much older. I took some psych courses and know that this is also a stress management exercise. So let me put some stress on the paper.

After Mom left, Carol had me go with Candy and a few other women through the processing center, just like I had before. But there was a difference. When I got to the stripping room, there was a box on the table with my name on it. There were big red letters spelling Cindy Carmichael on the side of it. Candy had me strip there along with the other ladies and told me to talk with Christina while she helped the others through processing. Christina was a really nice lady and I helped her stack boxes while I watched the women go through the turnstile at the other end of the room. It seemed slow since it was only one rotation every three or four minutes. We had everything boxed up and stacked before Candy came back into the room from a separate door near the turnstile.

After a few minutes, Candy told me to bring my stuff with me and took me to a room marked “Holding”. She told me to sit or lie on the bed, use the terminal or read, but to be quiet and she would get me and take me to my dorm room for the week in a couple of hours. And I will never forget what came next. I asked where the other women were, and she said “They were dead when I left them. They are probably cleaned out and going to the parts table by now”.

Then she said to me, “Figure three minutes per. And I took them in intervals and it took a minute to get back here.” It dawned on me that she was with them. Then she said “Yep. I am pretty quick”.

Dear diary, I damn near pissed myself. This nice girl who was my age admitted to killing the three women I was with, and that they were already on the table.

I was in shock and I asked, “How?”

Candy gave me a calm quiet look and said, “Today, you don’t need to know. If we make you a goat, you will know. If we don’t, it’s better you don’t so it is a surprise”

I guess that was good advice. So she gave me a kiss on the cheek, told me to sit down and that she would be back for me later.

I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t sit still. What she said had me going a thousand miles an hour in my mind. I laid back on the bed and didn’t move. In a few minutes I heard voices of women outside of my door, and quiet conversations. Then I heard some giggles and a few laughs, as they walked past my door. I know now that they were going into the Auditorium. Later I heard people going up stairs and then some walking on the floor above me.

All this time, I was thinking about what was going on, and where I was, and what was going to happen next. Finally I did fall asleep.

I woke up when the door opened and I saw Candy there. She told me it was time to get some lunch. At first I wanted to say no, but my growling stomach disagreed. She gave me a pair of soft-soled sandals and I followed her out with my box.

It was lunchtime, and we went to a room with all of the others. I felt funny being there naked, but I wasn’t alone. Candy, Carol and Helen were naked too. Margaret wasn’t but I had seen her naked before so I wasn’t surprised. I was surprised at the four or so men that were there in their white worktops and slacks. With blood on them as well as other fluid stains, it was not hard to imagine what they had been doing very recently.

I put my box down and grabbed a sandwich, and sat with Candy and Ms. F. Helen and Elizabeth were talking at another table, and I was trying to fit in but not draw a lot of attention. I learned everyone’s name and what they did. Chris was a big open and friendly guy. Marty was a little more reserved. But being the fly on the wall didn’t last. Mr. F. came in and walked over and kissed his wife. Then Candy said “share”, so Mr. F. kissed her. A real kiss. A lovers kiss. Tongue and all.

It kind of embarrassed me and Margaret teased me. “I share him with everyone. But only if they want to”. She said with a laugh.

I remember this because it struck me as so open and generous. And I really did say “I guess there isn’t much in the way of modesty here”. As soon as those words left my mouth, I knew I was in deep shit. But everyone just laughed.

I remembered the rejoinder, “Not when you spend all your time naked”. Every one laughed then. Then we talked for a few moments about this party that was coming tonight, and I sat there embarrassed to admit I didn’t know what was going on.

Suddenly, Candy asked “Mr. F., do you want me to get Cindy’s collar?”

And Margaret piped up and said everyone thought I was ok, and that I needed a Union card (?). I did blush when Chris said I was a “spinner”. I knew at least what that meant.

Then Mr. F. got serious and said for Candy to get my collar and said he had a few rules.

My history teacher would say the rules represented a simplified code of conduct. He would have gone on and on about small social contracts which imposed limits on people. David summed it up pretty quickly. Be naked, don’t leave, don’t’ let anyone in, and don’t talk to anyone outside about how we did things inside. Wear a collar and be polite to everyone we kill.