Amiss

After a few more days of testing, Jack awoke groggily one morning when the PA system announced that henceforth, all meals would be served off a cart in the common room as opposed to a tray through the slot in the door. He had a monstrous headache, a throbbing situated right behinds his eyes that seemed to flare with each beat of his heart. His chest felt tight, constricted. Groaning he sat up in his bed and rubbed a hand over his face. His mouth was dry and he felt wrung out. Blinking, he swung his legs over the side of his bunk and yawned. Putting his hands down to push himself up, he paused, wiggling his fingers against the linen sheet of his bed. It felt wrong, coarser. Frowning, he got up and stretched before putting on his orange jumper, which also felt somehow different. Pausing at the sink to wash his face and brush his teeth, he looked at his reflect in the plastic mirror bolted to the wall over the sink.

There was a rapping at his door.

“Yeah!” he called, feeling the coarse stubble on his chin.

John stepped in, “You alright?” he asked, serious look on his face.

“Just feel beat down is all,” Jack replied, turning to look at John, “Why?” he asked.

Moving in close, “You notice anything unusual?” John asked.

“Other than the fact it feels like they used kitty litter as a fabric softener, no not really, but then I just woke up,” he answered, puzzled.

John frowned, “Things look the same, but they’re not the same. It’s like everything is a little cruder, like our sheets and coveralls. Looks the same, but when you feel it or handle it, you can tell there’s a tactile difference,” John explained.

“What?” Jack inquired.

“I know, I sound like a bug, but there’s something not right,” he expressed. “Think about it,” he urged, turning and leaving the room.

Jack scowled. Stepping out of his cell, he paused a moment. The atmosphere did feel different, some subtle change in the way the lighting illuminated the interior through the ceiling panels, an almost imperceptible odor of electricity or ozone lingering in the air or something. His scowl deepened.

Russell was seated on one of the couches, leaning forward over a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. Walking over, Jack put a hand on his shoulder, “How do you feel this morning?” he asked.

Without bothering to look up, “Like a shit sandwich, without the bread,” Russell replied, chewing noisily.

Looking over at Hector, “You?” Jack asked.

He just shook his head, face pale and eyes sunken in.

Marcellus emerged from his cage, grumbling like an angry bear under his breath, eyes locked onto the food cart.

Hodge and John were standing close together in the washroom area, talking near the sink.

Maynard appeared, his normally gaunt face seemingly more drawn and pale than usual.

Cornelius chuckled, pointing, “You look like a bag of crap,” he chortled.

Maynard rewarded him with a condescending smile, “I may look like a bag of excrement, but you? You are a bag of excrement.”

Russell guffawed.

Jack wandered over to Mordred’s door, knocking before lifting the cloth flap covering the narrow window. The Night Raver was sitting on his bunk, eyes meeting his through the door window.

Nodding, Jack released the cloth and turned back to look at the others. Everyone was present, and either complaining about or looking like shit. John was right, something was off. He knew some psychotropic pharmaceuticals took a few days of ingestion to become active, but it didn’t make sense, given if the administrators were doping them, there was no way to control dosage so why would Hector and Marcellus both show signs now? Hallucinogens? He shook his head. Looking down at his hands, he examined his digits. Aside from the headache, he didn’t physically feel any different or dulled in any way.

Walking to the rolling cart where the food trays were, Jack pulled one plate out, bringing it to his nose to sniff it. Smelled exactly like it looked, eggs and toast. He forgot his fork. Frowning he sat down in one of the chairs and scooped up some egg with his fingers and put it in his mouth. Tasted alright, but the texture was off as he moved the food around in his mouth. The toast was more noticeable, like they used lower grade flour or something. Sucking his fingers clean, he got up and put his dirty plate in the plastic bin atop the cart.

Hector got up and walked over to Jack, bobbing his head, “You got a minute esé?”

“Sure,” Jack replied. “What’s up?” he asked, taking a napkins from the cart and wiping his fingers.

Hector frowned, “You and I been around the block a time or two homes and I know this is going to sound stupid, but just hear me out. Every cell they ever put me in, from the dorms in juvie to Stonehaven to here, I leave a tag, you know, just a way of saying, ‘Hey dudes, Hector was here’,” he said.

Jack nodded, not sure where the conversation was going, but willing to listen.

“So, when we got here, I did that, I couldn’t carve something more permanent in the wall, so I used some blood and left my sign,” he said.

“Okay?” Jack prompted.

“I woke up this morning and it was gone,” he said.

Frowning Jack said, “I don’t follow.”

“Like somebody came into my cell last night while I was sleeping esé and washed it away, just gone. You feel what I’m saying carnal?” Hector said, cocking his head to one side and nodding.

Jack nodded slowly in return, he did understand the implications of what the other man was getting. In the joint, you learn real fast to sleep light or you might never wake up, pure and simple. He knew there was no way in the world anyone could ever come into his cell while he slept without him knowing or sensing it.

Everything was so very confusing. Why erase Hector’s tag? Why did everything feel different? Why had they changed the food delivery method? It was like John said, ‘Everything looked the same, but felt different’.

What the hell was going on?