Free Cages by Chris Pasley Page A

but
now I drank it in.  Unlike Wilson’s, this desk was sturdy oak , big and stately.  The walls were the same shade of pale white. 
Bookcases lined the walls and I strained to see the titles on the
bindings.  I could make out a few: Catcher in the Rye , Brave New World , On the Road .  There were a few academic awards for
excellence tacked up behind Conyers, but they were crooked, seemingly put up
with little care.  The desk was piled high with paper, which he was
scribbling on even as I closed the door shut behind me.  No photos, no
calender, nothing to indicate much in the way of personality.  I respected
a man who kept his inner feelings private, didn't throw them up on his walls.
    "What do you want,
Sam?  I'm busy."
    I sat down in the chair. 
"I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Conyers.  I just wanted to ask
something...I mean, after what happened yesterday...can you....can you
really..."
    Conyers looked up, one eyebrow
raised.  "Can I really smell the Beast on people?"
    I nodded.  "I always
heard that was impossible, but...." But maybe I could believe in you,
if you say I should.
    Conyers put his pen down and
stripped the glasses off his face.  "Yes, given enough time."
    "H - how much time?"
    He shook his head. 
"You want to know if I think you'll go Beast, don't you?"
    I nodded again.
    Conyers smirked. 
"Not such a tough ass now, are you? Saw your first taste of the real thing
- that satisfy your appetite for hanging posters?"
    I could only swallow and take
the recrimination as deserved.
    He glared at me, squinting
slightly, as if to read a word inked in tiny print on my forehead. 
"I don't know about you yet.  Maybe."
    I licked my lips. 
Memories of James warned me off this path, but I ignored them.  "What
can I do?"
    "What do you mean, what
can you do?"
    What I was saying was stupid
and childish, and I knew it, but I couldn't get #25's face out of my mind,
perched like a mask on that monstrous body.  "I mean...if you can see
it coming...you must have a way to prevent it right?  I mean, if you catch
it early."
    Thinking back on the moment, I
should have seen the glimmer of satisfaction in his eye as he nodded
slowly.  "Maybe.  It's not easy though, which is why most
Quarantines don't bother.  And it doesn't always work."
    "What is it?" I
asked, leaning forward. 
    He exhaled for a long time,
looking at me, sizing me up, as if asking himself if I were ready. 
"Let's take it slow, Sam.  Here's what you do.  I want you to
join an after school activity.  Not the Banner Society."
    "No, they've banned
me."
    "Did they?  Anyway,
join a club or a sport, okay?  Make some friends, talk to people. 
And come back here every day, just before dinner and we'll talk about it some
more.  You're really lucky, you know," Conyers said, sliding his
glasses back on.  "You're a borderline case.  Some people, like
your friend Remi –”
    "Remi's not my
friend."
    Conyers continued as if he had
not been interrupted.  "...like your friend Remi are doomed to the
Beast.  No stopping it.  At least you've got a shot.  Now go on,
get out of here.  I'll see you here again before dinner tomorrow.  Do
what I told you."
    I promised I would, and left
Conyers's office with my heart a little lighter.
    Go ahead, you can laugh. 
I deserve it.
    I joined Mr. Jarvis's Literary
Society. He'd been bugging me to join for the week or so that I had been there,
but until then I just shrugged it off.  They read books and talked about
them.  Jesus, I had come into Quarantine feeling like a badass, and now I
was a member of the book club.  They were already halfway through the
current book, but I had already read it. The Metamorphosis, by Kafka.
    "Seriously?  Metamorphosis ?"
I blurted.
    Hey, Conyers said I had to
join.  He didn't say I had to be nice.
    Mr. Jarvis closed the thin
volume he was holding, using his finger as a bookmark.  "And what's
wrong with it, Sam?"
    "I mean, how blatantly
obvious can you get? A guy turns into