In Case of Rejection

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Matthew stuck out his arms in front of him instinctively. He waved his hands around, feeling for anything that made sense. The darkness was suffocating, and he took deep, sharp breaths inward as slowly as he could to avoid hyperventilating.

He made small, shuffled steps forward, preparing for a dip somewhere on the pavement beneath him. The area suddenly got smaller, where Matthew could touch both walls, close and cold on either side of him. Another cautious step. The place sounded narrow, his steps echoed, and he tried not to make much noise.

And then something in front of him. His foot hit it first -- something hard, wooden by the sound of it. He lifted his foot cautiously, reaching forward with his right hand, and patted the top of a step. He reached forward with his left arm, and found the railing. He was puzzled to find this dark staircase, this strange architectural design. The next time Matthew looked up, he saw above him, maybe twenty feet, a pale, yellow light, casting down in his direction. It hadn't hit him yet, but it was an opening.

Olive was annoyed with the way Dusty kept sighing. The auditorium was filled with chatter, rumors of some kid that was pulled out of inspection. Principal Evans was late, and Olive was increasingly worried for Matthew. She hadn't seen it all happen, but she heard the commotion. The flurry of attention, cast in Matthew's direction. She wanted to know where he was at that very moment. She wanted to know for sure.

A short man crossed the stage -- he was professional-looking and had a bright green tie. The crowd continued to buzz until he tapped on the microphone for their attention.

"Everybody settle down," he said, tapping again against the microphone until the crowd had quieted. He rolled his shoulders back.

"Good, thank you," he started. "I'll be running this morning's Assembly. This morning we have another special broadcast on the agenda, straight from the folks at Sector 1, released just this morning. It's for nationwide viewing, so please be respectful and don't talk during the presentation. Thank you."

The man stepped back off to the side as the white projector screen unrolled from the ceiling. The familiar mechanical whirring. Dusty bounced his leg at Olive's side.

"Do you think they're gonna take him away?" Dusty asked. Olive ignored him.

"I can't make accurate predictions, since no one will tell me anything," Dusty hissed. Olive turned to him suddenly, her face flush with irritation.

"Dusty, please! It has nothing to do with you," she hissed back, and Dusty recoiled in his embarrassment. The screen lit up white -- standby. Olive sat back in her seat with a huff, her back thumping against the wood. Dusty went painfully still.

"I just want to make sure you're okay," Dusty whispered, dejectedly, obviously hurt by Olive's snap. She didn't pay enough attention to pick up on it.

Matthew made the quick ascent, tripping up on the steps a few times. He was close to the top, and the familiar ring of microphone interference rang out through his ears.

He stopped, dead in his tracks, now just two steps away from the top.

Matthew held his breath, listening intently. He could hear someone speaking from beyond. Not Principal Evans, but another voice he recognized. He took a tentative step upward, finally coming to the top of the staircase.

He froze a moment, closing his eyes amongst the darkness in an attempt to sharpen his hearing. He heard louder than anything, the sound of the projector screen unrolling.

Another broadcast? He thought.

Matthew tugged at his wristband, annoyed with the way it burned against his veins. The thing miraculously got tighter around his hand, like it had magically shrunk. He humphed, pulling the thing once more and finding the same thing. It beeped, and he watched as his veins started to bulge in his hand.