Edenvale

“Welcome to Edenvale, Mr. Greig. We’re so happy to have you,” Dian greeted their newest resident, Roland. He was an old man, of course, but not frail, with well presented clothes and even a tinge of colour left to his hair.

He nodded once, presumably shy, so she began the tour. 

They entered a garden lined with flowers, a birdbath within, nestled under the shade of a bushwillow tree. Starling wings disturbed the water here and there while onlookers watched from a nearby bench with upturned lips. The folks raised a hand in acknowledgement of their matron and Dian returned the gesture with a smile.

They continued on, drifting through the pavilions, meeting halls, and social areas until, finally, they reached his room.

“Are you all settled now, Mr. Greig?” she asked, having ensured that he knew how to use the appliances, which light switch did what, and where to call for help. Now he was seated in an armchair by the window, a mug of coffee clutched in his hands. He nodded and Dian smiled, leaving him to unwind, and clicked the door shut behind her.

As soon as the woman was gone, Roland leapt to his feet and emptied the coffee down the sink. God knew what they put in there to sedate him, to make him just like all the other brainwashed prisoners with plastic smiles. He saw past the land-of-milk-and-honey charade. This was no “care estate” — it was the looney bin in which they chucked all the shrivelling prunes to rot. 

He peered out the blinds now. Electrified barbed wire wreathed the stone fence, guards patrolled the perimeter, and, everywhere he looked, the cold eyes of security cameras glared down at him. Hairs rose on the back of his neck and he couldn’t help glancing over one shoulder. There was one even in this room, he was sure of it. He flipped over the armchair, sent the cushions flying, ripped open the cabinet doors, pushed the mattress off the bed, unscrewed the shower head, and flung the curtains aside.

But where was it? Where?!

He could almost hear Dian chuckling from her desk, gazing at the footage and him, the goldfish within. He might never find it — it could be concealed in the walls themselves. 

A bowl of sweets taunted from the bedside table.

Bugged with nano-trackers, I’m sure.

Just as he dumped them in the trash, a noise came from across the hall.

He snatched his filming equipment from his suitcase and rushed to the window, clicking ‘record’.

Through his neighbour’s open door, he saw flashes of waving limbs, mouths opening and closing as they spat bitter words, eyebrows drawn together in frustration. Finally, an elderly woman stomped out, slamming the door behind her. The man, who must have been her husband, didn’t follow, but watched her go through the kitchen window. 

Roland zoomed in, capturing every detail of his expression: the corners of his mouth turned down, chin tucked like a predator on the hunt, eyes glinting, fist tightening around a fork, and he realised with a chill exactly what was going through the man’s mind. 

Roland dropped the camera and flung open his door, racing after the woman. 

“Hey, you! Stop!” 

The woman ceased her strides and turned, startled. 

“He’s going to kill you!” Roland warned, stabbing a finger towards her husband, “He’s going to kill you!”

She frowned at him in confusion. “What are you talking about? Who are you?”

Roland growled and shook her by the shoulders. “Why won’t you listen to me? He’s got a knife!” It had been a knife, hadn’t it? For a moment he had wondered if it was perhaps a fork, but no… surely it was a trick of the light. Yes, certainly. A knife.

“Oi, leave her alone!” the man hollered, bursting through the door. He ran at him, and Roland threw the woman aside to protect her, bringing a fist sailing into his attacker’s jaw. The old man crumpled.

Dian, having heard the commotion, darted onto the scene.

“Roland, please calm down —”

“You shut up, you robot-woman! Get your cameras off me! He was going to kill her! And you’re trying to suck the life out of all of us!”

“I don’t—”

With a terrific roar, he bowled her over, waiting for her to fall apart into cogs and wires. She simply collapsed in a fleshy heap. It was a sham! A plot! A—

“Let go of me!” he bellowed, fighting against the security guards that seized him by the arms. 

No matter what he yelled, he couldn’t stop them from dragging him away.