Blood on the Daisies - Chapter One

The grating of his cane against the uneven footing of the gravel path did nothing to help his migraine, though that was the least of his worries at the moment. His brow furrowed in a rare escape from his regular facelessness. Lester inwardly sorted through his memories, an odd feeling of unfamiliarity overcoming him. He clearly remembered the last week, as uneventful as it was, though the memories had a strange feeling of what he could only think of as otherness.



Lester's troubled thoughts were interrupted as the blaring screech of the gate alarm sounded, announcing in its brash way a new arrival to the compound. Momentarily forgetting his troubles, he altered his direction and began to make his way toward the front gate. He assumed it was the bus, bringing in this year's rich delinquents.



His limp lightened as his thoughts turned to meeting the new ones. He was a sociable person when given the chance, despite his glaringly obvious insanity. He made no attempt to hide it, if only for the reason that he did not care. Besides, people tended to open up more easily when they felt that they were not being lied to.



That was his job there: opening them up, rummaging through their brains, and finding out not what made them tick, but rather what had halted their regular ticking. Well, you couldn't exactly say it was his job. He wasn't employed by Mrs. Anthum, nor was he paid in any way. He liked to think of himself as a therapist nonetheless, if only to explain away his strange hobby.



Inside of ten minutes he had managed to get to the main building of the facility. Towering over all other dorms, schools, and therapeutic buildings, it rose seven stories in the air, a mansion from the 1800s bought up by an enterprising couple thirty years previous, restored to the point of surpassing its former glory. The renovations included refurbishing the entire building in a Victorian style, among everything else done.



Lester walked around to the front, cutting through a gap in the hedges to the grand entrance, the ground here paved in rough marble and stone, surrounded by flowering trees and lushly growing grass, all leading up to the intricately carved, massive wooden double doors. He surveyed the area for a few moments before going off the path and finding his regular bench, a long steel park bench in front of a small pond. He closed his eyes, the minutes passing quickly and indistinguishable from hours as he went into a trance-like state of meditation. When he opened his eyes back up, the sun was much lower in the sky, the orange rays shining through the few gaps in the thick canopy above. He stood up, making his way back onto the path.



The black gates enclosing this area opened only a few moments after Lester awoke. His clothing didn't exactly fit in with the fast-approaching new arrivals - he likened to dark suits and dress shoes - though Lester preferred it this way. He did not think of himself as the young man he was, but rather thought himself to be mentally older than his 17-year-old body would suggest.



His cane resuming its muted thump, Lester's limp was now barely noticeable as he neared the small group of people. He put on his best 'greetings smile' and stopped a few yards in front of them, both hands now resting on his cane.



The newcomers, as always, were headed by Miss Quibb. She had on the skin of a happy, pleasant woman at the moment, but soon enough would slither back into her regular crotchety self.

Directly behind her were about seven or eight (he didn't take the time to count accurately) teenagers, ranging from about 14 to 18 in age. The younger ones tried to keep their faces blank, but their uneasiness shone through in both their eyes and body language. Most of them held themselves in a slouch or looked downcast in some way. The only exception to this was one of the older girls, maybe a year or two older than himself. She stood stock-straight, appearing both rigid and fragile, as if the lightest push could break her. The young woman's long brown curls fell halfway down her back, touching the exposed skin that her light blue dress left.



To the left of her was a younger girl, though Lester could not pinpoint her age so easily. She had very pale skin, and had her arms wrapped around herself in a constant hug. Her straight black hair came just past her shoulders, obviously uncared for in any extended fashion for quite some time now.

Before he had a chance to scan the rest of the crowd, they had already reached him. Quibb moved to the side, by now used to Lester's strange tendencies. The pleasant smile was still on her face, but he saw the twinge of annoyance as she made way for him.



Their eyes widened, but their faces remained blank. Most of them were dirty, their hair ruffled and unclean. This was opposed by their clothes, most outfits easily costing several hundred dollars. Miss Quibb nodded in his direction, and he began.



"Hello, new Daisies. Welcome to Novus Fortuna. AS I am sure has already been explained to you, you have been brought here because you have some sort of problem. Be it drugs, alcohol, or whatever it may, we are here to help. I am Lester Kimball, and I have been here for five years. I am not employed here in any way, though I too am interested in helping you. On these forty acres of manicured lawns and sterile facilities, we are all interested in helping you. If you ever feel that you do not trust the people here - as I am sure you already don't - and would rather talk to someone who knows what you are trying to say, then feel free to come see me. I hope to someday be a therapist here, and be able to help all of you as best I can. I am in the main building, room 611. Goodbye, Daisies. I'll see you soon enough." Lester said, his own pleasant smile dominating his face. With that, he gave a nod and turned around, his limp slowly returning. He went back the way he came, taking the passage through the break in the greenery, and heading back around behind the mansion and through a side entrance.





-----





Peyton rested her head against the thick glass of the bus, her steady breathing leaving quickly fading patterns of fog. The long black strands of her hair were resting on her shoulders and face, pushed gently by the air conditioning.



They would arrive at Novus Fortuna within the hour according to the portly driver. She sighed, glancing down to her watch. 11:17, according to the bright green alarm-clock numbers of the digital display. She raised her head slightly to the unfamiliar surroundings.



The interior of the bus was plush and polished, the cushioned seats relatively unmarked. The thick steel of the body gleamed and glinted in the low fluorescent lighting. The windows could not be opened, and she understood why. Some people might be stupid enough to try jumping out in a last-ditch attempt at escape.



She had a seat to herself, which wasn't too difficult considering that the bus was largely devoid of occupation. She counted eight others, four boys and four girls. Most sat on their own in one of the thirty seats, but for two younger boys whispering to each other in the seat behind the driver, and what looked to be a young couple, staring forward expressionlessly with their hands entwined. The two were four seats behind her on the opposite side of the aisle, on the edge of her vision unless she wanted to crane her neck around the seat. She didn't exactly want to be considered a snoop before her time at Novus Fortuna had even begun.



She had taken classes in Latin before the private school had kicked her out, and the name of her home for the next eight months translated to 'New Chance'. It was simply yet another prison in a long line of them to her, an army of people who just 'wanted to help' or 'be her friend'. It was better after she had stopped cutting, but most people were convinced that she still needed help. Which, of course, she did, and Peyton knew it in the back of her mind, where all the thoughts she was too scared to face were pushed.



The suicidal tendencies had left her about a year ago, right after her seventeenth birthday. The task was simple enough: the maid had been injured, and Peyton was to go get some groceries. She accomplished this easily, annoyance flashing across her face when her prestigious last name appeared on the cashier's screen, and the pimpled youth at the register's eyes widened. She pushed her annoyance back before it had a chance to flower into anger. She could deal with her pent-up feelings later; it was amazing what a simple blade to the skin could do for emotions. Without it, she doubted she would still be sane. During that time, pain was what she believed held her to the world. Anything was better than that constant numbness, feeling not depression, but rather a complete lack of emotion or feeling altogether.



Her beliefs quickly changed after what happened.



It wasn't her fault, which probably helped; had it been hers, she might have simply decided not to recover. She had opted to carry her own bags, not wanting to have to deal with the constant questions of whoever had been sent out to help her. While bringing them to the trunk of the Corvette, a car - blue, she remembered, but not the make or model - zoomed through the lot, the driver distracted by his dog. This was all she was able to take in before her world faded into a dark haze of red and blue.

Her legs were relatively fine, though the same could not be said for the rest of her body. Peyton's right elbow was shattered by the impact, her left arm broken in several places. Behind the hair on the right side of her head, her ear and the surrounding area was still scarred by both the speeding car and her slide against the asphalt.



Those days were obscured by a film of red, her mind not entirely there and her body almost useless. The drugs helped, but no amount of morphine would take away the dull ache in the back of her mind, nor could it remove her constant guilt. 'How could I have felt suicidal before?', Peyton asked herself. 'Now that I am so close to death, I want more than anything to live.'



During her recovery, Peyton's parents were told about Novus Fortuna. It was a facility for "privileged" children who needed help, and Peyton certainly qualified. Mr. and Mrs. Hart believed that this was what their daughter needed. Paperwork was filled out and signed without her, and two weeks after her recovery was complete, the utter hell of physical therapy over, she was put on the bus to her new prison.



-----



The road forked off into a smaller path, still paved, but domed by the ever-encroaching forest. The greenery grew so thick that in some areas the only light came from the bus itself. The path was winding and complicated, never staying in one direction for too long. Just as Peyton began to feel the first wave of nausea crashing over her, the path stopped its meandering and the forest began to thin. About a mile ahead, she could barely make out a Victorian mansion behind massive black gates.



So, it really is a prison, she thought. They were upon it in less than two minutes, the sudden gate alarm surprising most of the bus occupants. The spiked gate slid to the side, and the bus pulled forward.

The road forked into three smaller lanes. The middle path led to the Victorian mansion, which she assumed was the main building of the facility. The right path went straight for a while, then made a sharp turn deeper into the area and was hidden from view by a grey building.



They took the left fork, which led to a large parking lot filled with identical buses. There were only a few spots left, which led Peyton to believe that they were some of the last arrivals. They pulled in, the dim fluorescents brightening as the engine shut down and the reinforced doors opened. The driver pulled his considerable girth from the plush red seat and retrieved an old-looking clipboard from a small drawer below the dashboard.



"I will now recite the names of all the new tenants arriving at Novus Fortuna. If your name is not called, you will be removed from the grounds and returned home, forcefully if necessary." he said in a monotone. He had obviously done this many times before. "When your name is called, please exit the bus and form a line, retaining alphabetical order." He paused, turning the page to the list of "tenants". He cleared his throat, and began.



"Anna, Elli."



A short girl with shoulder-length brown hair came forward from a few seats behind Peyton, her features small and giving her the appearance of a much younger girl than she actually was.



"Ariel, Sampson."



The somber-faced guy that had been holding hands with the frail young girl got up, and Peyton was almost positive that he let his lips brush against the girl's cheek as he left her. Now that she could properly see him without obstruction, she saw that he had the face of a man, with a budding black goatee adorning his face.



"Gallagher, Kinsey."



The frail-looking girl stood up, rushing through the rows, presumably to catch up with Sampson. Her light brown hair was styled much in the same way as Peyton's, the thin curls slightly obscuring her face.



"Hart, Peyton."



Peyton stood up, very much aware of the eyes glued to her, and left the bus as calmly as she could. Her heart raced, leaving her behind and on her own. As she carefully went down the steps, she was glad for the hair falling in her eyes. The sun was blindingly bright after the several hours spent in the dimly lit bus. She stood next to Kinsey against the dull gray steel of the side of the bus, looking down both to avoid the glare of the sun, and to avoid having to look at the people around her.



"Kenneth, Dirk."



A few moments later, one of the two younger boys that had been sitting behind the driver took his place to the right of Peyton. He wore thin glasses with rectangular lenses which were almost completely covered by his thick, shaggy brown hair. He was a full foot shorter than her, his head almost reaching her shoulder.



"Rance, Wilson."



A boy of identical height came out, and began whispering to Dirk as soon as he reached him. His hair was short and cropped, and looked almost grey instead of the black it would be if he grew it out.



"Smith, Ethex, uhm, exso... ethe..." the bus driver trailed off, and Peyton could easily imagine his brow furrowing in confusion at the strange name.



"Eth-ex-son." a faint voice enunciated slowly, putting emphasis on the second syllable.



"Yes, that." the driver said dismissively. The boy, though he could hardly be called such, walked past the group assembled next to the bus, his long blonde hair blown by the light wind, leaving behind the strange scent of some expensive cologne.



"Thetra, Jenna."



A girl that looked very much like Peyton exited the bus, taking long strides despite her dress. She stood perfectly straight, in stark contrast to the rest of the group, who were mostly slouching or leaning against the cool metal plating of the bus.



The wind picked up, blowing the group's hair all in the same direction, though no one seemed to notice. Peyton wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she had worn her hoodie.

"Vikson, Kristy."



Kristy stumbled slightly on her way down the steps of the bus, catching herself on the open door. She hurriedly made her way to the end of the line. Peyton only got an impression of short black hair and green eyes before she rushed out of sight.



There was a loud clunking behind them as the driver checked for any stowaways. Satisfied that the bus was empty, he got off and shut the door. He walked in front of the group, standing just inside the part of the asphalt that could still be considered part of the parking lot.

"You will now follow me to meet one of the administrators of this facility, Miss Quibb. Don't worry about your luggage; it will be brought to your rooms later. For future reference, my name is Justin." he scanned over the group for a few moments, then turned around and began heading back in the direction of the fork. They followed in a loose clump, with Peyton stuck somewhere in the middle. Justin drifted to the left side of the road, where soon enough a sidewalk appeared, at one moment absent then suddenly there.



To the right of the concrete path was a massive field of perfectly cut grass, the entire area a uniform two inches. It was a deep green, unblemished by any yellowing spots and free of decoration. They turned, now walking up the middle fork in the road. About a quarter of a mile ahead was yet another grey building, the only discernible difference from the one she had seen earlier being that this one had windows.





-----



Peyton wiped the sweat out of her eyes, the rest of the group following suit. Most of them were out of shape, and even the short walk to the windowed building was enough to make Peyton’s legs ache. She had been involved in sports and in great shape before the accident, but the months of immobility had rendered her weak and listless. What Peyton found strange, however, was that the portly Justin did not even seem to be winded.



Just as the group made the turn onto the path that led to the polarized glass doors, they burst forth, the steady pulse of music wafting out. A short but fit woman came out, her graying brown curls bouncing around her face. A large smile dominated her face, making her other features seem tiny in comparison. She was wearing tight, striped shorts with a matching shirt, clothes meant for exercise. A whistle dangled from her neck, resting next to a nametag which read QUIBB in bold letters. She strode toward the weary group as Justin stood to the side. She paused in front of them, taking a moment to survey the new arrivals.



“Well, the final Daisies arrive at last. Hello, my little ones, and welcome to Novus Fortuna. I am Miss Quibb, administrator and assistant coach to Mr. Kane. You undoubtedly already know enough about this facility that I’ve no need to explain why you are here, though I do feel obliged to give you the tour. This place is rather large. As you may have noticed, and it is easy to get lost.” She said, hands rested firmly on her hips. She wasted no time, trotting forward as soon as she finished her introduction. As she passed Justin, she leaned to the side and whispered something Peyton couldn’t hear. This incited a slight chuckle from the bus driver, and he turned away from them, lumbering across the street and making his way to the nearby mansion.



She led them around the back of what Peyton guessed to be the gym. Peyton caught brief glimpses of exercise equipment as they passed the windows the building. Resting against the back side of the gym was a plethora of bicycles, most mountain bikes but a few designed for stunts.



“Choose a bike. For the rest of your stay here, that bike will be yours. It will be your main form of transportation, unless you would prefer to walk. We do have buses, but you have to be able to catch them at their stops.” Quibb said, mounting her own as she talked.



Peyton approached the bikes with the rest of the group. She didn’t really care which one she got, as she knew next to nothing about bicycles. She took the closest one to her, a blue ten-speed with a seat that came just below her waist in height. She climbed on, and was relieved to find that no adjustments were needed. She pushed her way through the grass back behind Quibb.



When everyone had gotten their own bike, Quibb checked the group for any needed adjustments. There were none. Satisfied, she turned her back to them, and began pedaling.



“Come along now, Daisies, don’t lag too far behind!”



-----



Two hours later, Peyton was exhausted. They had turned back to the entrance, taking the right fork this time. They passed a football field, and both a basketball and tennis court, all clustered loosely around the same dull grey building Peyton had noticed earlier, which they informed was for mental therapy. The lane looped back into the main road, passing a smaller white building which was a joint nursing center and physical therapy area.



They rode past the Haunted Mansion, as Peyton had come to think of the Victorian behemoth, yet again. They took the path to the east of the gym, turning right at the end. They were led down the seemingly endless road to another parking lot next to what looked like an apartment building, painted baby blue with a terraced roof.



“This is the dormitory building. There are only a few unoccupied rooms remaining, so your choices are limited. Normally I would allow you to stop here and choose your rooms now, but things are a bit different this year,” Quibb said, then glanced at her Rolex. “That, and we are running late. I’m sure you can figure out where everything else is on your won later. Com now, Daisies.” She said, and resumed pedaling. Peyton was sure she must have been mishearing the aging administrator; it sounded as though she was referring to them as daisies. She was only able to ponder this for a few seconds before she noticed that she was being left behind. She breathed in deeply, and commanded her burning legs to work.



-----



Peyton dismounted the bike, leaving it at the stand just outside the gate of the Haunted Mansion. They were all drenched in sweat, Peyton unsure if she could walk any further. It didn’t seem she had any choice, however, as they were led through the gate and into the grounds of the mansion.



She had seen the greenery through the gate before they entered, but even that small obstacle obscured more than she could have imagined. The trees formed a thick canopy above them, while the grass below them was a lush, dewy carpet of the deepest green. The ground on which she now walked wasn’t any simple concrete path, but a grand walkway of marble and stone, with white arches every few feet. The entire area seemed completely free of insects, which hampered the intended illusion of being within a forest, though the occasional bird could be heard.



It was the most beautiful prison Peyton had ever seen. And she hated the entire thing. There was no doubt in her mind that this was all simply the bait to the trap; draw them in with a pretty exterior, and have them ensnared before they even realized they were in any danger. They were good at it, too, but Peyton refused to follow the path set for her. Escape was nearly impossible with the 15-foor high gates surrounding the entire area, but she would try her damnedest.



Her train of thought was broken by Miss Quibb’s piercingly high voice.



“This is our nerve center. Everything throughout these grounds comes together here. Your teachers sleep here, and a select few of you will as well. You will come to this building for your last meal of the day, every day. You-“ Quibb abruptly stopped, annoyance flashing across her face, then quickly replaced by a complacent smile. She stood to the side, and Peyton turned in the direction of the thunking sound that was echoing through the tunnel of greenery.



His face was young, but both his gait and manner of dressing gave him the appearance of someone far beyond his years. He was smiling pleasantly, and the expression seemed genuine enough, though Peyton doubted that he was actually as happy as he seemed. Despite his limp, he was before them within seconds, eyes combing over them, unflinching in the group’s unrelenting stare.



As he gave his speech, Peyton noted the smooth calmness in his voice. It all seemed very rehearsed to her, though she didn’t think anyone else noticed. This man was a performer, an actor. A skilled one, at that. His name struck her as a bit strange, though; she couldn’t recall the last time she had heard the name Lester. His last name, Kimball, carried a slight tinge of familiarity, however.



He finished his short monologue, and left them, his limp seeming to progressively worsen as his proximity to the group decreased. He turned on to a hidden path, disappearing from view.



Quibb continued as though nothing had occurred. “Well, I think you understand what I was trying to say. Now, we must hurry along, my Daisies. Dinner is about to begin, and Mrs. Anthum doesn’t much appreciate lateness.”



There was no doubting it that time. She was calling them daisies, though Peyton had not the slightest idea why. She once again was left with no time to ponder it as they were rushed down the path and into the mansion.



-----



The oaken double doors opened to reveal a grand atrium, the arched ceiling rising to the third floor. The room was circular, intricately carved wooden doors spaced every few feet throughout it. A delicately hung crystal chandelier was kept aloft by thick, gold-painted chains. The floor was a bright polished marble, reflecting the chandelier and lighting the entire room in its radiance. The stark white walls were adorned in all manner of paintings and artistry, most of them duplicates of well-known paintings, but many of them original works. Drifting down from the overhead speakers was a lilting orchestral arrangement that Peyton did not recognize, but it was without a doubt beautiful.



Peyton could hear Dirk whispering frantically to Wilson over the combined drone of the music and Miss Quibb explaining the history of the building to them, but could understand not a word of either their conversation or Miss Quibb. Kinsey was enfolded in Sampson’s arms, the two trailing behind the rest of the group. Everyone else was attempting to hide the looks of amazement now plain on their faces. Peyton wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to get some warmth; the air conditioning in addition to her sweat proved to be a frigid combination.



“..and purchased in 1914 by William Anthum. His wife, Jessica, was a humanitarian and amateur psychologist who convinced William to allow her to use the extra land unsuitable for farming as a mental care center. This soon expanded into a therapy center and rehabilitation facility, and over time became what it is today.” Quibb said as she led them through one of the many doors and down the hall. The dark wood walls were covered in portraits and photographs of the previous owners, their families, and even some of the old tenants of the facility. They soon reached the end of the hall, and Quibb pushed open the door that presumably led into the dining hall.



The room was not so extravagant as the entrance, but it wasn’t plain by any standards. The thick, ancient wooden table dominated the long room, surrounded by chairs with red inlayed cushions. A smaller version of the earlier chandelier hung over the center, casting its fractured rays across the room. Great dusty bookshelves lined the walls, turning the room into a small library. It seemed that the higher-ups at Novus Fortuna didn’t much care for the ‘don’t read at the table’ rule.



“Have a seat, Daisies, the food is about to arrive.” Miss Quibb shouted before rushing out of the room. Peyton took one near the far end closest to the door. Kinsey and Sampson sat together at the opposite end, while Dirk and Wilson took two adjacent seats near the middle. Everyone else seated themselves sporadically, avoiding the others as much as they could.



It was silent but for Dirk and Wilson’s constant whispering. Peyton stared down at the table, focusing on the cracks and irregularities in the grain, desperate for anything to look at other than the people around her. Kinsey leaned into Sampson, her eyes somber and his irresolute. Ethexson laid his elbows on the table, his head resting on his hands as he scanned over the group. Jenna’s hands were folded neatly, her face a mask of politeness. Kristy’s face remained hidden, her dark hair forming an opaque curtain. Elli was a few seats down from Peyton, glancing nervously around the room.



A set of double doors on the opposite side of the room from where they had came from opened, and a small, shriveled-looking woman was wheeled in by an aging attendant. The wheelchair looked as ancient as the woman who rode it. The spokes of the wheels were bent and rusted in some places, the leather of the armrests cracked. Her thin white hair was held up in a bun that allowed not a single stray strange to escape. Her mouth curved into a curt smile, while her wide green eyes took them in greedily. Her face remained the same, but her eyes betrayed her disapproval of them.



The wrinkled female attendant rolled her to the head of the table, and then quickly left the room. The shriveled woman was quiet for an eternity of seconds, and then spoke in a strong, full voice.



“Hello, new tenants of Novus Fortuna, and welcome. I am Carrie Anthum, owner of everything you have seen since arriving here. I am sure everything that needs to be said has already been told to you, and in better words than I can muster. However, there are some things that are unique to this year, and I must explain. You may have already been told that we have more new tenants than we expected this year, and as such are low on rooms. Because of this, three of you have been randomly selected to share a room with another tenant, also randomly selected.”



Peyton’s heart dropped. There were eight other kids (for that was what they truly were) in the room with her. That meant that there was a one in three chance that she would be picked. She could hardly stand being around people in the first place, and sharing a room with another person would be completely unbearable.



Mrs. Anthum pulled a small piece of paper from her blouse pocket and held it before herself. No one was slouching anymore; everyone leaned forward in strained anticipation.



“Kinsey Gallagher will be bunked with Erik Anthum, my grandson. Ethexson Smith will bunk with Sampson Ariel.” Carrie paused, her smile seeming less curt and more devious. She set the paper down and surveyed the room.



Kinsey was thoroughly crestfallen, the tears already coming forth. Sampson remained devoid of emotion, though his stoic expression showed signs that it was beginning to falter. Peyton’s heart raced. She wasn’t sure if Sampson and Ethexson would be counted as two of the three, but she inwardly prayed to every god she could think of that that was the case.



“And our final lucky winner,” Carrie said with a grin, “is Peyton Hart. She will be staying with Lester Kimball. Now that that matter is settled, let me explain what…”



Peyton could hear no more over her own racing thoughts. She would be spending the next eight months living in the same room as the insane boy who wanted to be a therapist. There had to be a way to change Mrs. Anthum’s decision, but Peyton’s negative mind instantly denied this. She supposed that it could be a possibility, but with the way Mrs. Anthum was smiling, she doubted it.



But how could they place her with a boy? Surely they were smart enough to know what could happen. Peyton was completely disgusted by this thought, but it was something she could use to her advantage. She could dispute the decision on those grounds, and she would be moved. Her burning skin cooled, but she did not listen to anything said by the ancient Mrs. Anthum.



“…will be administered. Now that that is taken care of, dinner can begin. I will see you all very soon, I am sure.” Mrs. Anthum gave a large smile, and the attendant returned and wheeled her out.