The System

By Jacqueline Frist

Sam wakes up and can’t remember anything. Has she been in an accident—a car crash, perhaps? She’s also in an unfamiliar place. She could be in a hospital. In the darkness, she concludes it must be a hospital. Surely a nurse will come check on her any moment, right? No, something was definitely wrong with this place.

With no memory of how she got there, Sam slowly begins to panic as she realizes she is trapped in a strange facility with no escape. To make matters much, much worse, a murder has taken place.

There is no one to trust and danger around every corner. If Sam isn’t careful, she’ll end up the next victim. She must find a way to survive, but the only way to do that is to regain her memories. Sam has to uncover what’s really happening in the facility and how she got there in the first place. It’s her only chance to find freedom and live.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Feb 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665700788

Jacqueline Frist

Jacqueline Frist is based in Nashville, Tennessee. She wrote The System as a story from a teenager for other teenagers. Frist is now planning to attend college. She is also the author of Blueview Island.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

I’VE ALWAYS HAD many dreams, but none of them would ever compare to the real-life nightmare I was about to wake up to.

I opened my eyes with a sharp intake of breath. I stared up into the darkness, lying still, feeling the air slowly pass in and out of my lungs. The pillow underneath my head was flattened after a long rest; the mattress was warm, almost calling me back to sleep. My blanket only half covered my body; it seems that I had thrown it off. I lay there as the thumping of my heart subsided; it had been beating hard from my jolt awake. I turned my head to the side, and though I could not see anything in front of me, a strange feeling washed over me. I felt as if I were not in my room. I realized that I had no idea where I was.

I could have been in an accident—perhaps a car crash. That had to be the reason why I couldn’t remember anything. I told myself that I was simply sitting in a dark hospital room. A nurse would surely come into the room to check on me any minute now.

But at the same time, I didn’t remember any accidents happening. Do my parents know I’m okay? Instead of the familiar faces of loved ones, I could only imagine blurred images. Okay, what about friends? No recognition came to mind. I struggled to think of a phone number to call, the name of my hometown, or even the names of my family members. With shock, I realized that I didn’t even know my name.

Something was definitely not right.

I continued to lie in paralyzed silence, not daring to move. Over time, my tired eyes began to focus on the lines that shaped the objects in the room around me. Scarce light was provided only by the slit under the door, so it was difficult to see anything. My senses told me the room was smaller than I thought, having the appearance of a small bedroom or a dorm. I knew I was at the proper age to go to college; I wondered if maybe this place was my room after all. Unfortunately, I had no way of actually knowing. I figured the best way to find out was to search around.

I sat up in the simple white bed and saw the faint outline of a lamp next to me. Leaning over, I stretched out to reach the light and turned it on, squinting at the brightness that illuminated my face. I blinked at the room around me, allowing my feet to slowly slide to the edge of the mattress and onto the floor.

The room had a strange atmosphere. Even with the lamp, the lighting was dim, and the stone walls were bare of any windows; it felt as if I were sleeping in a storage closet. A navy-blue sweatshirt had been tossed aside at the foot of the bed. I grabbed the sleeve, pulling the hoodie over to me and sliding it over my head. I was comforted by the warmth the thick cloth gave me. As I was fixing the hood around my head, I glanced up to see a tiny desk sitting across from me, holding only a couple of books and a blank notepad with a pen.

Everything was so eerily silent and completely still; it seemed that time itself had been frozen. I was compelled to be as quiet as possible, moving slowly and placing my feet carefully on the floor.

I noticed an open trunk by the end of the bed. I walked over and squatted down, placing my hands on the smooth metal of the boxy frame. The inside of the lid was decorated with a couple pictures—one of an adorable white dog and another of a group of girls in jerseys, smiling wearily while triumphantly raising their lacrosse sticks in the air. Neither of these pictures registered any familiarity for me, and a pang of guilt hit me for not remembering these seemingly important photos.

Clothes were piled up inside the trunk—some still neatly packed and folded, others already worn. I unzipped a small bag to find a variety of toiletries, as expected. Strangely, though, I could not find a single personal item, such as a phone or wallet. I wondered if they were elsewhere in the room.

From the packed luggage, I concluded that wherever I was, it wasn’t my home. In fact, it didn’t seem as though I was in anybody’s home at all. This concrete-walled place had to be some sort of building or facility. Of course, the place couldn’t be a hospital; otherwise there would have been equipment and cabinets lining the walls. If it was a hotel, it would be a strange one indeed, given there was no bathroom and the size of my room was comparable only to that of a large walk-in closet.

I pursed my lips as I stared at the wall, thinking. Having to figure out everything would be so much easier if I could remember anything. Something about losing my memory just did not seem right. Wouldn’t there have to have been an event that caused it? The thought unsettled me.

Frustrated, I stood up and looked around in a desperate attempt to find something to jog my memory. My eyes landed on a hidden picture frame resting on the nightstand behind the lamp. I curiously picked up the steel frame and studied the picture: a small girl with her arms around a man, both smiling happily at whoever was behind the camera.

It took me only a moment to realize that the girl was me when I was much younger. And from the similar looks of the subjects, I guessed that the man was my dad.

Something finally reached my mind; I began to remember where this picture came from. It felt as if someone finally put the two missing wires together and started up that part of my memory again. Once I remembered that day, it almost seemed impractical that I hadn’t known it before. The memory came to my mind in a rush.

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I giggled, lying in the grass as the world spun in front of my eyes. I always loved coming to the park to play with Mom and Dad. I was wearing my favorite purple sweater and my matching earmuffs. It was only early fall—too soon for the weather to be cold—but I insisted on wearing them. Autumn was always my favorite season, so as soon as the leaves started to fall, I would switch out the clothes in my closet and bring out the long sleeves and jackets.

Again, again! I squealed between hysterical fits of laughter. Spin me again!

Dad bent over me, chuckling. Okay, silly girl. He grabbed my arms, lifted me up with ease, and began to turn in circles, taking me from the ground and making me fly in the air. Everything was a blur except Dad, who couldn’t stop smiling at me.

Coming in for landing! he said as he slowed and lowered me to the ground.

Now dizzy for a second time, I got up on my feet and stumbled around, giggling every time I fell forward and caught myself on the ground. I saw my mom sitting on a bench nearby, covering her smile with her hand.

My dad walked over and picked me up, saying, All right, girlie, that’s enough spinning. You’re going to get sick if you get too dizzy. I nodded in agreement and put my arms around his neck as I continued to laugh.

Mom dug in her purse for her camera and stood up. You guys are so cute. Let’s take a picture.

Dad turned us toward the camera and said to me, Okay, Sam, say cheese!

Cheese! The camera flashed as my mom clicked the button. I blinked, and my vision snapped back to reality.

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Sam. I breathed. That’s what my dad called me—my name. At least I had that figured out, but what about my parents? Where were they now?

I raised my head and turned to the single door that led outside the room. Maybe I would find someone here and I could get all of my questions answered. I put the picture down and crossed the room, headed for the door handle. Through the door, I was surprised by the long hallway that expanded to each side, containing many numbered doors on both walls.

The architect must have been a vampire. The hallway was almost as poorly lit as my room, giving an ominous feeling to the atmosphere. Numbered doors lined the walls, each made of a faded red wood that matched the color of the thin carpet covering the floor. The air felt musty and thick; my nose scrunched up from some distasteful smell that I couldn’t quite identify. I was definitely not in a house. However, I didn’t think I was be in a hotel either, considering the tiny size of my bedroom.

Similar to the room, the hallway had an uncomfortable silence. I almost wanted to call out for the sake of being able to hear something. Looking at the numbers around me, I turned to see that I was in room eight. The door opposite me was closed, but none of the rooms seemed to have a lock. I also noticed that other random doors down the hall were slightly ajar. The whole place did not seem to have much security, which was another clue that swayed me toward the belief that I was not in a hotel. But if not that, then where am I?

I began to venture through the strange place I found myself in, starting by going down to the open end of the hall. When I reached the edge, the hallway emptied into a dark room. Feeling exposed and vulnerable in the darkness, I patted the wall until I felt a panel with multiple switches. Unsure of which one to flip, I pushed all of them upward.

Light poured into the large room, revealing a lounge or living room. I found a staircase trailing from where I stood down to the floor; fortunately, I had not blindly stumbled any farther along the wall past the light switch. There was a small landing at the top of the stairs with a metal railing, which I leaned over to get a better look of the room. The walls were white and bare, lacking any artwork, light fixtures, windows, or TVs. A long leather couch and many matching chairs accented the center of the room, as well as the large glass table in the middle, which was covered with a splay of playing cards. Past the seating area stood a single table tennis table with its paddles scattered on it.

Despite the furniture, the room still managed to feel empty: the gaps in between each chair were just a little too long; the floor, much like the walls, was not covered by any carpeting or décor; and most of all, there were no lamps or vases. The fluorescent bulbs on the ceiling gave all of the light. With the brightness of the lights and the walls, the room almost felt blinding.

For such a big place, the absence of people and liveliness gave a mysterious air to the room. Since the lights were off before, I pondered, maybe everyone is asleep.

Upon looking around, I discovered a kitchen-like room branching out from the main room. As I explored, I learned that the kitchen proved to be an odd one—not quite like one found in a home, as there was no dishwasher. Other usual features, however, were present: cabinets, a refrigerator, a stove, a toaster, and a microwave. Every appliance was metallic and sleek. Light reflected on every surface, adding glowing stripes to everything. The steel made the room feel cold and impersonal, like a hospital cafeteria. The finishing touches were a sink and a long wooden table with multiple stools around it. The dark tone of the polished wood added to the neutral feeling of the room.

Walking between the table and the counter, I stopped next to the gas stove, which was perhaps the only appliance that did not quite match the room. I could tell that a coat of metallic paint covered the original surface. I wondered how old it was. I fiddled with one of the knobs, hearing the hiss of the gas and seeing the fire that ignited a second later. A tiny ring of fire formed around one of the burners, the little flames dancing in a circle on the stove. I twisted the knob again, and the fire died out. To say the least, I was surprised the stove even worked.

The part of the kitchen that stood out the most was the metal panel in the wall. The material shone in the light as I approached it. I reached forward and touched the cool, perfectly smooth metal. Surely this small door had to serve a purpose for something. The metal was installed into the wall somehow, so I tried sliding the panel open in all directions. It would budge perhaps a centimeter or two upward when I pushed that way, but the panel was locked in place from the inside. Dropping my hands to my sides, I decided to leave the wall alone before I accidentally broke something.

Hello? A voice startled me as it echoed in the big room, reaching the kitchen. I turned, bending at an angle to see if I could spot the person who had called out. Someone—a girl—must have heard me walking down the hallway.

H-hello? I said, shuffling out of the kitchen and looking around, confused. It was at least nice to know someone was here that could answer my endless questions.

Oh! Hi!

My head snapped up in the direction of the stairs. The girl’s brown curls of hair bounced as she descended each step. When she reached the floor, she walked with an energy that made me think she was about to start skipping at any step.

I opened my mouth to explain my situation, but she beat me to it.

So, um … I don’t know you, but I need a favor. Mind explaining to me where I am? Her lip curled in a little friendly smile. She spoke in a slight southern accent that made her sound even more polite.

I sucked in a breath as I froze. She’s not serious, right? You … don’t know this place? What about your name—do you know your name? My eyes went wide with the desire to find answers.

Her smile faltered, and her eyes dropped the lightened look they had before. It’s not just my imagination then, is it? I actually lost my memory?

I looked down and gulped. Yeah. I did too.

She shrugged and said hopefully, Well, I remember my name at least. I’m Lola, and you are?

Sam, I replied without looking up. Something happened—something not good. I began chewing on the skin around my thumbnail. It would not make sense for the two of us to both lose our memories, with our names as our only recalled information. The circumstances were too unusual for it to be a coincidence; I began to think someone made us forget somehow.

My eyes shifted to see Lola bending over to get in my field of vision, watching me as I was thinking. Hey, don’t stress your mind too much. You’re not gonna remember it all in one day. She straightened back up as I gave her a tight smile. Come on; let’s go find someone else. Surely someone remembers something. Before I could object, she grabbed my arm and gently pulled me with her.

I felt bad waking anyone up, but waiting until the morning would be pointless. We made our way to the stairs that led to the hallway of rooms where everyone was assumingly asleep.

As we passed, I noticed another door was located to the side of the stairs. I hadn’t seen this one before, since I had been turned toward the open room when I came down. Since Lola was on a mission to get us up there, I made a mental note to check the door later.

I concluded that the bad smell was coming from the hallway, since it got stronger again when we returned. We started at my door, looking at the pale gold 8 that was printed on the door.

I suddenly remembered that number had been given to me as an identity. Welcome to the program, Number 08. Here is your room.

This place was for a program. I guess that could make sense as to why we are in a facility of sorts, but what for? These were just more questions we needed to ask the others here.

I relayed this information to Lola, who said if that was the case, she would be Number 05. She pointed at her room, which was a few doors down. As for the part about the program, she claimed to recall nothing.

I crossed the corridor to the room across from me, number nine. I gingerly pushed down on the handle, and the door cracked open, unlocked. Lola waited behind me. I paused for a moment to wonder whether this was considered trespassing, but the other open doors seemed to indicate that no one here cared about that. I peered in nervously and found a room nearly identical to mine. The only difference was that it seemed as if no one had ever touched it: the room contained no personal belongings, and the bedsheets were smoothed out and taut against the mattress. I turned around, and Lola just shrugged.

We tiptoed down to the next door, which was slightly open. Peering in, I saw that someone had stayed there, except no one was there currently. Once again, the rooms