Rehabilitation Girls Chapter 1 Placement day, the day every inhabitant of Ridmore dreaded; a day in which anyone who'd received their pink slips, regardless of age, was at risk. Riley Carson had escaped eviction, as the residents liked to call it, for three years. Up until this point, she had been deemed too damaged for placement; however, a month ago, on her sixteenth birthday, she'd received her pink slip and now she faced the all too real risk that placement days posed. Standing in the large viewing room, Riley pulled at the rolled neck of her top as she gazed blindly ahead of her, trying to look past the parade of people that slowly made their way along the opposite side of the glass partition. Each was dressed in their own way, some bright and colourful, others dark and bland, but still able to be who they wanted to be and wear what they wanted to wear. Riley had once been just like them, a unique individual; but, Ridmore had eradicated any sense of individuality as soon as she had stepped through its huge doors and earned the title of rehabilitation child. Before losing her parents, she had visited this very centre and wandered in front of the same glass partition that she now stood behind while her parents examined the lines of uniformed girls. Now, as then, they’d been ordered from shortest to tallest. At the time she’d paid little attention to any of them, never for a moment considering how they might feel. Now, here she was, standing with them, wondering just what fate had in store for her. Would she be one of the lucky ones, who went to a good home with good people? Would she become a part of a nice family, either as their daughter or a well-treated servant? She could only hope. It was a difficult situation. Her longing to be free of the centre was great, but there was no guarantee that a better #life awaited her outside and so it seemed to her and many at the centre, that to remain was the best option. Here, at least, you knew your place; knew that, unless you broke the rules, you would be safe. Everything in the centre was certain. There were strict schedules and rules, right down to the style of your hair, a highly unflattering crew cut, and the clothes you could wear: • 2 roll neck cotton tops with chocolate brown, faux leather shoulder yokes • 2 pairs of wide leg linen trousers with one sharp crease running down the front of each leg • 2 pairs of white linen socks • 1 pair of chocolate coloured, leather, flat soled shoes • 2 sets of chocolate, cotton underwear that, depending on physical development, either came with knickers and vest or knickers and a basic bra. These outfits came in three colour sets, which were used to indicate a girl’s status at the centre. Most started out in black and Chocolate, the colours for those in rehabilitation, before progressing to white and chocolate, which signalled that you’d moved past any emotional distress or behaviour problems and were ready for placement. The third and final colour, which was an outfit made up completely of chocolate brown, marked you out as difficult, a lost cause, or as the centre put it impossible to rehabilitate. Anyone receiving their browns knew they were headed down into the bowels of the centre, a fate believed to be worse than death. Although very few wanted to earn their pink slips and make it into the white outfits, no one dared fight it, because the alternative didn’t even bear thinking about. So, Riley stood there, alongside all the other girls dressed in white, and prayed that she would either go unpicked or be one of the lucky ones chosen by a loving family; however, luck hadn’t seemed to be working in her favour, since her parent’s death. Every time she heard the now familiar click of the speakers coming to #life followed by a few seconds of static before the names of the chosen were called, she would hold her breath, eyes closed in prayer, as each name was announced. She’d only allow herself to open them again, once the black containment tubes of the chosen had thudded into place and the speakers had gone silent, once more. For an hour, things continued in this manner. The remaining girls were beginning to sag under the strain of standing still and rigid for so long, each within their own little circle. Their view of one another was now blocked by containment tubes, all of which indicated a chosen child. People on the other side of the glass partition continued to move back and forth, pointing at this girl or that, as they tried to decide which to take home. Riley reached a hand up to pull at the rolled neck of her collar. She was feeling unbearably hot under the gaze of the beady-eyed man who had been scrutinising her for the last fifteen minutes. It didn’t help matters either, when, without returning his gaze to any of the others, he disappeared from sight. His disappearance was quickly followed by the click of the speakers, then a short burst of static, and a sharp, firm voice which hissed, "Riley Carson.” Riley’s eyes grew wide and her hands flew to her mouth, as she brought the image of the beady-eyed man to the forefront of her mind. She prayed desperately that it wasn’t him who’d chosen her. Leaning forward slightly, hands clasped about her waist, she fought the urge to vomit. “You are reminded that all girls are to remain standing at all times, arms by their sides, feet together, facing forward, and are not to try to engage those beyond the glass in any way.” The words echoed around her head, leaving her uncertain as to whether she had been chosen or not. “Failure to comply, Riley, will result in punishment.” The voice added, causing her to quickly drop her arms to her side, once more, and resume the expected position. With the click of the speakers turning off and the lack of a containment tube raising around her the reality slowly began to sink in. She hadn’t been chosen; she hadn’t, at least not this time, she just prayed her luck would hold out. Another twenty-five minutes passed; the speakers, occasionally crackling into #life, followed by the raising of a containment tube or two. Riley’s remained firmly down. There were only two people on the other side of the glass now, compared with the thirty odd girls, still stood ramrod straight alongside her. Surely this meant the odds were now stacked in her favour. She eyed the remaining patrons carefully. One was an elderly lady, who continuously raised theatre glasses to her squinting eyes. Her expression was one of distaste, as if none of the girls could quite match up to some imagined image she’d built up in her head. The second was a tall, thin man with a half halo of hair. He was plain and simple in appearance, and wore black-rimmed spectacles that encircled soft, hazel eyes. Riley watched him with interest, as he sat in one of the hard plastic chairs, up on the highest viewing platform, carefully scrutinising the girls below. Neither of these people seemed a threat, but Riley knew that you could never be too sure. She ignored the old lady, in favour of the man; for she felt drawn to him in a way she could not explain and found herself watching his every movement, as if by doing so, she’d be able to accurately gage his character. She watched as, gnawing on his lower lip, he raised a hand to his chin, where he began to rub at his neatly trimmed beard. Instinctively his fingers drew together, causing his bottom lip to pucker out, while his attention remained still deeply absorbed in the little white book that he held between the long, supple fingers of his left hand. He looked for all the world as if he were just relaxing in the sun with a good book, not perusing the local rehabilitation centre for a living, breathing girl. His legs were stretched out before him, long and thin, his shoes plain and simple, and the soles clean and unblemished. He’d be looking for a diligent servant and not a wife, Riley was sure. Why else would he spend so much time studying the book that listed each of the girls name and attributes? Riley suddenly found herself wondering what had been written about her. Perhaps that she was a good cook, for she excelled in her food preparation lessons. Perhaps that she was diligent when it came to eradicating dirt, dust, and all forms of grime. Surely that she was obedient, well-mannered, and honest too; all points that might raise her status in his eyes, if he was indeed looking for a good servant. However, if it was a wife he was looking for then she was certain she would fall short. She wasn’t pretty like the some of the other girls here. She didn’t have rosy cheeks, fluttery lashes, or pretty eyes to make her stand out amongst all the other crew-cut statues around her. She was simply average without the long, auburn curls that had once cascaded down her back and over her shoulders. She suddenly found herself in a very unexpected situation. A situation, in which, she actually longed to be chosen. It wasn’t that the man on the other side of the glass had captured her heart, far from it. It was more a certainty that he was good and kind. That he would not hurt her. He was, in short, her best chance of a pleasant freedom. She pondered the book in his hands, hoping that it expressed how well she cared for the babies here at the rehabilitation centre. She hoped equally that it did not allude to her lack of interest in the residents more her own age. It wasn’t that she didn’t like people, because she did. She just couldn’t cope with the worry that would ultimately follow, when they were placed. Never knowing what had become of them; never knowing if they were happy. With the babies it seemed easier, somehow. After all, how could anyone hurt something so small and delicate. She knew also that the screening process for baby adoption was far more stringent than that of the older girls. They were to be guaranteed family members, only placed where both their future mother and father were equally enthralled by them. She had seen it for herself; had sat in the room as potential parents spent time with the children and had observed the love and devotion in the eyes of those people as they held the child they had chosen in their arms. Months would pass before they would even come close to being allowed to take the child home, hours and hours of careful observation on the part of the staff at the centre. They wanted no mistakes when it came to the babies. If only they cared so much for the older girls too. So deep in her reverie was Riley that she didn’t notice the speakers clicking to #life. Only when the harsh voice of a matron kicked in did her head shoot up, her eyes scanning the area behind the glass partition, only to find it empty. This was it, the final name calling. Soon they would all be sent back to the dining hall to eat their dinner with relief, thankful in the knowledge that they, at least, had survived to live another month at Ridmore. "Final placements are Vicky French, Gina Gatsby, Hannah Martin, and Riley Carson. The rest of you may now make your way to the exit, in an orderly fashion.” The containment tube, black as pitch, slowly began to rise from the floor, as Riley stood frozen, trying to process what had just happened. Fear held her breathless in its cruel, relentless grasp as she watched the line of girls, the lucky ones, slowly moving past her, while the tube continued to steadily rise, engulfing her in blackness. Stumbling back against it, Riley slid to the floor, tears gently escaping the corners of her eyes. Four girls had been chosen; four girls, when there had only been two patrons. The old woman flashed before her eyes, her distasteful stare fixing in Riley’s head and successfully eradicating any hope, she’d once had. Her fate now rested in the hands of two unknowns and all seemed bleak as she sat there in the darkness, waiting for her rebirth. For with the light she would discover her fate; her new #life and only time would tell if she was lucky or not.