The Hive

Chapter 7
Chapter 6

Eleanor Hart stopped in the corridor, leaning against the wall. It seemed as though in that very moment, the entire weight and pain of her years came crashing down upon her. After catching her breath, she continued forward... upward... to her office. Once inside, she hurriedly closed the door behind her and turned the lock.

Finally, she was here... alone...

Miss Hart pressed her back against the door and slowly slid down to the floor.

"Mom... don't pressure me... Mom... I'll manage... I just need a little more time," echoed in her head. "Mom, why is everything so complicated... don't yell at me!"

"My sweet Emily," Miss Hart said to herself, and something like a tear glistened in the corner of her eye. "Benjamin is just like you, they're all just like you—lost, disappointed in adult life. But... I... I can do it... this time I can save them, save them all!"

Miss Hart's face hardened in an instant.

"The choice... to leave or to stay? Oh no, my dears, the choice has already been made."

Benjamin sat on the bed, feeling the world around him swaying. Or was it him swaying? Like in childhood, when you'd spin around for too long and then suddenly stop.

He stood up and approached the mirror.

The face was his. But younger. Definitely younger. The wrinkles had vanished. His cheeks were fuller. His eyes... there was something in his eyes. Not innocence. More like... openness, vulnerability.

He measured himself with his gaze. Shorter? Yes, definitely shorter. Not by much, but noticeably. Narrower shoulders. Thinner arms.

"It's happening," he whispered. "It's really happening."

Panic crashed over him in waves. What should he do? Run? But how? Lucas had mentioned through the forest, but he didn't know the way. What if he got lost? What if...

A knock at the door. Quiet, timid.

"Come in."

The door cracked open. Amelia peered through the gap.

"May I? I... I need to talk to someone. Someone normal. Before I go completely crazy myself."

He nodded. She entered, closed the door. Sat in the chair by the window. She looked bewildered. Lost. Her hair was disheveled, fear in her eyes.

"Have you noticed?" she asked without preamble. "What's happening here?"

"I have."

"Today I... I put on my skirt. The one I arrived in. It's too big. Two sizes too big! In just a few days!"

Her voice trembled on the edge of hysteria.

"And that's not all. I... during quiet hour today... I picked up a children's book. A fairy tale about a princess. And I was reading it. And crying! Do you understand? Me, a CFO with two master's degrees, crying over a fairy tale!"

"Amelia..."

"No, listen! This place... it's changing us. I can feel it. Every day I'm becoming... softer? Dumber? I don't know! Yesterday I caught myself drawing little flowers. Flowers! Me! I'm fishing carrot moons out of my soup!"

She stood up, walked to the window.

"We need to leave. But I can't. Why can't I? In the morning I think—that's it, I'm packing up and leaving. But then breakfast comes, that porridge with honey, and... and the desire disappears. All that's left is tiredness and the wish for someone to take care of me. And... more and more often I want to stay here forever."

"The honey," said Benjamin. "Lucas said it's the honey."

"Lucas?" She turned. "That strange boy? You believe him?"

"I don't know. But look at him. At Robert. At Michael. They're adults behaving like children. And we... we're going down the same path."

Amelia sat back down. Clutched her head in her hands.

"What do we do?"

A tense silence hung in the room.

"Hart said we could leave if we wanted to," Benjamin replied, and now he understood that despite all the director's assurances, no one was actually going to give him that choice.

"Leave just like that?" Amelia looked at Benjamin plaintively, and something inside him turned over at that look.

"I'm not sure anymore that she'll really allow it... We need to... run, tonight."

She raised her head. Hope in her eyes.

"Together?"

"Yes. Lucas said—a hundred and fifty kilometers through the forest. It's easier with two. And safer."

"When?"

"After dinner. When it gets dark. We'll gather water, food from the pantry..."

"I know where the pantry is," Amelia perked up. "I saw Sara coming out of there. They have regular food there, canned goods."

The plan was taking shape. A simple plan. Wait for darkness, grab supplies, leave through the garden into the forest. Walk all night. Reach the city by morning. Escape.

"What about the others?" asked Amelia. "Michael, Robert... Lucas?"

"Lucas won't come. He... can't. And the others... Look at them. They're happy. In their own way."

"Happy," she repeated bitterly. "Yes, I suppose. Ignorance is bliss."

They sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Outside the window, the garden bathed in afternoon sun. Bees buzzing. Peaceful. Deceptively peaceful.

"So, after dinner," Amelia confirmed, standing up. "We'll meet at the back door. There's a door to the garden there, I've seen it."

"Agreed."

She left, leaving him alone. Benjamin walked to the bed, picked up the bear.

"What do you say, buddy? Am I doing the right thing?"

The bear was silent, but his eyes looked understanding.

"I can't stay. I can't become... like that. This isn't life. This is escape."

But an inner voice whispered otherwise. Whispered about how good it had been in the morning. How peaceful. How right. Without pain, without fear, without the need to pretend.

"No," he said aloud. "It's an illusion. A sweet trap."

He hid the bear in his backpack. He needed to prepare. Gather the essentials. Plan the route. Not give in to temptation.

The rest of the day dragged on torturously. He went down to the library—to read, to distract himself. But all the books were simple. Fairy tales, adventures, nothing serious. Benjamin picked up the book he'd brought with him, but now it seemed too complex, the words blurred, the meaning slipped away.

In the garden, Michael and Robert were playing some kind of ball game. Running, laughing. Two adult men, genuinely rejoicing and having fun like children. There was something simultaneously beautiful and terrifying about it.

Dinner came too quickly. Benjamin was nervous, barely touching his food. Vegetable stew, bread, compote. Everything with honey. Everything dangerous.

"You're not eating," Sara noticed. "Not feeling well?"

"No, just... not very hungry."

"It's because of the nap. The body is still adapting to the new routine. But you need to eat. At least a little."

She watched expectantly. He had to pick up the spoon, pretend to eat. The stew turned into a lump in his mouth. Sweet. Dangerous.

Lucas wasn't at the table. His place was empty.

"Where's Lucas?" asked Robert with childlike directness.

"Resting," Sara answered. "He had a difficult day. Miss Hart decided it would be better for him to have dinner in his room."

"Special milk," Benjamin remembered. What had they done to him?

Amelia sat across from him, also barely touching her food. Their eyes met. A tiny nod. Still on.

After dinner—the usual evening rituals. Tea in the living room. Michael showing off new crafts. Robert reading aloud from a book—slowly, syllable by syllable, but with pride. Amelia leafing through a picture magazine.

A normal evening in a madhouse.

At nine, Sara announced bedtime.

"Everyone upstairs. Time to get ready for bed. Tomorrow's a new day."

"Not for us," thought Benjamin.

In his room, he quickly packed his backpack. The bear, spare clothes (already too big), documents. He filled a water bottle from the tap. Changed into dark clothes—jeans, hoodie.

Sat down to wait.

Time dragged torturously. Ten. Half past ten. Eleven. The house grew quiet. Only the old walls creaking, and somewhere far off a clock ticking.

Time to go.

He opened the door. The corridor was dark, only emergency lights glowing near the floor. He crept quietly, trying not to make the floorboards creak.

The stairs. Every step—a challenge. Each creak seemed like thunder.

First floor. Silence. To the right—toward the back door.

Amelia was already waiting. In dark clothes, with a backpack. Pale, determined.

"Ready?" she whispered.

"First the pantry."

They crept to the kitchen. The pantry wasn't locked—who would lock away food in paradise? They grabbed canned goods, even found a flashlight.

To the door. Amelia grabbed the handle. Locked.

"Damn!"

"Quiet. There must be a key."

They searched in the dark, feeling along shelves, hooks. Nothing.

"Maybe another door?"

"The front door is definitely locked. A window?"

They checked the windows in the dining room. All closed, old frames, stiff. Impossible to open quietly.

"What do we do?" Panic crept into Amelia's voice.

"Look for another exit. There has to be..."

"Looking for this?"

The light turned on. Sara stood in the doorway. In her hand—a bunch of keys.

Behind her—Eleanor Hart. Calm, sad.

"I so hoped you would accept our gift," she said. "But some little bees always try to fly away from the hive. Not understanding that outside—there's only cold and death."

"We're not your little bees," Amelia burst out. "We're people! Adults!"

"Adults?" Eleanor approached. In the soft lamplight, it was visible how Amelia had changed. Shorter in height. Softer features. "Look at yourselves. You're already changing. Bodies are more honest than minds. They know what they really want."

"Let us go," Benjamin asked. "Please. You promised, you said yourself there was a choice."

"Let you go?" She shook her head. "But you came here yourselves. Asked for help yourselves. And we're helping. In our own way."

"This isn't help! This is... this is..."

"Salvation," Eleanor finished. "From a world that broke you. From the need to be what you can't be. Here you can just live. Isn't that what you wanted? Peace?"

"Not this kind of peace!"

"Then what kind?" Her voice grew harder. "Do you think something better awaits you out there? Debts? Loneliness? New failures? Or do you think everything will magically change?"

Silence.

"Sara, escort our guests to their rooms. And... I think they need an enhanced dose. To help with adaptation. In the morning they'll understand how foolish it was to try to leave."

"No!" Amelia lunged for the door, but Sara intercepted her. Surprisingly strong for a nanny. "Let go!"

"Shh, shh," Sara pressed her close, like a mother with a disobedient child. "It's all right. You're just tired. Overwrought. Everything will be different in the morning."

Benjamin tried to help, but immediately felt a hand on his shoulder. Eleanor. Her touch was light but inexorable.

"Don't resist, Benjamin. It will only make the process harder. For both of you."

"You have no right! I'm leaving! Amelia, let's go!" Benjamin straightened up and took Amelia's hand.

"STOP!" Eleanor Hart's voice thundered, a shiver ran down the failed escapees' spines. Not understanding why, they couldn't move, as if something invisible had chained them to the floor.

"Rights?" Miss Hart smiled. "What a funny adult word. Different rules apply here. Hive rules. And the first rule is unconditional trust in the queen."

They were led upstairs. Amelia no longer resisted, only whimpered quietly. Benjamin walked, feeling a strange weakness in his legs. Tiredness. At the door to his room, Eleanor stopped.

"I truly am sorry it had to be this way. But believe me—this is for your own good. In the morning you'll wake up and wonder why you were so afraid. It will be a new morning. A new you."

She nodded to Sara, who opened the door. On the nightstand already stood a glass of white liquid.

"Drink," said Sara. "This will help you sleep. And don't be afraid of dreams. They'll be good ones."

"What if I refuse?"

"Then we'll have to give you an injection. Which is less pleasant. The choice is yours."

Choice. The illusion of choice.

He took the glass. The liquid smelled of honey and vanilla. Sweet. Cloying.

"What happens in the morning?" he asked.

"You'll wake up," Eleanor answered. "Renewed. Perhaps a little different. But definitely happier."

"Like Robert?"

"Robert found his path to happiness. You'll find yours. Everyone's is unique."

Benjamin looked at the glass. At the women in the doorway. At the room that already seemed both prison and refuge.

He drank.

The taste was... childhood. Warm milk before bed. A bedtime story. Mother's kiss.

"Good boy," Sara praised. "Now to bed. I'll help you change."

"I can do it myself... I can manage..."

But the words became thick. Thoughts blurred. His legs wouldn't obey.

Sara caught him, sat him on the bed. Pulled off his shoes, socks. Her hands were warm, caring. Maternal.

"That's it, good boy. Arms up."

He raised his arms. When had she started calling him a good boy? Why wasn't he protesting?

The hoodie vanished. T-shirt. Jeans. He was left in his underwear, feeling small, defenseless.

"And now pajamas."

Not pajamas—jammies. Soft, with pictures. Bees? Teddy bears? Couldn't make it out, everything was swimming.

"And the last thing..."

Something soft, thick. Around his hips. Protective.

"Just in case," Sara whispered. "Enhanced doses sometimes have side effects. Don't worry, it's temporary."

"A diaper. She put a diaper on me."

He had no strength to protest. And why should he? It was more secure this way. Safer.

"Into bed."

Sara tucked him in, covered him with the blanket. Heavy, warm. Like a cocoon.

"Sleep, little one. Tomorrow will be a new day."

A kiss on the forehead. When do they kiss grown men on the forehead? Grown?

The light went out. The door closed.

He lay in the darkness, feeling himself sinking. Not into sleep—deeper. To where there are no fears, doubts, need to be adult.

His last coherent thought was: "The bear. Forgot to put the bear next to me."

And then—only honey and darkness.

And somewhere far away, in another room, Amelia was crying. But even her crying was becoming quieter, softer.

The Hive was absorbing its new little bees. Slowly and gently.