“It matters,” said John. “What do you, just you, truly want?”
Her eyes met his. “I want to raise our child with you.”
“I do, too,” John smiled.
John rested his hands on the table only a few inches from Morgan’s. Her fingers began to uncurl, stretching out towards his, their fingertips touching for the briefest of seconds.
“But how?” Morgan said.
That was the ultimate question and John cursed himself for giving Morgan hope without any way of following through. There had to be something. Some way to make this happen.
“It was a nice thought,” said Morgan, placing her hands back in her lap. “But the law is what it is.”
The law. The Council address began playing in John’s head, word for word. Unfits must not be allowed to continue their kind. And yet, some feel they are exempt from our laws that demand they surrender their right to procreate. So, let us be clear, from this day forward, any citizen declared unfit will, upon sterilization, forfeit any right to any pregnancies, future or existing, in which they are the parent. Any illegal pregnancies will be terminated.
The law is the law. The words ran in John’s mind in a seemingly endless loop. From this day forward, any citizen declared unfit will, upon sterilization, forfeit any right to any pregnancies, future or existing.
There was something there. John could feel it. He just had to figure out what it was. Any citizen declared unfit will, upon sterilization, forfeit any right to any pregnancies.
John’s breath caught in his throat as the pieces finally came together. Upon sterilization.
“Upon sterilization,” he said, nearly shouting with excitement.
Morgan jumped at his sudden outburst. “What are you—” she began to ask, but John could not contain himself a moment longer.
“You’re right,” he said, “the law is the law. But in this case, the law clearly states they can’t make us terminate the pregnancy until after I’ve been sterilized.”
Morgan’s eyes widened. “You’re right. How have I never noticed that before?”
“But would it hold up?” John asked.
“Once the baby is born it wouldn’t matter,” Morgan said. “The moment it is born, it is a citizen and has the same rights to life as everyone else, fit or unfit.”
“So this could work?” John asked.
“This could work,” Morgan smiled, excitement building in her voice. “What do we need to do now?”
“Obviously the plan’s changed,” said John. “If there’s no way of getting out of the asylum without being sterilized first, then I can’t leave the asylum. We need to make the knifer stall as long as we possibly can. You pulled some strings to get me processed faster. Do you think you could do it again?”
“Probably,” Morgan said. “I’ll talk to the knifer, and instead of moving you to the front of the line, I’ll have him move you to the very back of the line. Will that give us enough time?”
John’s heart immediately sank. “No, it won’t be enough.” Moving him to the back of the line would buy them six months at the most. They needed more time. He had to figure out a way to stay at the asylum, unsterilized for nine months, which would be a good three months after the last patient had been sterilized and sent home.
“It’s fine, John,” Morgan said, obviously trying to cover the heartbreak she was feeling all over again. “I couldn’t have asked you to do that anyway. It wouldn’t be fair to ask you to stay here for nine months.”
John shook his head, “Don’t give up, Morgan. We’re so close. You said so yourself. We just have to figure out a way for me to stay here until after the baby’s born, then I’ll get sterilized and come home.”
“Except that in a few months everyone will have been processed and the asylum will be empty,” Morgan argued. “I think someone is going to notice you hanging around the asylum by yourself months after everyone else is gone.”
She had a point. There was a major hole in his plan and there was no good reason John could think of for still being in the asylum after all the other patients had gone. But John refused to give up. There had to be a way. If all of the patients would be processed and discharged in six months…
“But not all of the patients will be gone,” John said, as much to himself as anyone else.
“What does that mean?” Morgan asked.
Slowly, the plan took shape. A plan so obviously simple it had to work.
“The terminal ward will still be here,” John said.
“What?”
“And the medical wing is so understaffed, I’m sure mistakes happen all the time. Like accidental transfers.”
“Absolutely not,” Morgan said, but John wasn’t listening.
“You just have to get the knifer to make the transfer and then in nine months he can conveniently catch the error and transfer me back. It could work.”
“Stop it, John,” Morgan said, raising her voice just enough that the keeper looked over to see what the commotion was.
John lowered his voice even more. “If it means saving our child—”
“Getting yourself killed isn’t going to save anyone,” Morgan whispered.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Will you? Look at yourself,” she said, nodding to John’s ragged state. “And that’s from the so-called civilized part of the asylum.”
“We can keep this baby, Morgan. You just have to decide how much you want to fight for it.”
Morgan paused for a moment, considering his words. “Or we could run away,” she whispered.
“And what?” John asked. “Raise our child as a fugitive in the middle of the woods? Is that what you actually want to do, because I can’t imagine it is.”
“From where I’m standing, living as fugitives in the woods seems a whole lot safer than staying here.”
“What would we do for food?” John asked. “Or clothes? Or shelter? What if the baby gets sick? We wouldn’t have a doctor or medicine anymore. Our lives in Haven aren’t over, Morgan,” he said, stretching his fingers towards hers again. “I can do this. Let me do this.”
“They won’t let me visit you, John,” Morgan said. “Terminal patients aren’t allowed visitors. We won’t be able to see each other for nine months. I’ll have no way of knowing if you’re even safe. There has to be another way.”
“I don’t think there is. This can work, Morgan. We have a chance here, one chance to have a family, and we’re never going to have this chance again. We have to at least try. Please. Just ask the knifer if stalling my procedure is even an option.”
Morgan looked down at her hands and breathed in deeply, her chest trembling as she did so.
“I don’t think I can do this, John,” Morgan confessed. “Before I met you, I felt like I was nothing. Just the daughter of a great man who was never expected to become anything but the third or fourth wife of some other great man. Never actually amount to anything. Then I met you and you made me feel smart, beautiful, confident—like we could conquer the world together. I’m not sure I know how to be that person without you.”
“Yes, you do. You’ve always been that person,” John said. “I may have been the one who helped you see it, but you have always been fearless.”
Morgan took a deep breath. “All right,” she finally agreed, wiping her face. “But we’ll have to act fast. You’re supposed to be sterilized in just a few days.”
“I think I’ll be able to handle the disappointment of not being castrated just yet.”
Morgan laughed, shaking her head at his dark attempt at humor. “If this works, this might be the last time we see each other for a while.”
“Everything’s going to work out, Morgan. I promise,” he said, and for a moment he forgot where he was and brashly took Morgan’s hand in his, squeezing it once, then twice.
“Just don’t get yourself killed, okay?” Morgan said with a chuckle, forcing a smile as a tear ran freely down her cheek. “I still need you.”
The tears began to fo
rm in John’s eyes too, despite his best effort. And although fear and adrenaline were building in his chest, he felt strangely calm. This could work. And if it didn’t, he could think of no better cause to go down swinging for.
One of the keepers was looking over at them now, apparently noticing that they were blatantly breaking the rules by having the nerve to hold hands. “No touching!” he shouted at them, but neither of them let go. If this truly was going to be their last moment together for the next nine months, then John was going to say good-bye to his wife properly.
“To hell with it,” John said, and in one fluid movement, he reached across the table and pulled Morgan into a deep, hard kiss. The keepers immediately started shouting at them from across the room and rushed forward to break them apart, but they continued to kiss passionately until the keepers pulled them away.
John was held tightly by at least two keepers and half escorted, half dragged towards the exit. John shouted after his wife, “I love you.”
“Shut up,” one of the keepers shouted as a palm smacked the back of John’s head. He was in the hallway now, Morgan far from view and feeling a million miles away. But even as they dragged him out, John could hear her voice echo after him.
“I will always love you, John.”
The keepers roughly removed John’s handcuffs and threw him out of the visitor’s center and onto the floor, the side of his face stinging where it had made contact, and he was pretty sure his nose was bleeding, but he didn’t care.
“A baby,” he whispered silently as he picked himself up, an irrepressible smile spreading across his face.
John stood frozen in place, staring at the closed doors of the visitor’s center, unable to think about anything besides his and Morgan’s conversation just moments before. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he almost didn’t notice the hushed voices whispering just around the corner.
The candles were burning low now, making the light dance erratically across the walls. John strained to hear where the whispers were coming from, following the sound away from the visiting area and towards the terminal ward.
Around the corner, lurking in the shadows stood a tall, broad figure.
“You’re running out of time,” the figure said. John immediately recognized the voice.
Laurence.
And he wasn’t alone. Another man cowered in the corner, looking particularly small under Laurence’s towering presence. His eyes were wide in terror and he was hugging his heavily bandaged arm against his chest.
“I don’t think it’s such a good idea,” the man mumbled.
“If you want to show Skinner just how valuable you would be, then you need to do something to get his attention,” said Laurence.
“But I don’t know if—”
“You want to be one of us, right? Part of the gang?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then you need to prove it,” Laurence said, his voice slightly threatening. “Do it tomorrow. Somewhere public, like the yard.”
“But, if Skinner wanted him dead, then why isn’t he already?”
“To give men like you a chance to prove their worth,” Laurence replied.
Footsteps and laughter echoed from somewhere nearby, and Laurence turned to look behind him, right towards where John was watching. Pressing himself against the wall so as not to be seen, John strained to hear the next words.
“How should I do it?” the man asked.
“Any way you want. You’ve killed before, it’s easy. You just keep hitting him until he stops moving. Or feel free to get creative. I don’t care so long as the job gets done.”
“And what about that bodyguard of his that’s always hanging around? I can’t fight two guys at once.” John peeked back around the corner. The man was holding his bandaged arm up for Laurence to see. “Isn’t there something else I could do?”
“I’m getting sick of your excuses, boy.” Laurence took a step forward, forcing the man to shrink further into the corner. “I’m giving you a chance to prove where your loyalties lie. If you’re not on my side, then we are enemies, and I promise,” he growled, “you do not want me as your enemy.”
“No—no,” the man stammered, his eyes wide as saucers, “of course not. I am completely loyal to you.”
“Good. Do it tomorrow. I’ll make sure the old man is out of the way,” Laurence said. Before turning to leave, he leaned in one more time and whispered menacingly, “Someone is dying tomorrow. If not him, then you.”
Laurence strode out of the hallway and back into the heart of the asylum. Even after his footsteps had long faded away, the man stood frozen where Laurence had left him, trembling and whimpering softly to himself.
John’s breathing was heavy now and he could feel his muscles begin to shake. What do I do now? he wondered. All the options raced through his mind at once. The man hadn’t left yet, maybe John could get him to confess who Laurence’s target was and try to warn them.
Then another thought came to his mind. He thought of Morgan and their unborn child. He thought of the promise he had made her. Then he thought of Laurence. If everything went according to plan, he and Laurence were going to be locked away together for a very long time, and John believed him when he had said he was not someone you wanted as an enemy.
No, John decided as he walked back to his room. It was best to keep his head down and stay out of matters that didn’t concern him, and a terminal ward feud definitely didn’t concern him. Not yet, anyway. After all, John thought to himself, there are all sorts of criminals locked away in the asylum, maybe this man has it coming.
At least, that’s what John hoped.
For some unfits, it is not enough to be sterilized and then released back into society. Some are not fit to walk our streets—the violent, the stupid, the agitators. For those individuals, let us show them mercy by giving them a place of their own, a safe-haven where they can live out their days, sparing us from their terminally toxic presence.
-Council Address, reign of the Council, Year 45
Two days had passed with no word from Morgan. John began to worry they wouldn’t have enough time to put their new plan in motion. Every time a keeper entered the room, John worried today would be the day they called on him to be sterilized.
The asylum corridors had been a bit more crowded than usual in the last few days. The cold had driven almost everyone inside, even though it wasn’t much warmer inside the asylum than it was outside. Groups of patients loitered in the hallways, huddled close together to keep warm. The cold didn’t bother John, though. The crisp breeze helped calm his nerves.
Pushing through the crowd congregating in the entryway, John stepped into the yard and breathed in the autumn air. There were maybe two or three other patients in the yard on the temp side, and the terminal side of the yard was just as sparse. One lone figure was curled up against the fence, hugging his knees to his chest, and even from across the yard, John recognized the tiny boy shivering in the cold.
“Tim,” he called as he approached the fence.
Tim lifted his head. His eyes were red and puffy as if he had been crying.
“What’s wrong?” John crouched down next to the fence. He scanned the yard, looking for Buck, but didn’t see him anywhere.
“I c-can’t find Bucky,” Tim sniffled, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his red jumpsuit.
“Wasn’t he with you at breakfast?”
Tim nodded. “I l-lost him in the hall. He was t-there and then he wasn’t there.” Giant tears welled up in Tim’s eyes. “I’m not s-suppose to g-go anywhere without Bucky.”
“It’s ok,” John reassured him, resting his fingers on Tim’s shoulder through the gaps in the chain-link. “I bet he’s looking for you right now and will be here any minute. I’ll wait with you until he gets here, will that be all right?”
Tim nodded again. “Th-thank you,” he mumbled.
“Do you want to play a game?” asked John.
Perking up almost at once
, Tim nodded enthusiastically.
“Ok,” John smiled, quickly trying to remember what games he knew. “Do you know how to play the spying game?”
Frowning, Tim shook his head.
“I’ll teach you, it’s easy. I’m just going to look around until I spy something, and then I’m going to tell you what color it is, and you have to guess. Got it? I spy something…” John glanced around, there wasn’t a whole lot to spy, “blue.”
Furrowing his eyebrows in concentration, Tim looked around the yard rather seriously. “Umm, the sky?” Tim guessed, pointing upwards.
“Yes!” John exclaimed with exaggerated enthusiasm. “You got it on your first guess!”
Tim smiled wide and giggled.
“Your turn.”
“Ok,” Tim said. “It’s red.”
“Red?” said John with mock confusion. The only thing in the yard that was red was the terminal patients’ jumpsuits, and there had to be twenty different people wearing red just within eyesight. “You gotta give me something to work with besides red.”
Tim chuckled. “Ok. Umm, p-purple.”
John scanned the yard. There wasn’t anything purple in sight. “Are you sure you mean purple?”
Tim frowned and scratched his head. “Ummm…” he said looking around. Finally, he pointed to John’s hair.
“Brown?” John asked. “Do you mean brown?”
“Yeah,” Tim replied, clapping his hands. “Red and brown.”
“Red and brown. That doesn’t narrow it down much. Is it that guy over there?” John asked, pointing through the fence to a terminal patient with brown hair.
“No,” Tim giggled.
“Is it him?” John asked again, pointing to a different man with brown hair and wearing a red jumpsuit.
Tim giggled louder. “No,” he squeaked.
“I don’t know what it could be, Tim. You’re too good at this game.”
“It’s me!” Tim said, throwing his arms up in the air.
“Oh, I should have known.”
They played two more rounds, but Buck still wasn’t there. John kept one eye on the asylum entrance, expecting him to show up at any minute, but as the minutes ticked by, he began to suspect something was wrong. He considered going to look for Buck, but that would mean leaving Tim alone again and John didn’t much like the idea of that either.
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