Her father exhaled and looked down at Morgan with the same expression he had worn when she was four and broke Evangeline’s favorite vase. The kind of look only a disappointed father could give. The kind that made her want to shrink into nothingness. “Well, at least we can put all this behind us now,” he said.
“I appreciate you coming here, Father, but I don’t want to leave. I like it here, I’m closer to John, and I know you don’t approve or understand, but I’m going to keep trying to help Katherine.”
“This is exactly the kind of self-destructive behavior I’m talking about, Morgan,” he said, seeming to grow in stature as his frustration increased. “You are going down a dangerous path and I can’t keep standing by while you ruin your life and drag our family down with you.”
“What exactly is your problem with Katherine?” Morgan asked. “Is it that she’s not from the right part of Northridge? That she’s a woman? That she dumped Charles? Or that she had the audacity to love him in the first place?”
Her father was pacing the floor now and Morgan tried not to wince as each heavy footstep shook the apartment. “The world is full of people like her,” he said, “people who use love and marriage as tools to advance their position in life. She never had any genuine feelings for Charles, or Henry for that matter, she just wanted their last name.”
“I don’t believe that’s true.”
“She moved on to Henry Bell quickly enough, didn’t she?” he said, slamming his cane into the floor. “People like her are all alike, they prey on the decency of good people, using them as a stepping stool to get to bigger and better things. They will always be that way, people like Katherine—”
“And John?” Morgan said, finishing his thought. “You honestly think the only reason John would want to be with me is to get a leg up?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Her father sat at the edge of the bed next to Morgan and gently took both of her hands in his. “I just want you to make sure you’re not being used. After all, strapping himself to you may be the only way he can stay afloat after all of this is done. Just make sure he doesn’t end up dragging you down with him.”
“No one is trying to drag anyone down,” Morgan said, fervently searching her father’s eyes, her own begging him to understand. “I’m just trying to do the right thing.”
“There’s a time and a place for heroics, Morgan, but this is not it.”
“But—” Morgan began to argue.
“I am your father!’ he shouted, tightening his grip painfully around her hands. Morgan sat silent, too stunned to speak or pull away. “And I am telling you to stop all of this. You will leave the Bells alone. You will halt all contact with Katherine. And you will forget about John Hunter. It is time to end this childishness and come home.” He threw Morgan’s hands down, her finger’s throbbing where he had gripped them. He stood and stomped towards the door. “Pack your things,” he said as he reached for the door handle, “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
“No,” said Morgan.
He froze. Taking his hand off the door handle, he turned around slowly. “What did you say?”
“I’m not going with you, Father,” she said again, more firmly this time.
“If this is still about John Hunter—”
Frustration boiled in her stomach. She was so tired of all the secrets.
“I married him,” Morgan said, her voice shaking.
He stopped. “What did you say?”
Morgan gulped. It was too late to turn back now. “Over a year ago. John and I eloped.”
“You stupid girl,” he roared, slamming the side of his fist against the wall. He gritted his teeth together so tightly that every muscle in his neck and jaw protruded, and he sucked the air between his teeth, hissing with each trembling breath. “We can still fix this,” he said, his jaw relaxing just enough to speak. “If you testify that the marriage was never consummated, no one will question you. We can easily have it annulled. No one ever has to know.”
“No,” Morgan said, shaking her head. “I’m not leaving John.”
“Yes, you are,” he reiterated as he straightened his jacket and rested both hands on top of his cane. “I’ll make a few house calls, see if any of the Council members are available to meet with us in the morning so we can get the annulment process started. In a couple of months, we’ll find someone suitable for you to marry. Someone who can provide for you, someone respectable that we can all live with.”
“That’s just it, Father. I don’t want someone I can live with. I want someone I can’t live without.”
“And what, John is someone you can’t live without?” Her father scoffed.
“Yes,” Morgan said, her resolve stronger than ever.
His stare turned cold. “Then you had better start preparing yourself for reality because that’s exactly what you’re going to have to do.”
“Why? Just because he’s in the terminal ward?”
“Don’t you understand what that means? John has been given a life sentence, Morgan. He will never be released, and you will never see him again. You are clinging to a relationship that has no future. You can’t save John. It’s time to cut the cord and move on.”
“Are you even listening to me?” Morgan shouted. “I’m not getting an annulment!”
“Are you listening to yourself?” he shouted back. “You sound like an idiotic, love-struck teenager. I’m trying to help you.”
“I don’t need your help. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“Then explain it to me Morgan, because none of this makes any sense.”
Morgan paused, and for the briefest of moments, she considered telling him the rest of the story; about how she was the one responsible for John being moved to the terminal ward, about the knifer, the medicine woman, the baby, everything. As soon as the thought entered her head though, she rejected it. She remained silent.
“Fine,” he finally said. “But until you give up this hopeless crusade, you are not welcome in my house. You are no longer my daughter.”
“Are you disowning me?” she scoffed, half expecting it all to be some elaborate joke, but her father’s face remained resolute, confirming this was indeed an ultimatum.
“Fine,” she said. “If that’s the way it has to be, then I am no longer your daughter.”
Without looking back, her father threw open the door and stomped away, his heavy footsteps fading down the hall.
Katherine and Charles still stood outside, and from their expressions, it was clear they had heard the entire conversation from the hall.
“Are you all right?” Charles asked.
Morgan stood in silence and softly shook her head, fighting to hold in the hot tears stinging her eyes.
“What do we do now?” asked Katherine.
“What can we do?” Charles said. “Our entire plan hinged on the idea that Dad could get us the file. If we don’t have him helping us, then we have nothing.”
“New plan,” Morgan said, forcing those final words with her father out of her mind. “We’re going back to the old plan. We’re going to find a way into Loughlin Laboratories ourselves.”
Charles’s mouth hung open. “You can’t be serious,” he said. “If they catch us, they’ll—”
“They’ll what?” Morgan shouted, her voice shaking with anger. “Arrest me? Tear me away from my family? Keep me from seeing my husband? What more can they do to me? What more can they do to her?” She pointed to Katherine. Charles and Katherine were both staring at Morgan now, their expressions a mixture of surprise, concern, and sympathy.
Taking a deep breath to calm herself down, Morgan continued. “I know this is risky, and normally I would never ask either of you to do anything that could put you in danger, but you both know something isn’t right here, and I can’t shake the feeling that Henry Bell’s Genetic Fitness Evaluation could give us the answers we’re looking for.”
“I’m with Morgan,” said
Katherine.
“Not you too,” Charles scoffed.
“Please, Charles,” Katherine said.
Charles stopped, his expression softening.
“Are you still with us?” Morgan asked. Her stomach still twisted as her father’s last words echoed in her head. She had already lost so much in the last few minutes. She wasn’t sure what she would do if she had to move forward without Charles too.
Charles looked to Katherine and the two held each other’s gaze for a moment, his shoulders relaxing as she sent him a discreet smile. “Of course I am,” he conceded. “So what’s the plan? How are we going to get into Loughlin Laboratories?”
Morgan smiled. “Easy. Our name is written on the outside of the building.”
I used to think Haven was at the height of civilization and that all of our efforts were with the sole purpose of making our city better. I see now, though, Haven is not at the height of anything. We’re all so desperate to recover from the plague that we’ve convinced ourselves we already have, but our so-called scientific leaps have been nothing more than desperate retrieval attempts. We read books we don’t fully understand and repair machines we can never operate. And for what? To build a ramshackle society on half-theories and faded memories?
-Excerpt from Theodore’s journal
The mess hall seemed different now. Of course, that was impossible, the room was the same as it had always been, but from the terminal side, it seemed different to John. Transformed from a simple room to something more sinister.
John chose a spot at a remote table, away from the rest of the patients and sat down. Buck and Tim were still in line so, for now, John sat alone. Most of the other terminal patients had already sat down to eat, talking and laughing with a small fight breaking out now and again, but always ending as quickly as it had started. Few seemed to notice John, the fresh piece of meat that had wandered into their midst.
The temp patients lined up, waiting for their breakfast. Amos was near the front of the line, only feet away from John’s table. Had Amos noticed he never came back to the room last night? Maybe he had heard the keepers had come for him and assumed John was on his way home.
Amos must have sensed someone was staring, because he turned, and the two made eye contact for a second before Amos looked away. Then, doing a double-take, he turned back to John, his mouth gaping. He scanned John head to toe, a look of confusion on his face as he took in the red uniform as if he was trying to figure out if there had been some kind of mistake. John smiled and waved, but Amos immediately turned away and half walked, half ran out of the line and back to his table. He whispered frantically to the other men seated and they all turned in unison and stared at John, each wearing the same dumbfounded expression.
John looked down at his plate, pretending not to notice, but he could still feel their gazes burning through him.
For the first time since he had been arrested, John felt afraid. Laurence and Skinner sat at the table next to him. They had must have kissed and made up and were now surrounded by what John could only assume was their gang—more men since the last time he had seen them.
John kept his head down, hoping to make it through breakfast unnoticed. His reprieve would only be temporary. There was no way he could avoid Laurence and Skinner for nine months.
He ached for home. He even missed the Loughlins and their mansion on the hill full of life and food and laughter—real, heartfelt laughter. Not the mocking, threatening kind that made him sick to his stomach. He could picture Dr. Loughlin at the head of the table, lecturing everyone on one topic or another until Charles interrupted with some joke, slapping John’s back in camaraderie.
And Morgan. He could picture her most vividly of all.
“Look who’s here, the Hunter himself.” Laurence towered over John, an ugly sneer across his face. “What happened, Johnny? I thought you were just ‘passing through.’”
“Decided to stay for the food,” John replied.
Laurence laughed. “You’re funny, Johnny.” He sat next to John and lowered his voice. “I was thinking about our poor friend from the other day. You remember him. He ruffed up your little retard friend.”
“I remember,” John said, not looking up from his plate.
“Funny, huh? How he beat that poor little retard completely unprovoked.”
So that’s why Laurence was here, to find out exactly what John knew and, more importantly, if he was going to keep it to himself.
“I’m not looking for any trouble,” John replied, knowing full well he would probably get trouble whether he was looking for it or not.
“I know, I know,” Laurence said and reached across the table and grabbed John’s bandaged arm. Holding it up, he began to squeeze, digging his fingernails into John’s fresh wound. John winced in pain. “I don’t know how,” Laurence said, whispering now, “but I think you know more than you’re letting on, and I just want to make it clear that whatever it is you think you have on me, you need to keep it to yourself.”
As the pain spread up John’s arm, his chest tightened and burned as anger swelled in his stomach.
John suddenly imagined how Laurence’s expression would change if he were to reach around with his other arm and slam his ugly face into the table. It would be easy enough, and Laurence would never see it coming. John pictured blood covering Laurence’s smug smile, and the image amused him. It amused him so much that John was shocked at himself. Revolted even. He refused to find joy in someone else’s pain. He refused to be like them. If letting Laurence think he was in control was the price of keeping the peace, that was fine. Head down, eyes down. With that resolution, John’s anger began to dissipate just as quickly as it had built.
“Let go of me, Laurence,” John said calmly, but Laurence only dug his fingers deeper into John’s arm, and although Laurence’s grip didn’t falter, his expression began to change. His arrogant smile diminished somewhat and the lines around his eyes softened as the confidence they once radiated was replaced by uncertainty. Perhaps John was powerless to fight the keepers, but this was just a man sitting in front of him. A weak, pathetic, solitary man.
Buck and Tim stepped up to the table, food in hand. “Is everything all right here?” Buck asked.
Surprised by the interruption, Laurence let go of John’s arm and sneered at Tim, his nose turned up in disgust as if he had smelled something foul. The poetry of the whole situation amused John immensely. Of course someone like Laurence would hate Tim. Tim was too innocent to be tolerated here.
If Tim noticed Laurence, he didn’t show it as he gently patted John’s bandaged arm. Blood was beginning to soak through the dressing and bright red spots were now visible where Laurence’s fingers had dug into John’s arm.
“Oh, no,” Tim exclaimed, analyzing John’s arm. “He has owies again.”
Laurence snickered, apparently amused, but Tim continued to examine John’s bandage, oblivious to Laurence’s contempt for him. John wished he could shut Laurence out too, enjoy this sweet moment for its simplicity, but John feared that doing so would prove dangerous.
Buck looked from Laurence to John.
“Are you all right?” Buck asked again, and John got the impression he was asking more about Laurence than his injury.
“Yeah,” Tim said, answering for John, still stroking his bandaged arm. “H-he’ll be all right.”
Turning to Laurence for the first time, Buck said, “What can I do for you, Laurence?”
“I’m just here to welcome John to the terminal ward and remind him that we have certain rules here,” Laurence said. Turning back to John, he continued, “You are under our jurisdiction now.”
“You mean Skinner’s jurisdiction,” Buck interrupted.
Laurence shot Buck a menacing glare as if daring him to interrupt again. “Of course,” he said calmly. “You are under Skinner’s jurisdiction now, and while that grants you a certain amount of protection, it also requires you obey to certain rules.”
“I have n
o intention of causing any trouble,” John said sincerely, making direct eye contact with Laurence. “I just want to serve my time and go about my business.”
“That’s the thing with serving time in the terminal ward, though,” Laurence replied. “Your time means your entire life. And I think we would all agree that it would make both our lives much easier—and longer—if we all got along.”
“I understand,” John said. And he did understand. He understood Laurence’s transparent threats masked as a friendly hand. He understood Laurence had an agenda, and he would have no qualms with eliminating John if he got in the way.
“Well, that’s just peachy.” Laurence rose from the table. “I hope to see you again soon, Johnny. We still have a lot to discuss.” He walked away.
“He’s not n-nice,” Tim said once Laurence was back at his table with Skinner and the rest of his mindless thugs.
“You’re right, he’s not,” replied John.
Buck sat down where Laurence had been. “What was that all about?”
“Who knows,” John lied, but the look on Buck’s face told John he was unconvinced.
Checking to make sure no one was watching them, John quietly told Buck about the night he had overheard Laurence plotting with the man who attacked Tim.
“What do you think it means?” John asked.
“I think it means it’s none of our business.” Buck took a bite of his breakfast.
John started, his eyebrows knitting together. “How is it not our business?” he asked. “If Laurence is trying to hurt Tim, I definitely think that’s our business. Especially since he’s trying to do it behind Skinner’s back.”
“Laurence would never try anything that stupid.”
“But he already did try,” John argued.
“Yes, and he failed,” Buck said. “He would have to be mad to try again, what with Skinner watching him so closely now. Everyone knows Skinner is a paranoid madman. He interprets even the slightest act of insubordination as an all-out grab for power.”
“Maybe that’s exactly what he’s doing. Maybe Laurence is tired of being second-in-command.”
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