Marigold

by Heather Mitchell Manheim

  September 16, 2056 –

  Preparing to Depart

  Davis had gone back to her room after her conversation with Namaguchi and stayed awake a long time, thinking things over and trying to make sense of something, anything. She thought about when she got out of there; she would be expected to marry President Everett. The publicity of it was too good to pass up. She didn’t want to inflate herself up with self-importance, but it made sense. She worked at the Everett Center and was always at every significant presidential event. Yes, President Everett kept her at a distance, but that made sense, knowing he wanted to keep Ruby a secret. It also explained to Davis why she had never had any Inquiries of Interest; she has always wondered. Davis was of a somewhat high position, not unattractive yet, well past her prime age to get married. And then there was Brookshire. Davis had always believed they would get married. That was not in her imagination. They had been fast friends, but they developed a love and affection for each other after some time passed. They had conversations about their love, so Davis knew it wasn’t one-sided. Brookshire never told her that he was leaving. Just one day—the day after he held her hand at the Courting Dance—he was gone. No notice. No notes. No explanations. She had always felt like maybe she had said or done something wrong. Now she just knew she was a claimed property.

  A little after 3 a.m., the nightmare Davis had become accustomed to awoke her. She was startled out of deep sleep and sat straight up in bed, swatting at the ghastly hands that still seemed to reach out to her, even though her eyes were now open. The phantom hands quickly dispersed, but she was now wide awake, her heart thumping in her chest. Davis got up to turn on the light and collect her thoughts. When she lay back down, she picked up The Great Gatsby to continue reading. Reading had always provided such a source of calm and peace for her. But now, she couldn’t focus on the words. Her mind kept going to her inevitable marriage to President Everett, in reality, also her stepdad. She had to cope with the fact her mom was alive and married to the man Ringo and Namaguchi now expected her to marry. The whole thing made her sick, both physically and mentally. Eventually, complete exhaustion overtook her, and she fell back asleep; the book slipped to the floor, and the bright lights of the room shone down her.

  When Davis awoke, she realized it was a little past lunchtime. After cleaning up, she went to the kitchen to find some food. Quinn and Ana were in there, cleaning up after the lunch they had served. Right away, Quinn went up to Davis and hugged her and saw that she had startled and surprised her with the affection. “I’m sorry, Davis. I’ve just been worried about you. I know you’ve been through a lot lately.”

  Davis didn’t respond. She felt she might cry if she did, so Davis just gave Quinn a small smile and nod, hoping that would convey that all was good between her and Quinn. She decided to change the subject so that she could speak, if not about feelings, something else, at least. “Where are the kids at?”

  “They’re in school. Ringo and Josie are teaching them a music lesson.”

  “Oh, so do you guys need any help in here?”

  Ana responded, “No, thank you. Can we get you something?”

  “You know what? I’m starving! So, yes, I’d love something. But don’t worry about it. I’ll get it and clean up after myself.”

  Ana nodded and said if she needed anything else to let her know. When Davis replied she did not, Ana and Quinn continued cleaning while Davis prepared herself a snack. It made for an awkward silence. Davis, feeling very self-conscious about it, tried to hurry and finish up so she could get out of there. As that was going unsuccessfully, she quickly made up a lunch tray to take back to her room. Quinn expressed that she hoped that Davis would join them for dinner, but no pressure, of course.

  ~

  Davis had every intention of joining them for dinner. However, on the way back to her room, Ringo stopped her. He told her that they had arranged to transport her back to the city the next morning, and they should perhaps go over a story for Davis to protect her best when she got back into the fold of things.

  After Davis and Ringo had a conversation, they decided Audrey would drop Davis off near one of their revolving stops early in the morning and that she would be hooded. It was best for a Security Guard to find her that way and with her hands tied. Ringo assured her that he would fasten it lightly and regret it, but that he wanted her story believable. Davis had to sell the tale they kidnapped her but did not know why nor did she understand why she had been suddenly let go. Perhaps she could at some point surmise that people had taken her in a stance against the government, but they were uneducated fools, not knowing what to do with her once they had her, and she became too much trouble. Davis had to keep it vague and slim on details. Sooner than later, she would have a medical exam. It would prove they did not assault her in any way, and she would receive her Marigold Injection. Ringo told her that while the brain control chemical wouldn’t be effective right away, it would only take a few injections until Davis was up to government requirements again. He also let her know that the transition back to the chemicals would not be nearly so difficult, and she shouldn’t be sick or too ill, at least. He said there might be some confusion, dizziness, and general feelings of not being well. But, not a violent illness like before. He assured Davis she shouldn’t worry about being scanned by a drone or any slips of the tongue. Those things could be explained as things she overheard, and perhaps, she had been a little brainwashed by her kidnappers, had a case of Stockholm syndrome, as it were. The government wouldn’t expect she’d be entirely in her right mind after such an ordeal. All Davis had to do was keep saying how much she loved President Everett, and eventually, that would be the truth for her again.

  Ringo then went onto a more sensitive subject. He parroted what Namaguchi had explained earlier. It would be too tempting for President Everett not to marry Davis. Davis needed to accept before she went back that she would be marrying the President, who was also her stepfather, and the reason her mother was vacant from her life. Davis couldn’t help thinking that Ringo delivered this information almost a bit sternly. Not that anything Ringo said could be described as “stern.” However, it was almost like he was trying to subconsciously implant the thought of Is this REALLY what you’re going to do…marry THAT charlatan?

  Davis thanked Ringo and then walked back to her room to finally eat her lunch. It was then she realized, though, her appetite was gone. Davis also realized she couldn’t go to dinner with these people who had been nice to her and expect everything to feel ordinary. No use in getting any closer to them, Davis thought. It was easier to stay in her room until it was time to leave the next morning to go back to the city and her old life.

  September 16, 2056 –

  Davis’s Evening

  Davis had every intention of not leaving her room again that night. But then, she got hungry. Very hungry. She ate everything she had brought in earlier on the lunch tray but was still ravenous. She looked at the clock and saw it was just after 10 p.m. and realized everybody should be asleep or at least in their rooms. After tonight, she also realized it would be nutrition biscuits for the rest of her life, so why not enjoy one more salad, she thought.

  After Davis left her room and made her way to the kitchen, she figured she would clean up her lunch items quickly and then make another quick tray to take back to her room for the rest of the evening and a quick breakfast tomorrow. But Davis was surprised to see Quinn in the kitchen, eating. It was too late for her to turn around because Quinn saw her, also. But Quinn’s bluntness shocked Davis. “Have you ever had wine?” asked Quinn with a smile. “I think you need a drink.”

  Alcohol was outlawed. What could Quinn be talking about? Davis thought. Quinn explained it was not seriously prohibited, only denied to “common folks.” She told Davis that the upper echelon could get anything they wanted. It may take some phone calls, some money exchanging hands—and since money was only held by the governmental e
lite anymore, they were the only ones that got wine or other “forbidden” goods. There were ways in which the top folks had access to things—there were ways. Namaguchi was a lead person, and he had got the wine for his wedding to Ana and kept the leftover bottles. When he started coming to the bunker, he brought the bottles, too. Quinn said he did not care if others drank them; there were plenty, and they were there for whoever wanted them. “I’ll pour you some Riesling to try. It is very appealing. Almost everyone likes it.”

  Davis watched as Quinn pulled out a glass and poured in a golden-hued elixir. Davis took a sip of the cool, syrupy liquid. She flinched at first, jerked her head back, and squinted like she had no idea what was coming because she hadn’t. But, after a second, she took another sip. Something was intriguing about it to her, something fascinating and inviting that Davis had never had before. It felt like it was warming her up from the inside out. She took another sip.

  Before Davis knew it, they had moved to the dining table in the other room, and about an hour had passed. Davis too quickly had drunk two glasses of this wine, and now, Quinn was pouring her another. They were giggling; Davis, who had never really had any friends, felt a certain kinship with this young girl. Davis started to fight back the tears. She did not know what would make her cry, but she felt very emotional and worked up suddenly. “You know, um, you know…you are very nice, you know. What a nice young girl, you girl.” Davis had meant the words to come out smoothly and be a nice compliment, but they seemed slurred and messed up. She wasn’t even entirely sure where she had messed up the words but knew they were not right after saying them. Davis crossed her eyes, her face showing her confusion over her words.

  Quinn looked surprised at first, and Davis felt sheepish and silly, glowing hot in the cheeks and wishing she hadn’t said it. Davis started to apologize when Quinn, giggling, said, “That’s very nice! By the way, when was the last time you ate? I think you may need some food in your stomach. Especially since you’ve never drunk alcohol before!”

  “Um…luuuunch? Or…um, yes, I ate last at lunch!”

  “Okay, I’m going to get some food; you wait here,” said Quinn, giggling like crazy.

  When Quinn came back, Cricket was next to her. “Hey-o!!!” Cricket gave a wave and called out to Davis before sitting down next to Quinn. Cricket explained she had been bored over in her bunker and was wandering about, exploring when she thought she’d pop over here and see if anyone else was still up. Quinn had mentioned the wine, and it didn’t take Cricket a second of thought to agree. Before she knew it, Davis was drinking with two new friends—if you could call them friends. Davis had never really had any real girlfriends but assumed this was what it felt like as they were laughing, chatting, and giggling. What an odd sensation, Davis thought; she had always wondered how it would feel to have girlfriends. To sit, talk about something or nothing even. To connect and feel love and be loved, just for who you are, not doing anything specific. As Davis was pondering, Ana walked in. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “NO!” said Quinn, and Davis noticed her cheeks blushed hotly. Quinn slid down the bench more, creating a space between her and Cricket and created a place for Ana to sit down. “I was just hanging out with the ladies. Having some wine and snacks.”

  “Oh, I came by your room to ask you something and was startled to see you were not there with it being so late,” said Ana blushing. “I would love to join you guys if that’s okay?”

  Quinn was then pouring wine into a fourth glass, and before she knew it, Davis was drinking with three new friends. If this is what friends are, that nagging thought in the back of her head that she wasn’t entirely sure persisted. Davis decided to test the water to see if this was indeed friendship and was glad that she had started slowing down drinking wine and was drinking more water. Davis had also been nibbling on the veggies and bread Quinn had put out. Davis assumed it was because of this she was feeling a bit more stable and less dizzy and silly. “So,” she said, sounding sleepy, “Something has been bothering me, and I know my words are failing me a bit tonight, but I think I need you to know. Yes. I think.”

  “You can tell us whatever you want,” Quinn replied kindly and delicately.

  “I just need a few moments to compose my thoughts.”

  Davis took a good drink of water and popped a few nuts in her mouth. She was trying to think but also calm herself down as much as she could before speaking. Davis was aware that everyone was trying hard not to stare at her, making small looks and saying the occasional word to each other. As Davis continued to relax around everyone, she reached into a bowl on the table—Quinn called them chips, said they were sliced-thin potatoes and baked crisp. Davis found those were quite tasty. As eating and drinking water had made her feel better, eventually, she discovered she had kept doing it mindlessly. Finally, Davis realized that she had paused for a ridiculously long time before telling her story, so she started, “Well, um, this is difficult. But I have these nightmares. Um, scary stuff. A boy, reaching out, screaming from the dark. To me.”

  “Well, we all have bad dreams sometimes, as unsettling as it can be, everything is all right,” offered Cricket helpfully. She also reached across the table and patted Davis’s hand, which struck Davis oddly. The move felt motherly, and Cricket was anything but motherly.

  “Yeah, I guess. But, hmmm, what to say. Well, the thing is, I know where the nightmare came from, and I’m responsible for it.”

  “What do you mean, ‘responsible’?” asked Quinn.

  “Well, I work at the Everett Center. And one day, they asked me to, I’m not sure what the right word is. Eh, to do something outside my regular job. Everyone else was busy, so they had me take a young boy; he was maybe eleven. He was terrified. I recall that. And then, you know?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean. Can you tell us what you did with the boy or why he was so scared,” Quinn asked, confusion knitted in her brow.

  “Yes, I think. Wait, let me think.” Here Davis paused for another long time, taking sips of water and looking as if she was trying to collect her thoughts. “Well, huh. I think they told me he was a transfer of some kind. I don’t remember the whole story. Just remember the terror on his face. And at the time, I felt it was wrong. But it was, honestly, like something was controlling my moves, propelling me forward. For years in my dreams, it’s haunted me. I think deep down, I knew something wasn’t right. But, I did it anyhow. I took him down a long hallway, him crying and screaming the whole time. Being with me must have been better than what he expected to happen next because after I handed him over, he grabbed onto me. He didn’t want to let go. But I forced him off. He kept grabbing for me, and I wasn’t even brave enough to watch them drag him off. I just turned and walked away. Now, I get here and know they may have eliminated him.” Davis gulped down a large breath of air and felt as if she was choking back tears. “It makes me sick. I knew…knew something was wrong and didn’t do anything.” Tears flooded Davis’s eyes and poured down her cheeks. Her face got hot and sweaty, and she put her head down on her arm, noticing once again she had gripped her fingers into her palm so deep that blood was flowing from four crescent-shaped marks in her palm.

  Quinn got up and sat next to Davis, lightly rubbing her back. “Davis, it’s okay,” she cooed.

  “It isn’t.”

  “It is. Really. We’ve all done things that haven’t made us proud. Whether it was because of the mind control drug or just trying to survive in that crazy world, we’ve all made mistakes and performed with less than heroic behavior.”

  “And, if he was that young, and it was at the Everett Center, he likely went to reprogramming, not elimination,” offered Ana in a light, delicate voice that indicated she was trying to be helpful.

  “But,” said Davis, “I knew it was wrong. Yes, I felt an almost persistent urge to do as they told me, and honestly, I’m not sure how I could have helped him anyhow. But I wanted to.
Deep down, I wanted to, but I did nothing.” Davis was now sobbing uncontrollably. She was also feeling self-conscious as she had shared more than she originally meant to.

  “Crying and talking will help,” chirped in Cricket. “I’m a champion crier! It helps to process things, and I’m glad you trusted us enough to tell us. I know it isn’t easy, but try not to blame yourself. As you said, you were not in a position to help, and you didn’t issue the order yourself to take the boy into custody.”

  Davis started to calm down a little, comforted by the ladies and having fatigued herself from such heavy crying. Then the tears suddenly started anew. “But I wasn’t brave, and now, once again, I’m not brave enough to help you guys.”

  Quinn immediately and enthusiastically replied, “Oh, that’s not a sign of being brave or not! We brought you here under our wishes; you had nothing to do with that. We gave you tons of overwhelming information, and you had to make the best decision for yourself. Nobody blames you for anything or has a second of thought that you are not brave.”

  “You know,” added Ana, “You have been through so much lately. Try not to be hard on yourself. You’re punishing yourself for things you can’t control. The nightmares—you’re punishing yourself even while you sleep! Oh, Davis! Thinking you’re not brave, that’s you punishing yourself for what? Thinking we might not like you anymore? Might be disappointed in you? I can assure you that’s not the case. Not that I blame you for anything; none of us do. So please don’t think that, but maybe tonight before you go to bed, just ask forgiveness from the boy. Pray if you do. Ask God and the boy to forgive you, then permit yourself to forgive yourself. Try to believe the best outcome possible happened to him. You are assuming he met a terrible fate. It’s just as likely he’s okay. Perhaps he was reprogrammed and is living a happy life, just as you did in the Pods. Or, perhaps he was rescued and is living in a supportive bunker. It’s not necessarily bad.” Here, Ana paused for a good beat. Tears were swelling up in her own eyes. “You know, I had to forgive myself for something terrible too. So, I do know what it feels like.”