Docile

by K. M. Szpara

  “We met in January of this year, at the Office of Debt Resolution. I’d set up an interview with him.”

  “How did you come across him?”

  “I reviewed the debtor database.”

  “Did you specially select all the debtors you saw that day or were some selected for you?”

  “Objection,” Reginald says, without looking up. “You can answer.”

  He told me they might object, for the record, but it still throws me. Why am I giving information that could be used against me? “Most of the debtors were selected for me. When I arrived, I met with Charlene—”

  “Can you tell us who she is? In fact, please assume we don’t know who anyone is.”

  I look between Reginald and Gabriela, the latter of whom nods. “Charlene Williams works at the ODR—the Office of Debt Resolution,” I add. For the record. “She was assigned as my Patron Liaison, to curate a selection based on my data. Dozens of debtors register, every day. There’s no way someone like me has time to look through everyone. What if I missed the perfect match?”

  “So, Elisha was on this curated list that Charlene gave you, when you arrived?”

  “No,” I say, with a hint of surprise in my voice, as if I’m realizing the answer, for the first time. “She’d used information from my father and the Bishop Labs Board. Her selections didn’t suit me.”

  “Then, how did you end up arranging an interview with him?”

  I remember, now, charming Charlene. Not that I conned her; she knew that by helping me she’d gain my favor and possible advancement. She was ambitious. We both were. I tell Verónica how she showed me the larger database, how I picked Elisha’s profile.

  “Given the events you just described, would you say Elisha ‘targeted’ you?”

  I hear Reginald’s deep, gruff voice, from beside me, again. “Objection. Phrasing.”

  “Okay.” Vasquez clasps her hands in front of her and leans on the table.

  I know what she was trying to ask, and she’s right. Elisha didn’t target me. I targeted him. I knew what I wanted. I’m used to getting it.

  “Did Elisha have a similar chance to review profiles and select those he wanted to meet?”

  “I assume so.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I’ve never participated in the ODR as a debtor, but I know they’re supposed to be able to pick who they meet. I assume because I can’t speak for him. I don’t know what he did that morning, before I interviewed him.”

  “But you would say that you went out of your way to find Elisha’s profile, correct?”

  “Yes.” I do my best to remain expressionless. Inside, I’m rooting for Verónica Vasquez.

  “Thank you. Now, Elisha refused Dociline. That’s an undisputed fact.” I nod. “How did that make you feel?”

  “I was shocked. I don’t know if that answers your question.”

  “There’s no wrong answer,” Vasquez says. “Is that everything, or…”

  “No. I was nervous.” Gabriela told me to emphasize how surprised I was, how I struggled to adjust to living with an off-med. I’m so used to portraying confidence, despite the truth, that being vulnerable actually feels good. “There was a lot of pressure on me to perform. To show the Board and my father—the whole world, really—that I could handle a Docile, with or without Dociline.”

  “How did you respond to those nerves?”

  I shrug. “I formed a plan.”

  Verónica leans forward, smiling hungrily, like a predator ready to pounce. “What kind of plan?”

  I feel the defensiveness creeping up inside me. I know where she’s going with this, and I don’t want to let her paint me as a creep. I made a plan because I needed one.

  “‘Plan’ may be an exaggeration. I came up with a set of rules, to help us function together. You have to understand that Elisha was a stranger to me, at the time.”

  I glance at him when I say his name. He quickly looks down at the table. Why won’t he look at me? Did I hurt him that much? Has Empower Maryland already turned him against me?

  I think he’ll be better when he hates you. Because he should.

  “Alex?” Vasquez says, angling for my eyes.

  “Sorry.” I don’t look at my attorneys. Don’t want to see their disappointment at my hesitation. They’re probably noting it, to share with my dad, later.

  “You were explaining your rules, and how Elisha was a stranger—”

  “Right. I came up with a set of rules. You wouldn’t let a stranger live in your house without establishing basic ground rules. People do that with roommates—and you’re supposed to trust them. I didn’t know or trust Elisha, yet, so the rules were strict, but not out of line with the behavior of my friends’ Dociles.”

  “So, how many rules would you say you came up with?”

  “Probably half a dozen. I’m not sure how many.” Elisha would know the exact number. I resist asking him—and looking at him. “I created rules over time, as I needed them. Things like, don’t bite your nails. Stuff you don’t think of until you’re at the Governor’s charity event and your Docile is standing beside you, chewing on his fingers. It’s unsightly,” I say, and hate myself for meaning it. For feeling the urge to correct him, still.

  “Did you feel in control of the situation?”

  “Sometimes,” I admit. I’ve never shared my anxieties about training Elisha with anyone other than Jess. I couldn’t, even though I doubted myself. I know my lack of confidence will play well into Dad’s narrative of what happened, and it’s the truth, so I say, “Less so, in the beginning. Honestly, I had no idea what I was doing, and was under severe pressure to act as if I did. The Board”—I don’t say “Dad”—“threatened to remove me as CEO of Bishop Labs if I proved incapable of handling a personal Docile.”

  “Did you continue to feel like that? Like you had no idea what you were doing?”

  “It would surface, every now and then. I am human.” I smile for effect. “It got easier the more I got to know Elisha. His habits, interests, tendencies. Once I came to trust him. The better I got to know him, the easier it was for me to—” Control him. That’s the answer, but I can’t say it. I’m supposed to be the one who was seduced by Elisha. Dutch said I should go along with it. Elisha must know. He’ll forgive me, if I … Will he? “—live with him.”

  My answer falls flat. Falls short of the truth and yet passes for it. For the first time since this deposition began, I’m afraid to look at him.

  55

  ELISHA

  Verónica had told me, if I wanted to attend Alex’s deposition, I would have to follow the rules. And I did want to attend, because I wanted to see him. Wasn’t sure if I was supposed to admit that to my attorney. I definitely wasn’t supposed to admit how much the promise of rules tempted me. Onyx never gave me rules; he barely gave me mealtimes.

  When I entered the lush conference room at Betts, Griffin & Moore, I felt confident. Recited Verónica’s rules silently to myself.

  Don’t speak unless spoken to—especially not to Alex, his family, or attorneys. Don’t look happy to see him. If you feel like you’re going to cry, cry. Don’t be afraid to take a tissue. Refuse any food or beverages offered to you.

  Since I followed the rules, my mouth is gummy and dry. I spend more time staring at Alex’s glass of water than at Alex, which is probably good. If I look at him—if our eyes meet for more than a second—I’m afraid he’ll see how much I miss him. How much I fucking hurt.

  So, I listen. I don’t look. I listen while Verónica points out that, if anything, Alex targeted me at the ODR, and that Alex was the one who made the rules. Hear Alex admit he was nervous. That he didn’t know what he was doing.

  Alex told me his opinion was the only one that mattered. I always thought that meant he knew everything—he seemed to. I never knew he was under so much pressure.

  “What’s your opinion on Dociline?” Verónica asks.

  Alex shifts. “Can you clarify wha
t you mean?”

  I hold my breath. He shouldn’t have to clarify; he should know. I need him to get this right.

  “Do you think it’s good or bad? Effective, or needs improvement? That it helps or hurts people?”

  “Objection,” says Alex’s attorney. The man. I think he’s Moore, but don’t know because I was told not to speak to him. “This is a fact-gathering deposition with regard to Dr. Bishop’s relationship with Elisha Wilder. We’re not here for his opinions on Dociline.”

  I shrink, but Verónica doesn’t back down. “Dr. Bishop is an expert on Dociline and Elisha not only refused it, but alleges it harmed his mother. Dr. Bishop admits that Elisha’s refusal to take Dociline put him under pressure from his parents to keep Elisha under control. Dociline, and Dr. Bishop’s opinion regarding same, is relevant, and I’d direct your client to answer my question.”

  “Go ahead,” Moore says. “If I think this veers off path, I’m going to file a Motion to Quash.”

  “You do that,” Verónica says. “Dr. Bishop, your opinion?”

  I close my eyes. Beneath the table, I clasp my fingers so tightly the bones ache.

  “I, uh…” He pauses so long I think he might not speak again. “I think it’s a wonderful invention that I’m honored to have participated in developing. It’s changed a lot of lives. Helped a lot of people.”

  His answer rings in my ears, overpowering the sound of Verónica’s voice. The edges of my vision fizzle to gray as I fixate on the wall behind him. That’s what he thinks? After all this time? No, he’s supposed to play along with his attorneys. Please let him be playing along and not mean that. I close my eyes and breathe, like Onyx and I practiced.

  The shuffle of papers brings me back. Verónica’s taking something out of her binder. “I’d like to mark this as Exhibit B.”

  “What is it?” Moore asks, leaning on the table, as if he’s about to leap across it and tackle the papers from her hands.

  “Alex Bishop the Third’s laboratory notes on Formula 3.0. Alex, would you please read that last paragraph onto the record?”

  “Sure.” He takes the photocopy, glossing his eyes over the text before finding his place. “It says: ‘I’m still not happy with version 3.0.7 and would prefer to abandon the attempt, altogether. Every Docile who injected 3.0.7 fell so deep into its thrall that caretakers had to instruct them to perform basic bodily functions. It’s unsafe and, frankly, makes more work for Patrons. 3.0.8 is only mildly better in that the Dociles can survive on their own. They still need to be told to eat and drink, though.”

  “Formula 3.0.8 is the current formula—the one headed for the market—is it not?”

  “I—” I can’t watch Alex grasp for words. I don’t know what I want him to say, whether I want him to have the answer or for him to stumble. To give up. “I honestly can’t answer that question since I’ve been off the project for some time, now.”

  “Would you consider Dociline dangerous?”

  “Objection,” Moore says. “Leading the witness.”

  Verónica continues as if he didn’t interrupt her. “Would you describe the formula you just read about, Formula 3.0.8, as dangerous?”

  Alex looks directly into Verónica’s eyes as if he’s expecting her to give him the answer. “Yes,” he says, slowly. “Any drug that prevents a subject from eating and drinking unaided poses a danger to the person’s health.”

  “And, did you recently visit Elisha’s family?”

  “I did.”

  “Did you meet his mother?”

  “I did.”

  He did? He didn’t tell me that. Then again, I wasn’t well and he was focused on my health and I didn’t think to ask. Haven’t thought to ask since, either. I listen for his assessment over the pounding of my heart.

  “How would you describe her?”

  Moore interrupts again. “For the record, any response my client gives should reflect that the cause of Abigail Wilder’s condition is unknown and has not been attributed to Dociline.” He taps Alex’s shoulder. “You can answer.”

  I risk looking directly into his eyes—letting him see I’m listening. I know I’m not supposed to, and the guilt surges hot through my body as I hold his gaze, but I need to hear this. Need him to tell me more than I need him to tell Verónica.

  “I met her in the garden. She was washing clothes, but not well. Her actions were repetitive, her task never finished. When I spoke to her, she answered almost without context. Like a doll programmed to repeat a handful of phrases. She seemed peaceful,” he says.

  I remember thinking the same. The surge of jealousy that no one minded that my mother still acted like a Docile, but I was expected to come out of it, instantly. Why couldn’t they have let me be?

  My eyes burn with tears. Verónica said to cry, if I needed, but I don’t want to in front of Alex’s attorneys, or her, if I’m honest with myself. I don’t want to cry in front of people I don’t know and can’t trust. Why won’t they let me talk with Alex, alone?

  “What did you say to Abigail when you met her?” Verónica asks.

  If I watch Alex, it’s like the rest of them aren’t here. Like it’s only us.

  “I, uh…” He fiddles with his cuff links. “She wasn’t capable of engaging in a coherent conversation, so I spoke to her family instead, to David and Nora. I offered to help her.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “I like helping people,” Alex says. “That’s always what’s motivated my work on Dociline. Abigail certainly isn’t going to get the treatment she needs, in the county.”

  “Do you have any theories as to what happened to her?”

  In that instant, I watch Alex’s face change. The muscles at the corners of his eyes and mouth relax. “No. I only met her for a few minutes. It would be wildly inappropriate for me to speculate about the cause of her condition.”

  “Would you say she acted similar to an on-med?”

  “There were similarities.” He stiffens. “But that is by no means a diagnosis.”

  “Understood,” Verónica says. “Since meeting Elisha, has your opinion on Dociline changed, at all?”

  I hold my breath.

  “I think there’s still hope for Dociline.”

  Hope. When I blink, Alex blurs—my thoughts blur. He still thinks there’s a good version of Dociline. Dutch told me Alex would have to say things he didn’t believe. How am I supposed to tell if this is one of them? He was always honest with me. I don’t like this version of Alex. Didn’t like it when I was his Docile and he tried to prove how much good it was doing. How innovative he was. I watch his lips move, but can’t process the sound. Close my eyes. Breathe.

  “Thank you,” Verónica says, beside me. “Just one more question and then I’m finished here.” I am glad those are the words I hear next. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. “Do you love Elisha?”

  “No.”

  “Alex?” I say out loud before I can stop myself. Verónica might scold me, but this is important. How can he say— They told him to say that. It’s not real. This is what he’s supposed to say. It’ll be fine. It’ll—

  “You told your own expert that you did love Elisha,” Verónica says, ignoring my outburst.

  “I was mistaken.” Alex looks straight at Verónica, as if I’m not in the room. As if every one of his words isn’t crushing me. “I’ve had time away from Elisha—time to reflect. To realize that, even though I did feel strongly for him, it wasn’t love.”

  I can’t listen to this, anymore. I’m not going to cry in front of these attorneys—in front of Alex. He’ll know I can’t take it. I’m not strong enough, yet. My leather chair glides silently over the carpet as I push away from the table, stand, and leave without looking back. Why would Empower Maryland do this to me? Why would they make me watch?

  56

  ALEX

  When the deposition finally ends, Dad shows up and debriefs with his attorneys. I watch them through the glass wall, hands folded i
n my lap, attempting to look as cool and patient as possible. Well behaved. The chair where Elisha sat is still turned toward the door from when he leapt out of it. I want to sit in it. See if the leather is still warm. If it still feels like him.

  When he finally dismisses Gabriela and Reginald, Dad enters the conference room, alone, walks over to the bar cart, and pours me a whiskey. He didn’t give me good news the last time we drank together, so I’m not expecting any now.

  “You did well, Son.” Dad clinks his glass against mine, sitting untouched on the table, then drinks.

  Did well means I betrayed Elisha. I wonder if I can ask Dutch to tell him I didn’t mean it, the next time he visits. Whenever that is. All I can bring myself to say now is “Thanks.”

  “Your doctors and I think you’re well enough to check out of Ellicott Hart.”

  I lift my eyes to meet Dad’s, feel a smile tugging at my lips. Maybe I’ll be able to tell Elisha myself. “I can go home?”

  Dad looks at his drink while he responds. “Well, I don’t know about home, yet. Your mother and I would like to have you close by. For your safety.”

  “You want me to move back in with you and Mom?” There goes any hope of talking to Elisha. Living with my parents might be worse than Ellicott Hart. I don’t have the energy required to constantly please them.

  “Oh, no.” He throws back the rest of his whiskey, a signal that this conversation is over. “Nothing like that. We discussed some ideas with your doctors and think the lab would be a good place to start—you still have personal quarters there. Correct?”

  “I do.” Behind several layers of security to trace my comings and goings. Eyes on me at all times. The Silo, no matter how luxurious its accommodations, is little better than Ellicott Hart. The only advantage is its location in the city.

  “Good.” He pats my back and stands. “Dutch has agreed to remain your conservator, so he will continue to manage your spending and approve necessary travel. I think it’ll be good for you to have something to focus on, even if we can’t have you working on Dociline. Lots of paperwork to do at the lab!” Dad clicks his tongue and winks at me, then disappears.