by Lisa Henry
“We can ask,” Rory said, his eyes wide with worry. “What’s going on, Tate? What address?”
“Emmy’s address,” he said, bile rising in his throat. “My daughter, Rory. She’s why I came here in the first place. And now she’s missing. Her mom is . . . a junkie. You know, you know what it’s like out there. She’s four.”
Rory paled, and in that second, Tate knew exactly what he was thinking because Tate was thinking it too. All those weeks spent on his knees, smiling for his master, and he’d ignored the most important thing in the world. In the universe.
Let a piece of fucking software in his head tell him that Emmy didn’t matter.
And now she was gone.
e has a daughter.
Aaron didn’t come back into the inquiry. Alexandra, slipping back in just as the panelists took their seats, whispered to Rory and Tate that he was sedated. Tate, jiggling his leg restlessly, didn’t even seem to hear.
He has a daughter.
He has a daughter.
No wonder Tate had punched him in the face. To get back to someone he loved, to someone who depended on him? Rory would have punched a stranger too.
He has a daughter.
Rory was numb with the news, unable to even begin thinking about what had happened before that particular revelation.
He was numb and he was in shock, but he still had a job to do.
“We need to get Tate out of here,” he whispered to Alexandra. “Tell Mr. Mitchell. He’s gotta go home. You had your guys check an address for him?”
Alexandra nodded.
“It was empty.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Alexandra moved to the chair beside Mitchell’s and spoke quietly to him.
Mitchell rose to his feet. “A point of order before we begin again,” he said. “Mr. Patterson has asked for some clarification of his status, and I’m inclined to wonder about it myself. Are my clients still in custody?”
The panelists conferred for a moment, and then the woman in charge spoke. “Given the unusual circumstances in this case, I think that your clients can immediately be released on bail, pending the outcome of this inquiry. There are still the criminal matters outstanding. I’m going to order retrials of all three criminal matters, provided there is enough evidence to pursue them once the inquiry is complete.”
Tate tugged at Rory’s sleeve. “What’s that mean?”
Rory closed his eyes briefly. It meant that he and Aaron were likely to be exonerated. They were innocent. But Tate wasn’t. Justified, but not innocent. “It means you’ll get a proper trial this time.”
Tate shook his head. “No. I gotta go. Am I on bail?”
“You can’t skip bail,” Rory told him. “The border security in this place . . . You’d never make it.”
“Fuck you,” Tate hissed. “I have to go!”
Mitchell was nodding at the panel.
Rory shoved his chair back and stood up. “That’s not acceptable, sorry. Retry me, that’s fine. Any untainted investigation will find there’s no evidence to pursue a criminal case against me, or against Aaron. But what about Tate? We all saw the footage from the station.” He forced a smile. “And let me tell you, he’s got a hell of a right hook.”
“What are you getting at, Mr. James?”
Rory sighed. “I’m getting at the obvious. Tate’s guilty. We all know he’s guilty, but that leaves you in a difficult position. How do you punish a guilty man when your judicial system is in total free fall? And most people out there, once they know the truth, are going to tell you that Tate’s been punished enough.”
“It’s not about punishment,” the woman said. “It’s about rehabilitation. It was never the intention of the people that criminals be hurt.”
“I understand that,” Rory said. “I understand the system is supposed to be enlightened, not barbaric. But that’s the thing with barbarism. It’s human nature, like it or not, and any system designed by humans can be tainted by it. What happened to Tate was barbaric. You may not have intended to hurt anybody, but he was hurt. The damage is done, and I think—no, I know—that you don’t have the ethical standing anymore to pass down judgment on this man.”
The woman bristled. “If Tate was treated cruelly, the fault is not the justice system’s. The fault is yours.”
“True.” Rory’s gut clenched. “And I’m prepared to accept any punishment—sorry, rehabilitation—that you deem fit. But Tate, a guilty man, has more than paid his due, and your system’s chip is what allowed that to happen. Retry me and Aaron. Charge me with whatever you think appropriate for what happened to Tate. But let him free. He deserves that. Your system owes him that.”
“He’s right,” Mitchell put in. “At the current time, Beulah’s legal system doesn’t have a foot to stand on. You can’t possibly still believe we have any right or authority to judge this man.”
The woman frowned and conferred for a moment with the other panelists.
Rory fought the urge to drum his fingers on the table.
What felt like ten hours later, she finally turned to Rory again, adjusting her microphone. “We’re not prepared to make such a ruling at this time, Mr. James, but we see the validity of your argument and are prepared to release Mr. Patterson on a probationary basis until such time as we can arrange a retrial.”
Mitchell leaned down to listen to something Alexandra was saying. He straightened up again, nodding. “Mr. Patterson is also going to need permission to leave Beulah, to attend to urgent family matters.”
The woman was taken aback. “Do you really expect us to believe that Mr. Patterson would return to Beulah for a trial?”
“Given the way he was treated here in the past?” Mitchell shot back. “I wouldn’t blame him at all. But I do believe he’s a man of his word, or at least I believe he deserves the opportunity to prove that he is.”
“Mr. Patterson,” the woman said. “If you were given permission to leave Beulah, would you come back for your trial?”
“Yes,” Tate said.
Rory tried not to let his disbelief show. Of course it was a lie, and everyone here had to know it. Why the hell would Tate come back?
“For my trial,” Tate said, “and for Rory’s.”
My trial. Rory’s gut clenched.
“You and me.” That fierce look on his face, like no expression Rory had ever seen on him before. A dangerous look. A look of unfinished business. “We’re not done.”
Rory’s heart beat a little faster. At first, in the corridor, hope had unfurled in his chest when Tate had kissed him. And hope was the one thing Rory couldn’t trust.
Revenge, then. Rory was certain he could trust revenge.
Tate would come back for a chance to testify against Rory, have him convicted for rape. God. And Rory deserved that, of course. Of course he did. Tate deserved justice, and part of that meant justice against Rory.
Didn’t make it any less scary, though.
Rory had come to Beulah for a new start, for a better life than he could get in the outside world, and what had happened to that? Now he was a rapist. A lower sort of criminal than Tate had ever been.
Rory didn’t see where it had all gone so wrong. It had been gradual, he supposed. The first time he’d suspected there was something off about Tate, he should have stopped. Should have asked questions. Shouldn’t have listened to Tate’s reassurances. Because he’d known something wasn’t right. And even if there had been no chip, even if Tate had been freely asking for those things, Rory had still been his sponsor. But he’d let Lowell convince him that it was okay, and he deserved to be punished for that.
It was easy to hold the moral high ground when there was nothing to tempt him. Easy to draw an imaginary line. But what had happened the first time Rory had ever been tested? His morals and ethics had crumbled into dust. Which meant he’d never been the decent man he’d thought he was. He was just as bad as Lowell, taking what he wanted.
He glanced at Tate quickly. Tate’s jaw was set, and his gaze was fi
xed on the panel.
Someone’s dad. Tate was a little girl’s dad, and because of Lowell and Rory, that little girl was gone now. Whatever else had happened between them, Rory deserved to pay for that. He imagined a child with Tate’s golden skin and dark eyes. With his curls. His daughter would be beautiful. A beautiful little girl who was gone.
An empty address. A junkie mother. Tophet, the outside world, harsh and unforgiving.
If Rory’s heart was aching just to think of it, how the hell was Tate feeling?
Rory sneaked another glance at Tate’s set face. Revenge. Tate would absolutely come back to Beulah for that. Because what did he have left to lose?
“You and me. We’re not done.”
When Tate had kissed him, Rory had thought maybe it was possible to read something else into that intense look on Tate’s face. But the kiss had been . . . been what? Rory didn’t know, and he bet Tate didn’t, either. Tate was angry and confused and fucked up by everything that had happened. Next time Rory saw him, he knew, Tate would know exactly where he stood. And he had a feeling that wherever that place was, it wouldn’t be one where they were kissing.
Rory hadn’t just cost Tate his freedom, and his free will. He’d cost him his daughter.
The woman on the panel conferred with her colleagues for a moment longer, then leaned forward. “Tate Patterson is granted bail, by special order of this tribunal.”
Tate didn’t even smile. He only narrowed his eyes at the panel.
Next time, Rory knew, he’d want his revenge.
Tate didn’t know if he was imagining it or if people were staring. He didn’t know how public things were yet, or maybe people just remembered him from the footage of the last time he’d been at this station, of punching Rory. They’d said, at the time, that it was a big media event. He wondered how big this scandal would be.
At least he wouldn’t be here for it.
“Don’t lose your ticket,” Alexandra told him as they waited for the train. She frowned. “You’ll need it to get back into Beulah when . . . when you’re finished.”
Finished failing to find out what happened to my daughter?
Tate wondered if he’d ever be finished. If he’d ever have a story, or closure, or a trail gone cold, or anything. People in Beulah didn’t really know what it was like outside. Seeing it on news reports wasn’t the same as having to live it. Rory knew, but everyone else seemed to think that he’d actually find out what happened. As though someone would tell him. As though any of the people he and Paula had called friends weren’t completely drug-fucked or drunk or dealing with enough shit of their own that they didn’t care. That’s what happened to people out there. They dropped out of your life and maybe you wondered about them for a bit, and then you didn’t. They became ghosts.
It was the reason he’d come to Beulah in the first place. To get enough money to go somewhere better. Somewhere away from the city, where maybe people still counted for something. Maybe family and neighbors counted. Not that Tate would have fit in anywhere like that, but he’d wanted to try, for Emmy.
“You think I won’t come back?” he asked Alexandra, taking his ticket. “I mean, would you?”
“I don’t know.”
She was honest. He’d give her that.
“I said I would,” Tate said. “To sort things out with Rory, I will.”
Alexandra frowned at him. “What do you mean by that, ‘sort things out’?”
“His trial,” Tate said and shrugged. “Someone’s gotta tell them that he didn’t know.”
“Oh!” Her eyes widened. “I thought you meant . . .”
“What?”
“I thought you meant you wanted him to pay for what happened to you.”
Tate’s stomach clenched. “Maybe I did, kind of. But it wasn’t his fault. That’s the worst part. It’d be easier to hate him.”
A piece of him did, he guessed—but not for what had happened when he was under the influence of the chip. He’d looked for Rory after the tribunal had let out, but he’d already vanished. And Tate had told him they weren’t done. But apparently Rory thought they were. He’d been pissed about that, but nobody from the ARR would tell him where Rory was. And with Emmy missing, Tate didn’t have time to chase Rory around.
As much as it strangely hurt, Rory wasn’t Tate’s priority.
That was what he told himself. But although there was no question that Emmy was more important than Rory, it didn’t mean that Rory was nothing.
He meant something—possibly even too much—even if Tate hadn’t exactly figured it out. Even if he didn’t want to look it in the face quite yet. It was there, lurking in the back of his mind, and he’d face up to it. Soon. When he came back to Beulah.
He would come back.
Whatever Alexandra was going to say was lost in the sudden bustle around them as the train approached. She gripped his hand tightly for a moment. “I’ll see you again.”
Tate almost smiled. It sounded a little like a question, despite his assurances. “You will,” he said. “Look after Aaron, okay?”
“Yes,” she said and surprised him with a hug. “Be safe, Tate.”
“I will.” He drew a deep breath and stared at the train.
Here he was, leaving at last. Hating the thought of leaving Rory to face everything alone and hating the thought of what he would, or wouldn’t, find back in the outside world. And hating himself for being too slow, too careless, too reckless the last time he’d been at this station. Because if he hadn’t fucked up then, everything would have been okay.
“If I were you, son,” Cal told Rory, “I’d hope he didn’t ever come back.”
Somehow in the past few weeks, Rory had stopped thinking of the man as Mr. Mitchell, and started to consider him a friend. Which didn’t make hearing what he had to say any easier.
Rory grimaced and stared down at the pages spread out over the desk. “Lowell told him to lie under oath and say I was stealing. That makes him a witness.”
“Does it?” Cal asked, leaning back in his chair. “We’ll prove you’re no thief. We can build a solid case without Tate.”
“Solid?” he asked. “Nothing’s solid where Lowell’s involved!”
“Still, it’s better than any witness who will declare your innocence on one hand, and on the other hand tell the court how you had sex with him at a time when he was not able to give consent.”
Rory glanced at Aaron, who looked up quickly and flashed him a nervous grin.
In the weeks that Tate had been gone, Aaron had started to come out of his shell again. He was still standoffish with Alexandra, except on nights like these when they were all gathered around the large desk in Cal Mitchell’s chambers, sifting through statements and evidence and playing with different scenarios. It was almost like it had been working at the Hall of Justice. Sometimes Rory half expected Lowell to walk in, his tie undone, and announce he was buying the pizzas.
Lowell was still on administrative leave. The induction center had been closed down pending the outcome of all the related trials, and all current rezzies—there were less than a hundred in all of “crime-free” Beulah—had been removed from their sponsors and placed in the care of the hospital system until such time as the government decided whether or not to remove their chips. Which was a given, in Rory’s opinion. It had been truly gratifying to see how horrified most politicians and justices were once the news of Tate’s and Aaron’s testimonies had gone public.
Three days ago, Alexandra had come racing into the office and slammed down what looked like blueprints. “Look what my contact in the Works Department got me!”
“What’s that?” Rory had asked, staring at it.
“A jail,” Alexandra had announced. “You know what this means? No more chips. No more sponsors. The government is already planning what to do without them.” She’d grinned. “And I hope Lowell is the first damned resident—er, prisoner!”
Rory wished he could have been as enthusiastic, but he was
fairly certain that if Lowell ended up in a cell in a shiny new jail, then Rory would be his neighbor. Cal was obviously worried about that as well and, depending on his mood, couldn’t decide if he wanted Tate to come back or not. Could he testify against Lowell? Absolutely. But he could also testify against Rory. Despite that, Rory hoped he would see Tate again. Maybe to talk, and absolutely to be held accountable. He was afraid of his punishment, but he knew he deserved it.
And it was sad too, to think that this utopian society, this beautiful gleaming beacon that he’d been so optimistic about, was about to have an ordinary old jail, just like the outside world. And Alexandra was happy about it. But then, she didn’t know any better. To Rory, it didn’t feel like progress.
“Now, I’ve had notice from the Hall of Justice that Aaron’s retrial will be first,” Cal said. He smiled at Aaron. “It’s nothing to worry about. We have witnesses who say you had permission to use Lowell’s credit card anyway and footage from the store that shows the disputed purchases were made by Lowell himself. He can’t make that evidence disappear, not now. And the police have been more than thorough.”
“Sure,” Aaron murmured. “Now they’re thorough.”
“Yes,” Cal said. “Now they are.”
None of them responded to that.
“Now, after Aaron, will be Rory, and then, finally Tate, to determine whether the cruel and unusual punishment he suffered is enough to have him pardoned and his previous sentence overturned. Which, I believe, will serve as a precedent and thus a blanket decision for all current and former rezzies.” A landmark decision, then. So much more than just Tate’s fate depended on that trial. Of course, there was no such thing as “just” Tate, not for Rory. Even now.
Cal drew a deep breath and hesitantly concluded, “And then, Lowell.”
Rory shivered.
“Lowell,” Aaron murmured.
“Yes,” Cal said. His face was grave for a moment. He shook his head, and Rory saw the battle in the man: betrayal and anger and disgust. Cal, in his own way, must have felt as culpable as Rory did. Maybe everyone in Beulah would, once the full shape of the truth came to light.
