Whispers in Autumn (The Last Year, #1)

by Trisha Leigh

  The name Althea Morgan might not even be real. I hold my breath but no alarm sounds.

  The Other beckons us through a door behind the seated woman, scanning a pale blue beam across our eyes as we pause beside him. We file past in the same orderly fashion we’ve displayed thus far. The lights are dimmer back here. The ceiling remains out of view but these walls are closer together. The claustrophobia from the rider returns and I blink sweat out of my eyes.

  Three floating cots span the room, the only furniture except for a table. Some sort of machine sits on top of the latter, an oven-sized metal box with a video monitor decorating the front, vents opening on the back. Two levers on the right side, one red, one black. A strange silvery hat hangs off one corner. It doesn’t reek of disuse like the mounds of wired equipment in the previous room. These sleek and shiny surfaces come from the competent, advanced hands of the Others.

  Two new Others slouch along the far wall, looking annoyed to see us. They’re younger than most of the Wardens, and much younger than the white-clad Others who brought us here. They’re maybe a little older than me.

  I have no idea if the lives of the Others resemble ours in any way, if they age the same way we do, or at all. All of the Others look youthful. Their skin is taut and shiny; their hair is thick; they walk ramrod straight.

  The expression in their eyes isn’t innocent, though.

  Until now I’ve pegged them all as middle-aged. One of the two who brought us here, the one who drove, steps forward and speaks to the younger ones.

  “These three need to be refreshed. The woman is injured but showed signs of shedding her veil beforehand. Wake her up and then make a determination.”

  “Should we call you if it’s suspicious?” One of the annoyed boys looks up, his empty black eyes shadowed by heavy lids. Like he might fall asleep any minute, the whole situation is so dull.

  “No. Do a report, then dispose of her.”

  Chills race along my arms and down my back, hairs standing on end as he continues.

  “Refresh her Partner and the girl and erase tonight. You know what to do. Don’t waste my time with your frivolous questions.”

  He accompanies the reprimand with a hard stare. The boy winces, gasping and clutching the sides of his head even though no one went near him.

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.” A distinct tremor chokes the air with fear.

  His friend pipes up. “Should we purge their doldrums while they’re under?”

  The white-clad Other breaks eye contact with the skinny one, who immediately lets go of his head while relief floods his face. “No, don’t bother. Connecticut is on the summer purge rotation. They were just done.”

  The Others who brought us here exit the room. The Morgans, the Healer, and I are alone with the insolent ones against the wall. The skinny one is recovering from his fright, though he remains so pale his lips look stained against his waxy skin.

  The stockier boy steps forward to address us. “Each of you take a cot and lie down. I will question you separately on the events of the evening.”

  The Healer and Mr. Morgan take the floating beds nearest the Others, leaving me the one in the center of the room. Not wanting to appear cautious, I climb on to it without hesitation. It holds my weight, doesn’t sink even an inch under me.

  I lie down because they told us to. The word dispose pulses in my head like a heartbeat. I don’t want to consider what it means for Mrs. Morgan.

  The Other charged with attending to her motions her cot through another doorway in the back of the room, closing the door behind him. I imagine the rooms with doors in the back go on forever.

  The second boy watches him go, then turns his attention back to the three of us. “Close your eyes if you’d like; you must be tired.”

  The Other approaches the Healer’s cot. The equipment table floats behind him, suspended just inches off the ground. Like the cots. Like the riders.

  Alarm scuttles through me as the Other talks in a voice much too low to overhear. I can’t eavesdrop so I turn my attention to more productive use, like trapping the heat inside of me before sweat starts dripping onto the floor.

  Like figuring out what I’m going to say when it’s my turn.

  Thoughts of Mrs. Morgan, of what might be happening to her in the back room, try to force their way in. I push them behind a heavy door in my mind and slam it shut. If I think about that right now that’ll be it. My tenuous control will snap. I’ll boil the room, melt the cot, and it’ll be me being disposed.

  Relief battles with curiosity over learning they aren’t going to purge us. Each town is on a purge schedule; once a year the Others send out a team to treat the humans to a party in town. There are massages, facials, hair colorings, rides, games…and purging. It’s required but I’ve never been to one because all my families attend a summer purge.

  One more thing I don’t do that I’m supposed to.

  The story Mr. Morgan gave at the house runs on a loop in my head. The problem will be if he changes his version. He and the Healer both relax on their cots by the time the Other gets to me. They look to be asleep. The Other’s eyes bore into my body as he approaches my bed. They probe through my skin, see into my bones and brain.

  Maybe it’s just my imagination.

  “Your name please.”

  “Althea Morgan.” I sound calm, sleepy even. That’s good.

  “Tell me what happened tonight, please. Start with when you arrived home from Cell.” His words are clipped and impatient. He barely looks at me, giving the distinct impression that he’d like to be doing something else. I’d be surprised if he’s listening closely to my story. They probably refresh people all the time, like Leah.

  “I got home the same time as always, just before five. I spent an hour or so in my bedroom doing homework, then came down for dinner.”

  He interrupts. “What did you eat?”

  “Um, duck. And zucchini.” The hesitation sends my heart tripping.

  “Go on.”

  “We were eating dinner, and Mom started acting funny. She got up from the table. She was saying weird things—”

  “Weird things like?”

  A glance at his face pains me but confirms my suspicion. He’s still bored. Nothing coming out of my mouth is triggering suspicion. My answer comes forth with more confidence. “Like ‘where am I?’ And ‘who are you?’ Or ‘what’s going on?’” He nods. “She ran to the door and I went over to see if I could help her, you know? Then she fell down and we couldn’t wake her up. I called for a Healer. He came. Then you guys showed up.”

  The simpler, the better. I can hear a slight tremble in my voice and sweat puddles underneath me, but the emotions are trapped inside where they belong. I’m doing a better job at controlling them than usual, and for that I’m thankful.

  “You got up and went to her?” His eyes snap to attention and latch onto mine. “Your father didn’t mention that.”

  CHAPTER 14.

  The panicky voice roars in my ears, making his words sound far away. They barely penetrate the fog enveloping my mind. I force my response out in a normal tone. “He didn’t? Huh.”

  “Did she say anything to you?”

  “No. She looked around like she didn’t know what was going on and fell down.”

  My eyes flit to his face again. Looking away after a split second isn’t suspicious. No one can look at the Others for long.

  He sits back and his gaze returns to dull and uninterested. “That’s fine.”

  The Other turns from my cot and pushes the floating table away. Terror clings to my body like saran wrap at what might be coming next.

  He goes to the door at the back of the room, the one Mrs. Morgan disappeared through, and knocks until his coworker sticks his head out. The one who examined me doesn’t bother to lower his voice. “What do you think? Got her awake yet?”

  “Not really. She’s been mumbling a bit. She doesn’t look right.”

  “From what they’ve told me it
sounds like she did shed her veil.”

  As my mind wrestles with the new term, the Other who had been with Mrs. Morgan grows wide-eyed. It’s a minute before he gets enough of his wits back to answer.

  “I never thought they could…you know, lose their veil.”

  “They can’t, really. At least not on purpose. Humans can shed their veils but they lose their minds in the process. They’ve got so many emotions. They’re trickier than most species. It’s rare.”

  “Two in a month, Elij.”

  Elij shakes his head, his lips pulled into a frown. “The Term girl didn’t shed her veil, it just looked like someone poked holes in it. Anyway, the Prime said to leave her that way. He wants to see if we can figure out what damaged her.”

  The Term girl? Were they talking about Leah? It makes sense, since they certainly didn’t fix her.

  “Can we refresh this one if she’s shed it completely?” The skinny, nameless Other shoots worried glances behind him, as though Mrs. Morgan is going to rise from the cot and stab him in the back.

  I don’t know where that thought came from; the violence of it stuns me.

  Elij, the refresher, shakes his head again and my heart goes still. “No. Write it up, Paj. Dispose of her.”

  They look excited at the prospect, not the least bit uncomfortable.

  Whether they have feelings at all is a mystery. We don’t interact with them, don’t ask questions, not even when their movements are out of the ordinary. Like showing up at the Outing, and the Gathering.

  Like kidnapping us.

  Elij pats his coworker on the shoulder like a parent might to indulge an annoying child. “I’m going to refresh these three. Take care of the paperwork.”

  He turns and my eyelids flutter all the way shut. They’ve been talking loudly. If Mr. Morgan or the Healer is still awake, they’ve heard the entire conversation as well. Curiosity burns through my mind like wildfire, trumping fear for the moment. What do they mean by veil? And the scarier question, why they aren’t worried about us overhearing their plan to dispose of Mrs. Morgan?

  Elij crosses the room to the Healer, grabs the strange-looking hat object off the top of the machine, flips the red switch, and settles it over the Healer’s head. The helmet sits there, hard and glinting. The silver is so pure it might be liquid, flowing and suspended in space.

  My muscles coil, prepared to run if something goes sour.

  Once the hat is in place, the Other leans down until his nose is mere inches from the Healer’s. My ears strain to make out the words.

  His voice is commanding, irresistible. “Open your eyes.”

  The Healer obeys, starting at the nearness of the Other. Pain crosses his face, likely caused by the uncomfortable, stabbing ache that accompanies the sight of the Others. He doesn’t look away, but as Elij reaches back and flips the black switch on the side of the box, an odd calm seeps into his features. Maybe the hat makes the pain go away.

  “Good.” He shoots a quick glance at the screen on the box behind him. “Think about this evening, about everything that transpired after your summons to the Morgan house. Now imagine a blank space. Just blackness, like staring at the sky when there aren’t any stars.” He checks the screen again. “Very nice. Let me tell you what happened tonight, yes? Then you can try remembering again.”

  His voice is so pure, so enthralling that my instinct is to believe whatever he says. “Tonight the Morgans called you over because Mrs. Morgan collapsed and was rendered unconscious. The family was concerned for her well-being but had no idea what triggered the episode. You examined her and found she had suffered a brain injury. Realizing she would never recover, you declared her Broken and contacted the Wardens to come collect her. You said goodnight to the family and went home.”

  I stifle a gasp. His voice might urge me to believe him, but that’s not what happened. The metallic hat on the Healer’s head brightens and whirs, the color swirling. It is some sort of suspended liquid.

  The Other doesn’t move from his place in front of the Healer except for the brief seconds it takes to check his monitor. He waits a minute—maybe two—then asks the Healer to recount the evening again. While he does, the Other leans back and watches the screen. The Healer’s voice, dreamy and detached, repeats everything exactly as the Other stated.

  The new version of our evening, apparently.

  Elij reaches out and picks up a syringe off the table. It’s full of a silver liquid similar to the stuff sloshing around in the contraption on the Healer’s head. He inserts it into the prone man’s arm and the Healer’s eyes close within a minute. He begins to snore, so at least he’s not dead.

  The Other moves on to Mr. Morgan, the table and apparatus trailing behind him. He repeats the same process, adding a few details about all the things that didn’t happen at dinner. How Mrs. Morgan fell out of her chair right in the middle of eating her duck, flopped onto the floor for no reason.

  How she never said anything at all.

  Only then does it truly hit me: He’s going to erase my memory. Give me a new one that doesn’t include any funny business. How this is possible, or how it makes me feel, I have no idea. But that’s what he’s doing.

  Part of me wonders if he could erase my entire existence up to this point. All of my lives. Even if he could, would I want to have never discovered that note, never traveled, never realized I’m different? I’d be robotic, unfeeling, and closed up—but not alone.

  It’s not like I’m free now anyway. I’m controlled by an invisible being called Ko and his ominous warnings. Is that really so much better?

  Elij stands up from Mr. Morgan and turns in my direction. My eyes snap shut and I will my heart to slow down. Knowing the game doesn’t make it any less frightening.

  He’s going to erase my memory, dig around inside my brain, and give me back a clean slate with no hint of what happened to Mrs. Morgan. A lump jams into my throat, hard as a rock and pulsing against my skin. Someone should remember Mrs. Morgan. She can’t just disappear.

  Not knowing what’s on the screen sends panic sizzling across my nerve endings. Elij watches it with keen interest. A transmission from the silver hat seems likely. It could show every tiny detail in my head. I have a hunch he’s never seen a mind like mine before.

  If they can get in there to wipe our memories and give us new ones, there’s no limit to what they can control.

  The Other sits next to me and positions the hat above my head. It’s not touching me at all but wafting nearby. My scalp crawls as though a colony of insects march across it, snarling their little bug feet in the roots of my hair. I feel Elij lean down, can picture his face inches from mine. His breath smells oddly aromatic. A bit too sweet, like the burnt custard I threw out earlier tonight.

  It takes all of my self-control not to open my eyes before he orders me to.

  “Open your eyes, girl.”

  I answer the command. My face squinches up like when you accidentally look right at the sun. I wait for the peace to come, for my face to relax, for the pain to go away.

  Nothing happens.

  The stabbing ache that accompanies his face doesn’t get worse, but a steady pulse remains right behind my eyes, drilling holes into my brain. Along with the ache, another presence enters my head and gusts through like a gentle breeze. The Other’s gaze works its way toward confusion and all of a sudden I realize it’s not working.

  The pain isn’t bleeding out of me like it did the men. Any minute the Other is going to turn around, check his little screen, and see my thoughts revolve around agony and not the events of tonight.

  Block it out, Althea. Don’t think about it. Think about nothing, the soothing voice in my mind whispers.

  Waves of misery crash over me. It’s impossible to think. The cot heats up under my hands, burning them, and I spend a few moments focusing on that. It helps, to think about something besides the pain.

  Once that’s under control, I struggle to reconstruct what happened in the Morgans�
�� kitchen tonight. Truth and fiction blur, upset by the repeated and varied versions I’ve heard told tonight in this room. It’s not easy to visualize with agony gnawing at my brain. Another fear, hidden until now, bursts through.

  My thoughts Broke Mrs. Morgan.

  That’s silly. It’s a coincidence. Don’t think about it. Especially not right now.

  The Other’s eyes are so limitless that it’s easy to get lost. Looking into them is like swimming in a cool, welcoming pond. The kind you can drown in if you aren’t careful.

  I try imagining a big rag, and use it to smear my mind blank. I have no idea if it works. Keeping my eyes trained on Elij’s is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. At the edge of my pain-blurred vision, his lips move.

  “Think about this evening, about everything that transpired after your mother called you to dinner.”

  I replace the blank space I cleared with a picture of what Mr. Morgan said happened at dinner.

  “Good.” The presence in my brain deals a gentle poke.

  He gives the screen a glance, then returns his probing gaze to mine. “Now, imagine a blank space. Just blackness, like staring at the sky when there aren’t any stars.”

  I fight off the urge to roll off the table and sprint, willing the pictures in my head to change to black and stay consistent. I use the rag again, leaving what I hope is blackness behind. The breezy presence caresses my mind again. Gentle. Lulling.

  He frowns a little at the screen and my stomach flips as though it’s trying to make a mad dash for the exit without me. Elij’s brow knits, his confused eyes flitting to the screen before they meet mine again. My stomach gives up, falls off the cot, and splatters across the floor.

  “That’s fine.”

  He launches into the same account he gave Mr. Morgan and I let the words draw pictures in my mind. When I don’t fight, the breezy evidence of his intrusion in my mind merely grazes my brain. If I get it wrong, it awards me with a rough jab. The pain sends tiny pulses trembling through me. I can’t stop. It’s like sitting outside in January, the wind nipping at my skin. Shiver. Tremble. Misery.