by Sage Sask
“She was moving too slow,” David answers a member who demands an explanation. He is nonchalant, without a care in the world. “We don’t encourage weakness.”
Barely moving, I gauge the distance between myself and the ground. It is too far. One wrong step will send me plummeting. Fear rises, filling every pore. I plaster myself against the rocks. I try to take a deep breath, but there is no oxygen. Sweat starts to line my palms. My grip on the skyhooks loosens.
“The rope is still attached,” Ryan calls up to me.
“What?” Confused, I glance down. Ryan stands apart from David. The slashed rope still dangles off my harness. “It’s cut.”
He motions toward the rope. “It’s still attached.” I hesitate, unsure of his angle. Seeing my confusion, he says, “Change your mental position, Edmonds.”
“Pretend the rope is still attached?” He is telling me to fool my mind. I try to assess the situation and recalibrate, but the unknown makes it impossible.
“It’s your only option.”
I close my eyes, then envision the rope still attached. I see it connected to my harness. It keeps me from death. In the stillness, I replay the image in my head. The rope is still attached. Like a mantra, I say the words. Soon my mind starts to shift. My body begins to relax, and my heart rate slows.
I jiggle the skyhook until it comes loose. Hesitant, I search for a ledge. My foot touches a rock. I push down on it to test its strength. Satisfied it is strong enough, I lower my foot. Too hard. Small rocks break loose and hurtle toward the ground. I try to push the skyhook into the stone but it refuses. I try again, but nothing.
“The rope is attached,” I whisper. “The rope is attached.” The skyhook goes in. I search and find another stable ledge. Time speeds up. A surge of energy kicks in.
A step and then another. Steady, methodical. From below, a round of applause and shouts of encouragement push me. I’m quickening my pace when a rock slices my shirt and cuts my abdomen. The pain rips through me. I lose my grip on the skyhook, and it falls to the ground. Blood drips from my wound. I press down on it, painting my hand red. I reach for the rock, leaving a handprint of blood.
“Please,” I whisper to myself, “you can do this.”
The water lashes against the shore, taunting me with its power. One slip and I will be swept away in its waves. Lost before having been found. My bloody handprint stares back at me. In my mind’s eye, I envision the day I was lost. The water covered my head. I dropped slowly into the water’s abyss until hands pulled me to safety.
Now there are no hands to save me. I am on my own, as I have been for so long. I imagine pulling each finger off the rock and lifting my feet off the ledge. I would fall into the water and be lost forever in the abyss. Darkness would be my freedom — a final break from the emptiness that remains permanently unfilled.
“Almost there, Edmonds.” Ryan breaks through the thoughts in my head. “Keep going.”
His words pull me from the fog. I ache to tell him that he is wrong — that I cannot keep going, that there is no fuel for my fire. My path was decided years ago, and I no longer want to be on it.
“You can do it,” he calls up.
David’s laugh crawls up the rocks and into my soul. “Think you’re wrong, mate. Looks like she’s done for.”
“Shut up, David.” Ryan’s tone leaves no room for argument. “You’ve done enough.”
“Believe in yourself. Only then will others believe in you.” I am barely ten and have lost another battle. My mother wipes my tears and holds me close.
I reach for the memory like a safety line as I search for the strength within myself. I take my last few steps on autopilot. I seek and find each ledge while forgoing the skyhooks. I grip each rock as if it owes me its protection. I near the bottom and move faster. I am only a few steps away when I lose my grip. I desperately try to hold on, but all I catch is air. I fall backward into the ocean. My body hits the surface as a wave crests, then washes over me. I gasp for breath as it rushes into my nose and fills my lungs. I open my mouth to breathe but only swallow sand.
Ryan grips my hand and pulls me up. The crowd roars its approval when I am on my feet. I cough until I catch my breath. Seaweed coats my clothes. David smirks. Furious, I tear off my harness and throw it at his chest. Around us, the few left fall silent.
“How dare you!” I yell.
He barely blinks as the harness hits his chest then falls to the ground. Slowly he brings his hands together and starts to clap. He moves to tap me on the head, but I grab his hand and grip it tight. He struggles against me. Stronger, he nearly breaks free, but my adrenaline mixed with fury makes me the conqueror.
“Don’t ever mess with me again. Do you understand?” I spit out.
“Or what?” He grabs my other hand and pulls me in tight. Only inches apart, his breath fans my face. Desperate, I flood my body with white light. “What are you going to do? You’re nothing.” He twists his other arm out of my hold. “You will never survive here.” Spittle flies from his mouth and lands on my cheek. “I can’t wait to see you fail.”
“I told you, enough,” Ryan says quietly. He steps between us and grips David’s shoulder. “Back off now.”
Taking advantage of the opportunity, I twist my hand free from David then slam it onto his wrist. I dig my nails into the vein above his wrist. I am ready to tell him off when electricity pumps through my body. Pain rides every bone as a vision begins.
A dark room comes into view. David and Harrison are arguing.
“You and I both know Ryan isn’t the right person for lead agent,” David says, furious. “The job should be mine.”
“That’s not up for discussion,” Harrison answers. “The decision was made years ago.”
“Ryan will never be strong enough to do what’s needed,” David bites out.
David shoves me off of him, and the vision disappears. I flood my body with light to ease the pain.
“You want Ryan’s job,” I mutter, loud enough for everyone to hear.
David ignores the stares and gasps of the audience. He pushes past everyone toward the building, but I jump in front, halting his escape.
“You went to Harrison behind Ryan’s back,” I continue, slowly regaining my strength. “To convince him to give you Ryan’s position.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” David bites back.
“You said Ryan wasn’t good enough, that you were better,” I repeat the words I heard.
“Get out of my way,” David orders.
I reach out; ready to grab his arm, but Ryan gets between us and grabs my hand instead. The pain starts to accelerate on contact. I grimace when the electricity ripples down my spine.
“Don’t read me,” Ryan says quietly.
“Let me go.” I jerk back, but he holds tight.
“Are we done here?” Ryan searches my face while everyone watches us silently.
“Now,” I say, refusing to answer his question.
We are locked in a battle of wills as we stare each other down. I refuse to give in when the throbbing overtakes me. I try to hide my reaction, but the pain is relentless. Seeing it, Ryan releases me but maintains his position in front of me. His gaze doesn’t stray from mine. In it, he demands my compliance.
“Show’s over,” Ryan announces to the remaining crowd. “Head back inside.” When the group stays in place, he yells, “Now!” Everyone immediately scampers, and in seconds the area is clear of everyone except David, Ryan and I. Ryan looks back at me. “No more, Alexia.”
“I didn’t start this fight,” I remind him.
“You’re going to end it. Am I clear?”
I brush past him toward David. Ryan reaches out to stop me, but I avoid his hold. “Don’t ever come at me again,” I warn David. I head back but can feel Ryan’s stare all the way to the Circle.
In the bathroom, I gently strip off my shirt and drop it to the floor. Left only in my cropped tank and pants, I assess the wound. The jagged point of the rock has sliced through my skin, leaving a two-inch gaping wound. Dried blood leaves a trail down to my hip bone. My head jerks up when the door flies open. Ryan and I stare at one another until I point to the door.
“Get out.”
Ryan steps fully into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.
“Hearing problem?” I demand.
“Does it need stitches?” He comes close enough to peer at my wound. “Doesn’t look like it.”
He wets a washcloth. When he goes to wipe away the blood, I jump back.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
“It needs to be cleaned up.”
“And you plan on doing it?” I grab the washcloth from his hand. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
He watches as I dab at the blood with the cloth until it bleeds red. He turns on the water for me to wash the cloth out. Ryan opens a small medicine cabinet and pulls out a first-aid kit.
“I didn’t know that was in there,” I mutter. On Ryan’s look, I get it. “Right. Meant for you, not me.”
He opens a bandage then applies some antiseptic to it. “I can do it.” I hold my hand out.
“Want to tell me why you’re pissed?” He holds the bandage away from me.
I laugh, bitter. “In private we’re friends, but in public, you treat me like dirt.”
Ryan considers me. “You think we’re friends?”
Embarrassed, I look away. “I didn’t mean…”
“I didn’t expect us to be,” Ryan says slowly. My gaze flies to him, hoping he will say more. Instead, he sighs deeply. “But things are happening that you don’t understand.”
“Then explain them to me.”
“Sparring with David is dangerous. You need to stop.” Before I can react, Ryan places the bandage over the wound then presses down on the adhesive. I hiss through the pain. He releases me, and I step back. But in the confines of the tight room, I feel him exhale on my cheek.
“He came after me,” I remind him. “You gave him the ammunition.” I see him flinch, and then scold myself. “I’m sorry.”
I drop my head and stare at the tile floor. Saltwater puddles stare back at me. I remember Ryan’s dictates when I was dangling on the ledge. He helped me when no one else could.
“Alexia,” he starts then pauses.
“Thank you,” I say softly. On Ryan’s confusion, I explain, “Out there you gave me what I needed to get back down. You didn’t have to do that.” I look up, and our gazes collide. In his I see my uncertainty mirrored. We are in a constant back and forth with no reason or rhyme.
“Yes,” he corrects quietly, “I did.”
“Why?”
“As you said, you’re in a situation you didn’t ask for.”
I scoff at his response. “You feel sorry for me?”
He shakes his head. “I get it. I’ve been there.”
“When?” I know as soon as I ask that he won’t answer. So his silence comes as no surprise.
I make a move to walk around him, but he stops me. Slowly, both watching one another, he traces the scar on my abdomen opposite my wound. I shiver as he runs his fingers from one end to the next. I cover his hand with mine to stop him. Unexpectedly, our fingers entangle with one another. Unsure, I pull back at the same time he does.
“How did you get this?”
“I don’t remember,” I whisper. “I’ve had it since…” I pause.
“Since when?” he asks.
“Does it bother you that he went to Harrison behind your back?” I ask, instead. “For your job?”
I can feel him shut down and retreat deep inside himself. “You read something you know nothing about.”
“Friends don’t do that to one another,” I argue.
“What do you know about friends?”
It was my admission to Serafina and Ryan that Jenna was the only one who would miss me. I feel the retort like a slap. I push past him. “You’re right.”
“Alexia,” he says, his voice filled with regret. “I didn’t mean that.” He gently grips my elbow and turns me back toward him. When my pupils start to dilate, he says, “Shut it down.” He releases me and patiently waits while I struggle through the pain. It takes longer than before. When I finally open my eyes, he’s staring at me. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”
I feel the apology in my gut. “You keep being kind to me — in between being a jerk.”
“I think that’s how we work best,” he teases. There is a tinge of sadness underlying his words.
“Maybe.” I give him a small smile, knowing he’s right. That seems to be our every interaction — a push and pull.
“How afraid of the water are you, Alexia?” he asks. “You froze before I pulled you up.”
He’s using my first name instead of my last. I consider him, and all the times he has tried to help me. On autopilot, I’m tempted to say nothing, but then, exhausted from all the lies and half-truths, I wonder for just a minute what it would be like to tell him the truth. To share.
“They found me on the beach.” My voice breaks, and I stop.
“I know,” he says, giving me the minute I need to get through the words.
“I have vague memories of someone helping me. I was drowning.” I try and fail to hide my pain. “I should have drowned.”
“What happened?”
“I think the person helping me was my mother.” My voice catches on the sob lodged in my throat. “She pulled me up. I was choking on the water. It’s the only thing I can remember. I don’t know what happened after that.”
I shut my eyes, but a lone tear escapes and rolls down my cheek. Embarrassed, I start to wipe it away, but then Ryan uses the edge of his sleeve to do it so I don’t feel pain.
“I’m sorry,” he says, more gentle than I’ve ever seen him. He swallows deeply.
Embarrassed for having shown any emotion, I drop my head. He removes his hand, and I immediately miss his touch. I push away the feeling, refusing to give it any importance.
His brows furrowed, he stares at a spot above my head. Finally, when I start to wonder how long the silence will linger, he says, “We need to train harder.”
I can’t hide my shock. “Why?”
“Because you never stop fighting — even when you’re losing,” he says.
“You make it sound like a good thing.”
“If someone has my back, that’s the best thing I can ask for,” he says. “To survive the Evaluation, you’re going to need more than what we’ve been doing.” He reaches into the shower vestibule and turns on the water. “You have seaweed in your hair.”
Steam starts to fill the air and cover the glass. Ryan heads toward the door.
“Why did David go to Harrison?” I dare to ask. “You were the only one who didn’t seem surprised by the reading.”
Ryan grips the doorknob. “Because he thinks he’s the stronger agent.”
“Why would he think that?” I ask, surprised.
Ryan turns, and I see his hurt. “Because he is.” He pauses before his next words hit me in the gut. “That’s why you need to be careful.”
He starts to leave, but I nearly beg, “Why did you tell him about the water?” I know he sees the hurt and confusion I can’t hide. “If you knew he would try to hurt me?”
“It didn’t happen how you think,” he says. He runs his hand through his hair, and I hear his frustration. “That’s not who I am.”
When he leaves, I silently wonder who he is.
TWENTY-ONE
SERAFINA
Serafina walks alone on the grounds of the Circle toward the Sanctuary. In the distance, she can hear the laughter of the yo
unger children. Inside the Circle, the bell rings for class change, driving droves of students into the hallways.
She vividly remembers being a student herself. Playing in the water as a child. Sitting in classrooms as she learned the intricacies of reading. Young and naive, she imagined her future and what it would entail. She thought about falling in love and having children. Using her ability to help save the world. Never, if asked, would she have said she would end up alone.
“Do you hate her?” Michael asks. “Julia?”
Serafina turns; surprised she hadn’t heard him approach. She throws her shoulders back as she considers the question. “We were best friends from the minute we met.”
“She was the only one who didn’t care who your dad was.” Michael walks with her to the Sanctuary. “The rest of us were intimidated.”
Serafina laughs, remembering. “I don’t think you ever looked him in the eye.” She falls serious. “You know we were inseparable growing up.” Michael nods in agreement. “She was with me when I gave birth to my children, and I with her when she had her daughter.” They laughed and cried together over their babies. “Even though we had started to disagree about the Circle’s future, I never imagined…” Serafina falls silent.
“That she would convince your husband to leave with your children?” Michael says gently. “To join the Resistance?”
Serafina swallows the sob that lodges in her throat. “She never gave a clue what she was planning.”
“Yes, she did,” Michael says. Serafina turns toward him sharply, but he doesn’t back down. “She gave lots of clues, but you didn’t want to see them. Harrison did.”
“Because I was too busy trying to prove my worth to the Circle?” Serafina asks quietly. “Showing the world I was my father’s daughter.”
“You can’t change what happened then,” Michael says. “But you can change what happens now.”
“Alexia?” Serafina sighs. “If Julia sent her, then she’s nothing but a pawn in her game.”
“Or maybe she’s an innocent.” Michael sighs.
“That night, my daughter and husband died. They were barely recognizable,” Serafina reminds him. “Julia did that. Julia led them to their fate.”
