The Slave Series

by Laura Frances

  My young cousin, she says. And I remember the soup. She said her young cousin had made me a soup, in case I was to wake.

  “I want to see him,” I say. Slowly, I set my feet on the floor. Norma stands and helps me straighten.

  “How about you take a nice, warm shower,” Norma says, smiling. “I’ll find you some clean clothes. We’ll get some breakfast in you, and then you can go see him. Okay?”

  I nod, exhaling some of the anxiety swirling in my chest.

  The bathroom is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The lighting is warm and inviting. The walls are green, a gentle color that reminds me of the drying grass I saw through the window. The mirror is oval, framed in aged bronze. On the floor are soft rugs, and everything is shining and clean.

  Beside the sink sits a framed picture. I lean closer, and see a beautiful young woman, holding a toddler. The boy is blond, and I know by his expression that it is Cash. Behind them is a field of red flowers, bordered by thick trees. The sun glistens on their hair and sparkles in their eyes. An ache fills me when I think of all that Cash has lived and lost. But he had this beautiful childhood, and that I try not to envy. My childhood was dark and gray. My childhood was tears and broken promises. But my family was love and hope, so the envy quickly fades.

  The shower is situated above a deep tub. The curtain is creamy lace. When I’m finished showering, I stand in front of the mirror, a thick towel wrapped around my body, and I smooth my hand across the foggy glass. I stare at my reflection, at the blistered skin and the deep shadows under my eyes. I expected to look worse, and since I’ve rarely seen my own reflection, nothing about my appearance is shocking. I’m reminded of Takeshi’s words, when he said that they try to hide our humanity from us. I can’t help but think that they are hiding from their own humanity as well. The Council wear masks. It is mystery that keeps the fear alive. But when I saw Titus, noticed the features that made him real, I remembered that he is no better than me. He is a man—a living, breathing soul. I doubt there is good left in him. His countenance reeks of evil. But he is alive. And his heart still pumps. His lungs still draw in air, and he is no different than me.

  I look away from my own reflection. She is trying to teach me a lesson I don’t want to learn. I don’t want to feel compassion for evil men. And I won’t. I dry, slipping into a long shirt that Norma left for me. I’m tempted to take one more glance, but I don’t allow it.

  36

  “I can’t.”

  Norma holds a dress, the soft green fabric draped across her arms. She pushes it toward me. Her eyes show compassion, but her mouth is pursed.

  “Yes, Hannah,” she chides. “You can. Cash has made it clear you are welcome to any of the clothes left in this house.”

  “But,” I say, a breath. “It’s his mother’s.”

  “So it is,” she says, softening. “And he wants you to wear it. Would you rather wear your brown prison clothes?”

  I roll my eyes. My gaze catches on the window, and I bite my mouth.

  “Will it make him sad?” I say it quietly. I don’t want to cause Cash any more pain than he already feels.

  Norma touches my chin, tilting my head toward her. “I think it will make him very happy,” she says. A hint of a smile touches her lips. She seems proud when she looks at me. Something in the way she regards me while I remove these brown clothes and slip on the dress makes me wonder if she ever longed to have children of her own.

  Norma fastens the buttons that run down the back of the dress, and I stare at my reflection in the tall mirror on the wall. This fabric is soft, a comfortable over-worn cotton. It stops just below my knees. I don’t know when I transitioned from child to woman, but it has happened. I see it plainly, like it’s the most natural thing. Childhood passed too quickly. I never really had that part of my life. When Norma finishes, I step closer to the glass and touch the scorched patches of skin on my face. They may not be as bad as I expected, but they will take time to heal.

  “He tried to destroy your beauty,” Norma says from behind me. Her shaking hands fiddle with my hair. I meet her gaze in the mirror. “But your beauty is much deeper than your skin. You have beauty that no one can touch. It is yours to protect, and it is yours to share.”

  I turn, wrapping my arms around this woman who might as well be my mother. It is because of her that any good still lives in me. It is because of her protection that I had any chance at innocence when I was young. And she’s back, telling me things to make me stronger. She’s back from the dead, reminding me that I can do these impossible things—that I am important and I am loved. It feels like a gift that I don’t deserve. I hold her close to me, and I can’t stop the crying. I cry so much these days. But I’m so full of emotion, being pulled in so many ways, that if I hold them back, I will burst.

  “I love you,” I whisper. “I love you. Thank you for taking care of me.”

  Norma holds me tight. She smells sweet, like cinnamon and vanilla. “You gave my life purpose, Hannah. I don’t think I would have lasted as long without you.” Her voice softens when she says, “Albert felt the same way.”

  She pulls back, her hands on my shoulders, looking me over with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face.

  “Now. There is somewhere you need to be.” She touches my cheek.

  I let the trapped air out of my chest. My body is buzzing with anxiety. “Right,” I say, wiping my tears. I look down at the dress, at my bare feet peeking from beneath. I only have my boots. I’ll slip them on before I step outside. Norma hands me a cream-colored sweater and says, “You look lovely.” My face warms.

  I think by some standards this house might be small. But to me, having lived my whole life in a one-room unit, this house is large and surprising. We step into a hall, where two more doors lead to bedrooms, and one leads to a small bathroom, where I showered.

  Norma leads me into a large room, with soft, plush furniture and colorful rugs. There are windows on every wall, and bright sunlight warms the space.

  Others are here. Two men sit at a counter, looking off into a large kitchen. Another man sleeps on a couch, legs stretched, arm bent behind his head. I recognize him and smile. Ian.

  The men at the counter turn when they sense our movement. I don’t know either of them, but that doesn’t seem to matter. They are on their feet in seconds. One of the men nods to me, and leaves in a hurry. The other steps forward.

  “Ms. Bakker,” he says. He has red hair and green eyes. His features make me think of Aspen, and I feel a pang of worry. The man is young, but probably closer in age to Cash. I think he wants to ask how I am, but maybe that’s a strange question. Maybe asking it makes him feel uncomfortable, because he knows that I almost died. He hesitates, then says,

  “My name is Cassidy.”

  “She likes first names!” Ian’s tired voice shouts. I laugh, turning to see him dragging his body from the couch. He walks over and stands beside me, stretching his back.

  Cassidy grins. “Fine. Call me Drew.”

  “Hi, Drew,” I say, shaking his outstretched hand.

  “Hannah,” Norma says behind me. I turn to her. I love the smile she wears. So contented. “I think I’ll go tidy some things. You’re in good hands.”

  “Okay,” I say. But before she turns, I wrap her in one more hug. “Thank you,” I whisper. She touches my cheek, and I watch her until she disappears into a room.

  I turn to the men behind me. Drew smiles, but Ian’s countenance has changed. He studies me.

  “Will you take me to Cash?” I ask.

  “He’s guarding the pass,” Ian says. “Come on.”

  I’m not prepared when we step through the doorway and out into the crisp open air. Ian and Drew are a few steps ahead when they realize I’ve stopped. I step farther from the house, and my mouth gapes. The house opens to a wide field, surrounded by a dense forest of trees. The trees are huge, green and piney, taller than some of the factories in the valley.

  “This way,” Ian says. I m
eet his gaze and he’s smiling. He walks around the house, and when we turn the corner, the breath is sucked from me.

  There are the mountains. A hundred yards ahead is the base of a steep wall of earth. I lean my neck back, my eyes wide. From this side, these mountains are beautiful. They are not the menacing beasts that wall us in and keep us prisoner. From this side, they aren’t terrifying…but they are powerful.

  There are several guards patrolling the base of the mountain. Their eyes are on me as I follow Ian and Drew toward a path cut through the trees. They are men and women, all armed, all stern faced—determined.

  “Who are they?” I ask quietly. Drew nudges my arm.

  “Your greatest friends,” he says, grinning. “You just don’t know it yet.”

  I look back to the faces watching me. I wonder what they’re thinking. They seem as curious about me as I am them. When we step under the tree cover and onto the dirt path, the man closest to us nods to me—just once. I nod back, because it feels like the right thing.

  “Why are they watching me?” I ask, peeking over my shoulder to find a dozen pair of eyes following my movements.

  “You’re the first one we’ve seen,” Drew says, glancing back. His eyes meet mine. “The first Worker.”

  Ian takes my elbow as we walk up the path. My eyes are wide, my gaze moving over all the things I’ve never seen before. I look up, and Ian’s hand finds my back when I lose my balance and stumble.

  “Easy,” he murmurs.

  “They’re so tall,” I breathe. The trees shoot straight out of the ground, narrow trunks that disappear into each other somewhere far above us. Birds fly in their branches, and sunlight cuts through the pines. We have trees in the valley, but shorter and thin. They grow out of the small patches of dirt on some corners.

  “This is nothing,” Drew says behind us. His breathless words make me feel better for panting. “There’s so much you have to see.”

  I bite my lip against the excited energy building inside of me. So much to discover.

  This path is rocky and uneven. The steeper it grows, the more dependent I am on Ian’s help. We walk for several minutes before a clearing comes into view. I’m thinking of the beasts; of the wild animals we were taught roam these mountains. We were told to fear them, that they would hunt us and devour us if we ever escaped. But I forget about them the moment a man comes into view. I see him, and my stomach twists.

  “I think you’ve got it from here,” Ian says. I turn to see him and Drew walking down the path toward the house. I get smiles from both before they disappear. I swallow and turn toward Cash. He isn’t looking at me. He’s still several yards ahead, and he hasn’t noticed that I’m here. I wring my hands, and for a minute I stand still, watching him. His clothes are different than what I’m used to. He wears brown pants, heavy brown boots, and a green sweater. He’s sitting on a large rock, elbows to knees, staring at his hands the way he always does. This time when I see it, I feel the weight of the things he’s lived. The beautiful childhood—shattered. His mother dead—the mother he left. A father who lied, who convinced him to join the Watchers. When he sits this way now I think, His shoulders are crushed under the weight of it.

  I step, and rocks pop under my boots. Cash stands, turning. Our eyes catch, and we’re stuck. I see him notice the dress, and my hands grab fistfuls of it, nervous. He swallows hard.

  “Hey,” I say, but the word sticks somewhere in my throat. I move closer, and so does he, until we’ve met in the middle. His eyebrows pull in, his mouth falling open like he wants to say something. But he doesn’t. I watch him struggle, see the heavy, slow breaths—the jaw clenching and releasing. This close, when I can see the light color of his lashes and the lines creased beside his eyes, I don’t know how I ever saw him as a threat. There is hope there, is what Norma said. And I see it, all over his face.

  “You’re okay,” he says quietly. I nod.

  “I’m okay.”

  His lips press tight, and his stare is intense. I get the feeling he isn’t seeing me. He’s seeing his father, and the wicked thing he tried to do. I set my trembling hand on his jaw, my fingers resting behind his ear, covering the tattoo that tries to tell people things that aren’t real. It’s a cruel thing to leave a mark that is only visible on a person’s exit. Because no matter how brave he appears, the sight of it when he leaves sparks doubt.

  “Thank you,” I say. “For coming for me.”

  His head shakes. His eyebrows pull in like he’s in pain. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “It’s my fault.”

  “No,” I say. “It isn’t your fault. You aren’t responsible for the things your father does.” He has enough to bear without adding his father’s sins. My hand drops.

  “And I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

  “I should have told you,” he says. “About my father.” He looks away.

  “Maybe.” I touch his arm, drawing his eyes back to me. “But I understand why you didn’t.”

  “If he’d killed you—”

  “You would’ve continued on. Cash, my life isn’t worth walking away from this.” His jaw tightens, and his eyes are hard, but I think he agrees. This is bigger than one person. My death shouldn’t have an impact on the larger plan. I think we agree on this, but then his hand finds my wrist, and he pulls me closer. He is stern when he says,

  “Your life is worth that to me.” His eyes scan my face, where the Council burned me. His expression darkens.

  “They’ll heal,” I whisper. “Titus failed.” I only get a nod in reply.

  Cash leans in, and he kisses beside the burn on my forehead. I close my eyes when his hand holds my face, and he kisses the tender skin on my cheek. He pauses. I crack my eyelids, curious. His eyes touch mine, just a flicker of connection. I’m reminded of the morning we sat under the fire escape—the time he was embarrassed for encouraging me. He wears that look now. He leans down, and my eyes close again when he kisses my lips. I’ve never been kissed this way before. I grab his arm, because I feel like I might fall. All of me is numb and warm. His hand slides from my head, and his arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me closer. His other hand finds my waist.

  I used to hate crying, because it made me feel hopeless. But these days when I cry, it feels like something else. It is all the sorrow leaving me, draining from my body. That’s how I feel now, when Cash is kissing me and tears are pouring down my face. I feel it like a clean rain, and now I am refreshed and alive. Now I can breathe, and the breaths aren’t poison in my lungs.

  Cash pulls back, but only enough to look me in the eyes and say, “I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re mine to protect. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

  Empty promises, I think. But I want to believe him this time. I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his shoulder. He carefully folds his arms around me. I still feel unsteady, still feel my body trying to rebound from death. But Cash makes me feel the life pouring through my veins again. He is home to me now. I don’t know when that happened. I don’t know when the mighty Watcher became my safe place. But he did.

  37

  “What is this?”

  I stand in the doorway, with Cash just behind me—close enough that I can lean into him with the smallest movement. His hand is on my waist, holding me steady. Maybe he’s keeping a hand on me so that I don’t disappear again.

  Norma smiles. I notice the way she regards Cash, then me. I see the pride in her eyes, like a mother whose child has found their path. She crosses the living room and takes my hand, leading me to a couch.

  “It’s a celebration,” she says. “Of your life. Don’t you remember?”

  I look around the room, at the men and women gathered here. Some of the men hold flowers with roots still attached at the base. Ian grins from his place by the door, where he leans with his arms folded across his chest.

  “How old are you?” he says when our eyes meet. I find it hard to look at him without feeling indebted. He saved my life. I look at him and
I think, there is good hiding in the darkness. I think it’s time for the good to be brave.

  “Twenty,” I say, still surprised. I don’t think about birthdays. I’d forgotten I was born at the beginning of winter.

  It was so cold, my mother said. I walked two miles to the closest medical facility. When I got there, it had started to snow. She said it like it was an amazing thing; like snow was something exciting, to be anticipated. But snow always meant the beginning of the freezing days, and that made me worry about the Outcasts.

  Tell me what father did, I giggled. I was six, and I’d heard this story many times. Tell me what happened when I came out.

  Mother grinned, looking over her shoulder at father. He nearly fainted, she said. Poor man was shakier than a leaf.

  I laughed, then looked at my father. Then what did you say? When you were holding me?

  My father knelt beside the cot, where mother and I were sitting. Taking us each by the hand, he said, How can a man like me be so lucky? I’ve never done anything to deserve this kind of beauty in my life.

  The couch dips when Cash settles next to me. He sits so close, there’s a buzzing of energy in my blood. I still feel like a child next to him. I’ve noticed curves trying to reshape my figure. I am no longer the emaciated girl I was. But it’s his height that dwarfs me, and the broadness of his form. He leans forward, as curious as I am about this gathering. All the eyes are on me, studying me. My face warms.

  A young woman, tan with dark features, crouches in front of me. She is beautiful, with high cheekbones and full lips. Her eyes are brown, and they grab me.

  “I’m Meli,” she says. “This is for you.” She hands me a small package wrapped in simple paper. The wrapping suggests it was thrown together recently. Smiling, she says, “A little something to look forward to.”