Frost could do far worse to me.
I hold my temper.
We enter a passage where the walls are less bright and high ceiling lamps seem to hang in the air. The rush of activity visible through an opened door startles me. Rows of figures garbed alike in loose gray shirts with hoods and pantons in rough black fabric sit at stations, working with tubes, bottles, and mechanical devices. Most are youths I’ve never seen before, quicksilver hands moving with precision, synced with each other like playformers on a stage. They gaze straight ahead without glancing at me. Blank eyes, expressionless.
A narrow-faced boy with a crooked nose and thin lips, though, isn’t quick or precise as he pours yellow liquid into a thumb-sized black tube. He hunches over at his table, his elbows poking out and his movements jerky. When I am only a few meters from him, his gaze shifts toward me—not with the vacant stare of the others but with a shock of awareness. A tube slips from his hands to the floor, shattering, yellow liquid spilling.
“Carlos!” Frost pulls out a slim, pencil-like device from a shirt pocket. “I warned you!”
He says nothing.
Frost aims the device, and a shock of blue electricity shoots out, striking Carlos in the chest. I smell burnt flesh. The boy’s black eyes widen. His body convulses, a stream of liquid darkening his pantons. He’s wet himself, but he doesn’t move or utter a sound.
The flash of awareness is gone from his face, like flipping to a blank page in a book. He stares straight ahead, joining the rhythm of the other workers.
“What happened?” I ask, sickened by the burning smell.
“Punishment,” Frost says with a smile on half of her face.
“Is something wrong with him?” I keep my gaze on the electricity device in her hand as she slips it back into her pocket.
“The droll won’t cause any more trouble.”
“Trouble? But he only dropped a tube.”
“Cease speaking, or I’ll rip out your tongue.” Frost yanks on my chain, dragging me into the next door.
My arms burn with pain. But I won’t cry. My thoughts keep going over the boy’s name. Carlos? Haven’t I heard it somewhere before?
Frost shoves me into a gray room that makes me feel like I’m being swallowed by fog. A tall, familiar man wearing a gold and purple robe sweeps across the tile floor toward me. Scientist Daniel Farrow.
“So it is you,” he says, with a narrowing of dark eyes. “My dear sister will be so disappointed to miss this.”
“Please,” I say, swallowing salty tears. “Tell her I’m here.”
“And ruin all my fun?” he says with a tight, pleased smile. “I think not.”
He stands beside a steel table with circular metal loops at the bottom and top. Not loops—restraints like the ones twisting my arms. There are no chairs, only the table and shelves of tubes, jars, coils, and gleaming sharp tools.
Nightmares come in many forms: some evolve from fears of falling, getting lost, or losing a loved one. Tools for cutting into skin are now my worst nightmare.
Carlos.
Now I remember where I heard his name. He was the youth who attacked Daisy and was Returned. Only he isn’t dead. Are the others in the room Returned youths too? Still alive and working for the scientists? Or are they alive? What did Frost call him? Droll. Empty shells of the people they once were, like zombies in retro-century scarytales.
And soon I’ll be one of them.
THIRTY
“Prepare for surgery,” Scientist Daniel orders Frost, holding a cutting tool between his bony fingers.
“So you’re going ahead as usual?” Frost asks. “What about your sister?”
“She has already retired for the night, and I won’t disturb her,” he says firmly. “Tomorrow I shall take pleasure in introducing her to the new droll.”
“I understand, Daniel.” Frost’s voice is softer, her lashes fluttering, and the smooth half of her face is transformed with a feminine smile.
“Secure the subject to the table,” he orders, as if Returning is routine and I’m no more interesting than a test tube. But there’s a look of satisfaction on his face, similar to Leader Cross when I’ve watched him play chess and announce to his opponent, “Checkmate.”
Metal clangs behind my back as Frost unfastens my restraints. My arms collapse to my sides, aching. Frost shoves me roughly toward the table. Her hands clamp on mine. I struggle, but she’s stronger than she looks, and she tosses me to the table like I weigh no more than air.
“No! Wait!” I try to think of something—anything!—to stop this insanity.
When I try to roll off the table, Frost pins me down. I’m facing a tray with tools—assorted sizes and shapes, silver gleaming and sharpened to slice skin. Fear jolts me. I realize what they’re going to do. Cut into my brain—turn me into a worker droll like Carlos. That’s why Arthur accused me of stealing Milly from him. I won’t only lose myself, but I’ll lose Milly too.
“Stop thrashing.” Scientist Daniel scowls as if I should be ashamed for such rude behavior. Well, excuse me for not wanting to become a zombie!
I strike a fierce kick at Frost’s chin. She swears, then slams me against the table with such force that all the breath rushes out of me.
“Frost, sedate her,” Scientist Daniel orders in an annoyed tone.
“Gladly.” Frost aims a sharp needle at my arm, but I twist away. “Stay still!”
“Can’t you handle a youth?” His eyes narrow with focus as he arranges instruments on a metal tray.
“She’s more trouble than she looks.” Frost jumps back from my kick. “And stronger too.”
“You should have been better prepared.”
She gestures around the room. “The tools are organized on the tray. The sedative is in the syringe, and I’ve switched on the solar power.”
“But you shouldn’t have unchained her until she was sedated. Surely the other assistants would show more foresight. You disappoint me.”
Frost presses her lips together, glaring down while she aims the needle at me.
“No!” I beg, writhing on the table. “Don’t do this … please. Get Lila—she knows me.”
“Pathetic.” Frost purses her lips in disgust. “Hold still.”
I answer by kicking her elbow. She cries out, nearly dropping the needle. “You’re no better than that savage you broke out of jail,” she growls. “Returning you is going to be my pleasure …. There!”
A pinprick stabs my shoulder. Everything spins and blurs. Voices swirl around me. Fingers press against my skin, tilt my head back, push me on my side. A light shines too bright. I try to shut my eyes but can’t.
“Her hair is in the way,” a voice … the scientist … says.
“Should I tie it back?”
“Just get rid of it.”
“Gladly.”
Somewhere inside me, a girl is sobbing. I’m aware of the creak of an opening drawer. The ice woman lifts scissors, fitting her fingers through the handles. Cold metal presses against my skin. Snip, snip, snip. Curls of brown tossed away like trash.
“What can I do for you now?” Frost asks.
“Pass the Number Three for a prelim skull scan. If her bones show a high density, I may need Number Five.”
“It’s ready, sir.”
“Administer the pain medi drip.”
Frost snorts. “Why waste medis on a Return?”
“It’s your decision.” He squeezes his hands into stretchy gloves.
“She won’t remember the pain—or anything else,” Frost says.
Her half-smile dooms me.
“One moment while I adjust the setting.” Scientist Daniel turns a crank on a metal wheel device.
“No rush. She’s not going anywhere.” Frost leans so close I can smell her breath, a sour odor, as if she’s recently eaten something unripe or rotted.
“Would you like to know what’s going to happen?” she asks me.
I’d rather spit in her face than admit my curiosity.
I don’t want to care or feel, and I long to float so far away that her noise is smaller than an insect’s buzz. But her words hold me in a tight grip, ripping away my wings ….
“You’re still numb, so the pain won’t come quickly. Not until the scalpel cuts deep into the base of your neck … right here. Oh, what’s this?” Chill seeps through me at her touch. “You’ve already had a memdenity? The improved skin-seal is so natural I didn’t see the small incision. What we’re going to do is similar to the memdenity procedure—only reverse. Instead of pouring memories into your brain, we’ll withdraw memory cells, suctioning your memories like water through a straw. Sadly, there are risks. It’s an evolving procedure, so you may lose the knowledge for speaking, eating, and bodily functions.”
“That only happened once.” Scientist Daniel frowns at Frost, rubbing a cloth over a spiked tool. “It was during the experimental stages and has never happened again. The procedure is 97% perfection.”
“Isn’t that reassuring? You won’t drool or soil your clothing,” Frost says, as if this is worthy of a celebraze. “You’ll be as you were before this procedure—except you’ll remember nothing. Not even your name.”
I won’t forget. I won’t.
“Your life here will be simple without the burden of memories. You’ll contribute to ShareHaven in a useful role as a droll. Haven’t you wondered who prepares the cease-age patches and medi treatments? Scientists and assistants like myself have far more important duties.”
Fight, fight, FIGHT! I struggle to release the screaming in my head. But my mouth can’t open. My legs and arms are stone. Lift, lift, move! I can’t. Nothing happens. Frost looms over me, half of her face smooth with contempt and the other half twisted like a monster. She murmurs something to the scientist as she reaches for a sharpening tool. My focus shimmers to the gleam of silver tools, jumping my thoughts somewhere else … another time … a memory.
I’m lying back in a chair with my mouth open—no, not my mouth, but Milly’s—and I’m with someone with an oddly name: dentist. A health-worker for teeth. He promises, “This won’t hurt.” But he lies.
A paper napkin is strung like a white scarf around Milly’s neck. She trembles, but pain doesn’t scarify me; it’s the fear of nothingness.
Without memories, will I exist?
Silver slashes across my eyes. A sharpened cutting tool, poised in the scientist’s hand, aimed at my neck, coming closer ….
A door bangs and someone shouts, “Stop!”
THIRTY-ONE
“Daniel, put down that scalpel!”
Lila’s voice. High-pitched, forceful, and furious.
White-gloved hands fall away and a flowery fragrance swirls around me. I’m floating somewhere between dreams and memories, and I wonder if Lila is really here or if my mind is playing tricks. I drift on shimmering clouds until the voice jerks me back again.
“Why wasn’t I told Jennza was here?” I open my blurring eyes and see purple robes and silvery coiled hair.
“A Returned youth has no identity.” Frost’s words are wind gusts battering my head. “Who she was doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.” Lila’s words are hard-edged, but her fingers, gently grasping my hand, are soft and gentle.
“I can handle this without your help, dear sister.” There is no warmth in this statement. “It’s only a routine operation.”
“Like hell it is!”
“Why are you so agitated, Lila?” her brother asks calmly.
“You know damn well!” she shouts. “Put down your tools and get away from her. This procedure is cancelled.”
Scientist Daniel points the tool’s sharp tip at her. “Leader Cross ordered this youth Returned.”
“I’m giving you a new order. No one touches her. I’m taking full responsibility for her.”
“Lila, it’s not wise to oppose the Leaders.”
“Would you rather oppose me, brother?” she challenges. “You couldn’t stop me from doing what I knew was right when we were kids. Don’t try to stop me now.”
“It’s been a long time since we were kids, and I don’t appreciate you bringing our personal lives into the operating room.” His face darkens.
“This is personal, and we both know it. You warned me to stay away from the youths, but I didn’t. So this is how you get back at me—by harming an innocent youth.”
“Innocent?” he barks. “Leader Cross said she broke the killer Noc out of jail.”
She gasps. “He escaped?”
“Not only did she help him get away, she also attacked a Family member. She’s demented, like the last youth.”
“You know nothing about her. Stand aside, Daniel.”
The screaming in my mind silences as Lila’s arms lift me, holding me close. I inhale a perfume of flowers and safety.
“Are you all right, Jennza?”
I want to nod, but I’m floppy as a willow limb. I fear Scientist Daniel will force me back to the table or Frost will clamp me into chains. But no one stops Lila as she half-drags me to the door. I hold onto my consciousness until the lab door slams.
My legs buckle and dizziness spins me away.
A child’s toy scissors cutting paper dolls, clipping around the black-drawn outline of legs, feet, arms, shoulders, and the sunflower-blond head of a smiling paper girl. A princess made of paper. Paper doll, the word comes to me. I watch Milly playing with paper figures.
“I’ll call you Lissalynn and cut out a prince for you to marry so you can live happily ever after,” five-year-old Milly tells the paper girl. I’m holding a waxy stick—crayon—a yellow color for the prince’s golden hair. The crayon breaks in my hand, smearing a muddy trail across the paper. A wave of seawater splashes the prince’s eyes sea blue. The paper prince swells bigger until he’s taller than me, with long legs that spring from paper to life.
Nate. He reaches for me, and I try to run to him. But when I look down at myself there are no legs, arms, or body. He’s flesh while I’m less than a paper drawing. I’m no one anymore, and he can’t see me.
A door creaks.
Snapping upright, my fingers brush a smooth silk pillow. Not my pillow. The darkness is too dark, without the comforting sliver of light peeking through window shutters. I’m in a room so silent I can only hear the beat-beat of my own heart. No soft snores from the bed on the other side of the room. No Rosemarie. Where am I?
My eyes adjust, and I see the faint shape of a lamp. Fumbling on the smooth oval surface, I touch a knob and twist. Light flashes on, illuminating blankets, a downy soft pillow, fawn-brown oval rugs, curtains the color of mustard, and a glass vase blooming with lilacs on a table in a room I’ve never seen before.
But I know the person sitting in a chair beside my bed.
“How are you feeling, Jennza?” Scientist Lila jumps to her feet, coming over to my bed.
After weeks of “Milly,” I love the sound of my name. Something like hope rises in me as I lift my chin, meeting Lila’s gaze. I can remember each time we’ve spoken. I still don’t understand her interest in me, but I’m grateful. If not for her, I wouldn’t know my own name.
Lila’s purple jacket billows around her as she smooths a corner of my blanket, sitting beside me. When she squeezes my hand, her skin is tough yet gentle, weathered by sun and life. I study the fine lines around her lips and silver strands of hair sweeping across her forehead. Her eyes are like the darkest corner in my cave, with depths beyond my knowing.
“I’m so sorry you suffered, Jennza. This never should have happened,” she says fiercely. “My brother went too far.”
“You … you saved me.”
“I wasn’t soon enough,” she says sadly. She reaches out to touch my head. “Your hair … so lovely … cut.”
My arms are heavy as I feel the jagged edges of my hair—or what’s left of it. Instead of falling past my shoulders, it stops high over my neck. I won’t be able to hide Petal anymore. But if she comes looking for me, I won’t be a zombie-brain
who doesn’t remember her.
“Hair grows back—memories don’t,” I say gratefully.
“You’re safe now. I promise nothing like this will ever happen again.”
“They would have turned me into a droll if you hadn’t stopped them.” I lift my gaze to hers. “Why did you help me?”
“I couldn’t let them do that … not to you.”
“Why am I different than other youths?”
“It’s because you are different that sets you apart.”
“But if it had been another youth, like my mate, Lorelei, would you have saved her?”
“It was you,” she says, brushing her hand across my cheek.
I shake my head, still not understanding.
Scientist Lila scoots close to me on the bed. “You don’t fall into step with the others and have a unique sense of curiosity. At your Celebraze, even when you stood in a line of youths, you stood apart, restless and curious.”
“And scarified,” I admit. I am tempted to add that I know she spied on me after the Celebraze, but I’m so grateful to her for saving me and don’t want to cause trouble between us.
“While I am still furious at my brother for what he almost did to you,” she tells me, “I am glad you are here. I see much potential in you.”
Potential for what? Her words should comfort me, but they’re like being given a gift box I can’t open because it’s sealed shut. Something wonderful or something terriful might be inside, but I have no way of knowing.
“What will happen now?” I peer into the dark, unfamiliar room.
“You’ll rest until you feel better.”
“But after that?” My fingers dig into the silky pillow. “Frost said a Returned youth has no identity. Where will I go?”
“Nowhere. You’ll stay here.”
“How can I? I have to be in a Family.”
She glances toward the window, where the curtains are as closed as her expression. “You can’t go back … not to any Family.”
Memory Girl Page 21
