It dawns on me that Marcus leaves out an important detail, though. I swallow and ask my next question.
“How did they know Aron was the suspect? The police, I mean. They found him at the Media Post almost immediately after it happened. How did they find out it was him?”
Marcus gets up and rests his hand on my shoulder. He squeezes it, a bit too hard to be comforting. His fingers bore into my skin, and it feels like he wants to splinter the bone underneath. Then he lets me go and laughs. It sounds fake.
“Justa, I can’t keep up with you. I don’t know all the details myself. I’ll ask the Commander if that will set your mind at ease.”
I get up from my chair too. “Oh no, don’t bother,” I quickly say, following Marcus into the hallway to get my coat.
“You need a ride?” Marcus puts on his coat and collects the car keys from the small cupboard near the coat rack. I shake my head.
“No. I’ll walk. Get some fresh air. We’ll be stuck inside all day today. I think I’ll go around the block for a while before I head for the Arbiter House.”
I wave goodbye to Marcus and wait until the car has disappeared from view. Then, I rush down our street.
10
I ARRIVE at the Media Station, gasping for breath. A look at my watch tells me it’s a few minutes past eight. If I hurry up, I’ll have three quarters of an hour before I’m expected at the Arbiter House. Quickly, I go inside, shooting past Miss Mollen who waves her hand in greeting. I want to dash right past her, then change my mind and come to a stop at the front desk.
“Justa! It’s good to see you! How are you holding up?” The elderly lady readjusts her gray chignon and covers my hand with hers. “I was so sorry to hear the horrible news about Irina. Such a sweet girl she was, never a bad word about anyone. I can still see the two of you sitting there, near the window.”
This is the exact reason I want to talk to Miss Mollen. Her memory is bizarrely accurate. I try to keep the urgency out of my voice when I say my next words, but the attentive look in her eyes makes it clear that she’s not just good at noticing who always sits where. “Yeah. It’s terrible. Truly awful. The suspect was arrested here. Do you know where he was sitting at the time? Where the police found him when they came in here?”
Hey gray eyebrows travel up a fraction of an inch. She puckers her lips, taps them with her finger. “Yes. It was quite the spectacle, I can tell you that. Five police officers suddenly storming in here. I thought it was peculiar, mind you, having a Stateless guy in here. Turned out his Pass was a fake, too. What a situation!” She looks up at me expectantly and I force my face into an expression that hopefully looks sympathetic and compassionate. I make a few obligatory ‘uh-huh’ sounds and wait for more.
“He was sitting over there, in the corner.” Miss Mollen nods in the direction of a low partition. Quickly, I pull my hand away from hers and head for the partially enclosed workspace. Carefully, I lower myself into the seat standing at a small desk holding a computer. It’s then that it hits me – I have no idea where to look. The unbidden thought lodges in my brain like a hammer is pounding it in. The same melody, over and over: maybe everything was a lie.
But the memory of the urgency in Aron’s voice overrules my insecurity. Two new compositions thud out another rhythm in my brain to drown out everything else – all sense of logic thought, or fear, or doubt.
Help me.
It’s important enough to kill for.
Precious minutes tick away as I frantically look around to find something that’s hidden like a pearl tucked away in an oyster. My hands drift across the desktop, flit underneath. Nothing. I feel around behind the monitor, under the keyboard. Nothing. My fingers skim the wish to find something, not touching the actual goods. I turn around in my swivel chair and look left and right. No suitable places to hide a USB stick, no matter how small.
My hands grip the seat of the chair as I make a three-sixty turn in my chair. And another one. The movement makes me dizzy. Maybe this is good – maybe it will sort out my thoughts, make my mind clear again. My toes touch the floor and I stop abruptly mid-turn. Time’s up. I want to get up, but my finger gets caught in a tear in the torn upholstery of the chair seat. Slowly, my finger probes the hole I hadn’t noticed before. A frayed edge where the fabric was ripped.
The mouth of an oyster.
I feel around and find a tiny compartment between the seat and the upholstery. My heart beats a mile a minute. I’m dizzy, but it’s no longer caused by turning around in a swivel chair. I probe even further and I find it.
The pearl.
11
“YOU’RE late.”
The guard glowers down at me, his hands folded in front of his heavy body. I recognize him – it’s the man who pulled Aron away from me before kicking him while he was down on the deck. My disgust passes as I swallow it down in one large gulp, and I force myself to focus on the greasy stain in his shirt instead of his face.
“I’m terribly sorry. I needed the restroom desperately. Girl stuff.” The ease with which I’m lying to him shocks me. It’s so easy for me – too easy.
For a moment, the uncomfortable look in his eyes makes me feel giddy with relief, causing thousands of fireflies to start an impromptu tango inside. But then his heavy eyebrows settle into a frown, and he sighs.
“I might be able to let you in later. The suspect isn’t here yet either. He’s being examined by a doctor.”
The firefly dance comes to a screeching halt and everything turns black.
I push my hands further down into my pants pockets, clutching the USB stick in my right hand. On my way to the Arbiter House, I checked whether I still had the tiny treasure in my possession every few steps of the way.
“What happened?” When the guard looks at me nonplussed, I clarify: “With Ar… with the suspect? Why does he need a doctor?”
My reluctant discussion partner shrugs in disinterest. “Had a little accident in his cell.” He points to a bench in the hallway. “Have a seat. I’ll pop my head around the door to see how the Doc’s doing. I’ll take you to the courtroom next.” I grudgingly do as he says and watch him stalk over to a door to my right, opening it all the way.
A blood-curdling scream cuts the silence and I see Aron. Two men are holding him while a third – a tall, skinny, gray-haired man – is pulling on his arm to set a broken bone. The guard takes a step back, then another. Then he closes the door.
“They’ll be done soon, I guess. Let’s get you inside.”
I don’t know how, but I somehow force my unwilling legs to support me as I stand and turn my treacherous back to the door. Turning it to Aron. Step by step, I reach the courtroom, and then my usual seat. And all this time, my fingers are curled around a small piece of plastic.
“Where have you been?” Ernst hisses at me. Myrthe and he both shoot me indignant looks and I get why – they think I’m the cause of the delay. I look around for Marcus as inconspicuously as I can. His back is turned toward me as he stands there talking to Severis. Marcus has slung an arm around the man’s shoulders and they’re both laughing. He doesn’t seem to be bothered by the delay, where he is usually such a fan of speedy trials.
“Justa! What have you been up to?! What’s your excuse for being this late? Everyone’s waiting! And we haven’t seen that Stateless jackass in here either.”
The sharpness of Ernst’s words makes me flinch, every letter like a whiplash on cream-white skin.
I dish up the same lie I told the guard outside, and to my delight, Ernst shows me the same uncomfortable face as that man did.
Myrthe purses her lips and nods, then averts her eyes. I follow her gaze and see Aron enter. His right arm is in a sling, close to his body. His hands are uncuffed and he looks as pale as a sheet, which makes his dark hair look even blacker and his brown eyes even more intense. This time, the guards don’t need to push him
down on his chair – he sits down willingly, carefully lowering himself with his spine slumping against the backrest.
Then he sees me and I tell myself he perks up a little because of it. He sits up somewhat straighter, and the corners of his mouth curl up in a slight smile – well, not a smile, exactly, but definitely different from the grimace of pain marring his face just moments ago.
Before I can stop myself, I smile back.
My expression freezes when I’m suddenly eye to eye with Marcus, though, who lines up between me and Aron while shooting me a penetrating look. The look of a hawk fully focused on its prey. I sit back inadvertently, shocked by the way Marcus’s look seems to scrutinize me. His eyes cut through me like Severis’s scalpel slowly cutting away my soul unanesthetized.
“I’m glad we’re all here. Welcome to the third day of this Tribunal gathering.” Marcus steps aside and stands next to the screen listing the pieces of evidence presented that we’ve discussed so far. My eyes skim the lines and I whisper along while Marcus sums them up. I don’t risk looking at Aron again, afraid to witness the pain etched on his face. Even more afraid of my own reaction to it.
- The suspect entered our Sector without a valid Pass. The Pass he was carrying turned out to be a fake on closer inspection. This, in itself, is a crime, punishable by means which will be determined during the course of this Tribunal.
- The suspect has admitted to being involved in illegal gambling. This, in itself, is a crime, punishable by means which will be determined during the course of this Tribunal.
- The murder weapon turns out to be the suspect’s property. Suspect has admitted to being the owner of the knife.
“These pieces of evidence have been discussed in the past few days. I’d now like to continue with…” The rest of Marcus’s speech is cut off by ruckus breaking out in the back of the courtroom. A woman pushes through the crowd of spectators, whispers something in one of the guards’ ear who initially wants to stop her, then changes his mind after he hears her words and lets her through.
“What’s this supposed to mean?” Marcus spreads his arms in a surprised gesture. “I won’t allow this Tribunal to be disturbed any further. What is your grievance?”
“I’m here to report as a witness. I have seen the suspect, Aron, murdering the Sectoral Irina.”
Her words pound me like a hammer, clawing, gnawing, biting, and tearing at my heart. The witness turns around to face the Tributants, us – me. One green eye and one blue. Suddenly, I recognize the melodic voice.
“Your name?” Marcus inquires. But I know that he knows her. And so does Ernst.
I know her.
She doesn’t need to speak her name. I scan the spectator stand and see him standing there. Severis. He smiles approvingly, almost proudly, when his daughter introduces herself to the Tribunal.
“My name is Nata.”
12
ARON screams. It’s an animalistic sound, filled with pain and rage. A beast driven into a corner lashing out at his abuser and torturer. Powerless.
“She’s lying!”
Chaos explodes in the room when guards rush forward to deal with Aron. One of them viciously pinches his injured arm, causing Aron to shriek again. This time in agony.
I sit there watching and wishing I could disappear into thin air. No! I wish I could end this. This whole miserable situation. All of it. I wish I could turn back the clock and make the conversation between Aron and me never take place, so he’d never have had the chance to ask me for help. So I’d never have gone down to the Media Station. I wish I weren’t a Tributant in this room.
Realizing this submerges me in doubt, confuses me. Rocks and crumbles my already shaky faith in the Sectorate.
Aron makes me doubt everything.
I see what they’re doing to him. And I see, I know, that he’s not an animal, not some retarded person only acting out on instinct because he doesn’t have the capacity to learn or grow by himself.
He’s just like me.
“Justa!” Ernst cradles my face between his hands and I stare into his narrowed eyes. The world slides back into view, flooding my senses with a deafening silence that I notice is now pervading the room. I twist out of his grasp and look around me blearily. Nata has taken a seat to the right of the Tributants’ Table. Marcus is next to her, one hand resting on her shoulder. I quickly look away to find Aron, barely able to stifle a cry of disgust when I do. They’re taped his mouth shut. A rivulet of blood trickles down from his torn eyebrow to his cheek.
I look at him and he looks back. The anger in his eyes paralyzes me. But then his eyes soften and I understand that his fury isn’t meant for me. I wish I could let him know that I found the data stick, that it’s safely tucked away in my pocket, but I don’t know how to tell him without words. I cast my gaze down and wait for whatever’s going to happen next. Because even though there is a witness, even though there’s a person in this room who claims to have seen Aron as he murdered Irina, I know that it’s not true. I just do. Aron is innocent, and whatever’s on this stick will prove that.
13
“HERE you go.” Marcus hands Nata a handkerchief, which she gratefully accepts. She dabs at her dry eyes, then clutches the bit of fabric in her folded hands as she puts them in her lap.
“I’m sorry. I – this confrontation, it’s too much. The fear...” The words pour from her mouth without emotion, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t sense the fear Nata’s referring to. I don’t see it in her meticulously made-up face, or in her posture. She sits in her chair with her back straight and leans over to Marcus whenever he asks her a question or puts his hand on her shoulder for a moment. Because she leans forward every now and then, the entire audience is treated to a full view of her deep cleavage.
“And that is the reason you’ve decided to step forward only now? Nata, that’s all right. I completely understand that you’re scared. It’s not a pretty sight when one of your fellow Sectorals is slaughtered by an unscrupulous beast.” Marcus pats her shoulder again and Nata nods.
“It’s not. It’s very difficult. I saw how he – how he stabbed Irina. Three times. And then he ran for it. He didn’t see me, I was hiding at the time.”
Marcus shakes his head. “Nata, I’m sorry I need to ask you this, but why were you at the crime scene? And how can you be so sure that it was the suspect who killed Irina? It was dark – maybe it was hard to see what was going on?”
Nata looks up, her gaze landing on Ernst. From the corner of my eye, I can see him shooting her an encouraging little smile.
“The suspect, Aron… I, we, uhm…” She shifts in her chair uncomfortably, and the words that follow strike a hole in the ground that I wish would swallow me up whole. “We had a one night stand. I knew he didn’t have a valid Pass when I met him at the Party Center. I know I crossed all moral boundaries of society and I’m so, so sorry. But he seduced me, and I – was weak. When he was done with me, I followed him. I wanted to… I don’t know what I wanted. I mean, he left me there after we, you know… and I followed him. Then I saw him as he met up with Irina, spoke with her briefly, then stabbed her with a knife.”
The hairs in my neck stand up and I sigh along with the collective exhalation of shock going through the room. Tears start stinging my eyes. I’m such a moron! I’m so naive! I believed him... And he seduced Nata, used her, and went on to kill another girl. What kind of monster is Aron? For Nata, it’s a big step to come here and tell us how she’s debased herself by having sex with a Stateless. It’s a blemish – an indelible stain on your reputation. Therefore, it must be true. Who in his right mind would lie about something like this?
“Given this shocking revelation, I propose a short recess so people have the chance to calm down. I think we all need a moment to reflect on what we’ve heard.” Marcus puts an arm around Nata’s shoulders when she gets up, and escorts her out of the room. I
stare dead ahead, refusing to meet Aron’s eyes. The eyes of a liar. Of a murderer.
“An eye witness, who would have thought? I really thought he was smarter than that. But hey, only goes to show that we’re right about the Stateless.” Myrthe brushes past me and Ernst on her way to the door. “Hopefully, this will all be over soon. I’ve got better things to do than to sit here and listen to some girl ruining her own reputation. Can you imagine, Justa, doing it with a Stateless..? Gross! Wasn’t that outlawed at some point?”
She’s expecting an answer from me, her head cocked slightly to one side. I swallow when I remember Aron’s body so close to mine, my skin like a hungry animal waiting for his touch. My fear was gone. My sadness erased.
I believed him.
And now, an eye witness.
“No. I can’t imagine anything more disgusting than being with a Stateless like that,” I say, making sure my voice is loud enough for Aron to hear.
The break that lasts for two hours doesn’t bring the peace and quiet Marcus was hoping for. The spectators in the stand still strike me as being restless; snippets of their conversations are whirling around me like flakes of ash. I’m too close to the fire. Heat crawls up my neck toward my cheeks when they march Aron back into the room. His mouth is still taped shut and his arm is still in its sling. Everything looks the same, but nothing is – reality is spinning like a mad carousel. And I’m stuck in this circus, where every time I think the carousel winds down and stops, allowing me to get off on unsteady legs, it picks up speed again and takes me for another ride. And another, and another, round and round and round we go. I can’t take it anymore. The world has wobbled off its axis and feels surreal.
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