I stare at her, waiting for more information, for good news.
“They said if she admits to her crime and denies all ties to the enemy, they will begin rehabilitation and consider her release.”
A heavy load lifts from my shoulders. “I want to see her.”
“You can’t,” Mom says.
“Why not?”
She turns off the sink. “Petra is being treated like an enemy. Enemies are only allowed to see their spouse or a parent. No one else.”
Why am I arguing? She has no control over the situation. Petra has been in custody for twenty-four hours, and Mom has all ready unraveled. The visit with my sister and Mom’s double shift has darkened the bags under her eyes.
“Is she cooperating yet?” I ask.
She dries her hands on a kitchen towel. “No.”
“What’s she waiting for? Is there a hearing or something?” I can think of twenty other questions to ask, but I stop there.
She freezes, closing her eyes. “She won’t deny them.”
This news shakes me to the core. I want to run up to Arkin’s apartment and pound on the door. I want more answers, but at the same time, I’m afraid of what those answers will be.
Mom opens her eyes. They’re wet with tears. “I can’t do this again.”
“What do you mean ‘again’? Can’t do what again?”
“Go to school,” she says, walking into the living room.
“Tell me what you’re talking about!” I yell, my blood boiling. She always treats me like a child. The secrets pull at me like multiple arms in a crowd, dragging me away from the truth. I want to break free from them. Arkin can help me do that.
She utters a painful groan, but I still grit my teeth, waiting. No. I won’t feel guilty. I need to know the truth. I don’t care how much it makes her cry.
Mom drops on the sofa and weeps into her hands. I sit beside her and place an arm around her shoulders. After a minute, her sobbing becomes stifled breaths. She dries her eyes with the sleeve of her bathrobe.
“I told you your father left us,” she says.
I nod, dreading what comes next.
“He didn’t leave,” she says. “He was taken away from us.”
My eyes widen. “He was … an enemy?” The strange dream. It came from reality, from my memories.
She nods.
“Why would you lie to me?”
“I didn’t want you to grow up knowing your father was one of them, that he had been to the outskirts. I wanted you to believe he was a good citizen.”
I release a cold laugh. “A good citizen? A good citizen doesn’t abandon his family!”
“It was better than the truth.”
I shake my head. “A lie is never better than the truth. You taught me that.”
She looks away. “You’re so much like your father, so passionate, so stubborn. He refused to deny the enemy.”
I fear the answer to my next question. “What happened to him?”
“They executed him.”
The words wash over me like a cold downpour, like that horrible water in the dream. They’re going to kill Petra.
Mom rises from the sofa and disappears into her bedroom. Now, with the burden of these recent events, I have to grab my backpack and march to school like it’s any other day. My only solace: Ogden will walk right along with me and listen to me unload my burdens.
On the way to school, Ogden hears all about what Mom said, and he listens without a word. Every part of me wants to talk about Arkin, the mysterious book, and how the enemies are now trying to recruit me. But it would be too dangerous to tell Og. He’s blindly committed to his father and the Code. He would never protect Arkin and keep such secrets. If Arkin has any hope of remaining covert, I need to stay away from him and keep Ogden from becoming suspicious.
“You should talk to my dad,” Og says when we near the school’s entrance. “He could get you in to see Petra.”
A surge of energy hits me like a lightning bolt. I could kiss Og right there on the street. Instead, I grab him by the shoulders.
“Og, you genius! You really think there’s a chance?” I ask.
He offers me one of his proudest smirks. “He’s the chief! Of course there’s a chance.”
I want to rush to CE headquarters right now, but I know Og won’t agree to it. I have to endure the whole school day first. I have to see Arkin in classes, in the hallway, at lunch, but I don’t want to.
All day I avoid his knowing glances. He offers me an apologetic smile in science class, but I turn away from him. Even Tayra notices.
“What’s wrong, Raissa? Did you and your boyfriend break up?” she teases on the way out of the classroom.
I grimace, and Tayra flings her hair, releasing a high-pitched giggle over her shoulder. Everything is a joke to her, to all of them. The other students have simple problems: studying for tests and dodging negative peer attention. They aren’t waiting to see a loved one in custody. They don’t fear for that loved one’s life. They aren’t hiding EP, terrified a camera might catch a glimpse of them with it. What has my life become?
During the last class of the day, it takes all of my willpower not to make a run for it. Arkin’s eyes follow me all over the gym. When the final bell rings, I speed to the escalators as fast as I can. I know faithful Og will be waiting outside for me. We agreed to walk to headquarters as soon as school let out.
“Raissa, wait!” Arkin yells behind me, but I ignore him.
Og looks back. “Arkin’s calling you.”
I hurry ahead into the pedestrian crowd. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
“Wait,” Og calls, joining me. “What happened to your crush?”
“I’ve got more important things to worry about.”
He shrugs and presses through the crowd at my side.
We leave the majority of the traffic as we cross over to Street B4. I struggle not to break into a sprint along the three blocks to Code Enforcement headquarters. Ogden huffs beside me, struggling to keep up with my determined pace.
“Slow down,” he says between breaths.
“This is life or death! We have to hurry!” My heart thumps in my ears, perhaps from my pace or perhaps from my overwhelming emotions.
“That can’t be true,” he says. “Why would they kill enemies when they could get so much information out of them?”
“So you think my dad is still alive?”
He frowns.
“You think your dad wouldn’t kill an enemy?” I ask.
He stops walking. “My dad is not a murderer!”
I pause and turn to him. “If my dad is dead, then CE killed him.” The realization hits me as the words spill from my mouth.
His face twists. “If your dad was an enemy, he deserved it!”
The breath explodes from my lungs like he punched me in the gut.
“Go home!” I yell. “I can go to headquarters by myself!”
But he’s all ready heading in the opposite direction and disappearing into a new group of pedestrians.
I can’t believe the fantasy world he lives in. Of course, they kill enemies. They’ll do anything to protect the city-state, even kill people who pretend to be citizens. As far as I’m concerned, I can no longer be a citizen. If they kill Petra, I’ll renounce all things Gideon, abandon my citizenship, and seek revenge on CE. I’ll die to avenge my sister.
Get a hold of yourself. Petra is going to be fine. You can convince her to deny her enemy ties. They’ll let her go, and life will be normal again.
Now you sound like Mom.
The headquarters skyscraper stands one more block away. The cylindrical tower symbolizes the Code’s hold over all citizens. All signs and documents show a seal with the tower in the center. Chief Penski works somewhere near the top floor.
Heading through the sliding glass doors of the tower, I now regret my argument with Og. How much harder will it be to talk to the chief without Ogden by my side? An officer approaches me as soon as I wa
lk into the lobby.
“What business do you have here?”
“I need to see Chief Penski.”
“Your name?” The officer turns on a digital pad in his hand and scrolls with his finger through the information on the screen.
“Raissa Santos.”
The officer offers me an open hand. “Your wristband.”
I put my wrist out, and the officer scans my wristband with the digital pad.
“ID confirmed,” a robotic voice says from the pad.
“You aren’t authorized to see him today,” the officer says.
“I am,” a voice behind me says.
I turn and find Ogden.
“I’m Garrison Penski’s son and Raissa is with me,” he says.
The officer confirms Og’s ID, and I follow Og to the elevators. I can’t believe he came back.
“I’m sorry for what I said. You’re going through a tough time,” he says as we stand in the glass elevator alone.
“You’re a good friend. Thank you.”
“I’m the best friend you’ll ever have,” he says with a smirk. “You owe me one.”
The elevator stops at the seventy-first floor with a resounding ding. The doors open, revealing a carpeted hallway with doors on either side. I follow him down the hall, passing open offices along the way. Inside each office, an officer works at a computer screen or talks with someone from the other side of a desk. At the end of the hall, it opens up into a waiting-room-like area with chairs on one side and a secretary’s desk on the other.
The red-headed secretary’s face brightens when she sees Og. “Hey, Oggie! How are you?”
“Hi, Ms. Estrada. Is my dad available?”
“Go right in, sweetie. Oh, and before you leave, I’ve got a treat for you and your friend.”
“Thanks,” he says, opening his father’s office door.
“Oggie?” I echo.
“She treats me like I’m still in elementary school,” he whispers.
I follow him into the office. “Aren’t you?”
He turns around and gives me a playful shove as Chief Penski stands from behind his desk.
“How’s my boy? Everything okay?”
Ogden straightens up at the sight of his towering father. “Yes, sir. Raissa needs to talk to you.”
I approach the desk without hesitation. “Chief Pen—”
“I know what this is about,” the chief says. He turns to his son. “Wait outside, Ogden.”
Og nods and heads for the door. After it closes, Chief Penski continues.
“There is nothing I can do about your sister. She’s been uncooperative.”
How can such a word be used to describe Petra, the definition of cooperative? What happened to my model-citizen sister?
“If you give me five minutes with her, I could get her to deny them,” I say.
Chief Penski scoffs. “Deny them? I’m looking for their whereabouts, the enemy camps. I could care less about rehabilitating your sister. She’s an enemy. She’s only useful to me if she can give me information.”
He drops down into his high-backed chair and returns his attention to his computer monitor as if he just gave some order to a subordinate or answered some simple question from his secretary. The coldness of his tone resonates with me. He doesn’t care about Petra. He has no sympathy for me or Mom. I thought our families were friends.
“What if I could get you that information?” I ask. “What if I could talk Petra into telling you what you want to know?”
The chief looks back at me again. “Then we might be able to negotiate.”
“Take me to her.”
►▼◄
I sit at a wooden table in the center of the visitor meeting room. Under the fluorescent light reflected by white walls and flooring, the pencil lead under my fingernails becomes more apparent. My hands shake, and my pulse pounds. My heart has never drummed so hard and fast before. What do I say to her? What can I do to get Petra to reveal the location of the enemy camps?
The door to the room releases a beep and creaks open. A CE officer enters with his hand hooked around a prisoner’s arm. The prisoner, dressed in all white, keeps her head down, back bent, and cuffed hands held in front of her. She hobbles and, although I recognize the wavy, brown hair, there must be some mistake. This is not my sister.
But when the officer releases her arm and the prisoner lifts her head, my heart drops. It is Petra. Our eyes meet, and my stomach turns. One of Petra’s eyes is a black and blue bulge. Her top lip is swollen with smeared, dried blood in one corner.
I jump from my chair and rush over to embrace her. She raises her cuffed hands to put her arms around me. Petra’s chest heaves against my own, and she lets out a painful cry. I suck in a breath, struggling to keep from crying.
“What did they do to you?” I ask.
She releases me. “I’m okay. What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.”
“I had to see you. Mom’s a mess. We need you out of here.”
She drops into the other chair at the table and runs her hands through her disheveled hair. “I can’t get out. What they want … I can’t do it.”
“Tell them where the enemy camps are. That’s all Penski wants,” I say, sitting at the table.
“I can’t. I won’t. Don’t you see my face? They couldn’t beat it out of me!”
My bottom lip quivers. I bite it to keep the tears at bay. “Why are you doing this? Why did you join them?”
“You’ll understand one day. You have to understand.”
Burning fire rises in my chest. “But I don’t! I never will! I can’t understand any of it! You were a loyal citizen! How could you let them brainwash you?”
She shakes her head. “I promise you’ll find the answers if you seek them. Just seek them out.”
“Where? How?” Now the tears flow. “They’re going to kill you.”
“You have to understand,” she says. “What I know now, what I have inside of me, is worth dying for.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The inspiration for sketches doesn’t come. I can usually escape into my sketchbook, penciling the world around me into permanent images, but I haven’t sketched anything in a week. Not since I saw Petra in that horrible, white room.
As I lean over my sketchbook in the school courtyard, I stare at the last image I drew, Arkin Pettigrew. This sketch shows him sitting on the bleachers in the gymnasium. I flip back another page and find Arkin’s face, his eyes staring into my own. I flip back yet again and find him with his backpack slung over his shoulder in the school hallway. I’ve never drawn a single person this many times. Now I struggle to look at him.
CE scheduled an execution date for Petra, and I blame Arkin and his people. If they hadn’t exposed her to that book, my sister’s last breath wouldn’t be scheduled for March 22. Now a once meaningless date will be forever etched into my memory, and Petra has four weeks to live. Mom and I won’t be allowed to attend nor will Petra’s body be relinquished for burial. CE cremate enemies of Gideon and dump their ashes out with the trash. The very thought makes me sick to my stomach.
Everyday after work, Mom goes to CE headquarters. She begs and pleads. She tries to make deals. Nothing works.
“I need to speak to you,” Arkin whispers behind me.
I close my sketchbook, but I don’t turn to look back. “What?”
He walks around the courtyard bench and sits close beside me. The chilly wind carries his cologne across my nostrils. I’ve missed the scent. Despite everything, I miss his friendship, fake or not.
“Have you been reading?” he whispers.
The book, The Holy Bible, comes to mind. Yes, I’ve read it for hours each night, devouring every word. Something in that book has to show me what Petra has been talking about. Thus far, I only have more questions.
I nod at him. I’ve never seen him so pale, so tired from restless nights, like me.
“It’s a lot to take in,” he says. “I want to answer y
our questions. Can we meet at the same place again, same time?”
“Why are you doing this? Why my sister? Why me?”
He shakes his head. “I can’t tell you that. Not yet, but I promise there’s a very good reason.”
I avert my eyes again, a weight sinking into my chest. “I’ll be there.”
“Be careful,” he whispers. “They’re watching you.”
►▼◄
I come home to an empty apartment after school and leave an empty apartment at 5:45. I’ve spent the hours in between writing down every question I have about this strange book and the contents I’ve read so far. Arkin has a lot of explaining to do to regain my trust.
Darkness blankets Gideon as I follow the street lamps into the Blind Spot. Remembering his warning, I take a different route this time, a longer one which might make me less conspicuous.
After I enter the Blind Spot, I get back on the original route and arrive at the building with no trouble. Inside, Arkin sits on a wooden crate across from several lit candles.
He smiles at me. “Thank God you came.”
“Who is this ‘God’ of yours?” I ask.
He pats the crate beside him. “Sit down, and I’ll tell you.”
I take the seat without hesitation and pull the list of questions from my pocket.
“Let me see your wristband,” he says, offering his hand.
“Why?”
“In case you’re being monitored,” he says, “we have to use every precaution.”
I give him my wrist, and he removes an unfamiliar device from his coat pocket. He appears to attach it to the bracelet for a moment.
“It’s called a scrambler. Your wristband will think you’re in midtown somewhere, but it only works for an hour or so.”
“What about curfew?” I ask.
“You’ll be temporarily logged in the system with a curfew pass,” he says.
“How is that—?”
“You don’t survive as an enemy of Gideon without keeping a few tricks up your sleeve.”
He releases his grasp on my wrist. I examine my wristband, puzzled.
“My name really is Arkin,” he says, staring into the candlelight, “but I don’t have a last name. Believers don’t have last names. I’m Arkin of Philippi, my village in the outskirts. The people I’m living with here in Gideon are not my parents.”
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