Darian snaps his fingers. “Oh yeah. Second, considering the topic of this specific piece, whoever painted it obviously has their doubts about The Protectorate on some conscious or subconscious level.”
I want to flip him off, but I ball my hands into fists instead. I don’t like being psychoanalyzed. Especially by him—a convicted murderer. And I don’t know if I have doubts, or if I’ve just been upset with what’s happened lately, first at the pre-binding formal, then with Coral and Owen. Either way, his words make me uneasy and I don’t know what to say.
When I don’t answer, he says, “Doubts on some level…whether they want to admit it or not.”
“All right, Darian,” I snap. “Let’s go with your theory then. The Protectorate uses the Dreamscape to brainwash us with subliminal messages and everything, right?”
Without hesitation he nods. “Right.”
“And your dad found proof of this hidden code stuff at the Dreamscape laboratory and showed it to you?”
He nods again, rocking back on his heels with satisfaction.
I strum my fingers against my thigh. “Okay, so show me the proof then.”
His face suddenly pales and for once he doesn’t look so confident. “I’m working on it…” Without the cocky, confident, in-control persona, he reminds me of the young Darian I once knew, the one that didn’t have all the answers. He runs his hand over the top of his black, cropped hair and sighs.
I sigh, too. I don’t know what I believe. A part of me wonders if what Darian says is true, but something else tickles at the back of my brain, telling me that he’s desperate to blame someone else for his parents’ deaths and live in denial. All I know is that my once-calm life has been turned upside down, spinning like a merry-go-round, and I just want it to stop.
I check my watch. If I don’t leave soon, I’ll miss the last tram home and my parents will be furious. And they’ll have too many questions that I won’t have the answers for.
I drag my hair behind my ears. “Working on it how? Where’s the proof?”
He eyes me as if wondering whether or not he should tell me. Either that, or he’s conjuring up a lie.
“On a flash drive buried in my back yard,” he says finally.
“Seriously?” I ask, balking.
“Yeah, that’s why I don’t have it.” He pauses. “Yet. Since my…release, the officials have been keeping a close watch on my house. They’re everywhere, like damn roaches.”
“Doesn’t somebody else live there now?”
“No, nobody’s bought it yet. People don’t want to live in a so-called murderer’s house.”
“Why would you hide it at your house?” I pull a face. “Seems to me that hiding it here at the Dungeon would have been a smarter move.”
He huffs a laugh. “If only it had been that easy. But The Protectorate moved in on us too quickly. They showed up at our house to arrest us that day, and I barely had time to hide the thing at all.”
I don’t know if I believe him. It all seems pretty convenient. Government kills parents, frames him, proof is inaccessible. “Sounds sort of like that ‘a-dog-ate-my-homework’ excuse.” I make air quotes.
He looks wounded. “You don’t believe me?”
I open my mouth and close it again.
“What? Say it,” he says.
“Say what?”
“What you’re thinking. You were gonna say something, but you stopped. Say it.”
“Well…you’re…a One,” I say slowly, measuring his response.
He holds his hands palms up and lifts his eyebrows. “And?”
“And maybe it’s made you flip out or something—I don’t mean you killed your parents,” I’m quick to add before I’m thrown out of the tree house face first—“Just maybe your memories of things are messed up with the added stress of, you know, that.” My gaze falls to the swirling smoke of the number one inked on his wrist like a death sentence.
“I won’t be eighteen until January. Even though I’m supposed to turn myself in for termination at twenty-five, it’s still a ways away. And besides, I’ll never turn myself into them.”
Then suddenly I remember what I wanted to ask him. “Darian, who’s Sophia?” I blurt out.
He closes his eyes and heaves a sigh. “Forget about that.”
“Forget about it? That’s just the problem—I do forget. And ever since you mentioned her name, it keeps playing in my mind in a series of flashes and colors.”
“Interesting.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I fold my arms. “If you know something, tell me already.”
“I said forget about it. I shouldn’t have said anything. I just wasn’t sure…”
My blood pumps harder, my heart leaps against my ribs, and I narrow my eyes, studying his blank expression.
Darian throws his hands up. “I still haven’t figured it all out yet, okay? I don’t even know myself how you forgot…why you forgot her.”
“Forgot who? What are you talking about? I mean it, stop toying with me!” I march over and press my hands against his chest. “Who’s Sophia?”
I don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t tell me, but I need to know.
“She…” He takes my hands from his chest and holds them in his. “Sophia was your sister.”
Chapter Ten
Two hours ago Darian claimed a girl named Sophia was my sister.
Was—as in, no longer. As in, now this Sophia girl is dead.
Darian’s revelation, if I even believe it, disturbs me for more than the obvious reason that a girl may have died. There are no siblings in our world. The concept is a faded memory from the past, along with famine and the rapid transmission of disease. Having more than one child is banned to help avoid those horrible things.
Everything that happened after I rushed out of the tree house is a blur, until right now as I lie back on my bed, eyes closed, stomach churning.
No, I don’t believe Darian. I can’t. I won’t.
Still, no matter how many times I tell myself it isn’t true—that Darian is a desperate liar—an empty sensation gnaws at my stomach and a persistent nagging works at the back of my brain.
It feels like I forgot something. Like a memory just out of reach that I can’t place, one that may be buried so deep that it will be lost forever.
I know I raced off without a word after Darian dropped the bomb, running so hard my legs still ache. Mom cooked dinner, which we ate in silence. I know I forced some down, but the food had no flavor, and I don’t even remember what it was.
My parents told me I looked pale and to lie down, which I happily did, explaining that my headache still bothered me. I wish it were only a migraine. That would be much simpler. There are only a couple of hours before we have to watch Coral and Owen go through the Terrorscape again—their own personal hell. I’m not sure I can hold up watching it the rest of the week without having a total breakdown—but I have to try. For Mom and Dad. And for me.
My mind reels. If what Darian said about me having a sister is true, then why did I forget? How could I forget a sister? And why did my parents forget? Or do they know something they aren’t telling me?
No, it can’t be true. If I had a sister, I’d definitely remember.
I stumble to the bathroom and allow myself a quick splash of cold water on my face. I only have a few seconds left of water usage for the day, but I figure I need it.
“Rae?” I hear Laken call out to me. I poke my head out of the bathroom to see her standing just inside my bedroom door, a goofy expression plastered over her face.
I take an appraising look at her and smile, hoping my agony isn’t written all over my face. “You look gorgeous,” I say, rushing over to meet her, and it’s true. Her knee-length ivory dress has long, flowing arms and an empire waist, and her dark-brown hair is curled into loose ringlets that hang perfectly at her shoulders, as always. The whole look is so Laken.
Not too much, not too little, the perfect spot is right in the
middle. Laken’s little rhyme she always said when we were kids rings through my mind. She’s always been like that: no extremes, happy and peaceful, molding into society like a well-fitting glove.
“You really think so?” She spins around, her pre-binding dress twirling around her while her unique scent of Peach Blossom Orchard perfume fills my nose.
“Absolutely,” I say and pull her into a warm embrace, hoping her exuberance will rub off on me. I pull back and smile again. “So, how’d it go?”
She holds out her left arm and her sleeve shifts back, revealing her pre-binding bracelet. “R—for Rowen!” she squeals. “Rae, I’m telling you he’s just as amazing as I thought he’d be. He told me I’m beautiful and that he already thinks he loves me and that the best part of his whole day is when he gets to sleep and see me in his dreams.” She pauses to gasp in a breath of air before rambling on again. “Can you believe that? And he looks exactly like he does in my dreams and I swear I think I love him, too. He kissed my cheek, Rae. Kissed me. It’s like a dream come true!” She laughs, giddy. “Well, I guess he is a dream come true, isn’t he?”
I nod and laugh too, happy for Laken. What’s happening to her is everything we’d talked about growing up. How magical it would be to meet your perfect mate. I think of Asher and a pain shoots behind one of my eyes, making me squint.
Laken holds me at the elbow. “You okay?” She tilts her head and examines me, her eyes full of concern. “You don’t look so good. Come and sit down.” I don’t argue and follow her to my bed and lie down again. She grabs a hairbrush from my bathroom counter and then slips out of her shoes. Kneeling beside my bed, she balls the hem of her dress together and starts brushing my hair. “What’s going on? Is it because of the Monroes?” she asks in a soft voice. The feel of the brush as it slides through my hair and the gentle tone of her voice soothes me.
It’s not like I can tell her I just met a convicted murderer in the woods, even if it was Darian, and even if I did know him almost my whole life. And I definitely can’t confess he told me I had a sister who’s now dead and that somehow I’ve forgotten about her. I already know she’d freak out and I know just what she’d say, too. That’s what happens when you know someone your whole life like me and Laken. You can almost finish each other’s sentences. And right now, I don’t have the energy to listen to her rant. She’s right, of course. Darian is just messed up.
But then, stupidly, the words stumble out of my mouth anyway. “Hey, Laken, do you know anyone named Sophia?”
She crinkles her brow. “Nope. Why, was there someone named Sophia who was mean to you at your pre-binding ceremony, ’cause I swear if there was I—”
“No, no,” I interrupt before she goes on a tirade, making me wish even more that I hadn’t brought it up. Curiosity got the better of me, because surely if I’d a sister, Laken would’ve known. “It’s not that. I just thought I heard someone mention that name at the Grange and it sounded familiar, that’s all.”
I consider changing the topic and telling her how completely miserable I am about being bound with Asher. A part of me wants to talk about it with her, but I know she’s already aware of my feelings, and it would only upset her. Besides, she’d just tell me everything will be okay—that it will always be okay—but I’m totally confused about what I believe anymore. So instead I shrug my shoulders and smile.
“Is that what’s bothering you?” she asks, working at a knot in the end of my hair. “Trying to recall someone’s name?”
“No, you were right before. I’m just worried about the Monroes.” I don’t want to ruin Laken’s day when she’s on such a high. And telling her I’m upset about the Monroes isn’t a lie anyway.
After a while, she convinces me to go for a walk to get some fresh air. I lend her some casual clothes before we head to the park, then rush for the swings like we did when we were kids.
“Beat you,” she says, as she rocks higher until I swear her toes will touch the sky itself.
I pump my legs until we’re soaring together, the cool wind skating by my face, pushing through my hair. The colorful leaves flutter beneath us every time our swings whoosh by the ground, bringing with it the fresh scent of fall.
“I love ya, Rae,” she says, her voice light and airy.
“Love you, too.”
And then we’re laughing with the ease of two friends who have been there for each other since childhood. I relax in that moment. I soak it up and drink it down for as long as I can.
But as we walk home, arm in arm, reality sets in that I’m holding out on Laken. More importantly, that I’ve never held out on her until recently, except about going to Lake Briar with Darian as kids of course. And the fact I’m holding out now and about so much, disturbs me.
It’s another complication that sends my stomach into a nosedive, and I have the sudden, haunting feeling that my life has turned into a house of cards that has just begun to tumble.
Chapter Eleven
The next several nights my dreams are especially pleasant and vivid, and I wake feeling as if I’ve actually eaten all of the chocolate chip cookie dough I dreamed about. The scent of freshly cut grass lingers in my nose and a greater sense of calm returns each day.
It’s surprising considering I’ve been subjected to Coral and Owen’s nightly torture in the Terrorscape, and Mom’s subsequent crying spells.
Then I remember Darian telling me The Protectorate would probably amp up the pleasurable dreams for a while if they discovered my brainwaves were off somehow. That must be why and, whatever the reason, I’m grateful my anxiety has lessened a bit. Maybe now, with Coral and Owen returning home this afternoon, life can go back to normal, but deep down Darian’s words still bother me and the name Sophia continues to ring through my mind.
As I head out to breakfast, I push those thoughts aside and focus on getting to school on time. Today’s lesson is supposed to be on injectable substances. I bounce out to the kitchen, anxious to get going, and thankful the lesson won’t include bulging veins where I might encounter blood and faint.
As I round the corner, I get a clear view of the kitchen and of Dad leaning against the stainless steel counter, chugging back a glass of orange juice. Mom sits at the table, back straight, and her gaze catches mine. A grin grows on her face so big that I can’t help but stop and look around to see what’s so amusing. I haven’t seen her smile like this since before the Monroes were taken away. I glance at my reflection in the oval-shaped mirror hanging on the hallway wall and, when I confirm no paint or toothpaste is smeared across my face, I look back at her and scrunch my eyebrows. “Mom?”
She jumps up from her chair with a giggle, snatches the Telex Tablet from the table in front of her, and rushes toward me. She whips the white tablet out in front of her and points at the screen. “I’ve got good news, Desiree! Take a look at the message from Prime Minister Vega himself. He sent it this morning, just for you.” Her green eyes are bright, but beneath them, dark shadows dance, a mark of the strain Coral and Owen’s punishment has caused.
I glance down at the screen, then back up. First I look at Dad, who grins and nods toward the tablet Mom’s holding, then back at Mom who’s smiling so big I think her face will soon break. She holds the tablet out to me. I nod and take it.
I settle into a seat at the table, and my parents edge up behind me, each peering over one of my shoulders. When I press play on the tablet, my pulse jumps, half nervous at what to expect, thinking it must be something completely wonderful, like being awarded a week’s worth of extra hot water, with the way my parents are acting. Whatever it is, I’m glad it’s made my mom happy. Instantly, the screen lights up and a male voice I recognize as Prime Minister Vega’s rings out. His words scroll across the screen, accompanying his voice.
“Good day, Desiree Six Haven. I’m telexing you today to inform you that tonight will begin your series of group dates.” My stomach twirls and my tongue suddenly feels swollen, my throat closing over. I knew the dates were comi
ng, but I hadn’t expected them quite so soon.
Prime Minister Vega’s exuberant voice buzzes on, keeping pace with the words shifting across the screen. I know my parents are watching me, so I grip the tablet tightly to steady my hands and force a neutral expression on my face. I don’t want to do anything to take away the smile on my mom’s face, or to disappoint Dad. “You’ll have one group date per week for a month, followed by two group dates per week for another month. After this time, you and your binding mate, Asher Six Knight, will be permitted to go on solo dates two nights per week with an accompanying official. This will continue until the sacred day of your binding.”
He stops speaking and I bite my lip, thinking. When Prime Minister Vega said Asher’s name, his voice sounded altered, robotic. Come to think of it, when he said my name, it sounded that way too. I realize it must be a pre-recorded message with individual names inserted. It’s a bit disappointing, but what can I expect with so many bindings to announce?
His voice sounds out again, interrupting my thoughts. “Blessings be upon you in this divine binding between two like souls. I bid you well in the name of The Protectorate. Here to keep you safe.” The letters fade away, followed by a white owl appearing across the screen. It blinks its round eyes—circles of yellow bursting like a sunrise—releases a hoot, and disappears.
Mom shakes my shoulders with a laugh. “What do you think, Desiree?”
I twist around in my seat to face them and force a smile on my face. Clearing my throat, I meet her expectant gaze. “That’s…nice,” I say. My gaze wanders to my feet, dazed, then back to Mom’s face. She tilts her head and pinches her eyebrows.
I follow Dad’s gaze down to the tablet still locked in my hands, my fingers gripped tightly around its edges, knuckles white. He pries it from my hands, kisses my cheek, and whispers in my ear, “You okay, sweet face?”
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