She’s sick. Delusional—just like her diagnosis states.
A staff nurse suddenly rushes into the room, sliding a medication cartridge into the depressor. She brushes Sage out of the way with a knock of her full hip. The moment Mrs. Walsh sees her, Mrs. Walsh bangs her head up and down against her pillow. “No, no, no, Nurse Brown!” she spits. “Don’t give me that!”
“Hold her still, will you?” Nurse Brown instructs Sage, peering up at him from over her mask. When he holds her shoulder flat to the bed, Mrs. Walsh gnashes her teeth toward his hand. “Don’t touch me,” she hisses.
“Ellery…” the nurse says in a buttery voice. “This will only sting for a second. Stay still now.” The nurse turns her gaze toward me and in a voice laced with steel instructs, “Hold her head down.”
My heart races. I’m torn between wanting to let Mrs. Walsh talk, to let her free, and fulfilling my duty as a nurse. She’s suffering, I tell myself.
I must be staring because the nurse leans across the bed and wiggles her gloved fingers in front of my face. “Now, Red.”
Her use of a nickname that refers to my hair color jolts me back to reality…and causes my blood to instantly ignite. It reminds me of Asher calling me Carrot Top when we were kids. My hair is auburn, not red. I secure the strand of hair sticking out from under my cap back under it, then ball one hand into a fist, digging my fingernails into my palm. Squinting at Nurse Brown, I ask, “What are you giving her?” It’s bold for me to even ask. She’s the staff nurse, and I’m only a student. Sometimes my mouth has no filter and right now, I don’t care. I want to know.
She scowls. “It’s just a sedative to calm her down. She receives her antidote tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I press. “Why wait until tomorrow if you can heal her now?”
Sage presses an index finger against his masked mouth.
Nurse Brown rolls her eyes. “We have no medication in this hospital for what ails her. It’s coming straight from the The Empire’s medical laboratory.”
I jerk my head back, confused. “What?”
“What she needs is a controlled substance. It’s made specifically for each individual, so I can’t just snap it up if that’s what you think,” she snaps. “We receive the medication via The Protectorate’s security. The dose will already be drawn up and ready to inject. After that, she’ll be put under the Dreamscape for a solid twenty-four hours to allow the medication to take full effect while she rests. Then…” She spreads her fingers wide on her free hand, swinging it up into the air. “Poof! Just like magic, she’ll be all better. Seen it only once before, but it worked like a charm.” She narrows her eyes, then adds, “Now shut up and hold her down.”
I take in a long, ragged breath and remind myself that Mrs. Walsh is no different than the other patients I’ve cared for. She needs treatment to get better. She just doesn’t know it.
I press my hand against Mrs. Walsh’s forehead as instructed. Surprisingly, she doesn’t struggle against it. Only her panicked eyes gaze up to meet mine. A wave of sadness washes over me. Whether it’s true or not, she believes her baby has been taken away. Instead of the angry, hysterical woman from moments before, I only see the sadness in her eyes and feel how her heart is breaking.
An emptiness grows in my chest. Out of nowhere I begin singing. It’s a song my mom used to sing to me when I was a little girl. “Sunrise in your window. It’s your morning song. Like dew on the grass, your binding’s first kiss, a star that twinkles just for you. Just for you. Just for you.”
I see Nurse Brown out of the corner of my eye as she places the depressor firmly against Mrs. Walsh’s arm and I don’t care if she thinks I’m silly or stupid, I just keep singing, focusing on Mrs. Walsh’s sad eyes. As the medication is expelled from the depressor, a soft sound fills the air that reminds me of someone squirting mists of water from a bottle. Mrs. Walsh jolts a little, but she holds her gaze on mine.
Nurse Brown hands Sage a cotton ball, which he presses against Mrs. Walsh’s arm.
“She’ll be calm now,” Nurse Brown says. “Then you can clean her up and try to get her to eat something. You can hook up the Dreamscape after that. Let her sleep for a while.” She ambles to the door and dumps the syringe into the sharps container attached to the wall, its stainless steel cover blending into its surroundings like a chameleon. “And don’t get sucked into her stories.”
After Sage brings back a washbasin, cloths, and towels, we begin cleaning Mrs. Walsh. Her eyes are glazed over now, body still, but she’s still awake, murmuring indiscernible words under her breath. I catch the odd word like, “baby” and “help.”
A chill crawls down my arms as I wipe the cloth against her forehead. “It’s okay. Relax now,” I say.
“Girl, who knew you could sing like that?” Sage’s eyes light up when he smiles. “You sound like a bird.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, grateful for my mask as my cheeks flush hot.
Sage wrings out his cloth and drags in a deep breath. “So, what do you think that was all about?”
“What?”
“The special medication.”
I shrug. “It seems kind of odd, right? I mean…The Protectorate sending over some top-secret medication?” I step back and peer around the drawn curtain that surrounds Mrs. Walsh’s bed toward the doorway, making sure nobody is listening. I turn back and face Sage. “Do you think they could possibly be hiding something?” I whisper.
He shrugs. We both know we’re walking a fine line discussing anything to do with The Protectorate being less than perfect. “Well, if it makes her better, then we should go with it, I guess,” he says, lifting her hand and cleaning it.
“They’ll kill him,” Mrs. Walsh suddenly blurts in a hushed voice. “To destroy the evidence…” her voice trails off as her eyelashes flicker and she stares off in a trance. “Do you hear him?” she asks, her voice breaking.
I don’t know what sort of evidence a baby could have, and I don’t want to ask and upset her even more. Instead, I squeeze her hand, but she doesn’t even react. Her eyes are fixed straight ahead and a lone tear spills down her cheek. It hits me that since she isn’t referring to her daughter, but a second child—a second illegal child—that she probably means the imagined baby is the evidence himself. My mouth turns to sandpaper. I tell myself it can’t be true and remind myself of her diagnosis.
Still, a pang of anxiety drums through me, lodging in my stomach. I imagine Mrs. Walsh is lost somewhere in a foggy world where a baby’s pleading whimpers cry out to her in the dark.
Chapter Thirteen
My house has been turned into a three-ring circus. Music plays, floating balloons tethered to chairs dance in the air, and the scent of shish kabobs lathered in my mom’s famous sauce lingers all around. You’d swear it was my birthday or my binding day, but first dates are also huge.
I’m greeted at the door by a squealing Shia, who promptly wraps herself around my leg, causing me to hobble as I walk along. Laken has one arm looped through mine and informs me she’s brought ice cream for dessert.
“You can go on into your room and shower, honey,” Mom says, looking over her shoulder from where she’s standing over the stove. Dad and Owen hover nearby like starved animals. I laugh as Mom raps Dad’s hand just before he’s about to stick his fingers into one of her bowls. “Coral and I have laid out a few outfits for you to choose from,” she says.
Laken pulls Shia off my leg and hoists her onto her hip. “We’ll wait for you in your room, okay?” She goes on ahead while I take off my shoes and stretch.
I’m just about to ask where Coral is when I round the corner and bump straight into her.
“Oh hi, Coral,” I say, more than happy to see her back home.
Coral jumps back with a small squeal, her eyes wide in what looks like fear.
“Sorry, Coral,” I say, resting a hand on her arm. “It’s just me. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Her shoulders relax a bit, but there’s still a
wild look in her eye and a tremble in her hand. It’s unnerving to see how the Terrorscape has affected her.
“Congratulations on your binding mate,” she says, taking the focus off of her. “Your mom and I picked out some cute outfits for you to consider.” She presses out a close-lipped smile, pats my shoulder. I can tell she’s trying to act normal, as if she hasn’t been through the worst ordeal of her life. A lump forms in my throat when I realize how brave and fragile she is all at once.
I nod. “Yeah, Mom told me, thanks.” I pause, feeling unsure of what to do or say next. Coral glances to her feet, then slowly back up, meeting my gaze. With pressure building behind my eyes, I swing my arms around her waist and give her a hug. The enormous strain she’s been through hangs heavy around us like a shroud. I stay there, wrapped around her a moment longer, wishing I could take away every single bad thing she must have witnessed in the Terrorscape. I want to ask her what it was like and, even more, what it was she stole, but I can’t bring myself to say the words, or make her relive it.
She seems to sense how I’m feeling and pats my arm. “Now, now. I’m fine, baby. Just a little tired.” She releases me, slides her hand back over her blond hair that’s fastened into a tight braid, and then holds me by the shoulders. Her strained blue eyes grow even more serious. “Have fun every moment you can, you hear?” She takes my hand and twirls me around. “Now, Cinderella, go and get ready for your first romance.” She winks and I force a smile.
I’m really not in the mood to be festive with my mind still reeling over Mrs. Walsh, but I am happy Coral and Owen are home.
“And, Desiree?”
“Yeah?”
She pulls a lock of hair away from my eyes. “I brought you something—it’s a gift I think you’ll like. It belonged to someone very special to me.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to—”
She spins me around by the shoulders in the direction of my room. “Go on now. Go get yourself all dolled up.”
When I enter my bedroom, Shia is bouncing on my bed and Laken is rifling through the outfits Mom and Coral have picked out. I glance over at the array of multi-colored clothes hung on a hook from the wall. There’s a shade of every color of the rainbow. I fully intend on wearing jeans, but a colorful top will work. Beside the hanging clothes, a bowl of jewelry and accessories sits on my dresser. Something blue and shimmery catches my eye.
When I realize what it is, I gasp. It’s the hair comb Mrs. Fitz sells at the Grange that I have pined over for so long. The pearl-colored slivers running through the aquamarine shimmer at me. I pick it up and let out a shriek of happiness.
Laken rushes up behind me. “Aha! I wondered how long it would take you to find that,” she says with a laugh. “Coral just finished putting it in here for you. She said she thought you’d like it.” She giggles. “When I saw what it was, I almost had a heart attack. It’s the hair comb you’ve been drooling over for months now, right? That woman at the Grange makes them in a bunch of colors.”
I close my eyes and squeeze it between my hands, nodding. “Except Coral said this one belonged to someone special that she knew. But I’m sure whoever owned it bought it from Mrs. Fitz. It looks exactly the same as the ones she makes.”
Behind us, Shia squeals in delight. She lands in a heap on my bed. For her, it seems like nothing horrible has happened to her parents. They’re home now. That’s all she’s thinking about. It warms me to know that at least she is okay.
With the hair comb, the Monroes coming home, and witnessing Shia so happy, I can almost pretend everything is perfect.
But it isn’t.
“Asher likes somebody else,” I blurt to Laken. “He doesn’t really want me.”
She looks at me like I’ve grown another head. “What?”
I scrunch my shoulders up to my ears. “Asher. He likes somebody else. I was going to tell you before, but I didn’t want you to worry before your own pre-binding ceremony. I was afraid you’d stress about something odd happening with Rowen.” I pause, bite my lip. “But, we—we don’t really like each other.”
She looks over her shoulder at Shia, who’s happily resumed bouncing, then places a hand on my arm. “Smackers, Rae. Are you crazy? ’Cause Asher’s your guy. He doesn’t like anybody else. He’s your binding mate. ”
“Yeah, well, tell that to him. He made eyes back and forth at our pre-binding ceremony with some dark-haired girl.” I pause when she raises her brows. “Look, don’t worry, I’m gonna give it another shot. He wasn’t all bad at the pre-binding. He didn’t call me names and he actually assured me everything would be okay.”
She reaches up and places the back of her hand against my forehead and I pull away. “Would you stop it?” I growl. “I’m not sick.”
She folds her arms over her chest and pinches her brows. “You’ll give him another shot? Did you just say that? It doesn’t sound like the Desiree I know. You don’t get to only give him another shot. You know that.” The look of confusion on her face twists into an expression of pity. “Look, I know he’s not who you expected to be bound with, and he was a jerk to you when we were children, but that was a long time ago. You know how kids are. Maybe he did that because he actually liked you.”
I doubt that, but I give a slow nod instead, not wanting to argue.
She turns pleading eyes on me. “Listen to me for a second, okay? Who are we to question a system that’s been around for years? A system that works. Just be careful, Rae. You don’t want to be found…” She looks back over her shoulder at Shia, then back at me, and lowers her voice to a bare whisper, “Noncompliant.” She sighs. “You sure you’re okay? I’m worried about you.”
“Yeah, I’m fine, honestly. I’m not going to be found Noncompliant. And you’re starting to sound like Mom.” I wish I never brought it up. I just needed to vent, but of course Laken doesn’t get it. She couldn’t possibly. Her whole life has been calm, like a pristine lake at dawn, not a ripple in sight.
Mine was too, up until recently.
I excuse myself to go to the bathroom and notice the time remaining on my shower’s digital display has been increased by ten more minutes. Instantly, I realize my parents have given up their own showers for the day to allow me extra time.
I close my eyes and let the warm water run over my face, over my aching muscles in my neck and back. I hum the song I sang to Mrs. Walsh in the hospital, letting the melody soothe me like it did her.
And in that quiet place, without meaning to, Darian’s face flashes in my mind.
It’s funny—with all the people surrounding me—but I suddenly realize that I wish he was here. I want to tell him about Mrs. Walsh because I know he won’t judge me or think I’m crazy. It stings that the closeness I’ve felt with Laken my whole life now seems to have a gaping hole. Worse, that it’s my fault. She’s my best friend and she’s the same person she’s always been. It’s me that’s messed up—changed somehow. Maybe I am crazy. Somehow I need to fix it—her and me.
It dawns on me that if it weren’t for Darian, I wouldn’t be second-guessing my whole life, chasing some ghost named Sophia, and twisting the ramblings of a delusional woman into the possibility of a real missing baby.
I stay in the shower until the last drops of hot water trickle out. Steam envelopes me like a thick fog and I’m so flooded with emotions I find it hard to breathe. A sadness worms through me, churning gradually like a storm brewing on the horizon. My eyelids close and I press my hand against the glass shower wall, letting my emotions bleed into the steam.
Chapter Fourteen
After deciding on a simple pair of dark-wash denim pants and an aqua-blue top, slipping one side of my hair back with the matching hair comb from Coral, and playing leapfrog with the food on my plate, my parents dropped me off at the Sky Tram Port.
I decide that I’ll make the best of this night. Even with my wavering emotions I need this to go well—for something to turn out right—and be normal.
My hands shake as I approach
the restaurant scheduled for the date, a food chain called Pluto’s Plate. I run my fingers aimlessly through my hair and draw the courage to go inside.
An official wearing a badge that reads Mr. Peterson greets me outside the door. He doesn’t look too much older than me. Maybe eighteen, I think. His short dark hair is gelled tightly back against his head, his face holding a neutral expression. The gray government-issued uniform hangs off his short, wiry frame like a blanket. If I wasn’t so nervous, I’d probably laugh.
“Hi,” I say. “I’m here for a first group date? My name’s Desiree Six Haven.”
“Hello, Miss Haven. Wrist please,” he says in an all-business voice. He fumbles with his scanner, drops it, picks it up, and clears his throat. With his age and the way he’s acting I figure he’s very new on the job.
I stretch out my wrist and twist my arm around palm up, revealing the inky swirl of the number six. He holds out his scanner and lets it hover above the tattoo. When it beeps, he draws the scanner back and looks at the display screen. “Desiree Six Haven it is. Your binding mate, Asher Six Knight, is waiting for you inside. Please go on in.”
My stomach does a tumble, but I mumble a quick thank you. I’m about to open the door when he twists around and grabs me by the elbow.
What did I do now? My breath halts in my chest. “Yes?”
What if something showed up on the monitor?
He drops my arm and hands me a white slip with a nod. “Don’t forget your coupon.”
Right. My coupon. I smile and take it. “Thanks.”
Luckily, the restaurant is noisy when I walk inside. I’m able to check things out without feeling like a complete spectacle. One long table is placed down the middle and is filled with a sea of unfamiliar faces. The booths on either side are empty. The burger joint has obviously been closed to the public for this casual first date.
Date.
The word sends a chill skittering over my skin.
“Desiree!” a girl squeals. A hush falls over the room and heat rises on my cheeks as all eyes at the table turn and lock on me. Harper, the blond girl I sat with at the pre-binding ceremony, waves from across the room.
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