I open the cutlery drawer and begin pulling out forks and knives. I hear Coral behind me, laying the plates out on the table. I decide there’s no easy way to ask, so I just go for it. “Because I want to know who Sophia is.”
There’s a loud crash, and I twist around to find splintered shards of glass everywhere. Coral grips the edge of the table, steadying herself.
Maybe I should’ve eased into the conversation better, but her reaction tells me I’ve hit a nerve—and that I’m on to something.
“Don’t move,” I say, and run to get the broom.
“Everything okay out there?” Owen yells from the other room.
“Yes, just dropped a dish!” I call back, brushing the broken glass into a pile, and anxiously watching a stunned, speechless Coral.
After a moment, she drops into a seat at the table, propping her head on her fists. “Sit down, Desiree,” she finally says, jerking her head toward the chair beside her.
I take a seat, facing her. Silence again stretches out as Coral seems to gather her thoughts. I don’t know if I want to scream or cry, but I just want her to say something…anything.
Finally she speaks up. “Who’s Sophia, honey?” she asks, smooth as butter.
My insides sink. Great. She’s going to pretend she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. Who is she trying to kid? With the way she just reacted, she can’t just revert back to, who’s Sophia?
“When I mentioned Sophia’s name, you looked like I told you the Earth was going to implode, and now you ask who she is like it’s any other day?” I sigh. “Look. It’s okay. You can talk to me about it. I need you to talk to me about it.”
She pinches her brows and when she doesn’t look like she’s going to cough up information anytime soon, I blurt, “Sophia is my sister. Or was my sister.” I watch as her eyes widen. “I already know this. And you had her hair comb. I know it was hers.” I lean in and squeeze her hand. “I just need to know the truth. Please.”
She opens her mouth, then closes it again. “Where did you hear these things?” she finally says.
I bite my lip, not wanting to tell her I’ve seen Darian. I trust Coral, but I’m not sure that would go over too well with anybody. I shrug. “Lately, I keep getting these flashbacks, and when I saw the hair comb at the Grange, it looked familiar. I was always so drawn to it. I figured I just liked it, but when you gave it to me, the flashes became more vivid.” I tug the paper napkin out from my jeans pocket, and carefully extract the black strand of hair. “Then I found this. This was her hair, right?”
Coral swallows and turns pale. “Desiree, this can only bring you trouble.” She wrinkles her forehead. “You need to forget about this.”
I lift my brows. “Are you kidding? I can’t just forget. Isn’t that what the government does? Make us forget?” I say, tucking the hair away again.
She sighs. “I’m not sure what they did to make you guys forget her.”
I light up. “Forget her? So it’s true then! Sophia really did exist! And they make people forget by giving them a medication that works with the Dreamscape to fry your brain,” I add.
She looks at me, a deep crease forming between her brows.
I shake my head. “Never mind. You said you’re not sure what they did to make us forget her. But, it’s true, right? About Sophia?”
I need to hear her say the words—to confirm I’m not crazy—that Darian’s been telling me the truth all along. Even though I heard the officials talk about Jax, I still need to hear that Sophia was real too, and not just a part of my imagination.
She nods, closes her eyes, and inhales deeply. Looking back at me, she grasps my hand. “But, Desiree, she’s gone now. You can’t do anything, and if you tell anybody, they’ll turn you in. You don’t know who to trust, believe me, and you don’t want to be found Noncompliant.” She pauses, worries her lip between her teeth. “The Terrorscape is much worse than you think.”
I can’t imagine it being any worse than I think. Watching the reactions of people suffering in the Terrorscape on the data port screens scares the hell out of me even though it’s only for the first five minutes.
“Why did they find you Noncompliant?” I bite my lip, knowing it’s a personal question, but push on anyway. “They said you stole things.”
She twists her lips, cheeks flushing red. “We didn’t steal anything for us, Desiree. Please believe me. We—we took supplies for the Unwanted—”
“What? So it’s true!” I jump up from the table. “Coral, if there are more second-borns surviving somehow, then Sophia might be out there, too!”
She shakes her head, stands in front of me, and takes my hands in hers. “No, honey. Calm down. You’re getting yourself all worked up. We take the baby supplies for the ones that haven’t been discovered. Second-borns who, for the last ten years, have managed to escape detection. That so-called miracle drug they developed for sterilization wasn’t so much of a miracle, I’m afraid. There aren’t a lot of second-borns, but of the ones that are born, only a very few make it past The Protectorate’s all-seeing eyes.”
“But Sophia made it for years, Coral,” I say, desperately needing to hang onto any hope she could still be alive. “And The Protectorate may be cruel, but they wouldn’t actually kill innocent children…would they?”
The thought turns my stomach.
She lowers her gaze. “I honestly don’t know.”
“Well, what about the Unwanted?” I wince as the word leaves my mouth. “The children that you get the supplies for,” I correct.
“I don’t know where they’re kept, honey, and we shouldn’t even be talking about this,” she says with a shaky voice.
I’ve never known Coral to be afraid of anything and seeing her like this unnerves me.
She cups my chin in her hand, then leans over and kisses my cheek. “I don’t want you to suffer through anything like Owen and I did. Life is too short. I just want you and Shia to be happy.”
I cast imploring eyes on her. “But—but, we can’t just forget Sophia. And my parents don’t even know, right?” I pause for a second, thinking. Maybe my parents do know, but they’re just trying to protect me. I tilt my head. “Do my parents remember Sophia?” I ask. “And wait. How do you remember her? Did the officials not realize you guys knew?”
“No, your parents don’t remember her.” Alarm fills her eyes. “And please don’t say anything. You’ll only upset them and the chances they’ll remember are pretty much non-existent. I’m actually shocked you remember.” She rakes a hand through her hair, worry etching her face. “As for me and Owen, we never forgot Sophia. When The Protectorate found out about her, Owen and I were at work when they came to question us. They were vague and we played dumb. Luckily, they didn’t suspect us of knowing anything. Hiding an Unwanted is not something you’d usually share, so they didn’t suspect your parents told anybody. But you and your parents were hospitalized for a while after The Protectorate found Sophia.” She grimaces. “Then, when you guys came home from the hospital, it was like she never existed. It was devastating. Thank goodness Sophia was kept from Shia.” She frowns and shakes her head. “We couldn’t trust that Shia wouldn’t let it slip…but to think if she knew about all of this.”
A sharp pang of sadness flows through me. The Protectorate snuffed out our memories like they had blown out a candle. Even now, although I know Sophia was a real person, I still don’t have any memories of her other than the little flashes of her running through the leaves. I rub my hands up and down my arms, a raw sense of violation creeping across my skin.
Coral pours herself a cup of coffee and takes a sip. “After that, I did my best to find out where she could be, I promise you. I didn’t find anything that could lead me to her, but I did find out about others like Sophia. It’s sad that they can’t get baby supplies, not so much as basic immunizations. The Protectorate manages that, as you know.” She stares out the window wistfully. “I always figured it was a way to keep an eye on the health of
our youth. I managed to get some supplies for Sophia when she was a baby…I did my best.” Her voice catches and she clears her throat. I can tell she’s trying not to cry, and that she feels guilty somehow.
And I feel it too—guilt worming through me—for forgetting Sophia, for how Coral feels right now. Coral and Owen sacrificed a lot for Sophia, for my family, and for other Unwanted.
I imagine Sophia screaming as The Protectorate dragged her away from Mom…or maybe it wasn’t like that at all…maybe they tricked her and told her lies, stealing her away in the middle of the night.
I shift my gaze toward the window, sadness knifing through me.
Then another horrible image crosses my mind—a flash of Coral and Owen’s faces as they were under the Terrorscape…punishment for helping others.
I take her hands in mine and give them two pumps. “Thanks for helping us, Coral. I mean it.” I smile. “It’s not your fault. Hey,” I say, an idea coming to mind. “Do you know if we were at Mercy Hospital?”
If we were, I could ask around, look through the data port for information somehow.
“No, honey. You were all brought to different hospitals apparently.”
The same thing they’re doing with Mrs. Walsh’s family.
“I assumed at the time it was because they didn’t want anybody to recognize you,” she says. “It was torture for us while you were away…wondering where they’d taken you, and what they’d done with Sophia.”
Tears spring to my eyes. “What did they do to her?”
Coral sighs and averts her eyes. “We’re not sure.”
“We need to find her. She could still be out there!”
A tear slides down Coral’s cheek. “I did the best I could. The contact that I gave the baby contraband items to? I begged him to tell me something, but he doesn’t know anything—or, at least, he won’t admit to it, no matter how hard I try.”
Then it hits me. I’m being totally selfish. What if Coral and Owen are still stealing stuff for the Unwanted? If they’re found Noncompliant again, The Protectorate will put them in the Terrorscape forever. I reach up and wipe the tear from Coral’s face with my thumb. “You have to think about yourselves now…and Shia,” I say firmly. “You can’t risk getting caught with that stuff again, you know that. You know what they’ll do.”
She blinks, then nods her head. “We’re lying low for now. They’re keeping an extra close watch on us at work, we know that.”
“What’s his name?”
She tilts her head. “Whose?”
“Your contact.”
She heaves a sigh. “Desiree, you’re asking for trouble. He won’t tell you anything, and if you’re caught—”
“I won’t talk to him, I promise. I just want to know his name. Please?”
She lifts a shoulder. “His name’s Luther Mills.”
Luther Mills. I engrave his name onto my brain, solid as steel. I promised Coral I wouldn’t talk to him, but I didn’t say anything about not following him. If he’s taking contraband to the Unwanted, I intend to find out where that is.
Coral clears her throat. “Trust me. Stay out of trouble. Don’t think you can find him, either,” she says, as if reading my mind. “He doesn’t come around the distribution center. And after Owen and I were found Noncompliant, he disappeared off the radar.”
Crap. There goes that plan.
“I’m not sure how the Unwanted are getting their supplies now,” she says with a sigh. “Listen, you don’t want to be caught sticking your nose in the wrong places and be found Noncompliant. You’ll end up in the Terrorscape. And believe me, it’s not what you think.” She takes a long, deep breath as she rubs her hands against her face. Looking back at me, she sighs and stands up. Then she slowly lifts the back of her shirt and twists around so I have a full view.
Horror rips through me. Red welts stripe her back as if she’s been struck by a whip. I gasp and draw back, covering my mouth. Through the slats of my fingers I ask, “What happened?” even as I reach my other hand out to her.
She lowers her shirt, pats my hand as she passes by me and walks to the stove. She idly moves the spatula through the stir-fry. “You don’t want to ever go into the Terrorscape,” she repeats in a whisper this time. “It’s a living, breathing nightmare in there. But if you don’t listen to me and they catch you…they will tie you to that gurney and put you in there.” Her eyes take on a faraway look. “If that happens, Desiree…whatever you do…run.”
Chapter Nineteen
There was no getting Coral to tell me any more about the Terrorscape and how she got the welts on her back. I can only assume some horrible official whipped her at some point while she was inside.
I manage to eat a little and I’m thankful Shia is there, flitting through the room, doing cartwheels and laughing until it almost feels normal again.
I quickly finish eating, thank them, and head out more eager than ever to find Darian.
It’s cool outside, so first I pop into the house to change. I bundle up in my mauve winter jacket and shove my hands into my black gloves that end at the knuckles. I slide my feet into my faux-fur black boots that slide up just below my knees, and head out.
As I hop onto the tram that heads toward the metro, I shiver. I’ve never gone into the metro alone before. Even though crime is much lower than it was in the Manic Age, things still can happen and I’ve been warned by my parents to not go alone.
As the tram moves out of the burbs at a swift pace, up ahead the glimmering shades of the metro light up the skyline. Glowing signs for pubs, restaurants, and nightclubs in every neon color imaginable blink on and off. There’s something both magical and ominous about it all.
I search through the window of the tram as if somehow Darian will miraculously appear, but soon decide to get off the tram and take my chances searching the streets.
The chilly air nips my skin as I head out and I tug my zipper all the way up. People are moving all around me, coming in and out of fancy restaurants, the echo of their laughter carrying on the wind.
The farther I go, the fewer people there are. After I walk several more blocks, the buildings spread wider apart, separated by long, dark alleys. The building to my right is boarded up with an Out of Business sign plastered across it.
Popcorn and candy wrappers swirl in little funnels against the concrete wall of the old movie theater like they’ve been caught in a tornado. With fewer buildings here to light up the night, and with only a crescent moon in the sky, it’s eerily dark.
I pick up my pace and quickly rush several more blocks. My eyes dart over every sign and behind every corner, looking for some sign of Darian. More and more by the second, I realize how stupid I am for ever thinking I’d find him here.
It hits me that what the newscaster said on the port screen could be true—that the officials were hot on Darian’s trail—and that maybe they’ve found him already. The thought makes me sick. After seeing Coral’s back, I can’t imagine anyone being forced to endure the Terrorscape and whatever else they do to you at Olympus Jail.
Just when I feel like giving up, my gaze falls on a sign above an old building. It depicts a full moon hanging low above a drawing of a smog-filled cityscape. The neon-red, blinking letters above the moon are lopsided and in disarray. I angle my head in the same direction and read the words: The Shimmering Mist. One m in the word “shimmering” has burned out, but Darian’s words rush back with complete clarity.
I kinda like how the moonlight reflects against the smog, like shimmering mist, he said when I last saw him.
It’s got to be it!
Below the sign rests a double set of steel doors marred with graffiti. Although I’ve been rushing to get here, I hesitate as I reach for the door handle. Despite the cold, my hands are slick with sweat.
What if he’s not here?
And what am I doing?
I rub my gloved hands together and pull open the door. I’ve come this far. I at least need to check it out.
“Hey, sexy,” someone yells over the pulsating music. I turn to face an older, bald man hanging off the bar. He tips his glass filled with a copper-colored liquid in my direction. Someone dancing behind me accidently knocks me in his direction, and I stumble.
“Now you’re talking,” he says snatching my arm with a hiccup. He lays down his drink, and then runs his other hand up my arm.
“Let me go!” I say, tugging my arm back.
“Hey, you came charging into me, young lady,” he says, and wraps a hairy arm around my waist. The reek of stale booze hangs on him, thick as a blanket.
I try to pull away, but he grips me harder and leans in as if to kiss me.
I jerk my head back. “You’re drunk,” I snap, pressing my hands against his chest as my heart rate whips out of control. I curse myself for coming here and look for an escape route. As soon as I wrench myself free from his disgusting fingers, I’m out of here. I slam a knee into his groin. The guy doubles over with a groan, but quickly reaches up and snatches my arm again before I can bolt.
Then it’s like I’m seeing things in slow motion. The image of a blue baseball cap, a fist skimming through the air until it meets the bald guy’s face, blood oozing down his nose as his grip around me drops. I sway backward.
Everything accelerates again and I gaze up into Darian’s face, contorted with anger. “Don’t you fucking touch her,” he growls to the bald guy in his deep baritone voice. Darian’s chest rises and falls, and a muscle in his jaw throbs. And I know if we don’t get away from this guy soon, he’ll be on the floor—or worse, someone will notice Darian.
I tug on Darian’s sleeve. “C’mon. He’s just drunk and stupid.”
Awakening Page 15
