by Sarah Noffke
At five after, I slip off the stool. Maybe if I rush to the farm, I’ll have a chance to spy on the new plants and see if they’ve pushed through the soil yet. I’m almost to the door when a baby’s cry arrests my attention. It’s a flat, aching wail, like that of a newborn. And the cry is unmistakably coming through a crack in the other door. The one that’s labeled in giant red letters: Authorized Personnel Only. Someone forgot to the shut the door all the way. The deadbolt is still resting on the strike plate, not yet engaged.
My mind flashes to the letter with my name on it in my father’s office. To the series of events which have been building my suspicion. To the fact that an infant is crying behind a door where only lab technicians should be working.
A cautionary glance through the door’s small window confirms no one is in the general vicinity of the next room. I slip the door open and poke my head around the corner. It’s empty of people. What it doesn’t lack is objects. Beakers, test tubes, microscopes, and vials of pink liquid crowd the work surfaces in the next room. The space actually surprises me. It’s way too untidy and is dangerously close to violating laws. Some cabinets are still ajar, their contents obstructing them from being closed completely, and the same can be said for a closet. The disorder feeds my curiosity so I tiptoe further into the large room, keeping my body as close to the wall as I can. Another lab door stands on the other side of the room, this one unmarked and unlocked.
Since I’m not sure what I’m looking for, the complete disorder of this room confuses me. How can I find clues when I’m not certain what the riddle is? All I know is my father is hiding something. Probably for my own good. Probably to protect the Reverians. But the President definitely has him covering something up. And I’m not even sure why I suspect the labs, but again I’ve got that feeling like the gods are tapping me on the head.
The baby cries again. It echoes through the other door. I half rush to the door, fearing the child needs something I can provide, but still each of my steps are tentative. Halfway to the door I check over my shoulder. The lab I came through appears still to be empty. How long until Parker returns? Maybe he won’t. I’m just about to rush forward when a tired voice echoes from the door in front of me.
“Can you make that one shut up already? I can’t work with all that racket,” a woman says. She has her back up against the window of the lab door on the other side, only a few feet away. I’m frozen in place. Unable to retreat. Unable to find a proper hiding place. She pushes the door open with her behind, a tray of tubes in her hands as she backs into the room. “And once you’re done with that kid come help me sort these tubes. I’m way behind.”
I have seconds to move. To do something. Anything before the blonde lab tech turns around and sees me. I remain frozen, standing in the lab.
“Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec,” a guy calls from the other lab room. “And we’re all behind so join the freaking club, would you?”
She nods. I watch her balance the tray on her legs and smile. “I started the club, buddy.” And she turns, eyes trained on the contents in her hands, but soon they’ll look up and find me.
A hand slips around my wrist and jerks me through the closet door. Instantly I’m blanketed in darkness and arms. I squeak out a breath but only after a hand clamps down on my mouth, stifling my cry. Another arm wraps around my waist and wrenches me back. I’m pressed up against someone. In a dark closet. Now no breath fills my body. Only fear. Lips touch the back of my ear. A hot breath follows.
“Shhh! I’m not going to hurt you. But be quiet or you’re gonna get yourself in serious trouble,” the voice says.
“Okay,” I mouth against his hand which is still covering my lips. In this small space I instantly suck in everything about the person who’s just captured/saved me. He smells of bark and rosemary. A lot of rosemary. The hand pressed over my mouth is calloused. And his heart is keeping pace with mine, doing double time. It thumps against my back, since he has me pressed so firmly against him.
“Shhhh,” he says again in my ear. “They’ll be gone soon. Just stay still.”
I nod and he drops the hand from my mouth.
“Sean!” the woman who almost caught me snaps. I jump and the person behind me steadies me, tugging me tighter into him. “Get in here already!”
“How in the world am I supposed to get a child to quiet down with you yelling?” a guy says, his voice drawing nearer. Through the crack I spy a figure move past the closet where I’m hiding and hurry to an opposite workbench.
“Oh, never mind that,” the lady says, sounding tired. “When are you going to do the withdrawal on that one?”
“As soon as possible. The parents are waiting to take him home, but he was so upset I couldn’t do it just now. And after him there’s a dozen other babies being brought in.”
“Sheesh,” the lady says, exasperation in her tone. “I can’t keep working like this. Look at this place! If we weren’t under exemption we’d all be fined for the disorder. We’ve got to get a chance to catch up or the work will suffer.”
The stranger’s hand around my waist drops, yet I don’t dare look up at the guy I know stands behind me. I feel him just over my shoulder, breathing hard, but I can’t force myself to turn my chin and take him in. And still my attention is owned by the conversation happening outside this closet. I’m not sure what any of it means, but bits and pieces are starting to trigger strange cues in my brain. Gods above, tell me what all this means. Why would anyone get an exemption?
“Look, I don’t care if President Vider wants us to work without breaks. I need something to eat. I’m getting lightheaded,” the whiny lady says.
“Not sure if disobeying a direct order is a good idea. He told us—”
“Oh, come on. Let’s just grab a quick snack. My blood sugar is dropping faster than the DOW,” she says, and I watch the two figures move across the crack in the closet door and then the door on the other side gives a gentle click as it locks back into place.
They’re gone. And the most terrifying thing is not what I’ve just heard or that I was almost caught in a forbidden place. It’s that I must now turn around and face the person who’s sharing this tiny space with me. I first take a step forward. The idea to just rush out of the closet, never meeting the person who saved me, courses through my mind. But the gods stop me at the threshold of the closet. With light streaming in from the lab I turn. All belief empties out of me in one hyperventilated breath.
“Rogue!” I say entirely too loudly. “What are you doing here? I thought you were dead?!”
Chapter Four
Rogue rushes forward, claps his hand over my mouth again. A fierce look upon his face. “Shhh!” he says up close, his forehead against mine, an act meant to subdue me and then also one meaning more. One full of a fondness that instantly wraps around me. “Oh, gods. I didn’t know it was you, Em.” He sucks in a breath. “Hi,” he says, a coyness in his voice.
I push back from him, looking him over from his head full of chaotic dark curls to his dirt-caked boots. The weirdest feelings take hold of me and that’s precisely when I realize I’m in shock. That’s what these feelings are. The cold numbness. The dizziness. The swimming head. I utterly can’t believe Rogue stands before me. He can’t. He shouldn’t. Not in the world I live in. “Hi?” I finally say in disbelief, careful to keep my voice down. “That’s what you have to say to me? Hi?”
“Good to see you,” he says, backing up until he’s flush against shelves crammed with supplies.
“Did you not hear me properly?” I say through clenched teeth. “I thought you were dead. We all did.” I almost reach out to run my fingers down his flannel shirt, to ensure he’s real. “Rogue...is this really you? How can this be? We thought something happened to you.”
He smirks, a cute crooked smile, a mischievous spark in his almond-shaped green eyes. “Something did happen to me.”
“What? Are you all right? Where have you been?”
“Hiding,” he says.
“Hiding? But why?”
He shakes his head, a quiet smile on his face like he just heard a joke. “Oh, Em, you were always good at drawing me out of my hiding places. I should have known it would be you who found me.”
My mind flashes on a memory so long ago it feels like a distant life, but we aren’t granted reincarnation by the gods so I know this is a memory from this life. As a child, many times when we played hide-and-seek, I’d pretend to trip and sprain something. Rogue would come out to save me or make sure I was all right. Zack always stayed hidden until the bitter end.
“Rogue, where have you been? Everyone thinks you’re dead,” I repeat.
“Yeah, about that. I’m not dead, but you can’t tell anyone.”
I shake my head, ultra-confused. “Wait, what are you doing here?” I say, looking around the crowded closet we share.
“What are you doing here?” he says, his dark curly hair falling down in his eyes. He’s grown since the last time I saw him, four years ago. He’s taller. Stronger. His features more pronounced. And his black hair is an absolute mess. His father would kill him right now if he didn’t already think he was dead.
“Rogue, you’ve been gone for four years. We had a memorial service for you. The gods were asked to bless an empty resting place. Do you know how many times I brought flowers to—” Tears suddenly constrict my throat. Ones I haven’t felt for him in so long. Tears I thought had dried up. Gone away.
“Shhh. Shhh. Shhh,” Rogue says, moving forward, wrapping arms around me I recently felt, but didn’t know belonged to him. “I’m sorry, Em. So sorry,” he says into my hair. “I couldn’t tell anyone where I was. I had to go away.”
“But your father?” I say, pushing back so I’m looking at him directly.
His eyes suddenly tighten. “Don’t tell my father anything about me. You have to promise.”
“But—”
“Please, Em,” he pleads, his hands now pinned on my forearms. “I’ll explain some stuff, but you can’t tell anyone about me. Please promise.”
“Okay,” I say, a new thought occurring to me. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Yes, you do,” he says. “But I’ve got to stay a little longer. I’m not done yet.”
“Wait, you’re not coming?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“But you said you’d explain.”
“And I will. Can you dream travel to meet me tonight?” he asks.
“I can’t, it’s not a sanctioned night.”
“Then meet me in the park.”
“I don’t know if this is such a good idea.” I can’t believe he’s here. “I have to think about it. If I’m caught… Well, I was just punished recently.”
“How long?” he asks, a look of concern in his eyes.
“A week.” One long week of being hooked to the night terror generator, forced to sleep through nightmare after nightmare, my subconscious exhausted in the morning by serving up every horror it knew of.
He shakes his head. “I understand. I’ll be in Lidill Park if you choose to meet me.”
“I still can’t believe you’re here. You’re alive,” I say, this time reaching out, clutching his hand.
He grips my hand back. Smiles. “Time for you to go, Em.”
Chapter Five
Even with the blanket tightly wrapped around my shoulders I’m still shivering. In June. Furiously I rub my hands together, blow my hot breath into them.
“Child, you’re sitting on a spirit,” my tutu says, trudging through the living room on her way to the dining area. Her cane knocks against the wood floor with each step. “Move to the chair and you’d be warmer.”
“Which ghost is it?”
“Ronald,” Tutu says, leaning on her cane, her shoulders rounded.
“Well, Ronald,” I say, talking to the air. “This is my house now, so why don’t you move.” I stick out my tongue at Tutu.
She sticks hers out back at me. “Ronald tells me you aren’t washing behind your ears enough.”
“Gross, he’s watching me shower.”
“Don’t get all flattered. He watches Damien shower too.”
“Even grosser. He watches Father shower?” I say, sliding over on the sofa to a slightly warmer spot.
Tutu shrugs. “He’s more bored than he is curious,” she says, craning her head over her shoulder at Zack. He’s leafing through one of the stories my younger sister, Nona, wrote and pushed into his hands as soon as he entered the house. “Oh, come on, Mr. Conerly. Do you want your interview or not?”
Zack smiles at Nona, ruffles the hair on the top of her head, and hands back her handwritten pages. “I’ll check them out later, how’s that?” he says to her.
She blushes. Nods.
“Come over here, Nona,” I say, pulling the blanket down around my legs. “Come warm up my feet and I’ll read your story.”
“You already read my story like twelve times,” she says, but still takes the spot next to me, lying down slightly on my feet.
Zack’s eyes graze mine as he passes on his way to meet Tutu in the dining area, the usual focus written on his face.
“Well, how about I play with your hair and you can tell Ronald and me about your next story,” I say to Nona as she lays her head against my curled up legs.
“I like Ronald,” she says, a smile in her voice. “Maybe I’ll put him in a story.”
“Hey, Nona,” I whisper. “I might need your help again. Need you to cover for me while I dream travel one of these nights.”
She flips up her head and rolls her eyes. “No, I don’t wanna. Mother’s already talking about having me see someone for a psych eval because I’m too much of a baby to sleep alone.”
The other night Nona covered for me. Wore my sleep cuff so it appeared I wasn’t dream traveling, although that’s exactly what I’d been doing so I could investigate my father’s office. She wore her cuff on one wrist and mine on the other. The sleep cuffs go on promptly at bedtime and if they come off during the night or indicate a wearer has dream traveled, then the punishment is a week of night terrors. I learned that the hard way. Nona has to pretend to be too scared to sleep on those nights so I have the reason to spend the night in her room. The irony is Nona, who’s four years younger than me, isn’t scared of anything. She’s the toughest Reverian I’ve ever met, but no one knows that because most don’t notice her.
“Nona, I think I’m on to something and need to investigate it soon,” I say, stroking my fingers through her hair.
“Why don’t you have Tutu do it? She probably would,” she says with a sigh.
I flip my head around and spy my tutu and Zack in the dining room. He’s sitting up tall, scribbling on a notepad, seeming to record her every word. Tutu’s eyes are directed up high as she tries to recollect old memories. “Back in those days, people dressed how they liked, did as they pleased,” she says, a hint of fondness in her voice. “Let’s say you dented your bike, well, you fixed it or you didn’t. There was no law saying you had to. No scripture saying that the proof of mistakes led to more mistakes.” She scratches her chin, a thought obviously churning under her curly gray hair. “You know, it’s funny because the gods are supposedly as old as time, but I don’t remember them always being so rigid. Actually the gods I grew up with were a bit more like the President I grew up with. I guess it isn’t that funny that the gods who rule our lives always seem to take on the personality of the President who rules us currently.”
Zack flicks his eyes up just in time to catch Tutu’s wink. He doesn’t return it, but instead repositions himself nervously. “Well, yes, President Vider is a bit stricter than his predecessors,” he says.
She smirks, but doesn’t respond. Still, I know her well enough to know she has a crafty retort at the ready in her head but won’t waste it on Zack, who would probably dismiss it. His father works for my father and has been strategic in his rise up the political ladder. Zack would never spoil that for him by discu
ssing President Vider unfavorably, even with his Chief of Staff’s mother.
“One thing that hasn’t changed is the devotion to the gods,” my tutu says, a smile lighting up her face, bringing with it a dozen wrinkles. “Middlings and Dream Travelers have always seemed to feel the gods’ weight in their lives, their purity.” She toggles her head back and forth, a question in her eyes. “Still, I don’t believe they created us as the golden race, like the President does, meant to protect Middlings. Never have. I just think they created us differently and their divine plan isn’t for us to know or use for our own agendas.” The insinuation makes Zack straighten. He flicks his eyes at me and I slide back down on the couch, pretending I wasn’t eavesdropping.
“Well,” I say to Nona, who looks to be almost asleep on my leg, “you don’t have to do it now, but maybe you’ll consider covering for me in a few days. I’d owe you big.”
“I’ll consider it,” she says, pushing some drool away with her hand as she slides softly into dreamland.
I twirl her hair around and around my fingers, getting lost in the rhythm of the movement and her gentle breathing. Her hair is blonde like mine, all loose curls that frizz up crazy in the humid months. And now that she’s just hit puberty, she’s a little more self-conscious, borrowing my hair gel to try and corral it back.
My tutu’s words are a low hum for the next hour. It’s only when I hear Zack clear his throat that I know he’s exchanging pleasantries, about to take his leave. Stealthily, I slide Nona’s head to the cushion underneath me as I stand. She lies like a doll, all round and freckled, and innocently perfect. A shiver slips out of her lips, probably due to the loss of my body heat. I wrap the afghan around her.
