by Rachel Cohn
And then he’s asleep.
I end the game. We fall to the floor, and I leave him in the FantaSphere.
I have no choice now. I just wrote my own death sentence.
I must leave, on my own. Immediately.
I RACE BACK TO MY ROOM, TO CHANGE OUT OF MY pajamas into regular clothes.
I have no plan. I will jump from the window, and run like I’ve never run before. I’ll figure it out along the way.
I must not worry, I tell myself. Worrying is for humans. Worrying distracts me from the mission.
Wherever he is right now, Tahir is safe. We will find a way to be together. Have faith.
I must not worry. I must not doubt the impossible.
If I repeat it enough times to myself, I will believe it.
The lights are out in my room as I change clothes, but I hear someone come into my room while I am standing over my bed wearing only undergarments. At first I think it’s Liesel, seeking comfort. But it’s not Liesel. The burly figure, visible through the faint moonlight coming through my window in the dark night, walks over to my bed. I gasp, startled. Who has come for me—the father, or the son?
“What else are you hiding, Defect?” he asks.
“Ivan?” I sputter. I hastily try to place the shirt over my head, but he grabs it from me. He shoves me down onto my bed and places his hand on my sternum, to hold me still.
“What did you do with Tahir while you were away? Did he make you his whore?”
I no longer believe that clones do not produce adrenaline. My mind knows my body is being threatened, and my heart pounds in response. Beads of sweat trickle on my forehead. “We did not do that,” I reassure Ivan.
“You better not have. You belong to me. Are you the reason Tahir disappeared so suddenly? Because his parents can’t have their precious son mating with a whore?”
“It’s not like that, brother.”
“Don’t ‘brother’ me. Of course it’s like that. You’d actually dare to escape from here to be with him? You think I would help you, Defect?”
“I…I…I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me!”
“I’m not able to lie!” I lie. No wonder lying comes so readily to humans. It must be an instinctive response to fear.
Ivan’s hands grip my neck as he lowers his body on top of mine, straddling me on the bed. His mouth is now so close I can taste his breath, making me drunk with fear.
“What are you doing?” I whisper. “Don’t you want more ’raxia?”
“No. There isn’t enough ’raxia in the world for what I need tonight.”
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
I think I know.
I refuse to believe.
He insists on making me a true believer.
His lips descend on mine, covering my mouth in a sloppy joining of mouths that’s an assault, not a kiss. I try to bite him, but that only excites him more.
“Don’t,” I gasp between attacks from his mouth. “Please. Don’t.”
I may have no soul, but I know enough to know: this is not right.
“Mother got you for me, you know.”
Be a nice girl, darling Elysia, she said to me when I first arrived at Governor’s House. Let Ivan have his way.
Was this what Mother meant?
His big hands hold me down, trapping me. I am powerless to what is happening. I try to push him away. I kick at him, I claw at him, I shove at him. I try. I am strong, but he is so much stronger. It’s like the extra dosage of ’raxia now mixed with the awareness that his Beta is a traitorous Defect who loves another boy has turned him monster strong. And he likes the fight.
I close my eyes to shut out the face of this darkness. My mind removes itself from the present, going to memories of Tahir holding me through the night, Tahir touching my skin with tenderness, Tahir loving me so much he would escape all the wealth and privilege in the world to be with me, to liberate me.
Please let this not be happening.
Please let this be a dangerous FantaSphere game that will end any moment.
It happens.
“Stop!” I cry out.
But invocation of the safe word does not work here.
Violate [VIE-uh-late]: To break through or pass by force or without right: to violate a frontier.
Ivan has stolen what I saved for Tahir.
I remind myself that what my body has just experienced was merely physical pain. My heart does not understand what to feel; it refuses to feel. Perhaps that’s my true Defect power—not the ability to feel, but the ability to deny feeling.
This is why Mother really bought me. So that Ivan could have his way.
There is no such thing as safety.
Especially for a clone.
Who’s now been made some human’s consort.
ZHARA IS LUCKY TO BE DEAD.
I understand now why Astrid strived so hard to escape this hell home in paradise.
I know now why Mother does not want Ivan to soothe Liesel at night.
In—sur—rec—tion!
It’s starting to make sense.
It is better not to have a soul.
Then it can’t be slowly killed out of you.
IVAN KNOWS I AM A DEFECT, BUT HE HAS decided not to tell. Yet. He announces that by grabbing me in a chokehold when he awakes in the morning, and breathes his nasty breath into my ear. “Tell anyone about this and you are as good as dead, Defect,” he hisses. “You keep quiet, and I’ll keep quiet.”
Last night in the FantaSphere, he threatened to tell his father on me. But this morning, everything is different. He won’t tell. He wants to keep my silence.
He gets up and leaves my room, as if nothing has changed. Tomorrow, he leaves for the Base. I can only wait for him to leave. Once he’s gone, my mind will be clear. I can devise a new escape plan. I must find my way back to Tahir.
Once Ivan is gone, I will train harder, until an escape route becomes viable. Run harder, swim faster, dive stronger. I could learn to use weaponry, knives and guns—the real kind, not FantaSphere fakes. The Governor loves to hunt. He will eventually come for me anyway. Why not use him to gain skill and experience? Use him like they use me.
I could seek out the other Defects who are part of the rising rebellion. I could seek out the Aquine. Alexander Blackburn had a relationship with my First. Even if his kind doesn’t like clones, his assignment on Demesne was supposedly about representing my rights.
I want to know my rights.
Ivan knows I am a Defect.
I know I am a Defect.
Does either of us know yet what a Defect really can do?
I could not save myself. But could I save others like me?
I want to be the girl Zhara once was.
Hellbeast.
Maybe I am, already.
I go to Astrid’s secret drawer. I take: her knife.
In the siding of the drawer, I notice her scrawl carved into the wood. She wrote:
To open the blind eyes, to bring out the prisoners from the prison, and them that sit in darkness out of the prison house. —Isaiah 42:7
Amen, sister.
Someone should pay for their sins.
The family is at Haven having lunch with friends for Ivan’s last day. Mother tried to bring me along, but Ivan sneered, “Family only for last day. No stupid clones.”
I use my alone time to take a walk to the cliff’s edge at Governor’s House, to the spot where Xanthe was thrown off.
I press my fingers into the bump beneath the skin on my wrist. I need this gone. I need to own at least one part of myself.
I use Astrid’s knife to slit my skin. Blood gushes from the slit as I maneuver to find that thing beneath. The flow of blood actually helps me find it sooner. My locator chip slips out from beneath the skin on my wrist. I press a rag onto my bloody wrist to contain the wound. Then I toss the chip down into their precious Io.
I feel no pain. I feel total ’raxia.
Isaiah was
right. The prisoners need to be brought out of the prison.
Bad things happen to clones on Demesne because no clones speak up. They can’t—unless they’re Defects. They’re too comatose, being the humans’ slaves.
I am a Defect and I am alive and I want someone to pay for their sins before it’s too late.
If I tell the truth, it will set me free. I can’t even wait one more day until after Ivan leaves. The outcome will be the same.
If Mother knows, she will send me away. The shame will be too great.
I find Mother in the massage room after the family’s lunch. She lies on her stomach, face down. She speaks through the opening in the massage table’s headrest. “Elysia, darling, I missed you at lunch, but Ivan is just so bossy sometimes. Maybe you could take Ivan for a run to help him burn off all that brute energy he’s accumulated for the Base. The cook is preparing a grand meal for his last night with us. Make that boy work up an appetite! You’ve been such a wonderful companion to him. He’s in the best shape of his life. The Governor is very pleased.”
“I did as you said, Mother. I let him have his way. Last night in my room.”
I am as good as dead anyway. I just don’t care anymore. Whatever they’re going to do to me, let it begin. Release me from the agony of this home.
For a moment she looks up from the headrest, confused. Then her expression clears as she understands. “Good girl,” she says.
Tears well in my eyes. They surprise me. I have never cried before. “There is more,” I say. “Ivan takes ’raxia. He makes it himself and keeps it hidden. He is an addict. He will probably not survive at the Base without ’raxia.” Tears gush freely from my eyes and I make no attempt to stop their wet shame from appearing on my face.
Let Ivan suffer some consequences too.
But Mother is not concerned that her son is addicted to the very drug that is leading Demesne clones astray. “You cry?” Mother gasps.
Her eyes meet mine, her look quickly turning from shock to rage. The clone masseuse drops his bottle of oil to the floor.
“Leave us!” Mother screams at him. The rippling-muscled, bare-chested man leaves the room.
Mother sits up on the table, covered by a sheet. “Defect!” she accuses me. “You cut your hair yourself, didn’t you? Bahiyya had nothing to do with it. You are a Defect!”
I’ve just told her that her son has violated me, and she is concerned that I cut my own hair?
“Defect!” I admit. “It’s true! And I want to be sent away, or I will make sure everyone on this island knows that the Governor’s son is supplying ’raxia to clones.”
I just made that lie up on the spot. Good one, Elysia. Maybe you can survive out in the wild.
“I own you,” Mother retorts. “How dare you.” She lets out a howl of frustration, then redirects her yelling to me: “Go to your room! And don’t come out until I say you may!”
Evening comes, with no communication from anyone, until a note is slipped under my door, written in a young girl’s scrawl.
Dear Elysia,
I don’t understand why everyone is so mad at you but I want you to know I love you and I will sneak you chocolate if you want it.
Love, Liesel
PS-Not JK!
I slip a note back under the door for her.
Dear Liesel,
Go away so you don’t get in trouble. And please keep your bedroom door locked at night.
I love you too.
Elysia
There was never a lock on my bedroom door or Astrid’s door, but there is one on Liesel’s now. I put it there this afternoon while the family was at Haven. I told the butler it was Mother’s orders.
My room is too distant from Mother and the Governor’s quarters to hear them, but I can sense it. The household is in turmoil.
All I can do is wait. Guards are stationed below my window in case I try to jump.
Just after night falls, Ivan comes to my room. He quietly opens my door. From his stealth, I know he has been forbidden to visit me.
“You bitch,” he whispers. “I ought to kill you.”
He pushes me onto the bed and straddles me in that familiar way. He clenches his hands around my neck. He means it.
I gasp for breath, as his fingers burrow into my neck, pushing the life out of me. He’s going to kill me. I start to lose consciousness, and only desperation and fear keep my heart pounding, hard.
Darkness descends, as Awful arises.
Ivan has no idea what’s coming. Neither do I.
Last time I did not fight hard enough. This time, I will.
I reach for Astrid’s knife hidden underneath my pillow and plunge it into Ivan’s heart. He tries to fight me, but the shock of the sudden, direct hit is too much—he cannot match me. His is bigger, but I am more agile. I want to win more.
Again and again, I plunge the dagger into his heart the way he forced himself into me. I dedicate each cut: For Xanthe. Stab. For Becky. Stab. For Tahir. Stab. For every manufactured slave on this island hell. Stab stab stab.
Someone should pay for their sins.
I’ll show you Awful, humans.
I can’t even see what I’m doing. All I know is rage, and panic, and darkness.
Finally, Ivan collapses on top of me. His dark red blood gushes all over the white sheets, spilling onto the mattress, soaking my back and bottom underneath where I lie.
I hear a deafening scream.
It’s not my own.
It’s Liesel, standing in the doorway, holding a steaming plate of macaroni and cheese she has brought for me.
Mother and the Governor hurry into my room after Liesel’s scream.
I’ve pushed Ivan off me and I stand on my bed, trapped.
They see their dead son lying at my bloodied feet. They see their murderous Beta, splattered in their son’s blood, quaking in shock and fear.
“Where’s my rifle?” the Governor shouts. “I’m going to kill her right now. Liesel, get out of here.” He turns to Mother. “See what you’ve caused us!”
Mother falls to the floor. “My baby!” she whimper moans. “My precious boy!”
What would a hellbeast do?
I look out the open window above my bed.
I should jump out of it.
I do.
There’s no time to think. All I can do is run.
The guards stationed below my window didn’t expect me to jump out of it. They heard the shouting and were returning inside the house to help the Governor just as I jumped. My feet land on the ground and I am able to get a running start ahead of them before they realize what’s happened. I run toward the stairs that go down the cliff side. If I can get to Io’s magical waters, the sea will save me. It has to.
They follow me, the Governor and his henchmen. They’re faster than I would have expected. The henchmen catch me at the point where they had Xanthe trapped.
There’s nothing to do but wait.
I face them dead on at the edge of the cliff. I’d rather die by the Governor’s rifle than be thrown off the cliff. It will be quicker.
The Governor points the rifle at me as his henchmen stand on either side of me. They don’t bother to hold me down. I have nowhere to go.
The Governor presses his finger to the trigger.
They’ll merely toss my body into the sea once it’s over.
Unless I toss it there first.
Either I’ll make it or I won’t. It’s about one hundred feet down to the churning sea, with just a craggy cliff in the way.
I’ve changed my mind.
I’d rather die my way than by the Governor’s hands.
I turn around, bend my knees and in an instant—
He shoots.
I dive.
MY EYES OPEN TO A CLOUDLESS BLUE SKY that appears to stretch into forever.
Banana trees surround me overhead. A toucan is perched on the branch of a eucalyptus tree near my side. The smell of gardenias and jasmine flowers and a distant sea breeze perm
eates the air.
I cough. Wherever I am, the dull, thin air here is so not premium. And I am swaying.
A female voice that sounds familiar chirps nearby, singing an improvised version of “Children of Hope.”
“In these troubled times of darkness and fright,
From them we receive the gift most sublime.
They are our dreams, our loves,
Our children of hope—
Nope, I meant dope—
Dopey children, ha-ha-ha.…”
Back and forth, I sway. I can’t lift my head too far—it aches—but my hands grasp pieces of rope beneath my body, supporting it. I see the rope attached to banana trees at either end of my bed. No, it’s not a bed. I’m swinging on a hammock. I think I’m in the jungle.
I’m alive.
That’s all I know.
“You’re awake,” the female voice says. I try to turn my head to identify the face attached to the voice, but pain grips my neck and I must keep my head idle. I close my eyes again, to block the hurt pounding my head. My body feels as though it’s been smashed to bits. I can’t move.
Sway. Nice, gentle, breezy sway. Helps headache go away.
A hand, rough-skinned but warm, touches my arm. The female voice says, “Welcome back, Elysia. Some of us weren’t sure you would survive. I never doubted.”
