There is a lot you don’t know yet Millie. There is a lot to learn. Remember everything your schooling has taught you. But remember: To every truth, there are a million untold truths.
I laid my head back, rolling the sea glass through my fingers. The stars twinkled in the sky outside my small window. I imagined Orrin sitting at the beach, watching the stars in their nightly guard. The waves crashed against the shore, the wind bent the grass in the night air. I found myself wondering if my parents ever laid under the same stars, taking in their beauty as they held hands in young love. Had life always been mad for them? Had it once been beautiful?
“Always a gray zone,” I muttered to myself, my eyes searching the sky.
I wished Reed could meet Orrin. Deep inside of me, I knew they would somehow understand each other at a level most people never knew. They were so much alike. I felt a smile touch my lips at the thought of Reed, my hand brushing the purple shirt that I still wore. Then I remembered his final words that night, and the smile faltered.
Reed was right. There was always a gray zone. I sat up, shoving the notebook back into the drawer. A paper fell from it and I picked it. It was the entry I had written in one of my last meetings with Dr. Eriks. I read it, the same strange feeling that something about it was wrong rising in my stomach. My eyes traced the words, trying to place it.
It clicked. I finally realized what it was.
“Only a silent father and a state-proclaimed unstable mother. And it is because of them that I live in this cell,” I read out loud, slowly pronouncing each word. “Because of them,” I repeated, looking out the window again, the paper wrinkling in my tightened hand.
I had always thought the unease from that journal entry had been because I admitted my fear. I had thought it was because I somehow felt unworthy to be set free, unable to leave behind my criminal parents. But it had always been something deeper. Something hinted at in every conversation with Orrin, with Jude, even with Dr. Eriks.
I had been born into the Prison. I had been raised in the Prison. I had always assumed and been told that my condemned life was my parents’ fault. And I had believed it. Now I sat, paper wrinkled in my shaking hand, tears stinging my eyes, and finally let the thought surface:
Was it?
| | |
“I decided,” I said aloud, sitting high in the tree. I could hear both guys pause at my words.
“What have you decided?” Reed asked, his voice strangely cautious.
“I want to know. I want to know the whole story of what my parents did.” My voice softened. “I need to know.”
I could hear Reed adjust himself on his branch, the plunk of an apple dropping into his basket echoing through our silence. “Are you sure, Millie?”
I nodded, knowing no one could see me. I needed to nod. I needed a physical reassurance that I did in fact want this. “I am.”
Reed didn’t answer. I could hear his apples dropping into his basket above me. Clenching my lips tight, I grabbed the branch above my head and pulled myself up. Reed balanced carefully on a branch just through the leaves. His legs were hanging limply around the limb, the basket nestled in a clustered of branches next to him.
His face was twisted up, as if in pain. His eyes were glued to an apple in his hand, staring intensely at it as his face tightened even more. The look of pure torment on his face stabbed my heart.
“Reed?” I asked softly.
His eyes snapped up from the apple. He let them waver unfocused a moment, then looked down at me. I reached up and grabbed another branch, pushing off with my feet and hauling myself up closer to him. He looked away from me, watching the apple again.
“Reed, about last night −”
“I don’t even know how my parents died,” he said, cutting me off. His voice sounded distant. “After they died, I was put into foster care. The Nation… it likes to keep children in their care. Every year, they make money off of the kids. They rip the child out of the home they had finally settled into and move them, then bill the family that had been assigned them for back pay. The family has to pay back everything the Nation had loaned them to take care of the foster child, plus interest. I was hated.”
Reed spun the apple in his hand, watching its surface thoughtfully. “Eddie’s family finally took me in and adopted me. Kind of. I had to keep my last name, and they had to pay the Nation a yearly fee for having me. But they did it.”
“What happened to them?” I asked carefully.
“Eddie’s family?” Reed spun the apple in his hand, a sigh escaping his lips. “His older brother got arrested and thrown in prison for theft. Twenty years. Eddie’s mom had a panic attack, which turned into a stroke that killed her. His father is still alive… somewhere. We don’t know where he went.”
I thought of Eddie, light-hearted happy Eddie. It was hard to believe that something like that had happened to his family. It was nearly impossible to believe anything bad had ever happened to Eddie.
“After that, Eddie and I came here. We had nowhere else to go. Being homeless wasn’t an option. Becoming a GF was… We couldn’t do that.”
Reed finally looked over to me. His eyes were heavy, as if he hadn’t slept at all. “When you said you didn’t want to know the truth about your parents, I hated you, for that moment. I hated how you had your parents, had a chance to know the truth, and refused to take it. While I am here, wanting so badly to know and…” His voice trailed off. He stared at the apple again, then said roughly, “What if you find out more of the truth? Will you push me away, again? Will you close those doors in your mind and shut me out, expecting me to be here waiting once you feel like creaking them back open?” Reed let out a frustrated breath, staring up into the branches. “I can’t… I am so sick of this.”
I felt my body sway in the breeze and clutched the branch beneath me. “Sick of this?” I asked. I felt myself panic at the thought of what his answer would be.
Reed waved his hand around in the air, motioning to everything around him. “This. The Nation.The constant fear of breaking the law. The need to always work, never knowing what you are working for. Never being in control.” He looked at me, his eyes heavy again. “Fearing that the goodbye you refused to say might have been your last.”
I could only watch him, the memory of last night flowing in my mind.
Reed tossed the apple to me. I shot a hand out and caught it before it could fly past. Reed plucked another apple from the tree and stared at it a moment. The dark red skin shone in the bright daylight. Then, slowly, he took a huge bite. Juice sprayed from the apple, the meat bright white as he took a second bite into the crunchy surface.
“Reed…” I said, alarmed. My eyes scanned the ground beneath me, afraid someone passing would see what he had done. Reed wiped a stream of juice from his chin, carefully chewing and swallowing before looking back into my eyes.
“Millie, I am sick of not knowing who owns this delicious apple that I am never allowed to eat. I am sick of seeing the people I finally let myself grow close to disappear. I am sick of this fear that sticks to us every single day. There has to be more than this Nation. There has to be.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” He took another bite. I could hear him chewing the apple, his head leaned back against the trunk of the tree. I looked at the apple in my hand. Then looked back over at Reed.
“What are you going to do?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
Reed sighed and looked over at me. “I don’t know, Millie. I don’t know if I even can do anything.” His eyes searched mine. “I don’t want to risk losing the few things I do have. But there has to be something.” He took another bite, watching me as he chewed. “First thing I know I am going to do. We are going to find out what really happened with your parents.”
He looked at the remains of the apple in his hand, then let out a slow sigh. Leaning his head back again, I watched as he disappeared into his thoughts, his mouth mindlessly chewing the last bite he
had taken of the apple.
“You were right. Last night.” My voice was almost a whisper. I saw Reed’s eyebrows slightly raise, his eyes watching me. “I do need you.”
Reed slowly chewed the bite of apple. He let his eyes wander away from mine, deep breaths causing his chest to rise and fall in perfect rhythm.
“Reed, about last night −”
“Millie, stop” he said, cutting me short again. “This life we have been doomed to is much too short to hold grudges against friends.”
I looked again at the apple in my hand then raised it to my lips. The skin was cool and smooth, smelling rich as it pressed against my teeth. I glanced up to Reed once more. Clenched my eyes shut. I took a bite. The apple was crisp, its juices spraying into my mouth and down my chin as I carefully chewed. I didn’t feel myself cringe as I took another careful bite. This apple was different than the ones I had always known.
Maybe it was because it had been fresh picked off the tree that I sat in. It had never had the chance to soften and brown in its over-filled basket. Captivity and the end never loomed in front of it, stealing away its deep red and sweet juices. All it had ever known was the sun and the breeze and the song of the birds.
All it had ever known was freedom.
I leaned heavy against the trunk, finishing my apple alongside Reed. We didn’t talk. We didn’t need to. We knew without saying a word that something had just changed. Something deeper than eating an illegal apple. Something that was about to ignite a change that would landslide our entire lives.
17
“You sure?”
We stood in front of Records, the blocked windows menacing as they loomed in front of us. I stared at them a moment before slowly nodding. Reed reached out and gently took my hand, giving it a squeeze. I felt the spark jump into my body at his touch, his warmth racing up my arm to take me over. A moment later he let go. My hand felt cold and alone where he had just touched it. I folded my arms across my chest, trying to seal in the last spark of warmth from his touch.
Reed pulled the door open and stepped inside. A bell hanging on the door rang, cutting through the quiet air inside. I paused a moment, listening to its soft lilt in the air before following Reed inside. The door swung shut behind me. I jumped as it slammed back into place, killing the sound of the bell in one swift click.
Just a few feet away from the door stood a desk. We stepped closer, watching the man behind it motion for us to wait. He was talking to someone on the phone, his voice lowering as we pulled to a stop in front of the desk. He wrinkled up his nose in thought, his dark brown skin stretching across his full cheeks. On his wide nose sat a thick-rimmed pair of glasses, the glass so thick it magnified his eyes to an almost comical size.
Waiting for his conversation to end, I let myself look around the room. A long table lined the wall to my right, its surface layered messily with old computers and loose papers. The other wall was solid window, all covered with the thick white paper. Nothing hung on the walls. No art, not even color. Just the solid white of a temporary life.
The white of the Prison.
The man clicked the phone back onto its base. “How can I help you?” He glanced up at us as he spoke, his words relaxed and easy.
Reed stepped closer. “I’m Reed Taylor. This is Millie 942B. We were hoping you could help us find records on a past crime?”
The man took us in slowly. Then he stood, pulling his pants up as his round belly tried to push them down. “Reed Taylor. I’ve heard your name around. Been here some time, eh?”
Reed nodded.
“Congrats on that,” the man said. He looked over at me. “I’m figuring you’re the one wanting to know the facts.” He moved forward, a finger pushing his glasses up his nose. Holding out a hand, he waited for me to shake it. I held out my hand and he gripped it tightly, cranking it up and down. “Call me Rick. My mom named me Ricardo, which I always found stupid, being as Ricardo is a Mexi name and I’m a black man.” He smiled at me, his teeth a startling white against his dark skin.
Moving away, Rick walked over to one of the computers and jammed a thumb down on the monitor button. The computer blinked to life. He motioned for us to sit in the plastic chairs on either side of him, then drummed his thick fingers on the computer keyboard.
“Crime date?” he asked.
“Crime date? I… uh… ”
“Don’t know it? Hmm, okay. Name of the victim or criminals?”
“Leann and Alan 942B.” My mouth was fighting to go dry. “Criminals.”
Rick glanced at me a moment, then turned and typed in the names. The computer buzzed indignantly, still waking from sleep mode. After a moment a list appeared on the screen. Rick muttered to himself as he read down cases on the list, finally clicking on one. Another list came up, small paragraphs appearing below each link. Rick opened the first and read it.
“Let’s see. Leann Summers was charged with Murder 1 and Assault. Alan Summers with Murder 1 and Aiding. Both sentenced with Life. Looks like…” He clicked his tongue, scanning the text that rolled down the screen. “Two men were murdered, deadly intent. The third escaped and was able to retrieve authorities. The accused were appointed their representative, and finally entered a plea of guilty. The surviving man pushed for death penalty, but they were sentenced life with no parole.” Rick paused a moment, thinking. “942B. The Life sentence walk. I thought so. Sound about right?”
I could only nod.
“Alright,” Rick said, wiggling his fingers before bending over the keyboard again. “This is where the fun comes in. I don’t do this for everyone, but being as I hear nothing but good about Mr. Taylor here, and you,” he looked at me and smiled, “you just look like you need it, I won’t charge you extra.”
“How much?” Reed asked.
“One-fifty. That’s the going rate.” Reed started to reach into his pocket, but before he could grab his money I slammed the cash down on the table next to the keyboard. Reed lowered his hand, his eyes taking in the small pile of bills.
“It’s alright, Reed,” I said softly. “This is something I need to do.”
Reed nodded at me, offering me a small smile before turning his face back to the screen. Rick shoved the money into his pocket then clicked on another link on the page.
“This is weird,” he said, scanning the text.
I leaned in closer. Most of what appeared on the screen was strange legal wording. I had no idea what it actually said. “What is weird?” I asked.
“There’s usually a recorded copy of the accused side of the story. Even if they settle, as these two did, there will still be a copy. It looks like they never even made one.” He clicked on other links, his thick lips puckered up in thought as he read the files that popped up. “The copy is nowhere. That’s just… weird.”
“What’s that mean?” Reed asked, his voice on edge.
“It means we get to talk to Lady Justice.” Rick smiled again, his fingers already typing fast. Reed glanced at me. I raised my eyebrows at him in question but he just shrugged and shook his head, obviously having no idea what Rick was talking about.
A box popped up on the screen, asking for a password. Rick glanced at us, then leaned in over the keyboard and quickly began to type in a long password. I wondered if it was ever going to end. Finally hitting the send button, he leaned back and waited. A little clock appeared, its hands quickly spinning. Then the screen went black.
Rick didn’t seem worried. A moment later, it came back to life, a bright white box popping up. A photo of a woman, her gown flowing over her curved body, a blindfold fastened tight over her eyes, stared back at us. In one hand she tightly gripped a sword. The other held out a set of hanging scales, perfectly balanced.
“That, my friends, is Lady Justice.” Rick sat a moment, looking at the picture, then happily grunted to himself and started to type again. I had never seen her before. Yet there was something familiar about this woman, something that I knew I should know.
The comp
uter buzzed.
Rick mumbled to himself, his fingers drumming on the desktop as he waited.
“Who is Lady Justice?” Reed finally asked.
“Lady Justice?” Rick perked up, his eyes focusing again on the black and white drawing on the computer screen. “She used to be a symbol for the justice system. You know: lawyers, judges, courts, all of that. It was the idea that justice is balanced. Those scales are truth and fairness, always balanced and always even.” Rick pointed to the blindfold. “Justice is blind. It is objective.” He pointed to the curved hips of the drawing, winking at Reed. “And man, this justice was hot.”
Chuckling to himself, Rick leaned back and folded his chubby fingers across his round belly. “Naturally, when the Nation took over, Lady Justice was the first to go. There used to be statues and paintings of her in every courthouse, but now there are none. Pity.
“Anyway, a while back someone started printing a paper. She called herself Lady Justice. Made it her job to find out the truth about some of the court cases that seemed too simple. Then she would print it for everyone to read. The Nation has been trying to find her for years. Thing is, if you go by dates, this Lady Justice must be over one hundred years old now. Makes some think she is a phantom. Or a saint.
“When I can’t find information on a case, such as yours, I pretty much know Lady here will have it.” Rick eyed the image again, smiling wide. “Man, what I would give to meet her.”
The machine finally stopped buzzing, a box popping up on the small screen.
An image of an old newspaper page had been scanned, framed now in the pop-up window. Across the top a smaller image of Lady Justice appeared, her name printed in block lettering next to her perfect form. Below it, in black and white, was a fading photograph of my parents.
I felt tears sting my eyes as I looked into their young faces. Though they were disheveled and strange looking, something still healthy clung to the young faces of Alan and Leann Summers. I felt a tear break free, running down my cheek.
What Tomorrow May Bring Page 72
