by RaeLynn Fry
Eta moves the metal disc of her stethoscope around his torso. Satisfied, she takes the metal tubes out of her ears and puts them around her neck. She buttons up his shirt and moves her fingers to his neck, right below his jaw. “Pulse is strong, breathing is good. He's healthy as a horse.”
“Except for the unconscious part,” I say.
Eta just gives me a look before she goes to her bag and grabs a syringe. “You've been taking very good care of him, Karis,” she says as she bends over his arm. Like every visit, she takes a little bit of blood. “He's very clean. That's good.”
My cheeks redden. “Yeah, well,” I mumble, “it's not like I have any choice.”
“That's not the way I see it. Someone who cares for him on the inside does a job like this. Even if they're pretending not to care on the outside. Either way, keep it up.” She stands and gathers her things.
Was she right? Was I really coming to care for Gandā and still trying to act like I didn't? “Did Ethan give you the filters I collected?”
“He left them on the kitchen table for me.”
“What are you doing with them?”
“Studying them, trying to get as much information as I can.”
“Are you trying to find a cure?” My arms are starting to burn from holding the tray.
“Among other things.” She snaps her bag closed and heads to the door. “’Night, Karis.”
“’Night.” I set the bowl of soup and spoon on the bedside table and drag the chair from Ajna’s desk and line it up next to the bed. The Untouchable hasn't so much as twitched an eye. No surprise there.
I scan his body when I sit down. There isn't much light coming in from the window, so his features are a bit more dramatic in the twilight—carved out cheek and collar bones, hollowed out temples, sunken eyes bulging through thin lids.
I don't want to admit it, but underneath all this grime and mess of knotted hair, he could almost be handsome. Realizing part of me is starting to care about him only makes me more defensive. I hate that feelings can be so aggravating and irrational and most of all uncontrollable. But, he's getting better and looking better because of me, of what I'm doing for him, and I can't help but feel a small amount of selfish pride in that.
“I hope you appreciate what I'm doing,” I say. I lean over and slip my arms under his armpits and pull him up. He doesn’t smell so bad anymore, so I don’t have to breathe out of my mouth while doing this.
He slumps forward and I grab two pillows with my free hand and awkwardly try to fold them in half so that he's sitting up, making it easier to feed him the broth. When I've managed the pillows, I wedge my arms back under his and try to put him back down as gracefully as I can. The result is him dropping the last couple of inches and his head hitting the headboard.
“Oops, sorry.”
I dip the spoon into the broth and blow off the rising steam. I reach up with my other hand and squeeze his cheeks so that his mouth opens a little and I pour the liquid in. It's not much, but it will have to do. It's not like he can eat anything more than this. Not until he wakes up, anyway. If he ever does.
“It was Ration Day today.” I make small talk as I feed him, wiping off drips of soup as they travel down his chin. “There weren't as many fights as there tend to be, but I think it’s because there were more Guards out this time.” I give him another spoonful of soup. I think about what to say next, even though he's unconscious, I don't like stale air between us. I just get the urge to fill it with something. As a result, I tend to babble and spill about everything—things I wouldn't normally tell awake people—knowing it doesn't matter.
“I've been having this really uncomfortable feeling every time I go out; like I'm being followed. I mean, besides the cameras around the city and all the people in the streets, it's obvious that others are looking at me, but this feels...different. More intentional. I can't shake it. I felt that way getting rations, too, that someone was drilling me, but I couldn't find anything in the crowd. I'm crazy, I know.” I finish feeding him the soup. “But nothing is how it’s supposed to be, since coming back from Dahn. I feel that none of us are safe anymore. And I know I have a giant target on my back. And so do all the people I love. Because of my actions.” Somehow, in between everything else I’m trying to do, I need to make that right, no matter the cost.
I sigh again and pick up the glass of water and rag. “This is all the water we can spare. We’re at the end of the month and we only just got our new water rights. There’ll be more next week.” I dip the rag in the water and scan his different exposed body parts to see where I should start. I decide to do his other hand and arm. “It's not warm,” I warn, “it's actually kind of cold.”
I wipe the corner of the wet cloth against the back of his hand. When I take the rag away, it doesn't look like I’ve made any difference. I stoop over and squint my eyes in the low light. I can see that the skin is damp, but it still looks dirty. I examine the rag. It's a dark brown. I pinch my face in a disapproving scowl. He's that dirty? That’s disgusting. I sigh a third time and dip the towel back into the glass. I scrub again, and after a few passes, I see the true color of his skin underneath all of that caked dirt.
“You won't be getting your nightly meeting with me tomorrow evening. My best friend Journey is getting Paired, so I'll be busy with that. You did good with dinner today; ate all the soup. I know it doesn't taste like much, but it's all we have. Maybe I can make up something better once our rations are delivered after Ration Day.
“Did I tell you I tried out my Mark yesterday? Well, I did. And nothing happened. It's as if I don't even have one anymore. Like this is just a tattoo. It doesn't stop me from going where I shouldn't. It doesn't even register me with the Gates; and I'm not sure how I feel about that.”
I watch his eyes dart around underneath his thin lids. I pour the rest of the water on the last clean spot of the cloth and start to clean off his fingers. I fan them across the blanket and wipe away at the dirt. I get to the finger next to his pinky and notice an indent near the base that circles the skin. As it gets cleaner, I see it's a lot lighter than the rest of the finger, too.
I rub my thumb back and forth and let it catch on the dip, trying to figure out where it came from. I pull my hand back in surprise. A ring. He used to wear a ring. Papa still wears his.
Gandā was married.
I don't know why it affects me so strongly, but it does. “I know I've said it before, but the feeling has been even stronger, lately. The other morning, Journey and I found him in a side street, and for a minute, he didn't know who we were. He didn't even know our names, he looked so lost and scared. But then, he was fine, as if nothing had happened. It was so strange. And before you say it, no, him hiding whatever it is from me is not the same as me keeping my Mark a secret from him.” I prop his head and shoulders up so that I can give him the broth. “I'm keeping this from him because I don't even know what it means yet. There’s no sense in getting him all excited or worried if I don't have an answer of why, yet. If you were awake, you'd understand.”
“I can’t sit here, going through the brainless daily routine that makes up Neech, and pretend like everything is okay with my brother.” I fill the spoon with broth and slowly let it spill between his parted lips. “I need to get inside the Inner City to check on him and see with my own eyes he’s okay. I know I can’t go in there and get him. It would never work.” I feed him another sip of broth, catching a dribble with a cloth as it rolls down his chin. “My Mark doesn’t work the way it used to, it doesn’t keep me out of anywhere, which means I can probably walk through the Main Gate and no one would be the wiser.”
I study his face. He looks kind, thoughtful. I can almost imagine him taking it all in and carefully considering my side. “But using the Main Gate would be suicide. I know Akin knows where I am, and he can come get me whenever he wants, and we have that agreement that I will come and work for him, but I don’t want to risk getting caught making Akin angry.”
&nbs
p; I feed him a few more spoonfuls, trying to organize my thoughts. “I think one of the other, smaller Gates into Neech would work best. Once there, I’m familiar enough with the city, I’ll know where to go and where I can hide.”
I sigh and look down at the bowl, it’s already almost gone. I put one hand behind Gandā’s neck and pull him forward a bit, pressing the bowl to his lips and gently tipping it forward. When the contents are gone, I lay him back down and put the bowl on the night stand. I look at him again, and imagine his brow furrowing a bit, not in disagreement or disgust, but in a light shade of concern.
I sit back in my chair. “I know. That’s where my plan gets a little shady. I don’t know where Akin is keeping my brother. It could be at his residence or Corporate Tower. But then again, it could be anywhere. I don’t know what they do with Sponsors or where they keep them. I have a sinking feeling Akin would find me before I even got close to finding Ajna. And there’s no one in Neech that could help me.” I think of D’mitri. “That I can trust,” I add. “No one’s heard from Ella in a while, so it’s safe to assume whatever has happened isn’t good. She was my one chance.”
I sigh again and swallow. “Enough about my problems, for tonight. Thank you for listening. I didn’t think you’d be good for much, but you’re actually really good at this. It’s what I need. Someone to just listen to me, instead of judging and correcting and telling me no.”
I stand up and take the bowl with me out of the room. I turn around once more and look at Gandā. I tell myself I see the corners of his mouth turned up, ever so slightly, in a pleased expression. Either from my plan or my complement, it doesn’t matter.
Ethan
It’s come to the point where I need more answers than I have, and I need them from the source. Or, at least as close to the source as I can get. Which is why I’m scouring the streets for Bak Amul, the Black Market Artist who was handing out faulty tattoos like they were free ration stamps. Through a combination of skill, threats, and pure luck, I was able to get the location of where he’s currently holed up.
Although no longer giving faulty Marks, he’s still hanging out in Neech. I wonder why he’s still here if my father is no longer having him conduct experiments on the unsuspecting. I’m sure it isn’t for the culture or atmosphere. He’s either done something to make the Corporation very angry, or, his mission is not yet complete. I’m guessing it is the latter of the two, since the Corporation tends to just kill whoever it is that’s made them look bad or angry.
I’m staring at his back, leaned up against a wall. He’s a tall and lanky man, but his shoulders are rounded in, making him look smaller. His clothes don’t look like they’ve come from the Inner City made to look like they’re from the Outer City, his clothes actually look like they’re from Neech—threadbare and ill fitting. His shirt is far too big, with the neckline leaning towards one shoulder and tipping towards his back, exposing a defined shoulder blade and few vertebrae of his neck. His shirttails are tucked halfway into the waist of his pants, which are too small. They come up a good two or three inches from his shoes and the legs look too tight to be comfortable. He does a series of halfhearted squats before he turns around. He’d been urinating. On the brick wall. In public.
“That’s disgusting,” I say, with my lip curled and my brow furrowed. “There are such things as bathrooms.”
He eyes me with half interest. “A wall works just as well.”
“My name is Ethan Hughes—”
“I know exactly who you are. What do you want?” He walks past me and out into the empty street. “I heard ya been lookin' for me.”
“I need you to get a message back to someone in Dahn.”
He barks out a laugh and keeps moving. I walk after him. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Before I left Dahn, I found some interesting information. A list of names of people who had been given faulty Marks by you.”
“That ain’t news, son. Your father had me keep records of who I done.”
“But he doesn’t have all the records, does he?”
Bak slows. “What are you sayin’?”
“I’m saying that that wasn’t the correct list. Or rather, that wasn’t the full list. You’ve been giving Marks to others that you don’t put on the list for the Corporation.”
“There ain’t no way you could know any of that.”
“My father has had me watching Neech for a long time, Bak. He’s been having me watch specific people. You were one of them. I kept track of everyone that came and went from your place.” I reach into my back pocket and take out a small notebook wrapped with elastic. “This is the true list of your clients.” His eyes go a little bit wider and he takes half a step towards me. I hold up my hand. “If I’d given this information to my father, you’d be dead by now. Or worse. I’ve held on to it and never breathed a word of it because I knew, one day, it would serve me better. You’re going to get a message into Dahn for me, or my father is going to see this little book.” I slip it back into my pocket.
“Or, I could just take it from you now.”
“You think this is my only copy? You think I don’t have someone that is going to get this straight to my father if I don’t come back from this little meeting? I’m not an amateur at these games.”
“Akin wouldn’t believe you. You’re on his most wanted list.”
“He may be rash, but he is a businessman, and he would not overlook what I would have to give him.”
“It would be worth death to you, to give him that book because I refused to do what you ask?”
“I think my father would find that very interesting. And I don’t think he would take the time to hear your side of the story.”
Bak thinks it over, but I’m pretty sure that’s just for show. “What’s the message?”
“I need you to tell D’mitri to meet me.”
“That snake?”
“Tell him I need him to meet me at the safe house tonight at midnight.”
“That's only hours away.”
“Four.”
“And what if he decides you aren’t worth his time?”
“If D’mitri doesn’t show tonight, I go to my father and tell him all your little secrets. So it’s in your best interest to convince him.” I turn and walk away, needing D’mitri to be intrigued enough to come. I don’t have any more bluffs to play.
Karis
I loop my scarf a couple of more times around my head, covering my mouth and cheeks to fight against the slight nip that's come to hover in the air. I have to hurry, it’s about to start.
There are set time intervals for everyone to come to the meetings, so we’re not caught. No one is allowed to come in through the front door. There is a cellar at The Tavern and a tunnel that connects to a couple of other nearby buildings. People enter through different cellar doors hidden throughout the streets. The windows are boarded from the inside, same with the doors. The only lights are the few candles Ethan and I supply.
I'm almost to my designated entrance near the tanner's place, one of the four secret entrances into the underground tunnel, when I see a couple of shadows, a dozen or so yards away, standing too close together to be up to any good. There can only be a couple of options as to who they are, out here in the open, this late at night. And none of them are good.
I give my head a quick shake, once, and head towards the cellar door. I really can't be late, again. I don't want to deal with Ethan. But some of the words being spoken between the two figures reach my ear, and I swear I hear Ethan’s name.
I let the handle fall, quietly, back on the soft wood of the doors, and enjoy the burn of my muscles as I stand back up as slow as I can. My steps are careful, yet purposeful as I edge to the street, against the building.
I watch them. Men, I can tell that much for sure. One is tall, the other a bit shorter, and rounder. The taller stands erect, shoulders back, frame stiff. He seems to be irritated or losing patience with the other man. The shorter one has his hands
at his sides, but he's kind of leaning forward, like he's trying to be intimidating or something. At one point he even begins poking the taller man in the chest. Immediately, the one being poked shoves the shorter man back, almost knocking him to the ground. I use that moment of disarray to get closer.
I stick to the opposite side of the street, to shadows, doorways, and anything else that can help keep me hidden. I try to keep my breathing quiet and even. I know they can't hear it, but it’s echoing in my ears so loudly that I’m afraid I won't be able to make out what they're saying.
As soon as I'm brave enough to lean out from the doorway I'm huddled in, I risk a glance. The taller man is a Guard, and he looks familiar, but I can't place him. I know the shorter man for sure, and the blood underneath my skin begins to heat up. It's Raj. I knew he couldn't be trusted, and here's proof. The Guard doesn't look happy with Raj, and he's poking him in the chest, making Raj's shoulders cave with every potent stab.
“You were given a very specific and easy task to do,” the Guard says.
“And I'm doing it.” Raj is trying to sound tough, but I can hear the fear and uncertainty behind his words.
“You're not moving fast enough.”
“Tonight,” Raj says, finally pushing the Guard's hand away. “I'm doing it tonight.”
“And what makes you think he'll go for it?”
“Because Ethan has no other choice. He has to do it or I'll tell his little secret to everyone; ruining his chances of gaining support forever.”
“You'd better make good on this promise, Raj, otherwise Mr. Hughes will not be a happy man. You've broken too many already.”
“And what about Akin's promise? What about my family?”
Family? Raj has more than his murdered wife and daughter?
