by Will Hill
“Then I guess you have to trust him,” I say. “And I have to trust you.”
He frowns. “Is that a problem?”
I shrug. “I don’t know,” I say. “It was, and then I started to think maybe it wasn’t. But now I’m not sure.”
“I’m going to be entirely honest with you,” says Doctor Hernandez. “I’m glad Agent Carlyle isn’t here this morning. I think we’ve seen a number of significant breakthroughs in the last few days, but the necessities of the investigation have meant we’ve had to deal with those breakthroughs in a way that wouldn’t have been my first choice. I’m keen to get back to you, and how you’re doing.”
“I’m fine.”
He shakes his head. “That’s dismissive.”
“It’s the truth.”
He nods, and writes something in one of his notebooks. As I wait for him to finish, I suddenly understand two things. The first is that my interrogation – because that’s what it was – is over, and we’re going back to Doctor Hernandez’s process. The second is that Agent Carlyle clearly believes he’s got everything he’s going to get from me – everything useful, at least – and I’m still here.
I’m never getting out of this place.
“It’s not true,” I say. I know it’s stupid to voluntarily bring up what we talked about yesterday, but some stubborn part of me wants to keep hammering the point, to somehow just convince them to ignore their evidence and believe my lie. “What Agent Carlyle said about me going into the Big House. It’s not true.”
Doctor Hernandez finishes his note and puts his pen down. “That interests me,” he says.
“Why?”
“I’ve watched the footage Agent Carlyle was referring to,” he says. “I’ve seen you walk into the Big House and come out six minutes later, seen it with my own eyes. So I know there’s something you aren’t telling us, even if I don’t know exactly what it is. And that’s fine, Moonbeam. The details of what happened that morning are extremely important to Agent Carlyle and his colleagues, but I’m not an investigator. What I’m interested in is why you don’t want to talk about whatever it is.”
“So you’re calling me a liar too,” I say.
He smiles at me. “I think we both know that you’re not telling the whole truth,” he says. “I don’t believe you’re delusional, and I don’t think you’re experiencing memory loss. I think you’re making the choice to withhold. If you want to explore that choice, then I’m more than happy to do so. But if you’d rather talk about something else, that’s okay.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” I say.
Honey and I sit at one of the tables in the Group Therapy room and watch quietly as our Brothers and Sisters amuse themselves.
Jeremiah’s eyes were red when I walked through the door, but he absolutely denied he’d been crying when I asked him. He and Aurora are playing with Lego now and he seems okay, although it’s impossible to know what’s really going on inside any of their heads.
“Rainbow’s been having nightmares,” says Honey quietly. “About the fire. She told me.”
I grimace. “I guess that’s not much of a surprise.”
“She said she was trapped in her room,” says Honey. “In Building Twelve. The fire was getting closer and closer, but she was lying on her bed and she couldn’t move. She was screaming for help, but nobody came.”
I picture the way she looked as she and the other children made their way across the yard towards the Front Gate with their hands raised above their heads, as the fire roared and bullets flew in every direction, as dark shapes moved through the smoke and men and women they’d known their whole lives – their brothers, sisters, parents – bled and died on the ground. The fact that they aren’t all catatonic might seem like a miracle, if I still believed in such things.
The heavy guilt that dragged at my insides when I looked at them is gone, and I’m grateful for that. I really am. But I don’t actually feel better as I watch them play and chat and laugh. If anything, I think I feel worse – because it’s somehow harder now to admit that there’s nothing I can do to make things right.
It’s not your job to make things right, says the voice in the back of my head. You know it’s not.
I know it’s true that the fire wasn’t my fault. That this isn’t my responsibility. I didn’t put my Brothers and Sisters in this room on their own, and I didn’t fill their hearts with grief.
But…
Part of me – an increasingly large and hopeful part – had come to believe that if I could find a way to trust Agent Carlyle and Doctor Hernandez enough to tell them about the phone call I made, if I could at least unburden myself of the guilty secret I’d been carrying around with me, then I would be free. And in the end, I was able to do more than just put the guilt down – I was able to see it washed away.
But as I look at my Brothers and Sisters, I understand that I’m not free.
Not even close.
I’m every bit as trapped as they are.
It’s the fourth morning in a row that Agent Carlyle isn’t here.
Doctor Hernandez doesn’t bother trying to excuse his absence any more. I guess he knows there’s no point, because what I understood that first morning, when he was supposedly called away to Dallas, was the truth. He got everything he could from me, and now he’s gone.
The worst part is, I miss him.
Now my anger and disappointment at his sudden disappearance have worn off, I actually miss him.
Because I liked talking to him. By the end, at least. I liked it, and I’d got used to him being there – to his winks and his deep laugh and the way his emotions lived just below the surface, always on the verge of getting the better of him. I told him things I had promised myself I’d never tell anyone, and I don’t regret it.
I get that he had a job to do, a job that I ended up being a key part of. It’s not like I thought we were actually friends, that when this was all over he was going to adopt me and take me home and his daughter and I would be like sisters and we’d all live happily ever after. I’m not an idiot.
I just wish he hadn’t made it so clear how disposable I really was.
You know what would bring him back, whispers the voice in the back of my head. You know what you could promise to tell him. You know he would come running.
I do know, and part of me wants to do exactly that. What happened inside the Big House has started to pull at me, to drag me down, and part of me just wants to come clean, no matter the cost.
So do it, whispers the voice. Finish this, once and for all.
I can’t, I tell it. You know I can’t. Because it’s not about Agent Carlyle, or Doctor Hernandez, or even about me. It’s about my Brothers and Sisters. It’s about the people I used to call my Family. I can’t tell them.
It’s all right, whispers the voice. It really is. But maybe there’s someone else you could tell?
My heart stops cold in my chest.
I repeat the voice’s words over and over in my head, wondering how it could possibly have taken so long for me to think of this. Because I know who it’s referring to. There is someone I could tell, and everything is suddenly clear.
I know exactly what I’m going to do.
“How are you this morning, Moonbeam?” asks Doctor Hernandez.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I need to tell you something.”
He sits back in his chair. “Of course,” he says. “Tell me.”
I take a deep breath. “I went into the Big House,” I say, feeling my chest tighten as I say the words out loud. “During the fire. I did go in.”
He nods. “Okay.”
“I’m sorry I lied,” I say. “I really am. I just…I felt like I needed to.”
“Can you tell me why you felt like that?”
I shake my head. I probably could explain it to him, and I suspect he might even understand, but it will take a long time and I don’t think it matters any more.
“That’s okay,” he says. “
That’s absolutely fine. And whatever happened inside the Big House, if you saw something, or did something, I promise you it will be okay. You’re not going to be in any trouble.”
Father John’s voice appears in my head, for the first time in what seems like years. YOU WILL BURN IN HELL! he howls. THE LORD KNOWS WHAT YOU DID, AND HIS JUSTICE IS HARD! AN ETERNITY IN THE LAKE OF FIRE AWAITS YOU! HERETIC! WHORE! MUR—
I stamp on his screeching voice as hard as I can. It falls silent, leaving just the hateful echo of his words.
There’s a chance that he is right – that The Lord does know what I did. But I don’t believe anybody else does. I think Agent Carlyle suspects something that might be close to the truth, but I’m pretty sure Doctor Hernandez is just trying to reassure me, which is something he does a lot.
“It’s not about getting into trouble,” I say, although it still is, at least partly. “It’s mixed up with a lot of stuff that doesn’t have anything to do with you or Agent Carlyle. That’s why I couldn’t tell you. Why I can’t tell you.”
“Okay,” he says. “What does it have to do with?”
“Me,” I say. “The Lord’s Legion. Father John.”
He stares at me. I know he’s trying to work out whether I’m actually telling the truth or just trying to buy time with another lie. I meet his gaze, and hold it.
“All right,” he says eventually. “You can’t tell me, and you can’t tell Agent Carlyle, but you’re willing to tell someone. Am I understanding this correctly?”
I nod.
“Okay,” he says. “Why don’t you tell me what you have in mind?”
Thank you.
I nod again. “Bring Nate here,” I say. “I’ll tell him what happened inside the Big House. After that, he can tell you and Agent Carlyle and anyone else who needs to know. After that, I don’t care any more.”
I’ve got butterflies in my stomach as Nurse Harrow pulls the door to Interview Room 1 open.
I lay awake for most of the night, trying to imagine how I’ll feel when I see Nate again. I think I’m going to be angry with him for not trusting me enough to tell me the truth about who he really was, not even at the end, when the darkness was closing in. But mostly I’m just excited at the thought of being able to talk to someone who really, really understands where I grew up and the life I was forced to lead, and who I won’t have to explain anything to.
I sit on the red sofa and wait impatiently. Doctor Hernandez steps into the room maybe a minute later, and I know Nate isn’t here as soon as I see his face. He’s wearing a wide smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Good morning, Moonbeam,” he says. “How are—”
“He’s not here,” I say. “Is he?”
The smile disappears. “I’m afraid not,” he says. “I submitted your request to the section chief in charge of the investigation yesterday morning, as soon as we ended our session. They told me they’ll get back to me.”
“Do you believe them?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I smile. “I guess that makes one of us.”
For about the fifth night in a row, I slept really badly. I don’t remember if I dreamed, but I woke up covered in sweat with my heart lurching in my chest, so I suspect that’s probably for the best.
Doctor Hernandez walks into Interview Room 1 on the stroke of ten, and before the door is even shut I ask him the same question I’ve started asking every morning.
“Any news?”
He gives me a very small smile, and shakes his head.
Agent Carlyle is back.
He follows Doctor Hernandez through the door and gives me a wide smile. I should be angry with him for so obviously ditching me once I had nothing useful left to tell him, but as the two of them take their usual seats behind the desk I’m overcome by a weird rush of happiness, because everything is suddenly back to what I had started to think of as normal.
I smile back at Agent Carlyle, surprised by how pleased I am to see him. I had pretty much resigned myself to the fact that Doctor Hernandez and Nurse Harrow and my Brothers and Sisters were going to be the only people I spoke to between now and whenever I get out of here.
If I ever do.
Honey told me they have to release me when I turn eighteen. I don’t know where she got that idea from and I don’t know if it’s true or not, but even if it is, that’s still months away. And I can’t shake the feeling that they’ll be able to keep me locked up for as long as they want, if Doctor Hernandez decides it’s for the best. It’s not like anyone is going to speak up on my behalf.
I don’t know why Nate hasn’t come. Maybe it was only Agent Carlyle who actually cared about what happened inside the Big House, and maybe it was stupid of me to think otherwise. Maybe Nate’s been sent spying somewhere and they can’t get him out. Or maybe Doctor Hernandez is the only person apart from my Brothers and Sisters who hasn’t forgotten about me. That’s definitely what I was starting to believe, until about five seconds ago.
“Hey, Moonbeam,” says Agent Carlyle. “Long time no see.”
Whose fault is that?
“I’ve been right here,” I say.
His smile fades. “Sure,” he says. “Of course you have.”
“How come you’re back?” I ask.
The smile disappears entirely as he glances at Doctor Hernandez. I feel a familiar cold creep up my spine.
What now?
“I’m afraid Agent Carlyle has some bad news, Moonbeam,” says Doctor Hernandez, and I fight back the urge to laugh, because what other kind is there? “We’ll talk it through for as long as you need, but I want you to tell me immediately if you feel like you have to stop. Okay?”
My heart freezes solid. “Is it my mom?”
“No,” says Doctor Hernandez quickly. “It’s not your mother.”
My chest relaxes ever so slightly. “All right,” I say. “Then what is it?”
Agent Carlyle takes a deep breath. “It’s Nate Childress,” he says. “I’m afraid he’s dead, Moonbeam. I’m very sorry.”
I stare at him. My first, desperate thought is that this is some kind of test, or maybe a trick, a horrible mean trick, but I look into his eyes and all I can see is pain.
“What…” The words fail me, and I try again. “I don’t…”
Agent Carlyle puts me out of my misery. “His body was found a week ago,” he says. “It was buried in a shallow grave, half a mile from The Lord’s Legion compound. A murder investigation is ongoing, and the entire thing was classified until last night. Only preliminary conclusions have been released, but the condition of the body suggests that he’s been dead for several months. The theory is that he was murdered—”
“The night he escaped,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
Agent Carlyle grimaces. His face is full of clear concern, and his eyes stay fixed on me as Doctor Hernandez sits forward.
“Moonbeam?” he asks. “Are you all right?”
I look at him. I can’t even begin to imagine what he wants me to say.
A deep frown creases his forehead. “Moonbeam?” he says. “Talk to me.”
I blink back tears from the corners of my eyes and try to speak around the lump that has appeared in my throat. “What happened to him?”
“He was strangled,” says Agent Carlyle. “I’m so—”
“By Father John?” I spit the words.
“It’s impossible to say with any certainty,” he says. “I’m sure you won’t be surprised to know that the investigating unit have listed John Parson and the three who were serving as Centurions at that time as their primary suspects.”
Lonestar. Bear. Angel. My Brothers.
Gooseflesh breaks out along my arms. I focus on it, on the thousands of tiny little bumps that have appeared on my skin, because everything else is too big and too painful.
“It’s not out of the question that forensics will turn up something conclusive,” continues Agent Carlyle. “But I’m afraid it’s probably unlikely.”
“So he didn’t get away,” I say. I’m trying to force myself to think, to process what he’s telling me, but my mind feels numb. Everything feels numb. “They killed him.”
He nods. “The working theory is that he was caught trying to escape.”
Think. Calm down and think it through.
“Then why was Father John so angry the next morning?”
“You tell me,” he says. “What would have been the reaction amongst the Legion if he had announced that he and his Centurions had murdered someone?”
I consider the question as carefully as my reeling brain will allow. A decent number of my late Brothers and Sisters would have had no problem with the murder of an alleged Servant Of The Serpent – they would have seen it as The Lord’s justice being served. But I’m pretty sure most of them, particularly those men and women who joined the Legion before The Purge, would have found it very difficult to accept.
What I do know, for absolutely certain, is that such an announcement would have caused utter panic inside The Base. People would have expected the Government to come looking for their missing spy, and once they…
“Why didn’t anyone come?” I ask. “Nate disappeared almost two months before the fire. Didn’t anyone notice he was missing?”
“He had no check-in schedule,” says Agent Carlyle. “The restrictions inside the Legion compound didn’t allow for regular contact. Several months without hearing from him was apparently normal, so his handlers didn’t realize they had a problem until the preliminary investigation into the fire was complete. The ATF expected to see him walk out with the rest of the survivors, and when that didn’t happen they assumed one of the recovered bodies was going to be his.”
The cold that has taken hold of my spine is spreading slowly through me. I know what I’m being told is horrible, and I’m sort of distantly aware of what its implications might be, but right now I’m trying to feel something for Nate, feel anything for him, and I just don’t seem to be able to. All I feel is tired.
