by Ann M. Noser
I take a step back. “I’m beginning to think that you’re a bit crazy.”
Gus smiles. “All the world’s a stage, darling. And I intend to play my part in full.”
“What if you get caught?” I’m not sure I agree with poisoning people on a regular basis, but this is Gus, and I trust him.
“She’s barfing whatever evidence there might be into the toilet. I’m in the clear. I didn’t let them film me doing it if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Shh, she’s back,” I warn as Dr. Wang slogs through the main workroom, passes us by without a glance, and heads into the office. She drops into a chair and leans her head forward into her hands. I’m surprised I don’t even feel sorry for her.
With one last glance at Gus, I hurry into the office. “Are you okay?” I feign concern. “Do you need anything?”
“No. Now, let me be.” Dr. Wang winces. Clearly, I’m talking too loud, and her head hurts.
“You look awful!” I speak even louder. “Do you need a doctor? Sometimes, people get nauseous working here. It doesn’t bother me, but I’ve seen a lot of other students come and go—”
She attempts to wave me away with her hand. “No doctor. I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t look fine.” I can be cruel when needed. “How about something to drink? I could get you some water. It’s from the faucet out in the work area, so sometimes it kind of smells like the dead bodies, but—”
She grimaces and points across the room at her electric teapot. “Tea. I’ll take tea. Nothing else, please.”
As I turn away to pour the steaming drink into her mug, I can’t help but smile. “Okay, I’d be glad to get you some tea.” I set the doctored tea on the desktop next to her chair and back away as she reaches for the cup.
Throughout the rest of the workday, Dr. Edwina Wang makes numerous speedy trips to the bathroom. Despite my best attempts to assist her, she scoffs at my repeated suggestions to go home and sleep it off.
“Nonsense, girl.” She scowls as she grabs the teapot out of my hand to pour her own cup. “Now, go back to work and leave me alone.”
I bow and concede then hurry back to my table.
When the job is done for the afternoon, I pack up, expecting Gus to join me outside for a private consult. He grabs his lunch bag and heads for the door, walking at my side.
“Wait a minute!” Dr. Wang rushes out of her office where she’s been resting for the last half hour. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Gus turns to her with a patient look on his face—courtesy of his days in the theater, no doubt—and says, “If you want to be in charge, you’re going to have to accept some responsibility.”
“Don’t you dare go and leave me with all this mess of yours!” she wails, yanking on his arm.
Gus moves back into the room, strategically placing both of them in full view of the camera.
“If you don’t think you can handle the job, you should resign.” Gus doesn’t pull away from her reptilian grip on his arm.
“You’re an evil man,” she growls.
“Takes one to know one. But, since others depend on a job well done in this department, I’ll stay and help you. Bring everything out onto this table.”
Again, he chooses a location in full view of the camera. Dr. Wang hustles into her office to gather a stack of papers. Gus glances at me, raising his brows. I gesture slightly toward the camera overhead then back at his table.
He smiles and says, “There’s no need for you to stay, Silvia. You hurry on over to the gym to practice for your big race.”
“Yes,” Dr. Wang says. “Do us proud, Silvia.”
The two enemies bow their heads over the paperwork as I head out the door. Taking the steps two by two, I reach the top quickly to discover that it is raining outside. I dash through the heavy drops to the 37th Northwest Street Health and Productivity Gym. My hair drips onto my shoulders and shirt as I hurry inside.
“Where is your umbrella?” asks Liam, waiting for me at the door.
“It’s invisible, can’t you tell?” I reply.
“You look like you just took a shower. With your clothes on.”
I squeeze out my hair. “I’ll dry off in the locker room.”
“I thought maybe we should lift some weights today.”
I hedge. “I’m not big on weights.”
“But it would be good to build strength to help us with our endurance, right? Listen, I’ll only make you do this once because we have to taper soon, anyway. Besides, I did yoga with you, remember?”
“I can’t believe the race is only two weeks away.” I tense with anticipation. “I guess that’s what we get when we only have a couple months to train. It doesn’t seem like long enough.”
“Are you kidding?” Liam shakes his head. “I can’t wait for this to be over. I’ve never been so tired in my life. I want to kick back and relax.”
“You sound lazy, and I’m freezing.” I head for the locker room and call back over my shoulder. “I’ll meet you in the weight room.”
Getting dressed in a hurry, my mind spins. Am I going to get caught? What’s going to happen to Gus if I don’t succeed in helping him get rid of Dr. Wang? What’s going to happen to me if she wins, and I lose Gus?
Oh, I can’t think about this right now, I tell myself, heading for the weight room.
“I think I’ll mostly do lunges with handheld weights,” I tell Liam. “I suggest you do the same.”
“Yes, master.” He makes a face and bows.
We spend the next fifteen minutes in silence, focusing on our form so as not to get hurt right before the race.
“So, how’s work?” Liam asks.
I immediately search for the cameras above us.
“Oh. Never mind.” Liam follows my gaze. “But promise me something—don’t let yourself get as paranoid as Franco.”
“I don’t want to talk about it here,” I mutter, turning my back to the cameras so no one but Liam can read my lips.
“Hey, after we get done with yoga, Franco wants to meet at the Library to view that big model of the race.”
My stomach clenches at the thought of visiting that building. “I suppose it would be a good idea for planning purposes.”
“Okay.” Liam glances at the clock. “I figure we have five more minutes here before we’d better head to that core yoga class you like.”
I set down the weights. “I’m done now. I need some water.” I head toward the drinking fountain, trying to calm myself. I can handle going in that library. I know I can.
As I lean down to drink, an image of the Suits slapping my face hits me. I choke on the water, sputtering all over myself. A chill shakes my body as I’m sent back in time, back into that room, back into that chair. I rub my wrists, glancing around to see if anyone’s watching.
But I might as well be alone in this crowd. Nobody’s watching for once.
Yoga class doesn’t relax me like it usually does. I can’t concentrate on my breathing or form. There are too many images flashing through my monkey brain. After a quick change, Liam and I rush over to the library, huddling close together under his big umbrella.
The comforting smell of books and sound-absorbing carpet hits me the moment we walk through the doors. Hardly anything has changed. The librarians’ smiles are so familiar. The quiet beeps of books getting scanned at the checkout sounds exactly the same. I can’t help but glance toward the elevators. No menacing Suits stand guard there today.
“There he is.” Liam heads over to Franco, who watches us from a distance.
Next to Franco is the scaled-down version of the race. I circle the spectacle which takes up half of the room. The detail is amazing. Every building in Panopticus seems accounted for. Small plastic human figures run, frozen in place, with an audience cheering them on from every street corner. Miniature flags hang still from most of the buildings as if the wind has forgotten about them. Children eat plastic ice cream cones. Colored balloons float abo
ve their wrists.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” I say. “It looks like one big, giant party.”
Franco points at the tall New Order Offices. “The race both starts and ends right here.”
“Oh, man,” wails Liam, causing a librarian to shush him. “We have to run that giant hill twice?”
I smile, noting that the race starts at the bottom of the hill, in front of the government offices, then winds all around the city before coming back and ending at the very top of the same hill.
Franco laughs. “You’re the one who signed up for this torture, you fool.”
There are bleachers next to the finish and volunteers handing out medals, drinks, and bananas.
I shake my head. “I wonder how long it took to make this. I can’t believe how meticulous it is.”
“Yeah.” Franco points to a balcony on the Government Building. “They even have the Representatives watching the race from above.”
Following his gaze, my stomach drops. There, in exquisite detail, stands an exact replica of the red-haired girl who had been dragged into the Citizen Family Planning and Reproductive Services Building.
Right in front of me.
On my birthday.
When everything bad happens.
he red haired replica holds me in a trance.
“Silvia, are you okay?” Liam waves his hand in front of my eyes.
“Uh… do you know who that is?” I point at the small plastic figure.
“Representative Waters-Royce, of course,” Franco replies then pauses. “Why?”
“Wait a minute… is she the pregnant one?” I flash back to watching the news with Mom over a month ago. I’m getting confused. Is everyone with red hair pregnant?
“Yes,” says Franco. “Silvia, is something wrong?”
“Um… not really.” I cock my head. “She looks too young to be a Representative. I… I thought she was someone else for a moment, instead—someone our age.”
“Do you mean our age or Franco’s?” Liam slaps him on the chest. “He’s practically ancient.”
“Oh, be quiet.” Franco’s gaze catches mine. “I’m not that old.”
I flush momentarily, but my mind is busy with other, more disturbing things. I turn back to the race model. “I can’t get over the resemblance,” I mutter. But I only saw that strange girl for a moment. What if I’m remembering her wrong? Maybe they look nothing alike, save for the long, red hair.
“She’s older than she looks.” Franco leans close to whisper. “Rumor is: she’s had a lot of age-reducing surgery. And she probably ordered the model designers to make her look young.”
“Plastic surgery?” Liam laughs. “Are you mad? You’ve got more conspiracy theories than brains in that head of yours.”
“It’s why her skin is so tight, especially around her eyes, and why she always looks so awake,” Franco argues, his warm breath on my skin. “I’m telling you—she’s had reconstructive surgery.”
I frown. “But that’s impossible, isn’t it? Surgery’s only done to save lives and ease discomfort. Gus said people aren’t even trained in cosmetic surgeries anymore as it was ruled a waste of resources.”
“I wouldn’t listen to Franco if I were you.” Liam crosses his arms. “He’s full of crap.”
Franco smiles to himself and steps away. My side suddenly feels cold. He runs his hand along the railing around the race model as he walks away. He grabs three sheets of orange paper.
“Here we go.” Franco hands us each a copy. “Now, you can study this at home. It’s got a map, elevation, and expected weather forecast. Although, I truly doubt they can know that so far ahead.”
I take the sheet but keep staring at the model instead, my gaze drawn towards Rep. Waters-Royce. Whatever happened to that red-haired girl? Is Waters-Royce related to her somehow?
The library fills with the excited voices of school children. A field trip has arrived to swarm around the spectacle. We’re no longer the only observers. Their short little bodies keep bumping into my sides until it finally breaks my concentration. I turn to the left and right, but all I see are kids. Where did Franco and Liam go?
I glance toward the exit. They wave at me with grins on their faces like they’re sharing a joke. About me, no doubt. I hurry over, slightly embarrassed but too preoccupied to care much about it.
“What took you so long?” Liam asks.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” I say in return.
“We did, but you obviously weren’t listening.” Liam pushes the door to go outside. “Man, I’m starving. How about you guys?”
Once we step into the foot traffic, Franco puts a light hand on my arm. “Silvia, are you okay? You seem off today.”
“Something’s wrong at work.” Liam digs in his gym bag. “Oh, sweet. I found a snack bar.”
“How can you eat that?” Franco cringes. “It probably tastes like your socks.”
I laugh, and Franco turns his attention back to me.
“How’s work going?” he asks. “How’s Gus?”
I hesitate and glance around, but I’m pretty sure no one can hear us in this crowd. “I really like working for Gus, and I’m pretty sure I won’t get along as well with his replacement.” That’s only a very small portion of the story, but I’m not sure how much to tell without implicating Gus in wrongdoing.
Or myself for that matter.
“I still think it’s weird,” says Liam. “Like I’ve said before, work hasn’t been the same for me either since this race thing started. It seems like everybody’s getting shuffled around a lot, but maybe it’s a coincidence.”
“My mom says to never trust a coincidence.” I veer to the side of the walkway since we’re nearing the tall apartment complex where I live.
“What’s left if you can’t trust anything?” asks Liam. “Just be suspicious all the time about everything and drive yourself nuts? Like Franco?”
“Those are deep thoughts, especially coming from you, little cousin.” Franco rubs his knuckles over Liam’s head, making his golden hair stand on end.
“Stop that!” Liam backs away, almost running into a woman behind us. She hurries around our group without a backwards glance.
In a few steps, we’re at my front door.
“Do you want to come up?” My cheeks warm as I wait for their answer.
“Sure,” says Liam. “You got anything to eat?”
I laugh. “I’m sure Mom would be more than happy to feed you.”
We head into the building, hike up all six flights of stairs, and discover that Mom is, indeed, more than happy to serve up some of her special cookies and soymilk for my friends.
“I suppose your family is also enjoying extra rations for the race?” Mom asks Liam, a big smile on her face. “It will be hard to get used to regular portions once this is over.”
“Yeah, only two more weeks.” Liam eats fast. He sure is hungry.
Franco hangs back. Mom eyes him, some reservation in her eyes. I’m not sure if it’s because of the memorial video that I showed her or due to the fact that Franco seems more interested in the contents of our apartment than in filling his stomach. He wanders around as if our small home is a museum. At one point, he disappears from the combined kitchen and living area entirely. Mom throws me a look, and I hurry after him.
I hover in my bedroom doorway, watching Franco examine my room. Fortunately, there’s no underwear or bras lazing about on the floor. I’m not sure whether to be flattered by his interest or feel like some new plant specimen he’s investigating.
Franco looks at everything, touches nothing, and then stops short in front of my dad’s photo hanging on the wall. As Franco stares at my dad’s red hair and blue eyes, I find it hard to breathe.
We both remain silent and unmoving.
My ears hum. I start to sweat. The banter from the kitchen sounds muffled and far away.
The longer Franco stands in front of my father, the faster my heart races. It’s
beating so hard; I barely hear the words he speaks as he runs a finger along Dad’s picture frame.
His broken voice comes out in a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
I catch my breath. He’s sorry? What the Hell does that mean?
“What are you sorry for?” I burst into the room.
Franco jumps a foot away from my dad’s photograph. “I… I meant I was sorry for your loss.”
I cross my arms. “That’s something you say at a memorial service which was eight years ago, as you may remember. That’s not something you say now.”
“But look at this.” He gestures at the picture. “Your dad’s face is the first thing you see when you wake up every morning, isn’t it?”
I slowly nod, hating that he’s right.
“It’s just…” Franco can’t rip his gaze away from my father’s image.
“Am I depressing you?” I ask. There’s nothing I hate more than being the subject of someone’s misguided pity. “You’d think that, with all I’ve told you already, you’d almost expect this, but… I guess maybe not.”
“Please don’t get mad, Silvia.” Franco averts his gaze. “I certainly don’t mean anything against you of all people.”
“You think I’m weak, don’t you?” My tears threaten to burst like a storm cloud. “You’re no better than all those psychiatrists, looking down on me and telling me I’m pathetic.”
He crosses the room and grabs hold of my arms. I don’t even fight back. I’m so mad at him for making me cry and so angry with myself for not being in better control of my emotions.
“That’s not what I think,” Franco assures me. “In fact, I’m pretty sure you’re a lot stronger than the rest of us. If I lost someone I loved, I’d hide or destroy every picture. I don’t think I could bear seeing them at all if that was all that was left for me.”
