Perfect

by Cecelia Ahern

  Through the city speakers we hear Crevan’s voice, a recorded version of what he said earlier. Snippets of phrases that have been cut, edited, now replay over and over again.

  “Today is the day we say thank you to the Flawed population for helping us cleanse our society of imperfection and for allowing us to have an organized, decent society.” This one statement is popular and plays over and over like a broken record.

  Big, small, skinny, fat, black, white, old, and young, there is nothing left to the imagination, as we’re paraded through narrow cobblestoned streets in front of the audience. There are some wolf whistles from childish groups of teenage boys, but mostly the looks are of horror and embarrassment that this is happening. It is one thing to know that Flawed are branded and must live as second-class citizens, it is another to have to watch them parade the scars of these punishments. Out of sight, out of mind. It is easy for people to live their lives when they are not faced with the reality in such a harsh way as this.

  This parade was designed to be cruel, to put fear into people’s hearts; the public is supposed to be horrified. It is a message being sent out to the country: Don’t believe in the country’s ideals and this will happen to you. But nobody can do anything about it; speaking out would be to aid a Flawed, and they would end up walking alongside us, so everyone keeps their mouths shut, the fear of joining us too great.

  Despite all the eyes on my near-naked body, I feel invisible. Nobody can truly see me. It feels the more they have lumped us together, the less human we have become, no longer individuals. I walk, the tears spilling from my eyes, down my cheeks. Head straight, focused on the path before me. Our tears are pointless and worthless—they can do no good. No one but ourselves can wipe them.

  My eyes meet with those of the other Flawed men and women. What can we do? Have we stopped even seeing one another? They look as powerless as me, as though they’ve given up, some heads down so low, they’re tripping up when the person in front slows, some with their heads so high they’re defiant. Others crying. Others showing nothing, unreadable. Living the moment until it’s over. Putting up with it.

  I look out for Carrick but know he would be crazy to risk coming here. I wonder if he’s watching this on television, and that makes me smile. I hope so. I picture him on a couch, in a safe house, free.

  “Leonard!” Lizzie suddenly screams from behind me.

  Leonard is at the side of the road, among the crowd.

  He reaches his arms out to her and they embrace before the nearest Whistleblower manages to pull them apart.

  “Let him hug her!” I hear one woman shout out and the crowd in that section begin to all call out against the Whistleblowers.

  “Flawed scum!” someone else shouts at us.

  I keep walking.

  I turn around to see how long the line is and I catch a glimpse of Mona, way in the back. I gasp. Cordelia is behind her. There’s no sign of Evelyn, and I hope that she is safe with Alpha and Professor Lambert and not in one of the F.A.B. institutions, though I fear the worst. I suddenly see Carrick’s mother, Kelly, and across from her I see Professor Bill Lambert. My heart breaks; they’ve all been caught. I fear for Juniper and my mom, and Carrick. I feel weak.

  We emerge from the cobblestoned roads and enter the old town square, surrounded by colorful ornate buildings built in the eighteenth century. What these buildings have seen in their lifetimes, and now this cruelty.

  “We must be going to the castle,” I say to the man beside me, my heart pounding. The castle holds nothing but terrifying memories for me, but I think of Granddad. At least there is a part of me that wants to go there, perhaps I’ll be reunited with him. Then I wonder if Granddad is among the men and I turn around and study them again. I’m looking behind me too much and I fall to the ground and cut my knee.

  A man stops to help but a whistle blows for him to continue. He apologizes and keeps walking. A woman along the side of the square gasps and reaches out her hand to help me. A Whistleblower glares at her and she backs away.

  “I’m sorry, dear,” she says, bottom lip trembling. “I’m so sorry.”

  Everyone keeps marching right on by me while I stay on the ground, knee bleeding, pretending I’ve been more badly injured than I have. I must time this correctly.

  “Back in line,” the Whistleblower orders.

  I take my time standing, until I see Mona nearing me, then I get up and jump in line in front of her. Her face lights up at the sight of me.

  “Hey, girl, fancy meeting you here. Nice work in the warehouse.”

  I look to the men beside us and see Lennox, Fergus, and Lorcan.

  “Looking good, Celestine,” Lennox says good-naturedly.

  I smile, feeling energized to be back in the company of my tribe.

  “I hate it when I go to a party and everyone else is wearing the same thing,” Lorcan says, and, despite everything, we laugh.

  “So, Celestine, everything going to plan?” Lennox asks.

  We all laugh at that again.

  “Stop talking,” a Whistleblower orders as we pass.

  “Where’s Carrick? Are Juniper and my mom safe?” I ask quickly, knowledge of their safety more important than finding out how these guys were captured.

  “Juniper is out of the facility; she’s safe with your mom,” Lennox says. “You’d be proud of her, she raised quite the stink at the Whistleblower base. She showed up with a lawyer, a cop, and the newspaper editor. They had a look around at everybody who’s being held there: the guards, Pia Wang, the missing schoolkids. The cop is kicking up big-time, especially seeing as they’ve been doing an official search for the kids for the past few days. Crevan has a lot to answer for about that. I think it’s all about to be blown wide open.”

  I smile with relief, so proud of my mom and Juniper, but there’s a long way to go yet, and I have no idea what lies in store for us.

  “What about Carrick? Where is he?” I ask.

  Lorcan looks at Lennox anxiously.

  “Tell me,” I plead.

  “We don’t know,” he says. “That’s the honest truth.”

  I swallow hard, fight the tears that start to come again. I just hope Crevan hasn’t got his hands on him.

  “How did you end up here?” I ask.

  “Bad luck,” Lennox replies.

  “Professor Lambert’s house got raided,” Mona says. “They discovered his secret basement.”

  I gasp. I feel like it’s all my fault. I told them to go there; I promised them they’d be safe.

  “It’s not your fault,” Lennox says, sensing my guilt. “Whistleblowers were becoming suspicious of Marcus and Kate. We all agreed he should alert them to us to stay on their side. Better to have Whistleblowers on our side than none. It was Lambert’s decision. Evelyn is still safe.”

  I agree, having Marcus and Kate’s help is invaluable. But what a sacrifice. And I’m so relieved about Evelyn. I knew Alpha would cherish her.

  “I ran away with my English teacher,” Mona says suddenly, out of nowhere.

  “What?” I turn around.

  “Head straight,” another Whistleblower orders.

  I turn back around.

  “You asked me what I did to become Flawed when we first met. I didn’t tell you. When I was fifteen, I ran away with my English teacher. He was twenty-nine. And married. It was my idea. I thought it would be okay. But it wasn’t. It was all over the news. As if I was missing. We got caught. He was sent to jail. I was under eighteen, so I got branded.”

  “I couldn’t give up smoking when I was pregnant,” Cordelia says suddenly, loudly so that others listen in, too. “The suburban moms of Madison Meadows were disgusted. They held their own little Flawed court, after which they gave me a warning. But I couldn’t stop. I was caught, eight months pregnant, with my head out the bathroom window of the charity bake sale, and they all decided to report me. I pleaded with them to wait until after my baby was born to report me so that she wouldn’t be born F.A.B. and t
aken away from me. A single Flawed mother can’t keep her child. They all agreed, bar one woman.”

  “I used to wear my grandmother’s clothes,” Lennox says, serious, then starts laughing. “Just kidding. I set up and managed a dating website that assisted people in cheating on their wives.”

  We all look at him, disgusted.

  “That was you?” Mona asks, her face scrunched up. “You jerk.”

  “One million customers. Perfectly legal. I had a Ferrari and everything.”

  “The Guild took it?” Fergus asks, more moved by the loss of a Ferrari than anything else.

  “Nope. Wife got it in the divorce.”

  We all laugh.

  “Well, you deserve your brand,” Mona says, but we know she doesn’t mean it.

  Fergus speaks up, serious for once. “I was a police officer. I swapped ‘intimate images’ with my girlfriend on my work phone. I was suspended on full pay for fifteen months. It wasn’t anything illegal and I was cleared of gross misconduct, but the force reported me, found me Flawed.”

  I look at them all in surprise. As each person confesses, it’s like it gives the next person the confidence to tell their story, too, their secrets all coming out as we walk together.

  Carrick’s mother speaks up. “I got a brand on my tongue for speaking out against society. Adam and I weren’t always bakers at plants,” she says almost sarcastically. “We were doctors. We had our own general practice. We wrote anti-vaccination papers, speaking out about the dangers of vaccinations. The medical profession and the government didn’t like our professional opinions.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” an older man I don’t know joins in. “I was set up. The Guild told me I was lying and branded me.”

  We all fall silent after that.

  FIFTY-NINE

  AS WE WALK over the bridge that connects the city to the castle, I start thinking about capacities and then I can’t stop. There is a space that people hold for you, within themselves. Every person has a space for every person they meet—sometimes the capacity is deep, sometimes it is shallow. The streets are lined with people and Whistleblowers, all this for us. The capacity these people hold for us is enormous, in each of them.

  People who are loved can eventually be hated in equal amounts. How Art loved me before I was caught versus his anger with me now, the rage that led him to join the Whistleblowers. How guilty Juniper felt for not telling me about helping to hide Art, which led her to take my place in the hospital, risking her own freedom to make it up to me. Switching one with another.

  If the space is there for us, all we have to do is alter the feelings. As I look at the faces of those who watch us parade through the streets, with our flaws on display, our weaknesses, our imperfections, I feel hopeful, I sense that the tide could change. If they hate us this much, they could love us equally.

  We turn the corner and start to walk up the steep cobblestoned road to Highland Castle, and as if the people lining the streets could read my thoughts I suddenly hear cheering. Great, big, loud, happy cheering. It jars with the sounds that have led us here. I look around and up ahead on the right-hand side, my side, I see my mom, Juniper, and Ewan jumping up and down on the edge of the road, cheering everyone on, thumping their fists in the air.

  “Whoooo!” Mom screams happily, tears in her eyes. “That’s my daughter; that’s my girl!”

  “Mom!” I yell. “Mom!” I can’t believe it, I start jumping up and down. “That’s my mom!” I tell the others who start to wave at her as we near.

  As they gather as much attention as they can, Juniper, Mom, and even little Ewan open their shirts, lift their sweaters over their heads, and reveal T-shirts that read ABOLISH THE GUILD in red print.

  The Flawed who see grin and cheer, applaud my family’s bravery in showing their support, and I’m so proud of them. Everybody who passes them smiles and wipes their tears as my family, and the surrounding people Mom has managed to muster together, applaud us. I realize it’s not just the family and friends of the Flawed who have gathered at the gates of Highland Castle but also the students from Tobias’s school who have carried out their plans to protest. I see Tobias among the crowd, too, protesting his own mother’s organization. As we pass, Mom reaches out her hand and I grab it. A Whistleblower immediately tries to pull us apart, but we hold on, looking deep into each other’s eyes, tears flowing.

  “I love you, baby. I’m so proud of you,” she says, barely able to keep it together. “Chin up, Celestine.” She raises her voice. “Chins up, all of you. We’re here to support you.”

  I lift my chin and I intend to keep it up. Then we let go.

  And there are the very special people in our lives who have the endless capacity to love us for all of our flaws.

  SIXTY

  THE SINGLE FILES of men and women merge together as we enter the courtyard of Highland Castle, familiar territory for all who took steps from our normal lives to Flawed lives. We are wedged together, thousands of us; it’s hard to breathe. A temporary stage has been set up beneath the Clock Tower, the headquarters of the Guild.

  Crevan’s red robe blows in the light breeze as he makes his way from the offices to the stage. Art stands beside the stage, guarding, eyes running over the crowd. Seeing him like this doesn’t have the same punch-in-the-stomach effect it had before. I’ve had time to relive the sight of him, think about it and picture it often. Now I study him curiously, trying to analyze what’s going through his mind. As Crevan passes Art he places an affectionate hand on his shoulder and grins broadly, proud to have his son by his side. Someone tuts beside me. Art is embarrassed by this public display of affection and lowers his head, cheeks rosy.

  Crevan takes to the podium and looks around. Eyes searching. At first I think he’s taking it all in and then I realize he’s looking for someone. For me. He knows that I’m here.

  I’m too far away from the stage.

  “Celestine,” Mona hisses. “What are you doing?”

  “I need to get closer.”

  I push my way through people who are happy to let me pass; nobody is vying for the front row. Nobody here is present out of choice.

  Crevan sees me moving through the crowd, which was the point, and I appear to distract him from his speech.

  He pauses, put out for a moment, then continues. Art sees me, too, looks me up and down in my red slip, identical to everybody else’s. I don’t know what he sees when he looks at me—I don’t have time to wait, and my eyes are back on Crevan.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I gather you here today to thank you for taking part in the parade through our city. I appreciate your time. All across the country, similar parades are happening in towns and cities, as Flawed show their communities how we are being cleansed. I’ve brought you all here today to share a new strategy with you.”

  It’s the look in his eyes, the way he does something with his mouth—I feel a slow dread beginning to crawl up my body.

  “Yesterday I met with Prime Minister Percy to discuss a new plan, called the Reduction of the Flawed.”

  Murmurs.

  “The Guild felt that it was our duty to allow Flawed to live among the rest of society, to show society what can happen if they give in to their weaknesses, their imperfections, but in recent weeks, due to the rising danger and violence”—he looks at me—“it is clear that this two-tiered society is dangerous. It is for the best interests of everybody that a new system be implemented.

  “The Reduction of the Flawed is an initiative to house the Flawed in their own community, to give Flawed the freedom to live as Flawed together, under Guild rules.”

  There is an uproar as people start shouting up at him. It doesn’t matter how he tries to phrase it, how he tries to sugarcoat it as freedom for Flawed: It doesn’t sound good. My body starts to shake.

  “You’re putting us in a prison!” someone shouts.

  “Ghettos!”

  “Camps!”

  “This will not be a prison, a ghetto, or a
camp,” he assures everyone calmly. “But it is clear that Flawed cannot live side by side with the rest of society.” Over the shouts from the crowd he continues for the purposes of the television cameras. “The proposal has been drawn up, and it will be put into action with the new government.” He’s looking into the camera now with that calm, reassuring smile, and I see him giving me that same look in another life. It’s going to be okay, Celestine. Before I got on water skis for the first time, when Art was driving us for the first time. Before I tasted oysters for the first time. After Art’s mom’s funeral, when Crevan caught Art crying in my arms, and he watched us from the doorway. His look always said, It’s going to be okay, Celestine.

  The tears are streaming down my cheeks as the crowd erupts in anger around me, as Crevan marches off the stage with his cloak swinging, as he whips it behind him, as a stunned Art is pulled along with him, as the Whistleblowers move in with their riot shields raised and their batons out, expecting revolt.

  But it’s not okay; none of this is okay.

  I see the large old woman from the warehouse, arms still wrapped around her body in humiliation, crying and crying all alone in the center of madness. Another lady joins her and they hold hands. A younger teenage boy stands by her, all gangly, skin and bones and not a fighter. The woman takes his hand and the three of them stand together, as if in prayer. Some clusters of people are trying to talk to the Whistleblowers rationally. I can sense that sections of Flawed are starting to get so angry that it may become physical.

  I rush to Mona, who’s arguing with a Whistleblower, telling her exactly what she thinks of her in a way only Mona could. I grab her by the arm and pull her away from the Whistleblower.

  “Stop, Mona.”

  “What? Celestine, get off me!” She tries to pull away from me but I dig my nails into her skin.

  “Ow! What the…?”

  “Stop it,” I say through gritted teeth. “You’re giving Crevan exactly what he wants. Look.”

  She finally pauses and looks around.

  “The eyes of the world are on us now and they want us to behave like animals. Crevan marched us through the streets and then gave us the speech about the Reduction of the Flawed, with cameras on every angle. We need to be locked away because we’re troublemakers. He’s set us up.”