I nodded to Wes, shaking as I placed the brush on the easel. He grabbed a cloth from beside him and placed the neck strap over my head.
The apron was colored like a rainbow, with too many colors than I could count. He snatched two ribbons on either side of my apron and tied them together, keeping the cloth in place.
“Okay, try again.” his lips formed a teasing smile.
Adding one stroke, then another, I realized I was painting. I came up with an idea of a kitten in a tree under the stars. I got straight to work without even thinking about it.
I had to be crazy. There was no other word for it. My mind split into two halves, and I couldn’t stop them from battling each other in my head.
‘This is wrong. No, it isn’t. Yes, it’s illegal, and therefore wrong.’
I stopped, the brush in my hands shaking with fear. The sirens wooed around me, lights flashing. I could already see Father’s cold glare— the banging of the gun’s trigger.
“Go on. You’re doing great!” Wes smiled at me with patience.
“I can’t!” I argued.
“You were doing great before. Keep going.” Wes placed my hand back to the canvas.
‘Nothing this beautiful should be illegal.’
Back and forth the views played, driving my reason to a breaking point. My stomach hurt. I felt nauseous, and I could feel my head spin with the words Wes and Father had used.
Painting small strokes cut like a knife. A knife covered with my blood, filled with my guilt. What I was doing was against the law and against everything I had ever known.
I loved every second. I was making something. Something new. It was me and mine all at once!
Each moment, a piece of myself filled the paper, telling me who I was. My loves, desires, beliefs, and my family all vivid and vibrant with every color I painted with, with the creativity I had never felt before. I couldn't believe what I was doing was wrong. Concepts of reality shattered in my head. There was no way I could turn back from...
‘What would my father say?’
Would he be angry? No, but he would be furious! He would be filled with the sparks of hate and rage, so contrasting to the fireworks of creativity, design, love. Of passion.
Earlier, I was in a cocoon, shelled up inside the person society expected.
Now, I had no clue what I was feeling! It was nothing compared to impressing Father with my grades! I was soaring through the starry sky I had painted. I was a butterfly floating down the face of a steep peak and I shot into the air. I was flying, in my mind, my heart, and soul! Soon I would reach the moon with my wings, but I couldn’t. My work was finished.
Not one speck of the canvas was left untouched, and every inch was spattered with the intense depth of my emotions. All of it, the good and the bad of my creation, was wonderful.
“Why did The Regime ban this?” I asked, still amazed by what I had just created. By what I had felt.
Wes stared at me grimly before answering. “Because of the Dreamers.”
“Dreamers? Don’t you mean ‘radicals?’” I asked.
“Excuse me?” Wes was thrown off guard, raising an eyebrow like I offended him. His shoulders stiffened.
“That’s what we call people like you. ‘Radicals’ or ‘rebels’ who want to overthrow The Regime and change society.”
“Dreamers are a lot more than people attempting to change society. We’re people who believe any dream, no matter how impossible, can be accomplished with effort and thinking. Sound so bad now?”
I cleared my throat. “I… well...”
“My caretaker told me about a man who used his gift to lead his people with high respect. Everyone was happy with their dreams. Dreamers have the power to change the world in many ways: science, medicine, government, art, even more. It was The Golden Age of Dreams up until sixteen years ago.”
“B-But The Regime…”
“Then, another man —you’d know him as our current Dictator—used his power and manipulation to overthrow and kill the king. That’s how The Regime came to power: by using dark forces against Dreamers. But dreaming is its own magic, you know?”
‘Now he’s just making things up. What’s a dictator? Is he talking about The Commander? And those dark forces…?’
Wes let me speak. I had so many questions I wanted to ask—if what he was saying was true. If ‘Dreamers’ were dangerous, they would have to be deceptive, but if he was telling the truth, my beliefs were a lie told and given by The Regime.
“Who does he consider ‘undeserving’?” I asked.
Wes sighed. “Anyone using dreaming as a method of creating outside Regime order.”
“But I thought… well...”
“Dreaming’s legal for anyone using it to meet The Regime’s demands.”
“I don’t think…”
“I call anyone who uses this kind of dreaming Cravealings. Big surprise, but most of them are government officials elected to dream to the Dictator’s discretion. Few of them are fighters or officers.”
I looked into his eyes, a fire burning from inside their blue shade. “Cravealings? Interesting name. Do you think one of them took your sister away?”
He looked back up at me. That same determination still lingered on his face.
“It’s possible. I doubt there’s any way to find out for sure,” Wes said.
I raised an eyebrow. “How do you know so much?”
“What?” Wes asked, caught off guard.
“Haven’t you been here for years?”
“Staying here gets pretty boring. I hear things on the street, and I tried sneaking in the capital three years ago, but... It was a mistake. I lost someone,” Wes sighed.
“Then you weren’t alone!” I pointed at Wes, finding a contradiction with his story.
“I never told you I was. It’s just… it’s hard to see yourself as loved if… you know. Henry was the best caretaker I could ask for.” Wes bowed his head and leaned against the wall.
“And you tried to break into the capitol buildings?” I grimaced at the thought of Wes' stupidity.
“Look, we tried to be careful; it was the only way for me to find my sister. Henry would still be alive if it weren’t for The Regime.” Wes crossed his arms.
That was a point. Guilt burned through me again. He was having me face my own morals and decide whether they were right or wrong. Not only that, but I was betraying everyone I ever knew.
‘Why can’t I just help people? One moment I feel I can and then I turn away!’ I sighed. ‘It’s wrong to help rebels. It would just be better to turn him in, but I can’t just ignore him! Ugh!’
My face lit up. I could help. “My brother manages the coroner's computer at the information center. He could find information for you.”
Wes raised an eyebrow. “Can he be reasoned with?”
“He’s not my father. He's got a heart…” the corner of my mouth quirked up. “Father said he'll beat it out of him by the time he's twenty.”
“How old is he?”
“Seventeen. Just a year older than you!”
“Three more years to go. I’m guessing your father forced him to take that job...” Wes' dry tone suggested.
I nodded. “When he was sixteen. My father is serious about it too.”
“Yeah, I could never live that close to dream-killers. I'd go nuts,” He looked at my drawing and paused. “So, you’ve never drawn before?”
Heat rushed to my face and I looked away.
He could tell it was my first drawing, couldn’t he? It didn’t turn out how I expected. Now that I looked at it, what I thought were stars were distorted blobs on the page, smearing with the bluish toned background.
“I didn’t know art could be this much fun! I wish I didn’t have to take my Antiserum tonight…”
“Maybe you don’t. It’s the least I can do since you’re willing to help.”
My heart pounded, conveying the fear coursing through my system.
If we attempted thi
s, if we got caught, we'd be killed. There was no question for either of us. And for me, it would be my father ending my life. It would have to be. He would make sure. I would have to look him in the eye when…
No. No, I wouldn't. He would be too quick like he always was. He would look at me though, the whole time to make sure I was dead. I couldn't stop shivering, thinking of how I had seen him on the street, how he could have seen me, how he'd... I cried and couldn’t stop. He would do it. My father would really kill me.
“We don’t have to if you feel that uncomfortable.” Wes wrapped his arms around me in a hug.
I shoved him away. “No, I want to. I just don’t want to get caught.”
The pair of us settled on emptying vials of Antiserum and filling them with a clear drowsiness medicine. Wes would give me refills every day after I stopped by the warehouse, and I would take the substitute at home as if it were the normal drug.
I nodded. “I doubt it’ll work, but it’s worth a shot.”
“Remember what I said about Dreamers? If you believe you can do it, you can accomplish anything.” Wes replied.
“I’m not a Dreamer,” I said.
“Maybe, but I believe we can still do this if we try. Both of my parents were Dreamers, so I believe I can make them proud and find Aurelia. But I need your help.”
“How can I help you find her?” I asked.
Wes smiled. “We need to dream.”
I sighed. “How… how can you trust me like this?”
“Because I can look at you and tell that you trust me.”
I faked a smile, unsure of what to answer.
‘What have I gotten myself into?’
Ten:
If our plan turned out well, I would find out a way to tell Ambert of my plight, and how to get the information I needed to find out about Wes' sister, Aurelia. I hoped for the best.
“Welcome home, Cal! Did you have a nice day off?” Ambert asked me as I stepped into the house.
I squeezed my arms around his body. Most Free-Days he got home early, sometimes based on sheer luck.
“Is Father home?” I replied.
Ambert shook his head. “No, not yet. He’ll be home later this week. He’s working on some kind of project. Top secret.”
His electric-blue eyes struck against his chaotic nutmeg-brown hair. Freckles splattered across his face like one of Wes’ paintings. He wasn’t well-built— scrawny was Father’s term. His hug was so warm in the metal house. I could picture the hot chocolate we had made years back— that was an accurate way to picture him.
“That means we’ll have time to ourselves. It feels like it’s been years since we’ve been alone without Father. Besides with you working now, you’re always busy,” I said.
He smiled. “Yeah, I’m glad we’ll have time together. It’ll be just like the good old days. Remember when we went sledding?”
We unraveled from the hug.
“That was so much fun! Remember when we hit the tree and flew off the sled?” I asked, remembering it as if it were yesterday.
My toes were so numb, and I didn’t care. The snow didn’t bite me like it did as a fourteen-year-old, and The Regime’s policies didn’t bother me as a young child. I was so naive then, and Father was just as harsh. Guess I wasn't broken yet.
“You lost your first tooth. It bugged you for months!” Ambert said.
“Yeah, I remember. The only thing I could eat for weeks was Gran’s Mac and Cheese!” I said, disgusted.
Ambert chuckled. “Mac and Cheese is the greatest food in the world! You used to get so mad when I teased you about it.”
“Ambert, you know how much I hate that stuff!” I laughed.
“Hey, since Father’s not home, do you want to make pizza?”
My face lit up with excitement. “It would be just like old times!”
We took out all the ingredients we had in the house: pizza dough, Cheddar, Swiss, parmesan, and other cheeses and pepperonis.
“Alright, either cheese or pepperoni,” Ambert reminded me.
“I wish we could make our own. You know, like a candy pizza or a sausage pizza. Anything other than cheese or pepperoni!” I blurted as if I shared a dark secret, covering my mouth after the thought slipped through my lips.
I knew it was stupid. If Father would’ve heard it, my next stop might have been an alleyway to die. I would never get to help Wes or save his sister. To my surprise, Ambert didn’t seem too alarmed by my comment.
His smile faded. “I wouldn't want us getting hurt over making a creative pizza, but the thought is honorable. You should be glad Father isn’t home.”
“Guess cheese is fine.” An imaginary balloon inside my subconscious deflated.
Ambert threw some flour my direction, the substance landing on my clothes. “Cheer up! The recipe doesn’t say which kind of cheese to use, does it?”
I smiled. Ambert knew how to bend those rules, didn't he?
After making our pizza, Ambert and I sat at our kitchen table. He told me Gran and Mom went shopping for more yarn and food. Everything was going according to plan.
I swallowed down a large bite of pizza, ‘Maybe, I don’t need a clever idea to convince him. Maybe I just need to ask.’
Should I jump for it? Wait? I didn’t know how to plan my next move, but it had to happen. Wes waited outside for me to talk to Ambert. If Father came home, it wouldn’t work. Everything would be a disaster.
I gulped. ‘Here it goes…’
I straightened up in my chair. “What do you think of dreaming?”
Was that too straightforward? Maybe not, or at least I hoped not.
He put down his pizza. “Why are you asking, Cal? Are you in trouble?”
“What if I know someone who’s resisted The Regime for years because of the death of his parents. They’re trying to find his lost sister?”
Ambert widened his eyes in curiosity and smiled. “Why does this person matter to you so much?”
“Our father killed his parents.”
Ambert’s eyebrows shot up and his jaw dropped. “Who is he?”
“Promise to keep it a secret. Father can’t know.” My face was stern, squinting my eyes.
Ambert’s face became grim. “Father takes pleasure in killing people, Cal. You know how much I hate that. Sometimes, I wonder what he’s thinking,” he sighed, “I get scared when I see him kill a spider.”
“You were the one digging holes to bury insects in our backyard?! I should’ve known,” I realized.
Ambert chuckled. “Why wouldn’t I? People are just like insects to Father. He can’t just step on them to gain power. Neither should The Regime.”
“Father will punish you if he finds out you said that…” I sighed.
“So, you know a secret you can’t tell Father. That’s reason enough to trust me. Who are you trying to help?” Ambert’s voice was calm, trying to reassure me it would be okay to tell him.
“Ambert, you can’t get involved with my problems again. Not unless you genuinely want to help.” I pinched my nose.
“Cal, Father hates that I like to make people happy. If you know a rebel who wants to find a compromise with The Regime, you know I’ll help,” Ambert said.
I took a deep breath in before continuing, placing my elbows on the table. “His name is Wesley Peterson. He stopped bullies in the cafeteria like you used to, and he hasn’t had vials of Antiserum.”
Ambert sighed. “Are you sure we can help him? If he's out for revenge and bloodshed, I don't think we can trust him. I wouldn't want you or others to get hurt.”
“He wants us to help him find his sister. She was a newborn when their parents were murdered,” I explained.
“For dreaming? But those poor children. You don’t think Father… you know,” Ambert said.
I shook my head. “If Father killed her, I'll hate him forever.”
“How can I help you find her?” Ambert asked.
I glared at him.
“You work at the info
rmation center. The baby had a name by then, so she might show up in the records. Her name’s Aurelia.” I grabbed Ambert’s warm hand.
“I’ll see what I can do, but you know there's only so much without violence.” Ambert reassured as he held my hand.
“Wes wanted you to meet him. You’re both the same age, and he hasn’t been able to talk to people for a while.”
Breaking Order: Book 1 (Breaking Order Series) Page 5
