“You’re still teaching us.” Brendan nodded respectfully. “We’ll be certain to hold messages with the mortician’s seal properly. Thank you, Ms. Gilly. It was nice to see you again.” Janice gave each of the McNaer boys a short nod, appreciating that they’d gone out of their way to deliver the message. And without another word, they were gone.
******
With a cup of root tea nestled between her palms, Janice blew the wispy steam and drank the bitter juice. While the familiar taste was welcome, her morning tea wasn’t nearly as hot as she would have liked it. Her eyes moved to the far wall, where a small array of energy cells bore a dim, yellowing light, indicating that its charge was nearly exhausted of any stored energy. She shifted where she stood, her eyes moving to the cycle connected to the energy cells. I’ll have to ride soon, she thought, and shifted uncomfortably again. While most all of the dwellings survived off the feeds from the Commune’s shared energy cells, each dwelling had its own array of energy cells for little things, like heating food, or warming a cup of root tea in the early morning.
“Well, it’s not that cold yet,” she mumbled. Staring down at the thinning steam atop her cup, she dismissed the need to ride. Janice glanced to the mortician’s waxy seal, leaving the message she’d dropped untouched. There was a reason the message delivered by the McNaer boys was going to expire. There was a reason that the mortician’s messages always expired: once a cleaning and passing to the farming floor was scheduled, there was no delaying the ceremony, regardless of attendance.
It was only weeks ago that she’d been asked to stand at Sammi Tate’s cleaning and passing, and now she’d been asked to stand again. Pushing her shoulders back, she clutched her hand around her cup, anxious and nervous about seeing the name inside the parchment. A list of names rattled through her mind. Most of her family and the people she’d grown up with were already gone. When she thought about just how many she’d known had already passed, the realization caused an utter sense of loneliness.
“It’s okay,” she mumbled. “I’m good.” Without hesitation, she ignored her father’s warnings and put her hands on the mortician’s waxy marking. Sliding the parchment across the table, she kept her hand on the seal, scoffing at the superstitious belief. But her mocking soon turned to respect. Someone had died, and superstition or not, she’d been asked to stand for them.
She kept two fingers on the blood seal and lifted her cup of root tea. Her hand was trembling, just as she’d remembered her mother’s hand tremble on the day the mortician’s message had come for her aunt.
“I do hate these things,” she said aloud. A sour feeling settled deep in her gut: dread. She hoped that the day ahead of her was all about the kids: no ceremony, no farming floor, no cleaning and passing. For a moment, Janice hoped that the McNaer boys were too late.
Or maybe it was a mistake? There was nobody she could think of who would have named her to participate in the rite. The boys had mentioned the bureau floor though. All they did down there was register and count who was who, who was with whom, and so on. And when they were done counting, they did it again. If the message was routed through the bureau floor, then that meant that the mortician had to put in a request to search the Commune registry, to find someone to participate in the rite. That only happened when nobody came forward to stand at the cleaning and passing. Tilting her head, Janice sighed. Her name wasn’t found just chance—at some point in time, she’d been named.
“Who could be lonelier than me?” she asked of her empty room, and let out a reserved laugh. Her snickering sounded forced, and then she realized that it sounded sad, too. A frown took her expression as she gulped her tea. She filled her mouth with the bitterness that had settled at the bottom of the cup. The taste stayed with her, like the bitter feelings that had scarred her years before. She wasn’t supposed to be alone.
She could think of one name. But it had been many years since they’d last spoken, let alone seen one another. A small wave of resentment welled up in her at the thought. Janice picked up the parchment and pushed her fingers over the seal, snapping it in two. The crisp sound of the seal breaking caused her to jump, but also seemed to dispel her father’s notion that the mortician’s seal was something more than wax on a folded parchment.
She read aloud the name.
“James Sundref.”
Janice shook her head. She wanted to jump up from the table and walk away. James, her chosen, was dead. Her body went cold, and both of her hands began to tremble. A mix of emotions volleyed inside her, fighting to come out. Her chosen had died: the same man who’d abandoned her, breaking their bond. How many times had she wished that he would feel the pain that he’d caused her, to feel the same loss?
The hurt from all those years before now rose again inside her, pushing from the back of her throat, until she thought she was going to be sick. She shook her head, understanding why she’d been named, why she’d be requested to attend his cleaning and passing. Within days of choosing him, they’d registered with the bureau. It was almost a ritual of its own: a small ceremony, putting their names together in the Commune registry.
“Choosing is forever,” she muttered, and dropped the parchment from her hand.
Janice Gilly cried then. The anger and hurt she’d been carrying for the last twenty years left her, freeing her to feel the anguish over the loss of her chosen. For the next hour, she relived every moment she had shared with James. The good and the bad, all of what they’d had. It was still just a memory away, and she was happy to have kept so much of it.
Clutching her heart, she spoke James’s name, telling him that she’d honor their bond, that she’d see him through his cleaning and passing. She told him how much she missed him, and how she would always love him, and then she told him that she forgave him.
But what meant more to her that morning than anything was that she forgave herself—for never having had the courage to love again.
4
Sammi stood in their dark room, staring at the images on the wall. Though the early morning hour kept the room dim, the colors of the portrait splashed her eyes with a vivid mural of art and light. From the corner, she could see the rise and fall of the silver sheet as Declan’s breathing kept time with the picture’s moving sands. Relaxing. This picture happened to be her favorite. It was the one with the great desert, and the white sun piercing through a looming gray sky.
What she liked most were the breaks in the threatening clouds. Those were the open areas where the stitched gray remained unmended, revealing the skies above the land. The cloud breaks showed the secrets that had been hidden, and there, she saw the image of the white sun, standing high, commanding, over the desert, like a worshipped idol. At least that’s how she thought of it, recalling the only time that she had seen the sun.
Sammi was suddenly distracted by something else in the portrait, something she hadn’t noticed before. Her heart lifted when she saw the other body, hovering high above the desert in the corner.
Just about the farthest place you can be from the sun, she thought, and wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before. Maybe it’s never been there.
“The moon,” she proclaimed, but then quickly questioned it, and considered the lessons taught to them in the earliest days of Ms. Gilly’s class. Hesitant to touch the picture, but drawn to feel what made up the images, Sammi finally couldn’t resist her curiosity, and pressed her fingers against the glossy canvas. A tingle gushed over her skin, causing the hairs to rise on her arm, filling her with a queer giddiness that she couldn’t explain. But she didn’t need to explain it. She allowed herself to simply enjoy it as more details in the portrait appeared to her then.
The tingling became electric, pulsing into her body, traveling through her, leaving her feet, and disappearing into the floor. As the vibration coursed through her, the portrait seemed to open up to her, enveloping her vision, surrounding her. She remembered similar images from when Andie’s orb had showed her classroom what their Earth had
looked like before the accident. Andie had transformed the classroom into a paradise of mountains and valleys, with a shallow brook, sunlight dancing feverishly atop the water. But in this new image, the desert exploded around her feet, leading her to lift a foot, and then the other, the image so real that it tricked her into thinking that she was actually standing ankle-deep in sand. The deep gray clouds, mountainous, taller than she could see, stood in front of her, marching along, with no cares or hurry.
She raised a hand to the white sun, covering her eyes, not daring to look directly into it, as if it were truly a worshipped idol. She would not disrespect such greatness. She couldn’t help but laugh at this last thought, but for her whole life, she’d treated the sun with such regard.
Then her eyes fell onto the new moon. Small as it was, it pulled all of her attention to it while she watched it rotate, skewed at an angle, as if leaning. When Sammi stepped closer, she realized that it actually wasn’t a moon at all: it was their Earth, and what she was standing in was a map of everything around their Earth. Someone had made this map, and she didn’t think it was left over from Earth’s history.
“I would have seen it—we all would have,” she mumbled, thinking back to Ms. Gilly’s class.
She jumped when a thumping, hollow sound came from behind her. Startled, she pulled her hand from the portrait. Biting sparks jumped from the tips of her fingers, like they were angry at her for having let go. The sound of the knocking drew her further back into her present surroundings, and the images around her disappeared, leaving her annoyed but also with her curiosity and suspicions roused. The soft thump sounded again, this time louder, turning her toward the door as Declan stirred from beneath the sheets.
It was early, but in the VAC Machine, there were no Commune bells to dictate the concept of time. Sammi expected to see some instruction from the lights, maybe a different set of orders for the day’s work ahead, but the lights were quiet.
The ever-present light of the corridor bled into their room when the door opened, eclipsing the two visitors standing in front of her. Sammi could tell in an instant that they were Declan’s mother and sister. Their faces were shadowed, but their postures were the same as they’d always been: Sandra standing tall and square; Hadley sheepishly awkward to the right, hiding a step behind her mother. Sammi thought it funny how people behaved around one another; it was familiar, comforting.
“What are you two doing here at this hour?” Sammi asked, extending her hand. Declan’s mother reached out, taking Sammi’s hand in hers. “Do you want me to wake Declan?”
“No, no,” Sandra Chambers answered, her silhouetted head shaking back and forth. Sammi hesitated when Declan’s mother took her hand. Sandra’s touch was colder than it should have been, and there was something else. “We’re just stopping by to see how he’s doing.”
Sammi tried moving so that the light from the corridor would show their faces, but Declan’s mother kept her back to the corridor, hiding.
“Did you do it yet?” Hadley blurted, stepping around her mother and tapping Sammi on the arm. “Did ya?” she repeated in a comical gesture that made Sammi laugh.
“Hadley!” Sandra exclaimed, and then shrugged her shoulders, tilting her head in a way that looked apologetic. “Sammi, don’t you listen to her. That is your business… yours and Declan’s.” Sandra paused then, holding Sammi’s hands in hers, lifting them in a slow, waiting motion. The silence told Sammi exactly what Sandra wanted to know: Declan’s mother wanted her daughter’s question answered. Sammi firmed her grip on Sandra’s hand, shaking it, and answered them both.
“Yes. It is official. We’ve bonded,” Sammi announced, feeling surprised by her own giddiness as she openly told them. At once, Hadley was bouncing up and down on her toes, and Sandra lifted Sammi’s hands, kissing them.
“Welcome to the family,” Sandra began to say, and then stopped as emotion held her words a moment longer. “Welcome, Sammi. I know you two will be happy. Make the most of it. Make the most of the time…” she stopped then, and instead of finishing, Sandra pulled Sammi into her arms. Soon, Hadley’s arms were wrapped around her too.
When Sammi pulled away from them, she glimpsed the corridor light on their faces, and nearly stumbled backwards. The elation of the moment was squashed: their faces had aged. She’d seen them only weeks earlier, yet they were now much older. Errant lines cut into the corners of their eyes and mouths. Their hair was stippled by straggling gray strands, interrupting the luster of their younger brown locks. Small blemishes pocked the tops of their hands and arms, and Sammi realized what she’d felt that was different: Sandra’s hands were older. They’d felt older, because they were older.
“What’s happening?” Sammi asked, and cupped her hand to her mouth. “What’s going on?”
Hadley looked down at the ground, seemingly embarrassed, as though she were hiding an adolescent blemish. Sandra only sighed, shaking her head, and then took Sammi’s hand back into hers. By now, the lights in the corridor were blinking, catching the attention of Declan’s family. Hadley was already walking toward them, receiving their instructions, listening to them. Sandra shielded her eyes from the lights.
“Tell Declan nothing. Tell him nothing of what you’ve seen. This is part of who we are now. We’ll all go through this. Okay? You’ll understand when it’s your time too.” Before Sammi could say another word, Declan’s mother snapped her hand from Sammi’s and turned her eyes to the lights as she entered the corridor.
“Who was that?” Sammi heard from behind her. Terror coursed through her as she tried to understand what had happened to Sandra and Hadley. Sammi wondered if the same thing might already be happening to her. She pushed her fingers over her lips and eyes, searching to find what wasn’t there.
“Sammi? You okay? Who was that?”
“Nobody. It’s okay. Go back to sleep,” she answered, closing the door behind her. Declan rolled over onto his side, and within a minute, she heard him breathing heavily again.
Sammi went back to the portrait, where the light cast down onto her hands. She looked for age spots and wrinkles, but her skin was smooth and young. The portrait was changing for her, drawing her attention like the lights in the corridor had drawn Sandra’s.
The Earth was larger this time: she could easily make out the oceans, and an orbiting moon. Sammi laid her hands on the glossy surface, and soon the tingling sensation of electricity was running through her again, raising the hair on her body. All around her, the room filled with the details of the map, rotating and revealing new mysteries. She was lost in the images, and the question once again arose in her mind: Who made this map?
5
100 YEARS EARLIER
Isla stood at the opening of a massive laboratory, her mouth agape, her eyes wide in wonderment. She couldn’t explain why she was at the lab; she only knew that she was supposed to be here to work. That was what she did best: work.
Leaning into the room without yet committing to that first step, a lively giddiness filled her. Her heart raced with excited frivolity, making her feel silly, as though it were her birthday and she had a table full of gifts just waiting to be freed of their parchment wrappings. Her eyes moved to the table closest to her, and to the untouched lab equipment sitting on it. She spied the samples in the beakers and test tubes; some were filled with liquids of differing amounts and colors, while others held powdery or chunky compounds. Like her birthday presents, the samples were waiting for her to pick them up, to prepare or synthesize them: to work with them. It was glorious. She pressed a palm to her cheek, smiling widely at the room, and then she stepped into the room.
Closing her eyes for a moment, she listened to the sound of an agitation table gently rocking. Concentrating on the sound, she turned, finding the collection of small flasks, and watched the fluid’s rhythmic motion. There was more lab equipment in front of her than she’d ever been able to scrounge together for the Commune’s lab.
Isla’s old lab had been a paltry room
. Humbling. She and a few others had worked hard, rebuilding old tables and covering the tops with their own manufactured resin. Over time, they’d collected and repaired ancient medical instruments, and put together whatever else they could. Slowly at first, the Commune lab came together; and then, one day, it was functional. For the few short years after Nolan’s death, putting the Commune’s resin lab together was a high point, an achievement.
Isla’s eyes darted to all the corners of the room, as far back as she could see, taking it all in. She even searched the shadows for more gifts to be unwrapped. She smiled, a small, joyful one, as her fingers tingled with anticipation. What kind of lab work would she be doing? She quickly decided that she didn’t care, as long as the lab was hers to play in. She was ready to get started.
A volley of colors stretched across the room, beaming from high up on the wall. There she found a series of round lights, similar to the ones in her room. And like before, she nodded, and a calm feeling settled over her: understanding. The sequence of colorful flashes told her everything she needed to know about the lab and the equipment. The light’s revolving colors changed tempo, showing a brighter range of hues, flickering on and off. Isla nodded again.
A different glimmer of light interrupted her. Seeking out the faint wink, she found a large steel door, standing alone at the back of the lab. In its center, a small oval window, ringed in black, kept watch over the room like the guarding eye of an attentive parent.
Unlike the rest of the lab, the door was unfamiliar to her. Pressing her lips together, searching her thoughts, she found no recollection, no memory of it. Unsettled, Isla sought answers from the lights, but they’d become quiet, dormant, saying nothing. Left on her own, she turned back to the door. Had she seen something move?
Blinded By Sight (Gray Series Book 3) Page 3
