by Jason Tesar
didn’t you run?”
“Why didn’t you run … and get the police like I told you?”
Dal brushed his shaggy, blond hair away from his eyes. “The police don’t patrol the Outskirts anymore. It would have taken me an hour to find someone. And then I saw that guy grab you.”
“He was about to let us go when you came barging in. I had it under control.”
“How?” Dal asked, turning to walk sideways so he could face her. “That’s what I don’t understand. How could anyone have a situation like that under control?”
Rena stared at the sidewalk as she remembered the words that had suddenly come into her mind. People may try to hurt you. Why? Was he speaking about specific people? Was it something about Rena he knew people wouldn’t like? Or maybe it was just a general warning.
“I don’t know. It was like I’d been in that situation before. I just … saw what to do and I did it.”
Dal exhaled and slid his hands into his pockets. It was something he did every time he got uncomfortable. Those occasions were becoming infrequent these days, as he seemed to care less and less about what other people thought of him. But it still happened when the subject of Rena’s past came up. He was protective of her, and the thought of what she might have gone through as a child, what she couldn’t remember, bothered him. It was cute. It reminded her of the day she first met him.
Dal had been eight, Rena only seven years old. She’d just been adopted by Marshall and Clarine and brought home to their house. It was the first time she’d ever ridden in a cab, and one of the few times her parents had spent money for transportation instead of walking home from the transit station. Dal was playing in his front yard at the end of the street. When Rena climbed out of the cab, he stopped what he was doing and stared at her. A few seconds later, he waved. Rena didn’t know how to respond, so she didn’t. Dal stuck his hands in his pockets and pretended to look away until Marshall and Clarine escorted Rena into their house. Now Dal was seventeen, and aside from being taller, he still looked like that little boy in his front yard, unsure of what to do with himself.
They reached the corner of their street and came to a stop. Dal seemed like he wanted to say something, but he just smiled.
“See you tomorrow?” Rena asked.
Dal nodded and turned down the sidewalk.
Rena watched him for a few seconds before she crossed the street, heading for the third house from the corner. A short, metal gate opened to a concrete walkway across a small front yard of grass. Her parents’ home was a freestanding structure, painted light blue—one of five approved colors for this neighborhood. While not as desirable as the multi-unit buildings closer to Esh’s Center, it was a decent place to live. The adults did what they could to keep it that way, and voting to limit the paint choices gave the neighborhood a sense of order. Rena didn’t much care for any of the colors. They were too bright. But it was none of her business. She wouldn’t need to worry about things like that for over a year.
As she grabbed the handle of her plain, white front door, a sensor recognized the implant in her hand and unlocked it. The door swung inward and right away, Rena smelled the familiar aroma of vegetable soup. Clarine always kept dinner simple during the week. After work, she only had an hour or so to pick up Suzanne from daycare and Gareth from school, get them home, and put together a quick meal before Marshall came home. There wasn’t enough time for anything elaborate, not that they could have afforded it anyway. Credits were always tight.
Gareth was sprawled out on the living room floor. The five-year-old had his markers scattered across the carpet, most of them with their caps off. He was so focused on his artwork that he didn’t even look up when she walked over to him.
Rena tilted her head to get a better look at the building he was coloring. “Hey, cutie.”
Gareth smiled, but he still didn’t look up.
“What are you working on?”
“My house.”
Judging by the number of windows, the building was about forty stories tall. It would have fit in perfectly at the Center, where canopyscrapers were the norm. “You plan on being a highrate when you grow up?”
“Yep,” he answered without a second’s hesitation.
“Rena?” her mom called.
Through the doorway into the kitchen, Rena could see Suzanne in her high chair. She had something orange all over her face. A second later, Clarine peeked out from behind the doorframe. “Where were you?”
“I went out for a run.” It wasn’t technically a lie.
“Your dad’s almost home. We’ll eat in about ten minutes.”
“OK. I’m just going to clean up,” Rena said, turning to head down the hallway toward her room at the back of the house.
“What happened to your pants?”
Rena stopped and looked down at her knees. “Oh yeah. I tripped in the grass at the commons. Too many people there today.” That was a lie.
“Oh. Well … try to rinse them out before you throw them in the laundry. I don’t want them to stain.”
“OK,” Rena said, already walking down the hall. She went straight into the bathroom and locked the door. When she reached to turn on the faucet, she noticed dried blood on her fingers.
Mine or theirs?
As she leaned forward to get a better look, something clanked against the edge of the countertop. She glanced down and realized it had come from the front of her jacket.
The knife!
She must have put it in her pocket as she ran away from the Barrens. Why hadn’t she noticed it until now? She reached into her jacket and pulled out a narrow strip of metal about twice the length of her hand. It was a piece of scrap that looked like it had been torn off a machine. The dull half was wrapped with some sort of twine, serving as a handle. The sharpened half was covered in dried blood.
She ran it under the water to wash off the blood, then set it on the counter while she took off her jacket and inspected it. Fortunately, the fabric was dark blue. But the inside of the pocket was purple where it had soaked up blood from the knife. There were even a few spatters on her sleeve. She rinsed those areas before removing her shoes and pants. The only stains she found there were from the dirt and weeds of the Barrens. Once her clothing was free of any signs of the afternoon’s incident, she washed her face and hands. Then she concealed the knife in the bundle of her clothes and hurried across the hall to her bedroom. She hid the weapon under her mattress and threw her clothes in the laundry basket before sitting down on her bed to catch her breath.
Her heart was thumping in her chest as though she were in the middle of a workout. Dal was right. How could anyone have a situation like that under control? Had she done that before? Fought with grown men? Was that why she couldn’t remember much of anything from the first seven years of her life? Anything before the police found her in that dumpster in the alley?
“Clarine?”
It was Rena’s dad. His muffled voice had come from down the hall. Rena hadn’t even heard him come in.
“Clarine?” he called again. “Come out here, please.”
Rena went to her door and opened it just enough to peek out into the hallway. She could see that the front door was open. Marshall was standing in the entry with two police officers. He still had his jacket draped over his arm—he’d just gotten home from work but hadn’t made it all the way inside the house yet.
“Marshall. What’s going on?” Clarine asked, walking toward the door with a towel in her hand.
Rena closed her bedroom door and grabbed a pair of pajama pants from her dresser. She knew exactly what was going on. Kirti had told her parents about the stolen credits and her parents had ‘versed the police.
That was fast!
“Rena Waite! Come out here, right now!” It was Marshall’s voice again, more upset than she’d ever heard him.
“Coming!”
“No. Right now!”
As soon as she was clothed, Rena opened her door. The police officers were now stan
ding inside, but the front door was still open. Clarine was asking them to come into the living room and sit down.
“No, thank you, ma’am. We just need to speak with your daughter.”
Marshall glared down the hallway at Rena. His eyes were squinting in that frustrated expression he got sometimes. He was a patient man, but this was too much for him. He tossed his coat toward the couch and motioned with his finger for Rena to come.
There was no way of getting out of this one. That much was obvious. Rena took a deep breath and walked down the hall. As she approached the group of adults, she noted her mom’s disappointed frown. Clarine helped Gareth pick up his markers and go into the kitchen with Suzanne.
“Rena,” Marshall said, “these officers are here to ask you some questions. You’re going to answer every single one.”
“No lies,” Clarine added, looking back over her shoulder.
Rena nodded.
“Hi, Rena. I’m Officer Dougherty,” said the tall one, extending his hand. He had black hair and a pudgy face.
Rena shook his hand.
“This is Officer Naylor.”
Rena shook Naylor’s hand as well, noting the scar running through his left eyebrow. She wondered what had caused it.
“We understand you were out in the Barrens earlier this afternoon. Is that correct?”
Rena nodded.
“Speak up,” Marshall said.
“Yes, sir,” Rena answered the officer.
Dougherty lifted one of his hands and turned it palm upward. A holographic display of text appeared in the air above it—the
