by Trisha Leigh
A knock shakes me out of my spiraling hopelessness, and through the foggy shower door, I see Pax’s head poke through the doorway.
“Hey! I’m in the shower.”
“Yes, I realize that. I’m not looking, I promise.”
His face is turned away from me, but he’s not fooling anyone.
“I can see you looking in the mirror.”
“Too bad for me you’ve got the water so hot. I can hardly breathe, never mind see through the steam.”
“Yes, too bad,” I say sarcastically. “Can I help you with something?”
“What? Oh, right. Don’t turn the water off. I want to take a shower after you and that way they’ll just think you were in there a long time. And hurry up.”
He shuts the door, leaving me to shake my head. I pick up the pace, since a long shower is one thing, but a half-hour one would be hard to explain. Pax and I trade places, and while he’s in the shower I get dressed and ready for the day. It’s tempting to invade his personal space with an excuse to use the sink, but I avoid it. We’ve gotten a little too comfortable, spending every hour of every day together for at least three weeks now. It’s not going to be an easy habit to break once we’re not alone anymore.
Or once we go our separate ways.
That line of reasoning flies straight out of my mind, along with every other thought, when he strides out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel tied around his waist. Water droplets glisten across his shoulders, fall between the hard muscles of his back. His olive skin, so very different from my pale freckles, contrasts with the dark hair on his chest and I think he’s maybe the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
His eyebrows are raised when my perusal finally reaches his face, heating my cheeks and pretty much the rest of me.
“I, um. I’m going to go down to breakfast. You should get dressed and sneak out the front door while we’re eating.”
Pax doesn’t respond, eyes locked on mine, chest rising and falling too rapidly. I flee the bedroom and the half-naked boy that makes me forget all of the things that I shouldn’t.
I escape from one anxiety-ridden situation into another, remembering as I clamor down the stairs that the Hammonds might not react as they have in the past. It’s hard to know what to expect, seeing them again after all this time, but it comforts me a little that out of all of my parents, they’re the ones who knew me best. I try to have faith, recalling how Leah seemed to instinctively know she could trust Lucas, even though all the specifics of their friendship had been erased.
Not for the first time, the idea that perhaps the human brains operate on a more complex level than even the Others understand winks in my mind. Maybe even though they purge specific feelings and memories, there are impressions that linger. I doubt there’s any way I’ll ever know if I’m right, but it’s nice to believe in something stronger than the Others’ control. To believe that one day, if the humans do all wake up, they’ll still feel a little bit the same about the people they care about.
The Hammonds barely look up when I slide into the kitchen and take my usual seat. The rich, warm smell of cinnamon rolls makes me want to cry, and the pan of gooey buns on the table are the most wonderful thing about being here in Portland.
“Good morning, Althea.” Mr. Hammond meets my eyes, a normal, pleasant smile on his face. Until it wobbles and something that looks like confusion flickers in his muddy gaze.
He called me Althea. That’s what they called me after I spent months training them, when I lived here. Otherwise, they’ve always called me Allie. The Morgans call me Thea. The Clarks prefer AllyCat, which always irked me the most, being compared to a dirty animal. Well, at least before I had one for a pet.
It should please me that even though Pax and I are not planning to be here more than a day or two, I won’t have to endure the whole nickname thing again. Instead of relief, though, it causes worry because the behavior is slightly different than expected, making me nervous. There’s nothing to do except try to act normal.
Since it’s Sunday, the hour after breakfast is free, so I use it to my advantage and meet Pax in the park. He and Wolf snuck out during breakfast so the dog could make waste. There was no reason to assume every family on the street wasn’t also at the table, that no one could see them, but still, we can’t keep doing this. Wolf doesn’t belong here, and I doubt the enchantment that hides us from people’s common sense extends to him. If even one person sees that dog we are in big, fat trouble.
“We need to leave Wolf in the Wilds today. It’s too risky.” I look around, taking in our empty surroundings. “Wait, no one’s here.”
“Yeah. Is that bad?” Pax sounds like he doesn’t think so, but I’m not so sure.
“The Hammonds make me nervous.”
He perks up. “I thought you said they were normal.”
“They were, mostly. It’s little things, the stuff that no one besides me would notice, but they’re not exactly the same. I just have a feeling that we don’t have much time, that’s all. And if we can find some of our Cellmates today, we can start investigating. It might even be easier, without blocks and Monitors and lessons taking up our time.”
“You’re right. No matter how nice the food and the shower and the warm bed are, we don’t belong here anymore,” Pax says, looking gloomy.
Sadness sinks so deep into my bones they ache from the strain of holding it all in. We never belonged here, not really, but the thought of living without the simple comforts of the Sanctioned Cities, of always being on the run, spills fatigue through me. “We should enjoy them while we can, I think.”
After we let Wolf into the Wilds, Pax walks at my side into town, leaving a safe distance between us. We don’t want to act too familiar and draw attention. With the fear of our protective invisibility weakening, it would be better if people didn’t think twice about us. It hasn’t escaped my attention that any contact with humans could put them in danger. Who knows what the Others might do if they found out—take them all out of town in their riders, hook them up to brain-reading machines, and pick out the information about us—and then dispose of them all afterward. And that’s the nice scenario.
The thought sends shivers down my limbs, quickening my steps. We have to get out of here soon. I promised Pax we’d find out what happened to Tommy, but as soon as we do, first on my to do list is staying as far away as possible from the content human population.
***
A good number of our Cellmates loiter in the bowling alley during free hour, but the faces I’m looking for crowd around a table in the pizzeria. Val’s long, straight black hair is tied back in a ponytail, and her head bends close to Monica’s. Monica’s ebony skin shines in the morning sunlight streaming through the windows, and the two of them laugh and smile over a private joke that once would have included me as well. There’s no food at this hour, only an indoor establishment in which to hang out with friends, though there are drinks available.
When Monica looks up and meets my eyes, breath catches in my chest. The same brief confusion I saw in Mr. Hammond’s face registers, followed quickly by recognition, and finally pleasure.
Then she waves at me. “Althea! Come sit with us!”
My heart stops. Val and Monica haven’t recognized me, or asked me to sit with them, for over three years. Since I left after the three years and stayed only a season, they forgot they knew me. Like everyone else
But now they’re acting like they do.
There’s no way to understand exactly what’s going on, or how things have changed, but the fact that they’re different at all speeds my heart into a gallop.
Instead of running, which is what my legs are begging for, I force a smile and lead Pax over to where the girls sit side by side. There’s a boy at their table, too, something that just now registers, hunched close enough to Val for me to think they’re probably courting. That’s at least one thing in our favor.
“Hi!” Monica’s white teeth flash.
“Morning
.” Neither of them ask who Pax is, or for an introduction, as we slide into the last free spaces of the booth. That is a good sign at least. Even though he and I have never been in Portland at the same time, we’ve both lived here. They remember him, too.
The boy next to Val isn’t handsome, at least not to my taste. His hair is a dirty shade of blond, not pretty like the Others’ hair or shiny the way Griffin’s was, and his eyes are a washed-out, faded brown. He smiles at me but it doesn’t reach his eyes; it’s the creepy, empty smile I’ve come to associate with someone without any control over their own emotions. I don’t recognize him or recall his name, but asking isn’t an option, so instead I ignore him and fumble for a way to start a conversation with these girls who I haven’t seen in months and haven’t talked to in far longer.
Nothing enters my mind, no way to try to learn about Tommy or even broach the subject. They save me, continuing their conversation as though we’ve been here the entire time.
“There should be a Winter Mixer or Gathering, too. It’s forever until the spring one!” Val, always the more social of the two girls, sticks out her lower lip in a pout.
Because she’s not really upset or discontent, it looks strange on her face, as though she’s more amused than annoyed. The Term class is always eager for the next event. The last year represents the only time in our lives in which exciting affairs dot our landscape, and the conversation presents a perfect segue.
“I know, right? Then again, it’s hard to imagine anything being more exciting than the whole incident with the Sullivans last autumn.” I take a sip of the lemonade Pax grabbed off the conveyor belt and sat in front of me, watching my sort-of friends for their response.
Along with the bittersweet liquid, I swallow self-loathing at making light of what happened to Pax’s family. Hopefully he understands. That’s how humans respond to Breaking, to anything out of the ordinary. With a disturbing amount of curiosity and an equally horrifying lack of empathy. Still, Pax’s presence intensifies the distaste coating my tongue at having to mimic the typical reaction.
“True. It just about overshadowed both last year events!” Monica’s black eyes sparkle with good humor.
“I know. I mean, Partners dying and their kid Breaking gets everyone’s attention normally, but the way he killed her? All the blood on the television news?” Val’s response is hushed, and the boy at her side watches her lips move the entire time.
So Tommy is Broken. I don’t dare look at Pax, unsure that I’ll be able to contain my emotions if I watch him trying to harness his own.
“Well, they told us it wasn’t anything to worry about. Like we couldn’t catch it or anything.” Monica’s always been a bit more fearful of diseases than everyone else. We used to take turns counting how many times a day she ducked into a wasteroom to wash her hands.
All of the sudden, even though they’re sitting here discussing what happened to Pax’s family like they would talk about the weather, I miss them so much it hurts. Pax’s presence eases my isolation, like Lucas’s did, but my relationships with them also contain certain pressures.
The pressure to keep one another alive, to figure out what we are and how to stop the Others from leaving the Earth a burning pit when they leave. Then there are the romantic expectations that rose out of nowhere with Lucas’s and Pax’s respective arrivals, like the way ivy crawls over the side of a house. It’s beautiful, and desirable, but sometimes it’s cloying and too much to handle. Pax and Lucas are my friends, but they can never be only my friends. That’s what I miss the most, having these girls to hang out with without any expectations or complications.
I realize my silence has gone on a while when Pax nudges my knee with his. He hasn’t spoken at all, whether he doesn’t trust himself because of the subject or he’s afraid they’ll realize something’s amiss if he calls attention to himself, I’m not sure, but I’ve got to keep going. “Poor Tommy.”
Breath stales in my chest as I wait for one of them to take the bait. To my surprise, it’s the previously silent boy who responds. His limpid gaze reflects more suspicion than expected. “Poor Tommy?”
I recognize my mistake right away, the empathetic statement of loss, but it’s too late to turn back now. “He was a little boy. It must have been interesting, to see what happened.”
“That’s why he Broke. The Others took him right away, and people can’t feel anything after they Break.” The boy squints at me, the defensiveness in his gaze making me squirm.
Pax grabs my leg this time and squeezes, a silent signal to sit still.
“She’s just saying it’s too bad that he won’t grow up, Vincent. Even if Tommy didn’t know what happened.” Monica, full of loyalty as always, comes to my rescue.
Vincent shrugs, sucking the last of the cola from his glass and making slurping sounds with the straw that set my teeth on edge.
“I remember being surprised to hear he Broke; when we saw him on television, he looked fine. I mean, a little shocked, which is to be expected, but not Broken.” They probably don’t know anything else, but we have some more time so it’s worth trying to dig deeper.
Val squinches up her face, trying to recall the television broadcast that burned a permanent memory into my brain the moment it flashed across the screen. “They took him to a Healer that night, right after. He wasn’t declared Broken for a couple of days.” She shrugs. “Maybe he couldn’t stop remembering it all and finally…” She bangs the heel of her hand against her forehead, as though that’s how a person’s mind Breaks into pieces.
The motion brings a sick image of Greg, his head cracked open like an egg in a skillet, but it’s not always that way. Mrs. Morgan’s frantic desperation, Leah’s turn to twisted pranks. Human beings can shatter from the inside out, as well as the outside in.
I’m grateful when some of the kids start to look down at their watches, an action that signals the end of free hour. Everyone stands, stretching their arms and legs as they shuffle toward the door. Val, Monica, and Vincent bid us polite farewells and leave Pax and me to trail down the street after them. We don’t speak, and I wonder how Pax holds up after hearing all of that. He learned his loss of control not only made his fake parents die in a horrible murder-suicide, and not only did his unintentional actions leave Tommy an orphan again—but he Broke, too.
I wonder for a moment, though, if Tommy truly Broke. Emmy and Reese, two girls in our chemistry class last autumn, were taken away and called Broken, too, but they weren’t, not that I saw. The Others took them because they suspected they had frozen some beakers and acted erratically. Lucas actually did it, and guilt over what happened to them weighs permanently on my heart. The Wardens also whisked away several Terminals with nosebleeds during a family Outing, but they didn’t seem Broken, either. Those moments planted the idea that perhaps they don’t kill the Broken, and it’s never been far from my mind.
Not that the Others wouldn’t kill perfectly healthy, normal people if they felt threatened—I’m sure they would. But the Others need the humans for some purpose, the same way they need this planet. What if the ones they call Broken are part of that plan somehow?
We pause a block from the Hammonds’ house, Pax coming to a dead stop as though he simply can’t make his feet go another step. His eyes are far away, looking perhaps into a past he wants to forget, or into poor little Tommy’s uncertain future. When Emmy and Reese were taken, Lucas said that we couldn’t help them until we figure out why the Others want us so badly. The destiny of humanity might lie in our hands, but as of now, the three of us have hurt far more people than we’ve helped.
“You go in, the Hammonds will be waiting to do Sunday Sharing with you.”
Like Saturday afternoon movies, Sunday Sharing is a required family activity. I have no idea what I’m going to share, but it doesn’t matter.
“What are you going to do?” My tongue itches with the need to tell him we need to move on, but now isn’t the time.
“I’ll go hang out with W
olf for a little while. I’ll be back tonight, after they go to bed.” He won’t look at me.
“Pax, it’s not—”
“My fault? You keep saying that, Summer, but it doesn’t make it true.”
CHAPTER 25.
Pax returns well after the Hammonds are in bed, and long after I start worrying he won’t come back at all. His clothes are dirty and he stinks of the outdoors, but once he changes and slides into bed, the familiar cinnamon and apple smell of him wafts around me. He doesn’t talk, and after what happened earlier, I’m not sure that trying to push it is the best course of action.
With the lights off, the sound of his quiet breathing drags down my eyelids. It creates a transparent blanket, because even though it can’t protect me, the familiar sound and smells in this room warm me. Part of me wishes we could hide here forever, forget about the Broken people and the Others and beings like Cadi and Griffin, tortured and locked up somewhere in the Others’ control.
Even if those things could be ignored, I could never forget Lucas.
The longer we lounge in Portland, snuggled in a cozy bed with hot showers and a pantry full of food, the less satisfied I feel. I’ve done what Pax asked, and come to Portland to learn what became of the Sullivans’ son. We learned he’s Broken, and now it’s time to find Lucas, to move forward and figure out what to do next.
I don’t say any of this aloud, no matter how the words fight for a place on my tongue. Pax is in pain. It won’t hurt anything to wait until morning.
“What do you think happens to them? The Broken?” His voice scrapes out the words, hoarse as though he’s spent the day yelling instead of walking alone in the Wilds.
“I don’t know.”
I relay the story of Emmy and Reese, which Pax hasn’t heard until now, and he’s quiet for a few minutes afterward. When I tell him about the Wardens’ offering at the Outing, how the pink dust made my Cellmates bleed and be taken away, he tells me the kids in Atlanta had experienced the same thing.
