by Wendi Wilson
“He made me his protégé,” I say. “I’m now his second-in-command.”
“That is excellent, darling,” my mother says.
“Quite the accomplishment,” Dad adds, his voice filled with pride.
“He wants me to go on assignment on Sunday,” I tell them. “He’s hoping to provoke Savanna into using her abilities and he wants me to record it so he can leak it to the press.”
Doubt laces my words and, apparently, my father hears it. His face twists into a mix of anger and determination as he leans over the seat to bring his face closer to mine.
“You will do exactly as Brother Earl instructs. He is the enforcer of God’s will and we are his weapons. Do not even think of going against him, or you shall be punished.”
His words are slow and deliberate, leaving a short pause between each of the last four words. I nod, making the action as enthusiastic as I can manage, despite the fear his words strike in me. My parents have only ever used time outs and grounding as punishments. Nothing to be afraid of. But in this instance, I don’t think he means I’ll lose my phone if I don’t do as I’m told.
I stiffen my spine and take a deep, fortifying breath. Dad’s right. Brother Earl is our leader, our general in this holy war, and I am now his apprentice. His second. I’m bound to him and must obey his commands.
Whether I agree with them or not.
10
Present day…
I’m nervous, so when I reach the address in Greenwich, I park across the street and lean my seat back. I flip down the visor and peer into the mirror. I look like hell. Like I’ve been driving all night.
The front door of the house opens and I slide a little lower in my seat, peering through the window. A man and a woman come out, the woman heading for the mini van parked in the driveway and the man walking toward a mid-sized sedan parked on the street.
As they drive away, the door opens again and my breath catches in my throat. First one boy, then a second rush through the door, slamming it behind them. Their hands wave around in an animated fashion as they talk, matching mops of blonde hair flopping in the wind.
Identical smiles light up identical faces and I now know, for sure, that I’m in the right place. Those boys are Silas and Slade Madsen. The boys from the file I found in my father’s office. Brothers. Identical twins, actually.
My tired eyes can’t miss the fact that they’re even better looking in person than they are in the pictures. My face heats as I watch them walk away. I’m so torn, the attraction I feel toward them warring with the hate that’s been indoctrinated in me for so long.
They are gorgeous.
They’re also one hundred percent Alt.
Once they disappear from view, my hand reaches for the door handle. Savanna and her boyfriends are inside that house and I have to warn them.
Hopefully, they’ll believe my warning… just like they did last one.
11
Three and a half weeks ago…
“I’m not takin’ food touched by yer kind.”
My phone is already in my hand, the camera lens aimed at the scene unfolding in front of me. I stand behind a large pillar, just my hands peeking out from behind to get the shot Brother Earl requested. A baseball cap covers my hair and I’m wearing large sunglasses, just in case Savanna, Jett, or Mrs. James decide to look in my direction.
“Excuse me?” Jett responds, but the man ignores him, moving to stand in front of Savanna with his hands out.
The two Alts stand behind a long counter, serving some kind of stew to the many homeless lined up in front of them. This guy has to be Brother Earl’s plant. He doesn’t look as skinny or ragged as the others here and, even though he is wearing torn and dirty clothes, there’s a healthy glow to his cheeks.
I peek around the pillar to make sure I am getting the whole scene in the shot. I am situated off to the side and Savanna is angled away from me. There would be no proving who she is, just like Brother Earl wants.
I crane my head to the right and see someone else filming from a nearby table. Their footage would have full view of Savanna’s face from that angle.
“He offered you a bowl. If you’re hungry, take it,” Savanna says, pulling my attention back to her.
“Savanna, it’s okay,” Jett mutters.
His voice is low, and I am pretty sure it won’t be heard on my recording. I’m too far away. Most of the people in the building had fallen silent at the first sign of an altercation, so the other videographer probably caught her name on his device.
“No, Jett. It’s not,” Savanna says. “Well? Are you hungry, or not?”
“Just gimme my damn stew,” the man snaps, his mouth twisted into a snarl.
“Take it from him,” she counters, pointing at Jett.
The man leans over the counter and backhands the bowl from Jett’s hands, causing it to fly through the air and spill its contents all over the floor. Jett grabs a roll of paper towels and bends over to clean up the mess.
“There ya go, boy. Clean up that mess. That’s all yer kind is good for, freak,” the man says, a smile of contempt on his face.
A chill races down my spine. Those lines, uttered by an actor who probably believes his own script, flips a switch inside me. My chest feels hollow as my breath catches in my throat.
Stories my father told me about his father race through my mind. The way he was treated with hate and disgust, simply because of the color of his skin. Like he was a lesser man. Like he was something to be ridiculed and spat on.
Would my grandfather condone this type of behavior?
“Apologize,” Savanna says, pulling me from my thoughts.
The man laughs in her face and she flinches.
“Just give me some food, bitch.”
“What did you just say to her?”
Jett is suddenly beside her, nostrils flaring and chest heaving. The man looks unfazed, keeping his eyes on Savanna, holding a hand out as if he thought she would actually serve him. Jett takes a step forward, but Savanna stops him with a hand to his chest.
“I said, apologize.”
The man takes a small step back. “Your eyes,” he mutters.
“Apologize!”
She screams the word. It echoes around me, over and over as I pan the camera around the room. Every person in the building is looking at Savanna, their lips moving, forming the same words again and again.
“I apologize.”
“I apologize.”
“I apologize.”
I force out a breathy laugh. Brother Earl would expect me, his protégé, to find pleasure in the scene before me. All his careful plotting playing out to perfection, Savanna falling right into his trap.
Savanna looks over at Jett, and that’s when I notice that he has a dazed look in his eyes and the words are flowing from his lips, just like everyone else. Everyone besides me, that is.
“Stop apologizing!” Savanna shouts, her voice laced with panic.
The room falls quiet. For one, brief, frozen moment, silence reigns. Then that silence is shattered by a scream.
Half of the room heads for the doors while the other half heads for Savanna, anger blazing in their eyes. I quickly tap the screen of my phone to stop the recording and slip away, out the front door and into the bright Savannah sunshine.
I still have work to do. I text Brother Earl to tell him I got the footage and he immediately sends back instructions to upload the video to a popular streaming site and send him the link. He would take care of the rest from there.
I quickly cross the street and climb into my car. I tap the screen of my phone to open the video streaming app and, taking a deep breath, upload the video with the title, “ALT PERSUADES ENTIRE ROOM AT ONCE!” in all capital letters.
Once the video finishes loading, I copy the link and text it to Brother Earl. Tears are tracking down my cheeks as I drown in confusion. I should be happy. I got the footage, which will surely impress Brother Earl, proving that his faith in me is warranted
.
But the way that man spoke to Savanna…
I’ve grown up in the Divine Church of Purity, learning of the destruction Alts will bring upon the human race should they be allowed to live among us and procreate. They are not natural, not children of God. They are an abomination, a product of man’s greed and futile attempts to play God, themselves. Should they ever have children, their offspring could bring about the demise of the pure human.
Thinking about those teachings with a fresh perspective, I realize how prejudiced and bigoted they are. The church uses fear and disgust to rein people in, and a promise of a future with “pure” humans claiming the victory gets them hooked. Of course, those people probably believe the church just wants to get the Alts under control, like I did. I bet they have no idea Brother Earl wants them all dead.
Disgusted with myself and what I’ve just done to contribute to this propaganda, I crank my car and pull away from the shelter.
“I will fix this,” I say aloud. “I just have to figure out how.”
Two days later…
“Savanna!”
I wave an arm in the air, gaining Savanna’s attention. My parents had kept me home from school yesterday, pure fear driving their decision. They were afraid to let me be near Savanna, even though they know I can’t be persuaded. That video footage spooked them. I’d done my job well.
This morning, I’d flat out refused to stay home, claiming I have a test in U.S. History that I couldn’t miss. They’d argued that they would call Ms. Hallicut, but I countered with the reminder that I was immune from persuasion and they had nothing to worry about. In the end, they’d caved.
I stop in front of Savanna, reaching out to grab her hand. Touching her doesn’t repulse me like it would have last week.
“I texted you a gazillion times,” I say, pulling her forward and linking my arm through hers.
She looks back at the boys helplessly, and they follow behind us. I keep moving, ignoring their presence.
“Sorry,” she says. “I had my phone off. I was sick.”
“You’re feeling better, I hope,” I respond, knowing it was a lie.
She had her phone off because of me. Because of what I’d done to her. That video had gone viral within an hour. First, local news stations picked it up, airing it on television. Then the network stations got wind of it, and it spiraled into a major breaking news story on every T.V. station and online news site. Social media sites went nuts, posting and sharing and reposting until the video had millions of views… all within the first twenty-four hours.
My eyes rove the hallway, scanning every person we pass but never looking at Savanna. I can’t meet her eyes. Not yet. I spot a large wooden door and veer to the right, pulling Savanna into the girls’ bathroom. The one place the boys won’t follow.
I turn on the water faucet and peek under the stall doors, confirming the room is empty. I cup a hand over my chest and stare into Savanna’s confused eyes.
“Don’t say a word,” I whisper, holding a finger to my lips and turning the water off.
I hold up my phone and jiggle it while holding out my empty palm. She pulls her phone from her pocket and hands it over, a puzzled look on her face. I tap a few buttons, turning her phone to silent and switching off the vibrating function so the device will make absolutely no noise. I hand it back to her as I speak, my voice loud and clear.
“I know it was you, at the homeless shelter,” I say as I furiously type out a text message on my phone.
I’m wearing a wire. Only respond to what I say out loud.
“Wh-what do you mean?” she stutters, her voice sounding nervous.
“I saw you on T.V. I know it was you,” I say aloud as I type.
My parents are members of the Purist church. They made me do it.
She opens her mouth to speak, but I quickly hold a finger to my lips before pointing to my chest, where a small bulge under my shirt is visible. A microphone.
“I’ll tell everyone what you can do,” I say as I send another text.
The party, the drugs, the group text of the video. The footage of Jonas and the boys in the hall. Even the shelter. It was all me. I’m so sorry.
“No one will believe you,” she says, and I nod with approval.
I had to pretend I wanted to do it. That I was enjoying it.
Guilt strikes through me, causing my breath to hitch. I really did enjoy it until Sunday’s epiphany. I was a terrible person. But not anymore. I’m determined to redeem myself.
She taps something out on her phone and, since I don’t receive a text, I can only assume she’s letting the Patton brothers know she is okay and they shouldn’t come barging in to rescue her from me.
“People wouldn’t have to believe me, really,” I say, responding to her last statement. “Once the rumor is out there, no one will fully trust you ever again. But I don’t have to worry about that, anyway. I have other evidence.”
He’s giving people your blood. That’s why the persuasion doesn’t work. It makes us immune.
Her face goes pale, but to her credit, she doesn’t respond vocally, other than to clear her throat. Gathering herself, she raises her voice and injects some anger into it.
“What evidence? What do you want, Lizzie?”
I nod, approving of her efforts. “I want to make a deal.”
Fiona?
The one word question comes through and I nod again before typing out, She got her dose two weeks ago. Brother Earl has been planning this for years. All of the pieces are falling into place.
“What kind of deal?” she asks, again remembering to respond to my words, not my text messages.
“You use your power for me, whenever I ask, and I won’t tell a soul what I know. Otherwise, I show everyone this.”
I hold my phone in her face. On the screen, the video Brother Earl sent me plays. It’s the scene from the shelter, but this one shows her full face, leaving no doubt as to her identity. Savanna’s mouth falls open as I pull my phone back and begin typing.
“Do you understand now?” I ask aloud, making my voice harsh.
It was all a set up. The man was sent by Brother Earl to make you angry. To make you react. He’s been going there every Sunday, waiting for you to show up. Jett being there with you was a bonus.
“So, if I say no, and refuse to do whatever you want, you’ll show that to the school?”
I laugh at her question, typing out another message.
He wants to use you. You have to run. Get away from here. Take the brothers with you, or he’ll use them to get you back.
“No, Savanna, I won’t show it to just the school. I’ll show it to the police, the news stations, everyone.”
As I speak, she texts me back.
Why are you helping me?
“Okay, fine. I’ll agree,” she says, filling her voice with resignation.
He’s crazy. He’s turned my parents crazy. I didn’t sign up for this. What they plan to do is wrong.
I don’t mention Brother Earl’s slip of the tongue when he said “rid the world” of Alts. I want Savanna to understand the seriousness of the situation, but I don’t want her to panic and end up doing something stupid.
“Good decision,” I say. “I’ll be in touch.”
As I walk out the door, I send one last text message.
Delete all these messages and don’t contact me about this again until I say it’s safe. They’re always watching, checking my phone and emails. I’m sorry, Savanna. Remember what I said. Run.
When I reach my locker, the screen lights up. I swipe my finger across the surface to unlock it, expecting another text from Savanna. But it’s not her.
Get home right now. Your mother and I need to speak to you.
A shiver runs through me as I read my father’s text.
“This can’t be good,” I murmur as I change direction and head for the exit.
12
Three weeks ago…
“Get in this house, young lady. Yo
u have some explaining to do.”
My mother’s greeting sends a shock through me, filling me with foreboding. She never speaks to me with anger. Her appearance increases my feeling of unease as I step into the house. Her usually perfect blonde hair is mussed and there’s mascara streaking down her pale cheeks. She looks devastated.
“Is Grace okay?” I ask.
She waves a hand in the air as she leads me into the den where my father waits. “Your little sister is fine,” she says, taking a seat beside Dad and lacing her fingers through his.
“Sit down, Lizzie,” my father says, speaking for the first time.
“What’s going on?” I ask, snaking a hand up under the hem of my shirt and ripping the microphone from my chest.
I flinch at the pain, sure the tape has taken some skin with it. I unclip the recorder from my waistband and hand the whole contraption over to Mom before sitting in the chair situated in front them.
“It’s all there,” I say. “She agreed to do whatever I say in exchange for keeping the video under wraps.”
“Cut the shit, Lizzie,” Dad snaps.
My head snaps back and my face burns with hurt. He’s never spoken to me with that type of language before. Never.
“Dad,” I say, my voice simultaneously filled with question and accusation.
“We know what you did,” Mom cuts in, lifting her phone. “My parents are members of the Purist church,” she reads, her voice filled with derision. “They made me do it.”
I gasp, flying to my feet with outrage. “What? How did you…”
“We’ve always monitored your calls and text messages, Lizzie,” my dad replies, his voice stern. “Any text sent from or to your phone comes to both of ours, as well. We’ve only had your safety and well-being in mind, but today… today you really disappointed me.”
“You disappointed both of us,” Mom adds.
I deflate, my back falling against the chair as the anger and indignation seeps out of me. Am I pissed they’ve been spying on me? Sure. Am I mortified at the texts they may have read from Fiona, documenting—in great detail—her many exploits and my requisite enthusiastic replies? Of course.
