Violet

by Rae Thomas

  Despite the overwhelming feeling that what I am doing is wrong, the deception that I sense outweighs the loyalty that I feel for my father. I keep thinking of David’s words. What if I do learn something and wish I hadn’t? What will I do? How can I go on living the same life with my father that I have lived for the past months? Surely he will sense that something has changed. If he found out what I have done, what would he think? What would my mother think?

  All the hours that I’ve spent postulating have been for naught; every question has been left unanswered. I do not know what David has found or if it will change the way I feel about my father, but I can no longer sit idly by and do nothing. I need to take control. I haven’t made a decision for myself since I woke from my sleep, and that will end today. It’s time to meet David in the meadow. I do not say goodbye to my father when I leave. I am tired of looking into his eyes and being unsure of what I see there.

  When I arrive, I see David waiting in the clearing. This time when he sees me, he does not smile. He does not say hello. When I reach the place where he stands, neither of us speaks. He sits down on the grass and opens the flap on his bag. I sit down beside him. Finally, when I feel that I can take the silence no longer, he speaks.

  “Violet, I want to give you one last chance to back out. I can burn all of this; you’ll never know what it said and I promise I’ll never breathe a word of it.”

  “David—”

  “Violet, I don’t think you should read this.”

  Now I am more nervous than ever. So it has happened. David has found something that he knows will change everything. I will not be able to live the same life. I will not be able to look at my father again without knowing what David will show me.

  “It’s too late. I can’t stop now. Tell me what you know.”

  David looks at me and I have never seen so much sadness manifest in a face. He knows that what he is going to tell me will hurt me. I can still back out. I have one more moment before he begins to speak. I let it pass. I can’t live with the secrets anymore.

  “Violet, you didn’t have a car accident.”

  I am too stunned to speak. What does he mean? I slept for two rotations! I can’t remember a thing about my life! How can it be that there was no accident?

  David sees all of these questions on my face. I can see him struggling to find words for what he will say next.

  “Violet, you died.”

  There are no words that can describe the emotion I feel. His words repeat over and over and over again in my mind and I cannot stop hearing them. I cannot escape them.

  “No, David. No, no, no. I’m alive, David. I’m alive; I didn’t die! What are you saying? Why are you saying this? David!”

  David pulls what looks to be a scan from a news announcement out of his bag. There is a large photo accompanying the article, and David points to the photo.

  “Isn’t that you, Violet?”

  My eyes are drawn to the photo. My father with his arm around me. A younger version of both of us, but it is indeed us. My father’s pallid complexion and short haircut are as they were before his retirement. Now my eyes move upward toward the headline. Claro Scientist and Daughter Killed in Accidental Explosion.

  Killed. Killed. Yes, it says killed. It says that I am dead. It says that my father is dead. And yet we are not. We are alive. What does this mean?

  “Yes… Yes, that is me. That is my father.” I cannot feel any of my limbs. My entire body is numb. I’m dead?

  “But that’s not your name.”

  What? I hadn’t looked at the text of the article, but now I follow David’s finger to a line located in the first paragraph. Violet Price.

  “No, no, that’s not my last name. My name’s Massassi.”

  Some time ago, when I woke from my comatose state, I looked at my father, but I did not recognize him. I knew nothing about myself; my mind was a blank slate. I had vague knowledge that I was in a hospital bed. I knew basic things like how to tie my shoes or how to walk, but I didn’t have any of the knowledge that I needed to understand my identity. I looked slowly around the room. I looked at my hands, at my legs beneath the stark white sheet. I looked at my reflection in the mirror across the room. I didn’t even recognize myself. Nothing about the way I looked struck a chord with me. It was as if I was looking at a stranger for the first time. Gradually, I turned to look at the man standing next to my bed. My father looked at me with kind eyes full of tears. He smiled; he hugged me tentatively but tightly. I could feel how much he was holding back, how much he wanted to embrace me. I was glad that he held back. I did not know this man; I felt uneasy. He pulled back and held me at arm’s length with his hands on my shoulders. He was still smiling; he was still crying. I looked back at him, unsure.

  Finally, he said, “Violet.”

  I was dumbstruck. This man was a stranger. I had no idea why I was in the hospital. I had no idea why he was crying. I had no idea what I should say. So I said, “Is that my name?”

  Immediately, his face fell. He stopped smiling, the happy tears stopped flowing, and all of the color drained from his face. “Violet, you don’t know who you are?”

  “No.” I knew what was coming next, and I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t want to take away the elation he’d felt when he saw me open my eyes. I dreaded what he would say.

  “Violet, do you know who I am?”

  I paused. I didn’t want to hurt him. I looked down at my hands in my lap. “No.”

  It was as if I had struck him. He looked shocked. He looked dismayed. Soon, the alarm on his face turned to despair.

  “I’m your father.” I did not respond. I did not look up at him.

  He dropped into the chair beside my bed and his face fell into his hands. His shoulders shook with silent sobs. I had broken this man, and I didn’t even know him.

  As he cried, I looked back into the mirror. I noted the likenesses in our appearances. Dark hair, fair skin, the same blue eyes, the same facial structure. Yes, this man could be my father.

  After a while, his shoulders stopped shaking. He began breathing evenly, trying to compose himself. He stood up, returned to my bedside, and held out his hand. I shook it.

  “Hello. Your name is Violet Massassi. I am your father. It’s nice to meet you. I am going to help you remember. But until then, I am going to teach you everything you need to know about yourself.”

  And he did.

  But now, as I sit next to David in the meadow, I am overwhelmed with the impression that my father told me lies. This says that my name was Violet Price. This says that I died with my father in a fiery explosion at my father’s lab in Summus. This doesn’t say anything about a car accident. The story about visiting Eligo, seeing my mother’s favorite place, spending the day in remembrance of her; was that all a lie?

  “Violet.” David’s voice permeates my jumbled thoughts.

  “Violet, this article says that your name was Violet Price. You and your father were killed in a chance explosion at your father’s lab. Everyone, the public, the government, your old friends, everyone thinks you’re dead, but you’re not. You live in a remote area of Eligo. You have a new name. You go to a new academy. Your father has changed his appearance.”

  Yes, all of these things are true. I had not thought it suspicious when my father changed his appearance; I thought he was just enjoying his retirement. But David is right. This cannot be coincidence.

  “Violet, do you know what all of this means?”

  Yes, I know what it means, but I don’t want to say it. I won’t say it. I won’t say that my father, my only family, the only person I could trust, has lied to me. We are supposed to be dead, and my father never told me why. My father never told me what we’re hiding from. My father never even told me my real name. What else has he kept from me in the name of protection? What other lies has he encouraged me to believe? In how many ways has he exploited my injury, my loss of memory? I don’t know him at all, and I certainly don’t trust him.

/>   “You’re fugitives, Violet. Your father, either alone or working with some other agency, has faked your deaths. We don’t know why you’re hiding, and we don’t know who you’re running from, but if your father went to these lengths to disappear, you can be sure that something very dangerous is going on.”

  At this moment, it hits me. What have I done? Whatever my father did, though I don’t agree with his deceptive methods, he did it to protect us. I have exposed our whereabouts and our true identities to David, and perhaps anyone that David interacted with while doing his research.

  “David, I’ve got to tell my father what I’ve done.”

  As if reading my mind, David reaches out to grasp my hand in both of his. “Violet, you can trust me. I won’t tell anyone what I’ve found. I’ll burn all of this research. No one will ever know.” He pauses. “I don’t want you to tell your father about this.”

  I pull my hand from his grip. “Why?”

  David breaks eye contact. He sighs; he runs his fingers through his hair. He gets up and walks to the edge of the clearing. I get to my feet and follow him. Standing less than an arm’s length behind him, I say, “David, why don’t you want me to tell my father what I know?”

  His head drops slightly, and he exhales loudly.

  “Don’t you know?”

  Again, I am silent. David turns around to face me and closes the already small gap between us. His face looks pained.

  “If he knows, he’ll make you leave. You’ll change your names again; you’ll disappear. I’ll never see you again, Violet. I’ll never know if you’re safe. Don’t you see? I’ll do anything to protect you; I don’t care what it is. I’ll do anything.”

  To say that I’m shocked is putting it mildly. I want to tell David the way I’ve been feeling about him, but then I stop myself. David didn’t say he has feelings for me. I know that he is fond of me; I know that he values our friendship. But he just wants to know that I’m safe. Because we’re friends. I drop my head.

  “All right, David. I won’t say anything to him.”

  He smiles. “Okay. Good. And Violet, there’s something else.”

  “What?”

  “I think you should give me your sketchbook.”

  “Why do you need to see my sketches?”

  “Who knows? Maybe the images in your dreams are some kind of repressed memories. Maybe some of them could tell us why you and your father had to go into hiding. If I can compare the images with my research, maybe something could come up. Maybe.” He shrugs.

  I pull my sketchbook from my satchel and hand it to David.

  Seven

  I am awake. I’ve been dreaming more and more, but these dreams don’t do me any good; I don’t know what they’re about. I sigh in defeat, but I cannot help but feel more cheerful about this situation as of late. I suppose I don’t feel so alone now that David knows everything. I swing my feet over the side of the bed and head out to the kitchen.

  This morning, just like every morning, I look at the pictures on the mantle, hoping, praying that this time I will remember. This time, when I peer into my own eyes staring from the photograph, I will remember. I will know who I am. But my hope dissipates immediately. I know that the person in the photograph is me, but I do not remember her. I understand what my father meant when he said that he’d lost his daughter; I had not been Violet-his-daughter since the day I’d woken up. I’d only been Violet-the-stranger. Violet-the-confused. Violet-the-disappointing. No wonder he had grown even more distant. I don’t think I would want to be around me either. I am a constant reminder of what he’s lost.

  When I reach the kitchen, my father is not there. This is not surprising; we have hardly spoken since I learned of his lies. I’m sure that my father doesn’t know about my investigation, but he must sense a change in my demeanor. I’ve closed myself off to him. I don’t want to hear much that he has to say; how can I know if anything he says is true?

  David and I are being very careful not to discuss my current predicament at Nineteen or anywhere else that someone might overhear us. We have decided that we will only talk about it in the meadow. This may be more security than is necessary, but still we have not discovered why my father and I are hiding, so we don’t want to take any chances.

  Last night, in the clearing, David and I sat together on the soft meadow grasses, looking out at the sky. Usually, I would enjoy this time alone with him, but it was different. Something was wrong. I’d had an ominous feeling all day, and it seemed that it was contagious. We had no new information. We had no leads. The knowledge that my father and I were in hiding had brought with it an intense burden; everyone that we see may be an enemy. Anyone could be watching us.

  The night was clear and the moons were striking. David and I sat in silence looking at them for a long time. Finally, David began to speak.

  “Do you ever get the feeling that everything is out of our control?”

  “I never feel in control, David. I don’t know who I am. Literally.”

  “That’s not what I mean. I don’t mean philosophically. I just mean, in this world, on Cerno, we’ve created a system that we cannot control. We’re looking for information about you so we can find out what really happened, but what can we do about it? Even when we find out, it’s not like we can change anything. You and your father will still be fugitives. You’ll still have to hide forever.”

  “Maybe there’s something that we can do. We just need more information. Besides, the fact that we’ve escaped from whatever it is means that we do have some level of control. We’re not completely helpless.”

  “Violet, you don’t understand. The Vox will never be outdone. You’ll never be allowed to stop running. If they want you, they’ll take you. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

  I sat in silence thinking about this. David was almost certainly correct; if The Vox wants us, they won’t stop until they have us, or until we’re dead. And they probably don’t care which it is.

  Again, David’s voice broke the silence, but this time it was quieter. He seemed defeated.

  “Did you know that our moons have names, too?”

  I remembered what David told me about the name of our planet. Cerno means “to sift.” The purpose of this planet was to separate the desirables from the undesirables.

  “What are they?”

  He gestured first to the moon on the left, and then the one on the right. “That one’s Deimos, and that one’s Phobos. They mean ‘dread’ and ‘fear’.”

  I was taken aback by these definitions. “David, I thought they changed the names? How do ‘dread’ and ‘fear’ have anything to do with being elite?”

  “They didn’t change the moons’ names, Violet. They’ve always been called that.”

  “But why? Why would The Vox want us to think of dread and fear every time we look at our sky?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe to remind us of where we came from. Maybe to remind us that they brought us here, and they can send us back.”

  * * *

  The ride to Nineteen is passed in silence, as usual, but today I’m not admiring the landscape. I’m not thinking about the beauty of nature. I’m not watching the sky swirls. I just can’t get David’s words out of my head. I can’t shake the feeling of apprehension that I’ve had since our meeting last night.

  When I arrive, David is waiting for me. He leans against the archway, clothed in his customary black. Today we begin with Madam Aldine’s lesson, so as I pass where he is standing, David falls into step beside me. We proceed wordlessly along my usual trek; David does not mind getting dew on his boots. There are not many students around, but it’s early. We proceed toward the building and enter through the doors on the far end of the hall. As we are walking toward the classroom, David stops short. He grabs my hand and pulls me around the corner into a study alcove.

  “David, what are you—”

  “Shh!” David gently but firmly puts his palm over my mouth.

  “Be very quiet. Listen
carefully. Did you see the man speaking to Madam Aldine?”

  I shake my head. David gestures for me to peek around the corner. Tall man, muscular, dressed in dark grey from head to toe, his hair shorn in the unmistakable style of The Vox.

  “The Vox.”

  “Yes. And did you see the patch on his shoulder?”

  I had. A blood red capital V was sewn onto his sleeve. Floating slightly above and to the right of the V were two orbs. Dread and Fear. I nod.

  David continues, “V1 Cadets wear white. Red means he’s an Inspector. At least V3. Inspectors for The Vox don’t just waste time piddling around in regions like Nineteen. He’s here for a purpose. He’s questioning Madam Aldine.”

  Immediately, I feel like I cannot get enough air to my lungs. They’ve found us.

  “David. We need to get to my father.”

  The next moments are like a blur; we move stealthily between the buildings of Nineteen. David is in the lead. We pause before turning corners. Always, my hand is gripped by his. Finally, we reach the student lot and climb into David’s vehicle. There is no question that his vehicle is old. It has been refinished in black, but chips on its surface reveal that it was once red. Vehicles in Eligo are equipped for the outdoor life that most citizens here lead, and David’s is no different. The top is open to the air, the passengers protected by metallic beams that create a grated ceiling.

  David and I both struggle to control our nerves as we pass slowly through the downtown area surrounding the academy. We do not want to draw attention to ourselves. As we reach the outskirts of town, David increases the speed. My hair whips around my face, into my eyes and mouth, but I don’t care. I find myself wishing, pleading for my father’s safety. Please let this be nothing. Please let him be all right. I’m very upset with my father. He lied to me about everything I know. But still, he is my father.

  Finally, we’re almost there. David whips his vehicle sharply onto the small dirt road that leads to my home, and we pull up as close to the front porch as we possibly can. Immediately, something is wrong. The front door is several feet from being latched; I know my father wouldn’t leave it like this. The aged wood has swelled and as a result, we almost never enter from the front.