The Letting

by Cathrine Goldstein

  “Ah,” Farnsworth exclaims with a smug expression on his face. “We finally found something that makes the great Veronica Billings react. Now the question is, why?” He smiles again. “I’ll leave you to your business.” He is pushed toward the door, but he reaches down to stop his wheelchair abruptly. He looks at me. “Oh, and Veronica…I look forward to feeling you all over me.” He is wheeled out the door.

  Chapter Thirteen

  No matter what I do, I cannot calm myself. I find myself shaking, lying on the table, gasping for air. I feel like someone is choking me and I yank at my throat to get them off. Of course, no one is there. It is just the memory of Farnsworth holding me hostage. How could he say those things to me? How could he pay me those sickening compliments, treating me like I’m a Giver? Acting like he’s not a murderer? Speaking with Farnsworth has eradicated any doubts I may have had. Now I am certain what Phoenix says about him is not only possible, it’s probable. I don’t want to be Farnsworth’s personal donor. I don’t want to be anything for him, or to him. Finally, after another bout of violent shaking, I feel the sharp shooting pain of a needle in the side of my neck. I hear someone counting backwards from ten and by the number seven. I hear no more.

  Now I am in a garden. A big, lush garden filled with the dandelions my mother once told me about. I look down at the picture of a dandelion she drew for me and hold it tightly in my hand. The picture begins to quiver and I watch as a dandelion springs to life and falls from the paper onto the ground. Then another dandelion falls, and another, until the already filled field is now deep with dandelions, making a warm, comforting, yellow blanket. A soft breeze blows by and then begins to grow more and more violent. A strong gust grabs the paper from my hand and whisks it away. I run after it, wading nearly waist deep in dandelions. I run until I can run no more. And there, in the distance, is my mother. Her long black hair is flecked with gray and her full hips are covered by an apron also covered with dandelions. When she stands still, it is hard to tell her from the ground. I wade out to her, and she opens her arms for me. She pulls me close and I feel warm and protected. Then, without warning, she holds me out at arm’s length. I feel so very, very tired. All I want to do is lie in the bed of dandelions and sleep. “No sleep,” she whispers. “No sleep, my angel. Mushrooms.”

  “What?” I murmur.

  “Mushrooms,” she repeats. I smile, desperately wishing I was still a child and she was still right here, with me. I would do anything to be back in a mushroom patch with her, foraging for the mushrooms that make me strong.

  She squeezes my hand and backs away. “Wait,” I say, calling after her, but she doesn’t stop. “Wait,” I yell, tears choking my words. “Mom. Please. Mom!” But she continues to move slowly away, until she blends completely into the field of dandelions, and is gone. I look around my field filled with flowers but now, without my mother there, it looks cold and lonely. I close my eyes and open them when I feel wetness at my feet. I am ankle deep in the lake at my waterfront. Dandelions are floating on the water all around me. I can sense he’s here even before I feel his strong hands on my shoulders. I turn to face Phoenix. His look is serious, but still, he smiles at me. He leans down and kisses me softly on the lips. I feel him linger and I breathe him in.

  “You are a very smart young woman,” he whispers, pulling away from me. “Remember that.”

  “I’m not,” I start to say. “I’ve never been educated past the fifth grade.” But as I protest, he has also turned away. My body aches, wanting him near me again, but he slowly walks out into the lake until he is completely submerged.

  “Wait,” I yell. “Don’t leave me.” But he is gone. And I am all alone. I feel a sharp prick on my arm and I slap away another mosquito.

  “She’s coming around,” someone announces. It’s a voice I don’t recognize. My throat is scratchy and I try to turn in the direction of the voice. Now I feel something cold and clammy touching my hand.

  “Are you sure, sir?” It is another voice.

  “I can walk, thank you.” It is Farnsworth. He’s here. So I was dreaming. My mother and Phoenix; neither are here. But Farnsworth is. I hear the beat of my empty heart and wonder why it bothers.

  “Is it over?” I whisper, certain no one will understand me.

  “Yes, my dear,” Farnsworth coos, patting my hand. “You were magnificent. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” I attempt to turn my head, trying to face the monster, Farnsworth. I am sick to think that now my blood runs through him. “Now you must rest. And eat. And when you are better, in a day or two, you will be my guest for dinner.” I narrow my eyes, wishing they were weapons. But they’re not. And I need to keep up appearances if I want to stay alive.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. I turn my head back and close my eyes, hoping he’ll think I’ve simply passed out from exhaustion.

  “Come,” Farnsworth orders. “She is still very tired. Let her rest.”

  “Yes, sir.” Someone answers him as I feel a sharp pain in the back of my hand. I wince. “It’s your fluids and vitamins,” the voice explains softly. “It won’t hurt so much once you’re stronger.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper and whoever was speaking pats my leg very gently. I hear the door close after Farnsworth and his entourage, and I am overcome with sadness. Images of my dream flash before me and I grow more and more devastated, thinking I may never see Phoenix again. Simultaneously, my brain is alive with the idea of an escape for me, and especially for my girls. But this, I know, may never happen.

  Alone in my room I ponder my dream. The images grow more and more vivid before me, and I can’t shake the idea the dream was telling me something. But what? Despite my situation, despite it all, that dream gave me hope. Hope for redemption and hope for a future. There it is again, my nemesis, hope. But why would I have hope now? What did any of it mean? The mushrooms weren’t unexpected. Mushrooms are the only remaining connection I have with my mother, and I’ve missed eating them these past few days. I probably should have eaten them. They would have made me stronger. Mushrooms make sense. The mushrooms keep my mother near, so of course they would be in my dream. The dandelions? What do the dandelions mean? Why was Phoenix there? And why did he tell me I’m “smart?” I know it’s not true…He knows it’s not true. He knows about my lack of education and frankly, if I were smart, I would figure out this dream. This dream, this dream…I close my eyes and try to take myself back. What does any of it mean? I go over it again and again until the words play through my mind like a freight train, chugging up a hill. The dandelions, the mushrooms, my mother, Phoenix…why does he tell me I’m smart? Why does she need to remind me of the mushrooms? Simply because I haven’t eaten them for several nights? I won’t forget her. And when I get back, if I ever get back, I will eat our mushrooms again. Ugh. Mushrooms, mushrooms, mushrooms. Those mushrooms. Those damned mushrooms. They taste horrible…so they made me tall…so what? Why is being tall and strong such a gift? Both of those traits make me the perfect pigeon for Farnsworth. I’m sorry, but why won’t she just shut up about those damned mushrooms? Why does she have to bother me with them even in my dream? It’s not like they’re the answer to anything.

  I gasp. Suddenly my eyes widen with excitement and I try to sit up but I am still too weak. The room begins to spin. I lay my head back on the pillow and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to sort it all out. What if those mushrooms didn’t make me tall after all? What was it my mother said to me all those years ago? She said, “These will save your life.” All these years I’ve thought it meant they would offer me extra nutrition, but no. The mushrooms make my blood toxic.

  “That’s it,” I blurt out to no one. My eyes fly open and I am still all alone in my room. The heart rate monitor is working overtime to keep up with me. “That’s the answer,” I whisper, barely able to believe it myself. Now all I have to do is to get to Phoenix.

  Chapter Fourteen

  For two whole days, I lie here like an animal being prepped for the slaughter. I a
m fed and massaged and monitored, and generally fussed-over. And I am really done with it. For two entire days, I have had the answer. I know how to assassinate Farnsworth without anyone knowing. But I can’t do it alone. I need Phoenix and I need my mushrooms. But how will I get to either one?

  “Knock, knock.” I can tell by the gentle yet definitive tap on the door that it is Farnsworth. He has visited me several times a day these past two days. I get that he’s grateful, but he’s becoming a bit obsessive. I’ll never be his friend, no matter how many bouquets of exotic flowers he sends me. And if he’s here only because he’s worried about his blood, well, he should be.

  “Hello, sir,” I mumble, purposely lowering my eyes. He’ll undoubtedly think of it as a sign of respect and subservience. The truth is I can feel myself getting stronger, my time to heal is ending, and I just want to break free of him. I have to be sure he can’t tell what I’m thinking.

  “Veronica,” he murmurs, softly. There is a long, awkward silence.

  “Um, how are you feeling, sir?” I don’t know what else to say.

  “Well, thank you. And thanks to you. And you, Veronica?”

  “Uh, much better, thank you.” My words are nearly a whisper. I am so very uncomfortable with him so near.

  “I wish you would look at me,” he purrs. I am reluctant to do so. I don’t want him to see me and I don’t want to see him. But I force myself to raise my eyes. “Ah that’s better. Except you look sad. Oh Veronica, I wonder what is happening behind those exotic, beautiful, dark eyes?” He’s asked, so I’m going to tell him.

  “I’m worried about my girls.” I look at him steadily. “The ones I brought in. To this Letting. I’m their caretaker, and I’m really worried they’re somewhere, alone, scared to be without me.”

  “I see.” He looks away for just a moment.

  “Can I see them?” I ask, my heart pounding.

  “I don’t think that’s possible.” Farnsworth walks away from the edge of my bed. My pounding heart stops cold. No. He couldn’t have. He could not have sent them to the New World already.

  “Have you…” I ask, my voice faltering. “Have you sent them on to the New World?”

  “What?” He turns to me, sharply. He looks amused by my question. “You ask it like it’s a bad thing, Veronica. Why is that?”

  “No,” I respond, covering. “It’s just, I never got to say goodbye. And I had grown very fond of them.”

  “Ah, I see. Well they’re not in the New World. Yet.” He punctuates the “yet” watching me, waiting for me to slip up. I brace myself and continue.

  “Then why can’t I see them?”

  “Because they’re back at camp.”

  “They are?” I ask, flabbergasted. “Already?”

  “Yes.” He leans over to smell one of the flowers he’s sent me. “Do you know what this flower is called?” he asks, obviously wanting to change the subject. I shake my head, but my mind is racing, trying to imagine who is looking out for my girls. “An orchid. Have you ever seen an orchid before, Veronica?” I shake my head again. “Well you can see more orchids, and other riches, things you could not even begin to fathom, if…” His words trail off.

  “If what?”

  “If you decide to stay here with me.”

  “What?” I snap. I stare at his face, trying to understand what he wants.

  “You don’t have to decide now. But I’ll leave the choice to you. If you stay in my world, with me, you’ll have your own private quarters with everything you have ever desired. Your sparse life at camp with protein bars and powdered milk will be a thing of your past.”

  “Sir, I…”

  “Shh…” He places his hand on mine. The feel of his touch makes my skin crawl. “You will come to dinner tonight, and you will see where I…and hopefully you…live. After that, you can make your decision. Either you will live a life of riches with me, or you will go back to your camp and I will summon you once a month when I need a transfusion.” I nod. “And understand Veronica, if you choose camp, your days of freedom are over. You will have a guard on you twenty-four, seven.” I feel my heart drop, but I nod my response again. “You will be brought to me tonight at six. Some of my staff will help you dress and prepare.” He turns to leave. “Veronica, I do truly hope we can be friends,” he adds, before he walks out the door.

  I sit on the edge of the bed with my feet dangling off the side. They are tingling and still fairly numb, but I need them to work. I am feeling an unending exhaustion I wish would just go away, but only time will help that. Now, I need to focus. I look at the clock on the wall and it reads four o’clock. That means I have two hours to guess what Farnsworth is up to.

  Farnsworth tells me my girls are back at camp. In my heart, I don’t believe it, but if by some miracle they are, I know Phoenix delivered them, which means he is also at camp, waiting for me. Somehow, I have to get Farnsworth to allow me to go back to camp unaccompanied, or, at all. In my gut, I know darn well Farnsworth’s option of living with him or living at camp is a flat-out lie. He would never let me, one of the last remaining O’s, leave his sight, especially since my blood has been cleared. But why would he bother to lie? Why wouldn’t he just force me to stay? Why would he want me to choose to stay with him? What does he care? These are all questions I need to answer, but in the meantime, I need to find a way back to camp.

  Soon a woman from Farnsworth’s entourage appears and helps me out of bed. I recognize her as the woman who was so nice to me on the day of the Letting, the one who patted my leg. I smile at her and she returns it with a terse, tense smile of her own. “Come now,” she coaxes, helping me to my feet. She holds my hand to help me up, but once I stand I tower so far over her it is rather comical. She looks up at me, smiling, and wraps an arm around my waist. It takes every ounce of her strength to help me down and into a wheelchair. Once I am seated, I hear her exhale. Helping me move was a huge effort for her. I know I am so much taller than she is, but it seems to me everyone in the Inferno is very weak.

  She pushes my wheelchair out of the white building and into the blazing sun. Although I know Phoenix is probably at camp, I keep a watchful eye, just in case. She escorts me to a waiting vehicle that is longer than any truck I have ever seen. “It’s a limousine.” She speaks reassuringly. “He wants to be sure you see all of your options here.” I try to smile at her as she helps me into the backseat. A driver folds up my wheelchair and places it into the trunk of the car. She climbs in with me. “I’m Grace,” she offers, smiling as the vehicle pulls away.

  We drive for at least an hour, and although I am exhausted, I cannot help staring out the window. I have never before seen anything like this. All types of vehicles pass us on many-lane roads. Stores line the streets and people are busy walking in and out, always carrying bags. My fascination turns to revulsion when I think of how any one of these people could have the blood of any of my girls, running through them. A family stands outside a toy store. A father and mother are holding their child’s hands, swinging her between them as she giggles along. I smile at them briefly; then I grow very, very sad, realizing this was never an option for any of my girls. All of them were taken from their mothers, and none of them has ever known their fathers. How ridiculously unfair this is. I sit back, brooding, sickened by the excesses of these ridiculous people. Then we turn a corner off the main road and the limousine finds a dirt path. Ironically, the path reminds me of camp. The dirt path continues for miles, and I am amazed at how the ride feels completely smooth. There are no potholes or craters here like there are at camp. The path opens up into a wide entrance and there, before me, is perhaps the largest house ever made. There are an unfathomable number of white columns along a massive front porch, and a red front door that is so shiny I’m certain I would be able to see my own reflection in it. The house looks like it’s made for a family of giants. My eyes gaze lazily across a sprawling great lawn, overlooking…something. “Is that?” I ask, pointing out the window.

  �
�The ocean.” Grace smiles.

  “The ocean,” I repeat.

  I knew our world was made up of land masses and bodies of water, but I had never before seen the ocean. I barely wait for the car to stop before I push my door open and pull myself to standing. Carefully I walk forward, ignoring the light-headed feeling and the dizziness. I hear Grace call out behind me, telling me I must be in my wheelchair, but I just ignore her. The lure of the sea is pulling me forward. Slowly I hobble forth until my feet touch sand. I bend down to run my hands across it. I scoop some sand into my hand, and it glides through my fingers. This is nothing like the dirt beach we have at the waterfront at camp. This is…glorious. I stand. I’m a little wobbly, but I don’t let that stop me. Carefully, I put one foot in front of the other until I make it to the water’s edge. The noise coming off the ocean is deafening. The waves roll in and out and crash against the beach with such force, it looks like they’re trying to wash away the Inferno and once again make things right in the world.

  Without thinking, I lean down and pull off my boots. I dig my toes into the sand and it feels warm and gritty. I take a step forward, then another, until I touch water. The cold shock of the ocean water sends a chill up my spine. It is painful and wonderful all at the same time, just like being with Phoenix. Then I reach up and pull my sweater over my head, exposing my tank top. I throw the sweater back onto the sand. The sun revitalizes my tired shoulders. I take another step and think about taking another and another. I wonder if I were to keep going would the ocean be my friend or would it swallow me whole? I step forward again, still contemplating, but I never have the chance to find out.