The Torturer's Daughter

by Zoe Cannon

  “Why didn’t you come to me?” Becca couldn’t tell what her mom was thinking. “If I had known he was coming, we could have been prepared.”

  “I didn’t want to admit what I had gotten involved in. I figured I’d call Internal, and they’d arrest him, and you’d never have to know.” Not true. The Enforcers would have come to the apartment no matter what, since she’d told them she didn’t know where Jake was hiding. Even if Jake had decided not to come, her mom would still have found out. But this way she had kept control of the situation for a little longer. She had been able to give Jake more of a chance.

  “I didn’t think they would take so long,” she said. “Maybe they didn’t know whether to believe me, because of what happened the other day.”

  “That sounds about right.” Now her mom sounded angry—but not at Becca. Her voice held an ominous bite. “I’ll have a talk with whoever was responsible for that decision.”

  “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. But I get it now. I understand what you were trying to tell me. I’m sorry it took something like this to make me see it. But sometimes your life has to fall apart before you can really see what’s important.” Becca held her breath, waiting for the inevitable. Waiting for her mom to tell her she didn’t believe a word of it.

  Her mom dropped her hand and reached her arms out toward her. Becca flinched away. Ignoring her reaction, her mom pulled her into a hug. “It doesn’t matter,” she murmured against Becca’s hair. “You remembered what’s right. That’s the important thing.”

  Her mom believed her.

  Her mom couldn’t see through her lies anymore.

  Becca should have been happy. Instead, something deep inside her ached as the last of her old connection with her mom tore away.

  Her mom pulled back. “While you were gone, I did some thinking.”

  “About what?” Becca asked, when her mom didn’t keep going.

  “About you. About what would be best for you.” A long breath. “It may be a good idea for you to go live with your father.”

  At first Becca thought she must have misheard. But the pain in her mom’s eyes told her she hadn’t.

  “If not for me, Jake wouldn’t have used you the way he did,” said her mom. “You wouldn’t have come so close to becoming a dissident. And I can’t stop thinking about what happened this morning—and what could have happened. What if he had shot you first, to take away my family like I took away his? What if the next one gets that idea in his head, and Enforcement doesn’t show up in time?”

  She could leave here. Leave it all behind—Processing 117, her mom, Heather, the rumors at school, the memory of Jake. All of it. She could push away her dissident thoughts the way her dad had pushed away his, until she started to believe her own lies. Once, she had hated the thought of embracing denial the way he had. Things were different now. She was different now.

  “This is your decision,” said her mom. “I won’t force you to go. But at least think about it. Don’t worry about what I want; all I want is what’s best for you.”

  Becca could already taste it. A life away from her mom’s contradictions, away from the shadow of 117.

  It tasted like freedom.

  She didn’t know what to say. “I’ll need some time to think.”

  Her mom nodded. “Of course.”

  It wouldn’t really be freedom. Only denial. Internal would still be there, doing what they always did. Executions would still air on TV. Every so often, someone from school would disappear.

  But she wouldn’t have to think about it.

  It wouldn’t be freedom… but wouldn’t it be almost as good?

  * * *

  Becca glanced over her shoulder at the car as her finger hovered over Heather’s doorbell. She could still just leave. Go back to the apartment. Help her mom make dinner. Heather probably didn’t want to talk to her anyway.

  She rang the doorbell.

  She didn’t even have time to hope nobody would be home before the door opened. Heather’s eyes widened before she smoothed her face into a neutral expression. “Becca.”

  “Can I come in?” Becca asked, feeling absurdly shy in front of the person who had been her closest friend for almost as long as she could remember. “I want to talk to you.”

  Heather studied her warily.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.” When had Heather started being afraid of her? “I just want to talk. Really.”

  Another second of hesitation. “Okay.” She held the door open for Becca.

  Becca followed Heather up the narrow staircase and into her bedroom. The boxes were gone, all except for one, which Heather had turned on its side to stack her clothes in. The room didn’t look like it belonged to the Heather she knew—her textbooks were piled by her bed instead of strewn across the floor, the walls were bare except for a single Internal poster hanging above her bed where a giant collage of her friends had hung in her old room, and there wasn’t a dirty sock in sight. But it didn’t look temporary anymore either.

  In her old room, Heather would have flopped down on the rumpled bed and asked Becca what was wrong. Now the bed was neatly made, and Heather stood stiffly in the center of the room.

  Becca couldn’t figure out what to do with her arms. She crossed them, clasped her hands in front of her, let them fall to her sides like dead fish. “I just wanted to say that I understand.”

  Heather frowned. “Understand what?”

  Becca stuck her hands in her pockets. That didn’t feel right either. “I understand why you reported me. And I can’t hate you for it, not after…” Not after Jake. “Not now that I’ve thought about it some more. I would have been scared too.” She had traded Jake’s life for a torturer’s. Could she condemn Heather for, in a panic, trading Becca’s life for her own? “So… it’s okay. What you did.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” Heather stretched her lips into a smile.

  They stood there for a moment, looking at each other. Becca pulled her hands back out of her pockets.

  “Was that everything?” asked Heather.

  “I guess. Yeah.”

  Another few seconds of silence.

  “I should probably get home,” said Becca. “Mom’s waiting for me. She came home early, and I promised we’d have dinner together.”

  She waited for a response. When Heather didn’t say anything, she turned around and walked to the door.

  “Wait,” Heather said as Becca stepped out into the hallway.

  Becca stopped.

  “I really am sorry. For turning you in like that. You could have died in there.” Heather drew in a breath. “I know it’s not okay. But thank you for being willing to forgive me anyway.”

  Becca turned back around. “I really do understand.”

  “It’s not going to happen again.” Heather took a step closer. “I know you, Becca. I’ve known you for a long time. I can see how you’ve changed. What happened to my parents changed us both. It made me understand what was important in life… but it turned you into a dissident.”

  Becca’s vision darkened. Everything faded out except Heather. Her heart pounded. She had heard the word in school all day, but this was different. Heather had spent so long refusing to accept how Becca had changed. She wouldn’t say it now unless she meant it.

  “I’m not a dissident.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I know you too well for that.” Heather reached for her pin, then stopped. “I know I should turn you in before it’s too late. But I can’t. After I told them about you, I didn’t sleep until I saw you in school that day. I couldn’t think about anything but what they must have been doing to you. I can’t do that again.”

  “I’m not—” Becca started again.

  Heather held up a hand. “I told you—don’t lie to me.”

  Heather knew. Becca had convinced her mom, but somehow, Heather knew.

  “I meant what I said,” Heather told her. “I won’t turn you in.”

  “Thank you.” What else could she say?
No matter how many times she said she wasn’t a dissident, Heather wouldn’t believe her.

  The silence stretched longer and longer.

  “I guess that’s it,” said Heather.

  “I guess so.” Becca wished she had something else to say. Some way to revive their friendship. But they had both changed too much. There was nothing there anymore, no friendship to go back to.

  “I’ll miss you.” Heather’s smile earlier had been forced, but her look of regret was real.

  “I’ll miss you too,” said Becca as she left the room. She didn’t have to say that the old Heather was the one she would miss. She was sure Heather understood.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Becca speared a piece of chicken with her fork and transferred it to her plate. She breathed in and smiled. “This smells great.”

  “I hope it tastes as good as it smells,” said her mom from across the table. “I’m still not sure about this recipe.”

  Becca spooned rice onto her plate from the serving bowl. She nudged the edge of the bowl by accident, and it shifted slightly, almost knocking her plate to the floor. She stabilized it just in time. “You don’t have to try so hard, you know.”

  Her mom studied her chicken. “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. The special dinners, the movie nights, all the calls from work you’ve been ignoring…” Becca didn’t know whether her mom was doing it to convince her not to go live with her dad, or because she was worried that Becca would turn into a dissident again the second she let her out of her sight. Either way, the end result was the same—Becca and her mom hadn’t spent this much time together since Becca was in elementary school.

  Her mom still hadn’t seen through her lies. Maybe she and her mom really were that distant from each other now… or maybe her mom was just desperate to see what she wanted to see.

  Just like Becca had kept herself from seeing the truth about her mom for so long.

  Her mom changed the subject. “How did school go today?”

  “The same as ever.” Becca shrugged. “Maybe a little better. I got through the entire morning death-threat-free, and some freshman I don’t even know came up to me in the hall and told me that no matter what anyone else thought, he knew I was a loyal citizen.” She pushed her food around on her plate. “Of course, then he asked if I thought you could get him a job in Processing after he graduates.”

  Over the past six weeks—ever since Jake’s arrest, ever since her mom had started spending every spare minute with her—they’d been talking again. Not like they used to; it would never be like it used to be. But Becca could tell her mom things again. She could look at her and almost see the person she used to know.

  She hadn’t forgotten what her mom was. She didn’t try to push it out of her mind anymore; that didn’t work. She saw it, and she hated it… but she saw her mom, too.

  There were only two things her mom never brought up: Becca’s time as a dissident, and the choice Becca still had to make.

  “You know I feel about Heather,” said her mom, “but—as much as it pains me to say it—you may want to consider following in her footsteps. You said things got a lot easier for her after she joined the Monitors.” She began cutting her chicken into neat squares. “Besides, it would be a good step for you if you change your mind about getting a job with Internal after you graduate. I know how you feel about that idea now, but…”

  “But things change,” Becca finished. “I know. I’ve been thinking about it.”

  “About the Monitors, or Internal?”

  “Both, I guess. I don’t know.” Becca took her first bite of chicken. “Hey, this is really good.”

  Her mom followed her lead. “You’re right—this did come out well. Much better than I expected.”

  Enough dancing around what she needed to say. Enough telling herself she had to think about it some more. She was as sure as she was going to get.

  She set her fork down. “So… I made a decision.”

  She saw the instant her mom realized what this had to be about, saw her face freeze into a mask of resigned acceptance as she prepared for the worst.

  It wasn’t too late. She could still change her mind.

  She spoke before she could give in to her doubts. “I’m not leaving.”

  Surprise replaced resignation, followed by joy—but only for a second. “Are you sure about this?”

  She still had a chance. She could leave all this behind and never look back.

  “I’m sure. Living with Dad might be easier—but this is my home. I belong here with you.”

  Her mom smiled. “If you’re sure you’ve thought it through, then of course I want you to stay.” Her smile grew broader, crinkling the skin around her eyes. “I would have missed you.”

  Mentally, Becca shook away the last of her regrets. This was the right decision. No matter how hard it gets.

  Her mom raised her fork to her lips—and let it hover there as her phone buzzed.

  “You can answer it, you know,” said Becca.

  Her mom hesitated. “Are you sure?”

  Becca nodded. “I told you, you don’t have to try so hard.”

  Her mom put her fork down and answered the phone. “Raleigh Dalcourt.” She got up from the table and left the kitchen, murmuring in a low voice.

  After a moment, her mom returned. “A new batch of dissidents just came in, and they may have connections inside Internal. The directors want them dealt with as soon as possible.” She paused, looking apologetic.

  “It’s okay,” said Becca. “Go.”

  “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Probably not until tomorrow.”

  “I told you, it’s okay. Really.” Becca smiled. The smile almost felt real. “Go on. They need you.”

  Becca finished her chicken as her mom gathered her things and prepared to leave. Now that she had made her decision final, she could do what she had been thinking about doing for the past six weeks. With her mom gone, she would have no reason to put it off. No excuses for putting it off.

  Her stomach tightened as her mom closed the door behind her.

  After she had scraped the last bit of sauce off her plate, she wrapped her mom’s almost-full plate of food in plastic wrap and stuck it in the fridge, then put the rest of the leftovers away. She washed the dishes by hand, scrubbing each plate and bowl and piece of silverware until they gleamed. When she was done, she squinted at each clean dish, searching for specks she might have missed.

  Stalling.

  The dishes were cleaner than they had been when they were new. Becca looked around the kitchen for something else she could wash. She couldn’t find anything.

  She left the kitchen and walked to her bedroom as slowly as she could without moving backward. Even though she was alone, she closed the door behind her. She sat down at her desk and told herself to quit stalling. It was time. It was past time.

  She opened the bottom drawer and flipped through the papers there until she found it. The note she and Heather had found three months ago.

  Only three months? It felt like a million years.

  Heather’s dad’s barely-legible handwriting filled most of the page. At the bottom, in Becca’s much-neater writing, was a phone number. The number Jake had given her.

  She almost shoved the paper back into the drawer. Instead, she spread it out on the desk in front of her.

  She had to do this.

  In all other ways, she refused to take her mom as an example… but on one thing, they could agree. I will not be someone who abandons my principles as soon as they become inconvenient. I will not be someone who says that certain things have to be done… as long as somebody else does them.

  She had to do this. No matter how afraid she was.

  No matter how hard it gets.

  She picked up the phone and dialed.

  About the Author

  Zoe Cannon writes about the things that fascinate her: outsiders, societies no sane person would want to live in, ques
tions with no easy answers, and the inner workings of the mind. If she couldn’t be a writer, she would probably be a psychologist, a penniless philosopher, or a hermit in a cave somewhere. While she’ll read anything that isn’t nailed down, she considers herself a YA reader and writer at heart. She lives in New Hampshire with her husband and a giant teddy bear of a dog, and spends entirely too much time on the internet.

  Visit http://www.zoecannon.com to find out more and sign up for updates on new releases.

  You can also find Zoe on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ZoeCannonAuthor

  On Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/cannonzoe

  On Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/zoecannon

  Or email her directly at zoe@zoecannon.com.

  Feel free to share this book with a friend if you enjoyed it. If you didn’t buy this book, please consider purchasing a copy. Well-fed authors write better books. :)

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to my amazing husband, for giving me the opportunity to live the life I’ve always wanted, understanding me better than I had thought possible, and offering more unconditional support than I could ever hope to repay;

  to my parents, for being nothing but supportive toward my writing endeavors (the more I hear other people’s horror stories, the more I realize how lucky I am), and for not being offended at my writing a book called The Torturer’s Daughter;

  to Holly Lisle, for her brilliant How to Revise Your Novel course, which turned this from a bunch of characters and a premise into an actual novel;

  to my writing group, for their insightful comments, semicolon-counting, and patience at waiting a year and a half to find out what happened next;

  to all the friends I made playing Rift (and especially my favorite fashion-conscious necromancer), for keeping me sane during the Writer’s Block From Hell;