The Gray Institute_Rebels' Hell

by Leanne Pearson

  'Isolation?' It's Malachy's turn to sound outraged. 'Why?'

  'She's refusing to participate in the interrogations. She only sat in on the first one, after that she went silent. She won't say a word.'

  'Who was the first?' I ask, curious. I suspected Mayfair hated her job as a lie detector, but I never thought she'd have the guts to refuse.

  'Tomos O'Brien. Sir Alec – ' He stops, his eyes darting around the corridor nervously.

  'It's alright, you can tell us. We won't mention your name.' Malachy assures him. The Official nods once, swallowing loudly.

  'Sir Alec continued to torture him even when Amber – I mean, Miss Mayfair – proclaimed he was telling the truth. After that she wouldn't sit in on any more. She won't speak at all. She's gone mute.'

  'So she's been isolated?' I frown. The Official nods.

  'She's being tortured too,' He sets his mouth in a grim line. 'Sir Alec needs her. Her gift, I mean. But no matter what he does to her she won't speak.'

  Malachy and I glance at one another, sharing a brief, silent conversation. 'You may go.' I nod at the Official, who darts back towards the elevator. We tread the long path to Sir Alec's study, silent for a while, digesting the information. 'So that's why they didn't use Mayfair on Draper. Had that occurred to you?' I ask Mal. He nods grimly.

  'It hadn't escaped my notice. But what does Sir Alec think he's doing? He needs Amber Mayfair; torturing her is utterly counter-productive. He should never have tortured Tomos in the first place.'

  'He's desperate,' I murmur. 'Precious Lorna is missing, remember? But father won't be happy, he often uses Mayfair in times of desperation.'

  We fall silent as we reach Sir Alec's office, the door strangely unguarded. The headmaster himself opens it, ushering us across the threshold, into two chairs positioned in front of his desk. He looks withdrawn and paler than usual, his grey eyes lacking their usual spark. 'I hope the journey wasn't too long?' He wrings his hands together beneath his desk where he thinks we won't notice.

  'No longer than usual.' Malachy nods, his expression closed-off. He, like I, knows that Sir Alec is unaware that the note he sent to Sirus, explaining his reasons for sending Meredith Draper to Mount Kamen, has been read out to us in full. He's unaware that Malachy knows Sir Alec suspects him. That puts him at a disadvantage as he so clearly wants to keep Malachy on side, and with good reason.

  'Excellent, excellent,' He mutters, distracted. 'Did you explain the situation to Sirus? What did he say?' It's peculiar and a little uncomfortable to see Sir Alec this way. He's usually so poised and refined; it's unnerving to watch him so anxiously question my brother. I never did understand Sir Alec's obsession with the human girl – or her mother.

  'He will give you full support in the search for Eve Ryder and your daughter,' Malachy replies monotonously. 'He will send Army forces to look for them.'

  'Oh,' Sir Alec breathes, leaning back in his chair, slumping with the release of tension. 'That's good. That's very good,' He nods gratefully. 'Thank you for visiting him.'

  'You're welcome.' Malachy nods, rising from his chair.

  'Did he – ' Sir Alec stands with him, an air of both urgency and hesitation about him. I stand too, so as not to feel left out. 'Did he say anything else?'

  'Such as?' Malachy frowns, narrowing his eyes. We both know what Sir Alec is hinting at. He wants to know whether Malachy has been informed about Meredith Draper's statement. She hasn't returned yet, and alarm bells must be ringing in the headmaster's head.

  'I just wondered whether – ' He hesitates. He so desperately wants to sit Malachy down and interrogate him himself. Ask him about what Draper said. Demand to know the truth of his and Ryder's relationship. But he can't. ' – Never mind.' He smiles unevenly.

  Malachy nods, getting to his feet. I follow him towards the study door, halting as he does and turning back to Sir Alec.

  'Oh, there was just one more thing,' Malachy says in a nonchalant sort of way. 'Meredith Draper won't be returning to the Institute. Ever.' He adds. His eyes dance with a kind of fury I rarely see in him any more. He doesn't take any pleasure from using Draper's Confinement as a check mate, but he does enjoy watching Sir Alec's face fall.

  'Oh,' The older man nods, swallowing hard. 'I see.'

  'Her claims about Malachy were nothing more than salacious lies,' I feel the need to pitch in. To back up Malachy's story. 'It was revenge on her part. For unrequited love.'

  'Perhaps if you hadn't isolated Amber Mayfair, you could have used her to see that for yourself.' Malachy adds coldly. He's lying, of course; Mayfair would have seen the truth; that Draper was being completely honest, but it's another sack of blame to lay at Sir Alec's feet.

  'I see,' Sir Alec repeats. 'Well, that's a relief. Glad it's all... sorted out. The situation with Amber is unfortunate – '

  Malachy doesn't bother waiting for Sir Alec to finish blabbering. He's silent as we descend to the fourth floor, even as the doors chime open and we step out into the empty corridor. My room is at the opposite end of the hall to Malachy's and this is where we would usually part, but I find myself hanging back.

  'Did you see how terrified he was that he'd offended you?' I murmur, sensing numerous presences in the surrounding rooms. 'As if you wouldn't know it was him who sent Draper to Domum.'

  'Yes, well,' Malachy replies stiffly. He won't look at me. 'What's done is done.'

  'I always knew Draper's penchant for gossip would end up biting her on the ass,' I press. 'Now look where she's going.' I'm not sure why I'm pushing Malachy so far. I know as well as he does that her Confinement is nothing less than a miscarriage of justice, all thanks to Malachy himself. Perhaps by making him feel even more guilty, he might admit to me what I already know.

  'I need a break, Lucrezia,' He lies, already eyeing his bedroom door a few feet away. 'I'll meet you later.'

  'You're not going to class?' I ask as he turns his back to me. He shakes his blonde head, silently disappearing into his room.

  *

  Malachy doesn't meet me later, like he promised. Instead, I head to the common room alone, ignoring the group of babbling girls who try to corner me with their fawning compliments. They slump, disappointed, against the wall as I head for the nearest sofa, shooting the first year who occupies it a menacing glare. He jumps up as if he's been scalded, hurrying away.

  The usually packed common room is strangely empty, void of so many of the regular faces. The small groups who cluster in corners speak in hushed whispers, their expressions almost pained. But none so pained as the two figures who sit, bunched tightly together, on the sofa nearest the fireplace.

  Tia Carey and Richard Miller don't speak at all. They don't try to listen to the murmured conversations taking place all around them. They don't even look at one another. They simply sit, clutching each other's hands as if someone might tear them apart, staring off into the middle distance. I study them from afar, trying to take pleasure in the sight of them so forlorn, but for once in my life, I struggle to enjoy the misery of others.

  It's not as though I'm a stranger to the effects of injustice. I've witnessed many wrongful convictions, even orchestrated some. In a world where none can die, the Confine is the only way to be rid of your enemies, and in my life, I've had many. Dominika, my old nanny, was easy to dispose of, not simply because of my loathing for her, but because of her lowly status pitched against mine. My father barely thought twice about Confining her when I told him a false tale of her falling in love with a human. He didn't ask for proof, and didn't listen to the few who spoke on her behalf, all of them mere servants themselves. It was her word against mine. No contest.

  Aleks Anzhela was also easy to imprison. That time it wasn't my status or her lack of that sealed the conviction, but my father's dislike of her relationship with Malachy. He was almost relieved to have a reason to get rid of her, and somewhat grateful to me for giving him one. But the after-effects of her imprisonment weren't so easy, on account of Malachy himself. It was m
uch harder to witness the effects of a wrongful conviction on someone I loved. Much harder to be constantly reminded of what I'd done. The idea of the Confine is based upon the principle out of sight, out of mind, but with Anzhela, having her out of sight didn't take her off my mind.

  Despite what people may think, I often felt guilty about Anzhela's conviction. I occasionally still do. But not enough to bring her back. Not enough to lose Malachy to her again.

  It's Carey's expression which stops me from revelling in her misery. It's an expression all too familiar to me; the same one Malachy wore for over two years, after Anzhela was convicted and before Ryder came along. I should've realised Malachy's affection for Ryder much sooner than I did when he finally lost that expression.

  I watch as Miller suddenly leans into Carey, wrapping his right arm around her shoulders and bending until his lips almost touch her ear. 'There's nothing we can do.' He tells her gently. They're unaware of my presence, so wrapped in their misery.

  'I should've fought harder to stop her.' Carey's voice is cracked with emotion, her head hung so that her short, chestnut hair – usually styled elaborately – falls limply across her face.

  'It's not your fault.' Miller touches her cheek but she jerks away from his hand, shaking her head.

  'I knew it was a bad idea. I knew that she would – ' She trails off, her large eyes staring. She pauses for a moment, silent and still. 'I should have told her the truth,' She says, breathing out shakily. 'Maybe if she'd have known, she wouldn't have said anything. I could have warned her not to.'

  'You did warn her.'

  'Yes, but she might have actually listened had she known the truth.'

  'Tia, babe, we don't even know where she is yet. She could be on a plane home right now.'

  'Right,' Carey snorts. 'Malachy and Lucrezia got back this morning. Doesn't take a genius to work out what's happened.'

  So Carey knew about Mal and Ryder's relationship, too. As did Miller. Did they know about the escape? Did they know about the plot to take Lorna Gray?

  It really makes no difference to me. I couldn't care either way. Carey and Miller knowing about it won't get Ryder caught any quicker. She won't have been stupid enough to tell them where she was going. The only person she might've told is about as likely to divulge the information as I am to release Anzhela.

  'Maybe you should speak to Malachy,' Miller continues, dropping his voice even lower. 'He must know whether Meredith's been – ' He trails off, unable to say the word. 'He must know why. Maybe he could say something to Sirus. Convince him that she – '

  'He can't,' Tia shakes her head. 'The only way he can get Meredith off is by admitting he was involved with Eve. By proving that Meredith wasn't lying. If he does that, he's risking everything. God knows how Sirus would react to the news that Malachy was romantically involved with an escapee. An escapee who's taken a dangerous human into the world,' She adds morosely. 'Malachy's got no choice but to go along with it.'

  'But that's – ' Richard shakes his head, lost for words for once. 'That's totally out of order. He's throwing her to the lions to save himself!'

  'Richard – ' Carey sounds weary and tired, but Miller's on a roll.

  'It's his own fault for getting involved with Eve in the first place! He knew about the escape,' He hisses, and I feel a jolt of pain at the confirmation of what I already suspected. 'He should have distanced himself from her when he found out. Then he wouldn't be in this position. And neither would Meredith!'

  'It's no-one's fault, Richard.' Tia shakes her head, placing a gentle hand on his arm. He opens his mouth to protest, but at the sight of her face, he closes it and his expression softens.

  *

  'Malachy?' I try to make my voice sound calm and concerned, even though I'm completely pissed off that he ditched me at break. I tap on his door again, momentarily wounded by the clear sound of a sigh before the door swings open. 'I missed you at break.' I tell him tentatively, trying not to notice how worn down he looks. He steps aside, allowing me past, though he clearly doesn't want me here.

  'That journey wears me out.' He replies monotonously, crossing to sit on the chair by his desk. He stares out of the window, down to the cliff's edge below, his face shielded by a curtain of blond hair.

  'You know,' I begin warily, perching on the edge of his pristine bed. 'I've been thinking, and I think Sir Alec has been really unfair to you,' I wait a moment for his reply, and pretend I haven't noticed his stifled sigh. 'I mean,' I continue when he doesn't answer. 'He asked you to keep an eye on Ryder whilst she attempted her task. Then listened to Draper when she claimed to have seen you two together. I mean, it was his doing, wasn't it? Your constantly being together? It was his fault if it looked suspicious to anyone. He should have just told Draper outright that it was his idea for you – '

  'Lucrezia,' Malachy breathes my name, and I don't think I've ever heard him sound so tired. 'I really don't want to talk about this.'

  'But don't you think it seems like Sir Alec wants to – '

  'I don't care,' He interrupts, shaking his head slightly. 'I don't care what it seems like. I just want this whole thing to be over.'

  'Right,' I nod, shrugging. 'Well, Ryder will be caught soon. Then it will all be over.' I study him closely for a reaction but he maintains his poker face with expertise. I try to ignore the feeling of white hot rage that suddenly stabs my chest. I wish I could pretend that I don't understand why Malachy doesn't trust me. Why he doesn't admit his relationship with Ryder to me. Why he doesn't admit that he knew of her escape. I wish he could see how on his side I am. I wish he didn't think it's my mission in life to make him miserable.

  'Do you remember that time back in Berlin,' I say, pushing my rage to the side for now. 'When I had to steal from that supermarket so we didn't starve?' Malachy gives no reaction. 'I had to do it because you couldn't,' I continue. 'And you didn't even want to stand with me as I did. You wanted to go outside and wait, but I made you stay. I took a big packet of chips and two chocolate bars,' I smile at the memory even though it's still painful. 'Shoved them up my sweater and walked out. You cried all the way home,' Malachy's mouth twitches, but I can't tell if he's hiding a smile or a grimace. 'And I had to force you to eat it. Then later you threw it all back up because you were so scared that we'd get caught and sent to jail,' I let out a shaky laugh and Malachy turns away from me. 'You were always the moral one.' I add quietly. Malachy's shoulders tense, but he doesn't turn back to me. I let the silence stretch out between us until it feels like it might suffocate me. Finally, he speaks, still facing the wall.

  'You were always the stronger one,' He says quietly. 'The practical one. You never let feelings or sentimentality get in the way of what was necessary.'

  My face crumples at his words, and I'm glad he can't see me. Neither of us will admit it, but this is a battle. Whilst it may sound like harmless reminiscing, or even like we're complimenting one another, we're actually pointing out flaws. Flaws we've carried from childhood into adulthood. Flaws which have wounded the other. 'I understand now,' He continues after a long pause. 'That back then it was necessary. That without your strength, your practicality, we probably wouldn't have survived,' He doesn't add what I know he's thinking. That my strength and practicality aren't necessary any more. That, in fact, they now cause more harm than good. 'I've never thanked you for that,' He turns suddenly, and I quickly arrange my face into something I think is neutral. 'For taking care of me when we were little.'

  'I – ' I hesitate, not sure how to respond. It's so rare that Malachy says anything kind to or about me.

  'But you don't have to take care of me any more,' His eyes turn cold. 'I can take care of myself. I don't need you to point out what Sir Alec did or didn't do. I don't need you to advise me on what to tell father and what not to tell him. I don't need you to try to protect me.' He turns away again.

  I realise then that Malachy has always known I try to protect him. I thought him to be ignorant, I thought him to be oblivio
us to my attempts to take care of him, to ensure his survival and his progression, even if it means hurting him in the process. I thought that he hated me because he didn't understand that everything I do, I do for his own good.

  How naïve I was. How misguided. His hate for me is because he doesn't want my protection. It's because he doesn't want my help, or my advice. He doesn't want me to play the villain so that he can play the hero any more.

  But what he doesn't know, what he can never understand, is that whether he wants me here or not, I can never leave. Whether he wants my help or not, I can never stop giving it. Whether he wants me or not, I have no choice.

  Chapter Twelve

  Eve.

  The fact that I can't see Lorna amongst the crowd of Rebels makes me feel queasy, but I try not to let it show. Something within warns me to keep the depth of my allegiance to Lorna hidden, so I stand alone at the balcony's edge, my arms rested casually on the iron bars as I survey the group. There seems to be no particular medium to the Rebels' identities; they're comprised of old, young, male, female, well-dressed and slovenly. One thing they do have in common, though, is how often they glance my way, their stares both apprehensive and curious.