The Choosing

by Rachelle Dekker

  When the Lint Leaders finally called it a day, Carrington decided she needed to see Larkin again. She needed to be sure her friend wasn’t dying, and she needed to ask her what she had meant when she called Isaac a monster.

  She considered trying to sneak in the back way, but the thought of getting caught and thrown in a box of her own snuffed out that idea quickly.

  She was going to need Remko’s help again.

  By the time she actually worked up the courage to seek him out, the sun had been absent from the sky for hours. Many girls were headed to their lofts to tuck themselves in for the night, and Carrington received questioning glances as she headed in the opposite direction.

  Curfew would be within the hour, so Carrington knew she was cutting it close. When she saw Remko standing guard outside her building, she stopped. Her heart slammed into her chest. Heat flushed her face and crept down her spine. She couldn’t get her legs to move forward or get her brain to piece together an appropriate greeting. She just stared at the only man she’d ever known who made her nauseous and thrilled all in the same moment.

  He must have felt her stare, because he glanced over his shoulder. When his eyes met hers she forgot the rest of the world. She forgot the worry, the fear, the guilt, the mental replay that had plagued her all day. She felt his touch like burning fingerprints still singeing places on her skin, his mouth warm and soft against her lips, his eyes filled with gentle affection.

  She saw a sense of longing flash across his face—and then, as if flicked like a switch, his eyes changed. His body stiffened; his face cooled. He walked toward her and the comforting heat she felt faded. Something was wrong.

  Carrington considered turning and running back to her room, but she still couldn’t get her feet to move. As he approached her he took a slight sidestep and moved out of sight, along the side of the building. She found her legs then and followed. He didn’t stop until he was at the back corner of the structure. Carrington approached carefully.

  She thought she saw a slight quiver rumble across his hand and her concern grew. They stood in silence, Remko drilling a hole into the dirt with his eyes, Carrington unable to drag her eyes away from his face. Something was deeply troubling him, and her body ached to show him comfort—to wrap him in her arms—but she kept them fastened to her sides. He wasn’t speaking, which was common, but he wasn’t looking at her either, so she couldn’t search his eyes for answers.

  “What is it?” Carrington asked.

  He said nothing and kept his eyes to the ground. Her panic built with each pulse, with each moment his silence continued.

  “Is it Larkin?” Her words were so soft she worried he hadn’t heard her.

  But he shook his head once and the clenching pain in her chest released. His face, however, still remained strained with sorrow. She took a step forward and reached her hand out. “Remko, what is it?”

  He stepped back, away from her, and she dropped her hand. His reaction stung. The rejection was hard to ignore and Carrington failed to keep it off her face. Regret glimmered in his eyes for a moment before he balled his fists and turned away.

  “We can’t do th . . . th . . . this,” Remko said.

  Carrington heard his words and understood what he meant, but her heart refused to believe it. It pounded for her to do something, to make him take it back; instead she put another couple of inches between them.

  “Helms and Lar . . . Larkin were pun . . . pun . . .”

  “I understand, Remko,” Carrington said.

  His eyes came up to meet hers and she could see that his resolve was shaky, but it was there. She shouldn’t have been surprised. What did she think was going to happen? Did she really think he was going to ride in on a white steed and carry her off into a world where they could be together—a world that didn’t exist?

  Remko moved his glance so that it was forward but not on Carrington. He clenched his hands behind his back and his shadow loomed tall against the wall of the building. “Larkin will be re . . . released to . . . to . . . tomorrow.”

  Carrington felt relief wash over her. She nodded, trying to hold her composure. “And Helms?”

  Remko’s jaw strained and his eyes flickered pain before he stepped past her. She heard his boots grind the dirt with the steps he took before silence fell over them again. She didn’t turn around but waited for the sound of his steps to begin again.

  “Helms is dead,” Remko said.

  Shock like an arctic wind petrified the blood under Carrington’s skin. The cold spread throughout her body and threatened the function of her lungs. By the time she turned to see Remko he had already disappeared around the front of the building and she was alone again.

  Alone was the only way she had ever really been; the rest had just been a cruel illusion, and like a fool, she had believed the illusion could be reality.

  He took a deep breath and pulled his hand away from the girl’s cold neck—dead, as he had suspected. He stood from his crouched position and took several long, slow strides across the room. Back and forth he paced, frustrated by this setback. Were none of God’s children redeemable? He reached over to a long table nearby and gripped the edges for support.

  He was following the steps as instructed. The vision for a more holy people had come to him in a dream that had roused him from a deep sleep and imbued him with a new sense of purpose. He had barely made it out of bed before a powerful presence had descended upon him, keeping him prostrate on the floor in reverence for two days. When he finally felt the presence lift he had known his work must begin immediately. The first sinner had been collected only days later and the cleansing had begun.

  Seven days of cleansing—seven days for the sinner to repent and be saved.

  It was hard to escape the feeling that his efforts were returning void. If none of them could be saved, then why not burn the whole city to the ground and save himself this torment? In a fit of rage he yanked his arms across the tabletop, sending his supplies crashing to the stone floor. The objects bounced and shattered, the noise of the destruction echoing around him like a violent orchestra.

  He turned his eyes toward heaven and wished he could see the face of God through the drooping ceiling. “Have You called me to a mission with no resolution? Am I to find any soul worth saving?”

  Only silence answered him.

  “Tell me and I shall listen! Lead me and I will follow, but do not hide Your face from me! How am I to know that at the end I will not be completely alone?”

  Her face filled his mind like a soft picture, her smile captured in a perfect moment.

  He was attracted to her—not just to the way her body curved but also to the way she spoke and thought. To the way she obeyed. It was a dangerous attraction that was foreign to him. He wanted her to be his yet felt the slightest twinge of disgust over how disappointed he would be if she belonged to anyone else. He had always maintained a safe distance from actual intrigue in women. Even when they were close, he kept himself removed. They had never held any interest for him before, but she was different.

  He worried that she could overthrow him, but was she not chosen for this same calling? Had she not been ordained to be his alone? Guilt replaced his anger as the heat around him turned icy. He had lost his temper and, in doing so, had lost his way. He had questioned the holy mission; he had practically thrown himself off the life raft that was his salvation from the perilous sea of damnation raging around him. He could not let his physical weaknesses overpower his righteousness, lest he be swallowed in the waves.

  God had chosen her for him. His perfect complement so he need not face the days to come alone. She was part of his salvation. He knelt where he stood and fell into an attitude of supplication. He would not question the holy mission again. He would continue down the path that had been placed before him, and he would receive the sanctification he deserved. Praise be.

  23

  For Carrington, the next two weeks crept along painfully.

  Moments stretch
ed into hours that felt heavy with despair. Larkin was released from isolation and heard about Helms immediately. Other Lints on her floor talked about the way she cried into the early hours of the morning, almost making herself sick. She was forced to return to the factory but passed out from exhaustion. A Lint Leader escorted her to the Stacks medical ward, where she was sedated. Carrington tried to visit, but they weren’t letting anyone see her.

  When Larkin finally did come back to work for good, it seemed she wasn’t interested in reconnecting. She ignored Carrington’s glances, avoided running into her around Alfred, and made it clear that she wanted to be alone during the travel time to and from the factory.

  Carrington considered ignoring her friend’s signals and starting up a conversation anyway. Part of her believed it would be good for Larkin to speak with someone, to vocalize her pain, or at least to know that someone was willing to listen when she was ready to talk. But the stronger part of Carrington thought honoring Larkin’s wishes was the best way to let her heal. Besides, it would be a lie to pretend her desire to reconnect with Larkin wasn’t motivated primarily by selfishness.

  While Larkin cried herself to sleep a couple levels below, Carrington fought off a new set of nightmares. Instead of children from school singing about her insignificance, now she dreamed of Remko luring her in only to slap her away. Feeling unwanted wasn’t a new sensation for her, but the shock of how Remko’s stone-cold rejection had been delivered was. To want someone specific—to long for someone’s touch, someone’s warmth—then to get the chance to experience a kind of joy most people believed was impossible . . . and then to have it taken away by the giver was a different kind of cruel.

  She was a fool to think any other outcome was plausible. This world had made it plainly evident that she wasn’t worth much. She wasn’t sure how the idea that someone would actually risk his own safety and well-being for her had slithered in. Worst of all, she had momentarily believed it. This cruelty was an outcome of her own making, just as she had always been told.

  Carrington reminded herself that she was already chosen, that she would still marry, still have children, but it only masked the pain until the ruthless rejection snaked its way back in and the sense of security she derived from being chosen at last evaporated. Sometimes her treacherous mind even dared to suggest that being chosen didn’t matter; she just wanted Remko. But whenever that thought skipped through her head she squashed it. That kind of folly was pointless and only brought more misery.

  Besides, she liked Isaac, despite Larkin’s deafening plea that she stay away from him. When she wasn’t near him, she could see how he could possibly be dangerous with all the power he possessed, with all the fame. But none of that seemed significant when she looked in his eyes. She felt more comfortable with him as the days progressed and their time together increased. Their conversations were becoming easier, their laughter seldom but genuine.

  So why did thoughts of Remko continue to invade what should be her greatest happiness? Carrington wanted to see things clearly but she couldn’t seem to find a way out of the fog.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Carrington was pulled from the mist and remembered where she was. Lunch was before her and Isaac sat just to her left.

  “You’ve hardly touched your food. Is everything all right?” Isaac asked.

  This was the fourth time in the last two weeks that Isaac had requested her company at lunch and normally she was happy for the distraction. She wasn’t sure why the weight of her thoughts was so heavy today.

  “Yes, of course. Everything is fine. I’m just not very hungry,” Carrington said.

  Isaac eyed her suspiciously but seemed momentarily satisfied. “You are scheduled to move back in with your family tomorrow, correct?” Isaac said.

  “Yes.”

  “That will be a welcome change, I imagine.”

  “It will be wonderful to be back home.”

  Isaac nodded and Carrington watched his expression turn solemn. He took another sip of wine before speaking. “I know things have been difficult for you at the Stacks.”

  Carrington gave him a curious look. “No more than for anyone else.”

  Isaac put his fork down and rested his elbows on the table in front of him. “I understand that Larkin Caulmen, the Lint we recently tried, is a companion of yours.”

  Carrington felt as if she’d been caught doing something wrong. She wasn’t sure how to respond. From the look on Isaac’s face there was a wrong answer. Clearly he already knew more than she’d thought, so lying was probably a bad decision.

  “Yes, um, well, I haven’t known her long, but we worked together in the Stacks and got to know one another.”

  “I’m told she’s not doing very well.”

  Carrington shook her head. “She is grieving deeply.”

  “For her CityWatch guard?”

  Carrington nodded.

  Isaac frowned. “Being held accountable for sin is difficult; the road to redemption is not a smooth one.”

  Carrington felt a bit stunned and turned her face to the lunch before her. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected him to say, but it certainly wasn’t the words that coldly fell to the table between them. There was a long moment of silence.

  “Her behavior in the hearing was surprising to all of us. Her lack of self-preservation was unexpected,” Isaac continued. “In the face of dire consequence she still chose him. They still chose each other. I’m not sure what they expected to accomplish by being so blatantly defiant. Imprisonment is not the kind of punishment the Authority likes to give, but in this case it was necessary.”

  Carrington heard the calmness in Isaac’s voice, watched the way his face failed to reveal even a hint of sorrow or regret. Helms had been murdered in the cell they had sent him to and the man dining with her couldn’t care less.

  “You look as though you disagree,” Isaac said.

  Carrington tried to clear her face of emotion. “I don’t imagine I know enough to really have an opinion one way or another.”

  “Do you think they shouldn’t have been punished for breaking the law?”

  “No, there are consequences for our choices.” The words came out, though she wasn’t sure she completely believed them.

  “And the incident with the CityWatch guard—was that not just an unfortunate by-product of his own behavior? He wouldn’t have been in that situation had he followed the law. So, while regrettable, his death was of his own making.”

  Carrington couldn’t think of a proper response that wouldn’t be an all-out lie. She couldn’t think much of anything. The small, nagging voice that usually served as an annoyance started to grow. She didn’t believe Helms deserved to die for what he had done. Could Isaac really believe his murder was justice?

  Isaac stood. “Come with me; I want to show you something.”

  Carrington rose and felt an odd sense of déjà vu as she followed Isaac through the house. He climbed a grand staircase up to the second level and entered a small library. Three of the four walls were lined with books and the fourth held an arrangement of framed pictures—nearly thirty images, she guessed, in perfect, organized rows.

  The stoic faces in the pictures were unsmiling. These were not depictions of happy memories.

  “Do you recognize these photos?” Isaac asked.

  Carrington shook her head and Isaac pointed to the last picture in the final row.

  “This one was taken forty-four years ago. This was the last man the Authority had to execute for breaking the law.”

  The air in the room was already stuffy and grew heavier with his pronouncement. Carrington prayed her face didn’t betray her as she gripped her shaking palm in the opposite hand.

  “Every picture here is of an individual or group committed to death because of their choices. I keep them here to remind myself of what the Authority has sacrificed to keep God’s order and peace throughout this city,” Isaac said.

  “All of these people were exe
cuted?” Carrington asked. She knew the answer was yes—he’d just said so—but it was the only response she could formulate.

  “It has been a long time since the Authority felt a need for this level of punishment. One has to wonder if we have grown too soft. The Veritas says, ‘For the Authority is God’s instrument for the good of the community. But if you do what is wrong, be afraid, for the avenger does not bear the sword in vain but carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer.’”

  She turned her face to Isaac and watched him scan each picture with what appeared to be utter fascination.

  A single thought flitted across her mind. “You thought Larkin and Helms should be executed for what they did.” It was impossible to keep the quivering from her voice, and even as the words came out of her mouth she wondered if asking such a question was a mistake. Did she even really want to know the answer?

  “Regardless of what I thought would be best, it is important to remember the great lengths the Authority will go to in order to protect this city of God.”

  Isaac spoke as if every word was meant individually for her. Carrington suddenly wondered whether he somehow knew about what had happened with Remko. She turned back toward the wall so he could not read her face.

  He laid his hand on her shoulder and a shiver crept down her spine. “I will do whatever is necessary to maintain order.”

  She kept her eyes glued to the walls, searching the faces for answers. Before, she had managed to rationalize away her worries about Isaac, but standing here with him now, staring at his shrine to the blood that soaked the earth beneath their city, she couldn’t silence the panic screaming inside her head. Larkin’s warning became clear and the fog began to part. She knew Isaac was dedicated to the law, was a man of righteous convictions, but these images and his words made the fear she fought so hard to ignore come roaring to life.

  She realized she was afraid. And for the first time in her existence, Carrington truly wished she had not been chosen.