2042: An American 1984-Dystopian Thriller

by Leigh Holland

  “Why me?” Rachel asked. “You’re so young and attractive. I’m thirty-two years old. A childless widow with no prospects of improving my lot in life. I’m getting stray gray hairs and wrinkles around the edges of my eyes and mouth. I’m missing a tooth. And I’ve got arthritis in my knees.”

  Temperance’s expression was one of tender love as she responded, “I couldn’t care less about all that.”

  Rachel was suddenly aware of her body covering Temperance’s on top of the altar, her mouth crushing into hers, the feel of the young woman beneath her, rubbing against her, their hands moving over each other’s bodies in a desperate, passionate attempt to take the other person in with all their senses. Rachel felt the knot of the Vestal Order sash poking into her belly, and fiercely removed the offending thing, casting it aside. Their mouths came away from each other as they came up for air. Rachel planted tender kisses along Temperance’s face, ears, and neck. Upon finding the naked flesh of Temperance’s thighs underneath the dour dress, she ran her fingertips lightly over her skin. Temperance moaned in delight, spreading her thighs further apart and allowing her legs to dangle over either side of the altar. She lifted her hips slightly, allowing Rachel to remove her dress entirely. Rachel sultrily gazed down at Temperance’s young, nubile body, as if memorizing every curve, then looked into her eyes.

  “Do I please you?” Temperance asked breathlessly.

  “Perfectly.” Rachel replied huskily.

  Rachel tossed her own dress to the side, then leaned onto her young lover. She realized there was no substitute for the gratification she felt from the warmth of bare flesh touching bare flesh and the intimacy of such an act. Tenderly, she explored the edges of her full lips with her own, then pressed them to hers more insistently. Her tongue explored her mouth, savoring the taste of her. Running her fingertips down Temperance’s throat, her hand began stroking her right nipple gently, then more quickly. She broke off the kiss, moving to nibble at her earlobe, then her neck. Temperance moaned repeatedly with pleasure as her hips started moving up and down rhythmically. Rachel wanted nothing so much in that moment as to please Temperance. While one hand continued to play with her right nipple, her mouth moved from Temperance’s neck down to her left breast. Her tongue lapped at the nipple in a circular motion, then she pressed her full mouth onto the breast, suckling.

  “Oh, please, my darling!” Temperance begged in between thrusting and moaning.

  Rachel began moving her hips against Temperance’s thigh in rhythm, her free hand reaching between Temperance’s legs and stroking her.

  “Faster!” Temperance demanded, and Rachel complied.

  They both cried out at the mounting pleasure building between them. Temperance squeezed Rachel’s breast, her thumb gliding playfully over the erect nipple. Rachel felt herself become incredibly wet, the desperate burning within her demanding release. She rubbed against Temperance faster, and increased the motion of her fingers, inserting one inside her. Temperance gasped, then arched her back, climaxing. A moment later, Rachel felt a delicious warmth spread throughout her body, and heard a high feminine wailing that she realized was her own voice. Spent, they lay in each other’s arms on the altar, catching their breath.

  Rachel kissed her forehead as she curled her fingers around Temperance’s disheveled hair.

  “You’re truly amazing.” Rachel told her. “But I know so little about you.”

  Temperance laughed. “What’s to tell? My favorite color is purple, my favorite food is spaghetti, and I like long walks in the light of the full moon. I went to the same finishing school you did, by the way.”

  “Really?” Rachel asked.

  “Yeah. There’s a picture of you teaching an incoming class. I always thought you were a teacher, until Mrs. Lake corrected my assumption. She said you aspired to teaching, but got married instead.”

  “And how is the old Overseer?” Rachel inquired.

  “I hear she retired last year and became a Perpetual Vestal down south in the Atlanta Gates.” Temperance answered. “Things really haven’t changed much since you were there. At least not in my day, they weren’t much different.”

  “I didn’t want to get married.” Rachel admitted. “It was arranged for me by the Overseer and Mr. Wright, a common fate for orphans of the revolution.”

  “Were you and your husband happy?”

  After a long moment of reflection, Rachel answered, “No. Neither of us was happy. We weren’t even satisfied. But I don’t think the problem was so much each other, as it was circumstances. I always got the impression John wanted something I couldn’t give him.”

  “I’m sorry. You should’ve had a say. I never agreed with the Orphan Protocols.”

  Rachel shrugged it off. “Yeah, well, it’s not as if most women have a say anyhow. Their parents choose for them and then talk them into it, or force them into it. How have you avoided marriage for so long?”

  “My father died when I came of age, and my mother wants me to become a Perpetual Vestal. I’m not really interested in that, though I try to please her.”

  “So, you’re only involved with the Vestals to please Mother?”

  “No, not merely to do that, although mother is quite pleased about my involvement.” Temperance replied. “It’s to fool them. You can believe whatever you want, entertain any Heresy in your heart, so long as by all outward signs you display utmost loyalty and fervent belief. I put tons of energy into the whole enterprise, never betraying for an instant that I’m anything other than what I appear to be. And on occasion I can act as I want, because I’m smart enough not to get caught or let on that I’m different.”

  They were both silent for a long moment, the only sound their rhythmic breathing.

  Temperance took in a deep breath, breaking their matched rhythm, then remarked, “Which is something you are terrible at, Rachel.”

  She sat up and looked down at Rachel. “Really, dearest, if you plan to survive in this world, you’ve got to learn to lie with your entire being, not just your words, lest they know you’re different. You must learn to balance things better. Indulge in your personal whims in moderation, and always with a plan.”

  Rachel thought of Paul and smiled. “You remind me of my friend.”

  Temperance hopped off the altar and began dressing. “I had no idea there was anyone else like me in the Gates. I had hoped you were, but wasn’t sure till I made contact. It’s probably not obvious to them, but to people like me, it is. We can tell who are those who are different, you know, within themselves.”

  “How do you tell the difference when outwardly it all seems the same?”

  “Well,” Temperance said, “a lot of it is in body language, and the eyes. Somehow, the eyes reveal more than we’d like about what’s in that head behind them. I think ultimately, we recognize ourselves in each other. Who is this friend of yours anyway?”

  “I -I can’t tell you that.” she responded flatly.

  Temperance became motionless for an instant, then tossed Rachel’s dress to her aggressively. The book in her pocket hit her in the head with a loud ‘thump’.

  “Hey,” Rachel protested, “what’s that about?”

  “Is it another lover of yours?” she asked jealously. “Is that why you don’t want to tell me?”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Rachel replied. “Would you want me to tell him about you without your approval?”

  She thought about it. “No, probably not.”

  Rachel put her dress back on. “Look, I’ll ask if it’s okay for me to talk about him with you, and if he says yes, then I’ll tell you whatever you want to know about him.”

  “Him, huh?” Temperance sighed.

  “Oh, for the love of-surely, you don’t think I’m having a love affair with anyone else, do you? How would I manage such a thing? You had to come up with a plan for us to meet, and I never would’ve had the wits to do that myself.” Rachel insisted. She patted the altar. “Come on. There’s no need for you to be jealous. Let
’s rest here together for a while. It’s nice to hold you.”

  “You promise I’m the only one?” she asked in a small worried tone.

  “Absolutely.” Rachel stated plainly, without hesitation. “When I make a commitment, I do everything in my power to keep it. I’m committed to loving you now.”

  Temperance climbed onto the altar, resting in her arms. Rachel took in a deep breath and slowly let it out, knowing an inner peace she had not felt since she was a small child. As the rain fell softly outside, she wished she had remembered her umbrella, then drifted off to sleep.

  VIII.

  She sat in the third pew on a rust colored cushion, her small legs dangling over the edge, kicking back and forth, her tiny hands folded in her lap. All around her people were chanting in a language she didn’t fully understand, but that was comforting and familiar nevertheless. Her father sat next to her once the chanting ceased. He gazed down at her with his eyes of love, and taking his white and blue fringed shawl, wrapped it around them both equally. He held a book, which he turned his attention to then, and began the prayer again. Rachel’s small fingers played with the knots of the fringes, as if trying to memorize their texture. Her father picked her up and stood holding her.

  Looking towards the raised platform, Rachel saw two ornate doors being opened by a man and a woman, both dressed in ritual garments, both wearing head coverings, working together as equal partners. Behind the doors were two tall cylinders, covered in fancy cloth, decorated with silver breastplates and wearing ornate crowns. These cylinders were dressed up as if they were royal, living people. Hanging from the side of each was a pointer, its tip made into the shape of a hand, the outstretched index finger pointing the way.

  The assembled people sang in unison with great joy words that she could not yet say. She was still very small. Somehow, these words united them. These words defined them. Their ancestors had died for these words. These words held great power. Were these words divine?

  Suddenly, Rachel was standing alone, in her uniform of the Elect, her father and the others disappeared. Someone tapped her on the shoulder. Turning, she came face to face with Esther Wordsworth, who was curiously wearing one of the crowns from the cylinders.

  “Esther!” she exclaimed in relief, “I thought you were dead.”

  “I was dead, but now am risen.” she answered cryptically. “Do you have my portable Web Browser?”

  “Yes.” Rachel said, reaching in her pocket. Instead, she withdrew the Bible. “Oh, I must have left it at home. I found this old thing in a condemned Meeting House earlier today.”

  When she looked up, Esther was gone. She was once more a child, sitting in her childhood bedroom, weeping. Her mother, wearing a robe of white, warm plush cotton that reminded her of the mashed potato clouds, came in. Sitting beside her, she comforted Rachel.

  “Now, now.” she said, “I miss Daddy too. But we must remember that he wouldn’t want us to be sad. He is out there fighting to protect us.”

  “It’s not fair!” she cried. “Why can’t other people’s daddies do it? I want my daddy!”

  Her mother held her so tight she thought she would suffocate. Her mother tried to cover up the fear and pain in her voice, but Rachel could sense it was there. She was trying to be strong for Rachel’s sake.

  She told her, “Your father is doing what’s right. He’s doing what he must do. We must pray for his safe return. And Rachel- daddy is always with us, so long as we think of him. When I look at you, I see him all over again. Part of him lives on in you.”

  Her father didn’t return. With each passing day, her mother became more afraid and worried, though she never shared her thoughts with Rachel. Her mother always saw to it that Rachel was fed, and after a few weeks, Rachel realized her mother was not eating. She was saving every scrap to feed Rachel. Her mother became thin, pale, and weepy. Rachel stopped crying, because she had to be strong.

  It was winter, and the electricity and water had been shut off. Her mother never explained why, she just told Rachel that they couldn’t let anyone know they were there. Shortly afterwards, the Fishers of Men came, in their faceless black masks, with their guns, moving more like machines than human beings. Her mother, sickly and gaunt, hid Rachel under the sink in the kitchen and ordered her to keep quiet, no matter what happened, and not to look. But Rachel peeked anyway, being a curious child.

  The Fishers of men forced her mother onto her knees. One of them stood behind her. Her mother stopped weeping, and began singing the familiar tune of their people.

  “Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echaaa-aaa-“

  The gunshot rang loud and clear, silencing her mother forever in this world.

  Rachel awakened from her sleep with a scream, sitting erect on the altar, trembling and struggling to catch her breath. Temperance stroked her hair and tried to calm her.

  “What were you dreaming?” she asked with concern.

  Rachel related the dreams to her. “Do you know what those strange words were? What they signify?”

  Temperance took out a lighter and a small box from her pocket. She pulled out two cigarettes from the box and lit them, handing one to Rachel. Rachel stared at her with her mouth open. Temperance laughed.

  “These have been illegal for decades.” Rachel stated. “Where did you get them?”

  “My first lover knew one of the Saints. Wouldn’t tell me who it was, naturally. The Saints hoard all this type of stuff for themselves, but sometimes they will give crumbs to those they like. He got a carton for me, and I kept them around for special occasions.” Temperance puffed on her cigarette. “Well, go on then. Take a puff.”

  Rachel carefully took a slow draw on the cigarette, trying to savor it. The smoke choked her and she had a coughing fit. “I see why they outlawed these.” She put the cigarette out and put it back in Temperance’s box.

  “I’m afraid I’ve never heard the words your mother said in your dream. It’s definitely not a Romance language.” Temperance replied, enjoying her cigarette thoroughly. “What do you think it means? Do you think your mother really died like that? That the dream was real?”

  “Yes.” Rachel answered. “I think the dreams I’ve been having lately are mostly my own repressed memories of my childhood. The finishing school counselor said I forgot my childhood because of trauma from the revolution. So, I think for whatever reason, I’m remembering things now. In dreams.”

  “You know, if I’d seen my mother die like that, I’d probably want to forget it too. Not many people can recall things from before the revolution.”

  “Not many people you know.” Rachel said. “You’re quite young. I was a child back then myself. It’s the older generation that remembers, and there aren’t many of them left, especially since most elders died in the Mass Destruction of 2017. That’s what I liked best about Mrs. Wordsworth. I regret I’ll never get to know all the things she knew, the way she knew them. Unaltered.”

  “Life is too short for regrets.” Temperance put out the cigarette, having smoked it to the filter.

  “Life is regret.” Rachel murmured, standing and straightening out her dress. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to make it presentable. She remembered her bonnet. “I killed a man today.”

  “What?!” Temperance exclaimed, sitting in one of the broken down, dusty pews.

  Rachel related to Temperance all that had happened on the Toilback earlier that day. “I killed a man. I’m a murderer.”

  “You were protecting the boy.” Temperance offered. “And he had no right to harm you, even if you were outside the Gates on an unauthorized visit. If you had come to serious harm, he would have been killed anyway.”

  “It doesn’t make any difference why I did it. I still know I’ve taken a life. Nothing changes that. It feels...empty.”

  “I’m more concerned about the fact you left your bonnet in his fist. It’s proof that you were there. It’s not got any identifying features to it, has it?”

  “No, it
’s a simple bonnet, like many others.” Rachel replied. “Have you seen the conditions the Convicted must work in on the Toilback?”

  “Yes.” she said. “And it’s sad. I’m just glad it’s not me.”

  Rachel was about to chastise Temperance, but realized she, too, was relieved to be in a far better situation. Instead, she remarked, “If the rest of the Elect knew what they had to suffer, they might demand change.”

  “No, they wouldn’t.” Temperance insisted. “Because they want their discount prices, clean stores, and guilt free existence. They don’t want to know. If they knew, but didn’t have to be around it all the time, the Convicted outside the wall might as well be a million miles away.”

  “What if we’re wrong? What if we’re selling the Elect short on morality?”

  Temperance gave her a sarcastic look. “You’re kidding, right?” Rachel sighed, and Temperance continued, “Look, Rachel, things will not change. They won’t change because people are too busy to work towards change or even think about what changes they might want to make. They are largely self-interested. They’re thinking of ways to get that new game unit or technological gizmo they just have to have. When they aren’t, they want to feel good about themselves by giving to something easy like the Profit Fund Project of the week. It boosts their egos. But if it requires sacrifice, challenges, or real effort on their part, well, count them out.”

  “But the Elect changed things through the Glorious Revolution.” Rachel pointed out.

  Temperance stood up and headed towards the door. “They were zealots who truly believed in their cause. Centrists don’t bring about change.”

  Rachel walked outside with her. The rain had stopped. “So, you consider yourself a Centrist?”

  “We’re in the Kingdom Age now. We’re all Centrists because there are no opposing views tolerated.” Temperance answered. “And you, do you consider yourself an agent of change?”

  Rachel paused, then replied, “Not me specifically. It would take something larger than just myself to effect the change that’s needed to help those people. I would like to think the Elect would become agents of change if they knew what the Convicted suffer.”