by Tessa Clare
April looks away. “I didn’t know how to tell you this. I had a letter written out that I was going to stick under your door.”
“A letter?”
No, I think to myself. My knees grow weak at the implications. April can’t have thought about breaking up with me with a fucking letter under my door!
“I’m leaving,” she says quietly, averting her gaze. “I’m taking a page from the Macy McIntyre handbook and getting the hell out of here. I’m going to get a new name and a new identity. I’ll be on the run, but it’s better than the alternative.”
I take a deep breath to calm my racing my heart. But at that moment, my mind is made up. My jaw tightens in resolution.
“I’ll come with you,” I say without hesitation.
April’s mouth drops in shock. “You’ll – what?”
“I’ll come with you,” I repeat slowly, taking another step towards her. To me, there’s no other choice. “There’s no place I’d rather be than by your side.”
I wait for a response, but she doesn’t give me any. She’s still not looking at me.
I continue, my voice growing louder in determination, “Listen, I know it’s a terrible situation. I understand what you’re going through, but you can’t just run away from your problems and expect them to go away. Is that what you want? Or do you want to stay and fight?” I ask this because I know April. She’s a girl who stood in front of the bureau’s doorsteps and boldly proclaimed that they wouldn’t have her. She’s a girl who once dreamt of following in her father’s footsteps. “Either way, no matter what you choose, I’m going to be there with you.”
I stare at our conjoined hands, willing her to never let go.
“What will I be fighting for?” she whimpers, her voice meek. Her hands are shaking. She’s holding back tears. “They’ve already taken everything from me.”
I tighten my grip on her cold hands. “You’ll be fighting for your right to live!” I say in disbelief, refusing to accept that this is the end. I hope a raised voice will help her listen to reason. “You’ll be fighting for your right to love! Your right to grow up, finish college, and have a normal life! Isn’t that what you want?”
April is silent, but she finally looks at me. At the sight of her wet eyes, I wonder if I’ve gotten through to her. I must have because she’d be arguing with me if I hadn’t.
I release her hands and cradle her cheeks. “April, I love you. I’ve always loved you. I thought I’d get plenty of chances to say it, but I’m scared that I won’t. So – please – whatever you decide, let me stay with you. I don’t care if it’s here or in District 560. My home is wherever you are.”
With that, I lean in and kiss her, feeling the tension in my muscles relieved. I’ve gotten through to her. She wouldn’t be wrapping her arms around me if I didn’t. She wouldn’t be opening her mouth to me. She wouldn’t be pulling me close as though I’m the missing part of her soul – and I must be because she’s a part of mine. Home is wherever April McIntyre is, and I’ll spend the rest of my days showing her that.
But she pulls away.
Tears are streaming down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” April says, her voice hoarse. “But I was never cut out for a normal life. Not since I was born a McIntyre.”
I inhale a breath.
No.
I take a step closer to her, but she steps back. Pain overtakes me, clouding every sense in my body. It’s like a hundred needles have pierced my skin – and my heart.
“And I can’t bring you with me,” April says, wiping away the tears on her cheeks. “You’ll only hold me back, and I can’t risk that.”
As April’s eyes dry, mine start brimming with tears. “So, that’s it?” My voice is hoarse. I feel pathetic, crying in front of her just minutes after telling her that I loved her for the first time. I use the sleeve my shirt to wipe my face and muffle the sobs that are threatening to overtake me. I lean on the wall for support, my knees too weak to hold my weight. “You’re just going to run away and give up on us – because I hold you back?”
‘Please correct me,’ I silently beg. Please tell me that I misheard her. No, please tell me that today is just a horrible dream that’ll be over as soon as I wake up.
But all she says is, “I’m sorry.”
With those words, I’m broken.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
APRIL
T he thought of being in control of a two-ton machine is terrifying. But if I can have control over a boy’s heart – at least, the power to break it – then driving should be a piece of cake. I wanted more time to practice, but the desire to get away from the image of Roman’s tear-stained cheeks as fast as possible is more pressing, even if it kills me.
I know the basics of driving. It’s part of the relicensing process every year, as I need to know how to take control of the vehicle in the event of computer failure. But it’s been awhile. It takes some time before I remember what the letters of the clutch stand for, how hard to press the accelerator and brake pedals, and how to steer. Fortunately, District 220 doesn’t have the same amount of traffic as District 200. By the time I’m ten miles from home, I think I’m getting the hang of it.
I don’t know where I’ll be going. I think I eventually want to make my way North to head to the Iceland’s, but the downside to that is that the Iceland’s sterilizes citizens above a certain age and below a certain rank. It’s also a developing country. I vaguely remember houses made of ice blocks, enough to make Roman’s tiny apartment look like a mansion. Still, at least I won’t be on the run.
There are three places that I need to visit before I can go anywhere.
The first stop is Roman’s apartment. The thought makes my heart clench. I’m a monster for hurting him, and I’m even worse for thinking that I could end it with a note. But I was petrified that my resolve would break if I saw his face – and it nearly did. The light at the end of the tunnel was that I had transferred a substantial portion of my trust fund into his bank account. In the note, I explained that it’d get him through the next few years and that I hoped that he’d use some of it to spoil a girl that could give him the love he deserves.
My second stop is one that I’ve wanted to visit for a while, but I’ve never had the courage to do so – until now.
It’s close to midnight when I call Leonard. He has barely answered when I tell him coolly, “I’ll have a nice check waiting for you if you meet me at your office in fifteen minutes.”
Leonard is pulling in front of the office in ten. It’s the first time I’ve seen him without a suit.
“Good evening, April,” Leonard greets, as though it’s barely dusk and not the middle of the night. “I was going to call you in the morning. I’m a little surprised that you’d decide –”
“I need two things from you,” I interrupt. If I’m to get to where I need to be by dawn, I don’t have time for small talk. “The first thing is a new driver’s license, birth certificate, and anything else I might need to form a new identity.” I pause. “I will also need a way to get into the Iceland’s.”
Leonard doesn’t blink. “I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t play dumb,” I say firmly. “I know that you help people get new identities. You helped Neal O’Donnell. Now, I need you to help me – preferably in the next hour or so, because I’m on a tight deadline.”
Leonard’s lips press together. His expression goes from shock to denial to annoyance to acceptance of the situation.
“Very well,” he agrees. “Though typically, it takes several days for me to create new identification.”
“You saw my inheritance,” I point out. “I’ll make it worth your while if you can make it happen.”
Leonard’s eyes go wide, but he quickly regains his composure. He clears his throat. “That was more than two things.”
I take a step closer to Leonard to look at him square in the eye. “That’s because the second thing is personal. I’m looking for someone. She’s about my
height, brown hair, and stopped her aging when she was in her early forties. The last name she went by was Macy McIntyre.”
“You’re a clever girl.”
“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that she’d come here before she disappeared,” I reply curtly. “You were one of her trusted friends.” Leonard’s mouth drops slightly, honored by the revelation. “Not that I understand why.”
Leonard laughs. “You are definitely Macy’s daughter.”
“That’s funny,” I say bitterly, thinking of the press coverage that I’ve seen recently. “Lately, people have been saying that I’m more like my dad.” I sigh. “Anyways, can we go into your office? I’m getting cold.”
I follow Leonard into the office building, which looks remarkably different at night. The lobby looks like an abandoned museum – empty desk and the shell of a hallway that was once bursting with life. Leonard’s office is dark; the only source of light is a small solar-powered lamp at his desk.
“Are you sure you need it today?” Leonard asks, concerned. Just in case, he clears some space on his desk. “This will take several hours. You might be waiting until morning.”
“I’m sure.”
Leonard stops moving to press lips together. My guess that he does it to hide his emotions. “Then you might want to go to the store and pick me up a few energy drinks. It’s going to be a long night.”
I pick up a case of fusion drinks from the convenience store a few blocks away. I drink one with the intention of driving away as soon as my new identification cards are ready, but Leonard reminds me that it’ll be a long while. He explains that the cards contain sixty types of paper and more than thirty security features – ranging from bar codes, MICR ink, holograms, and printing techniques. The paper used wasn’t readily available, so he used a substitute of his own creation. As a result, he was always careful to avoid wasting material.
“How did you get into the forgery business?” I ask. I don’t want to distract him, but I can’t help but be curious.
Leonard, whose eyes are focused on recreating a barcode, shrugs. “I was in college. I worked as a clerk for the state court, and I had access to just about every record available. I decided to use that info to help me pay off my student loans.”
I think of Roman. “I knew someone like that; except he used it to help people. Well, he helped me, at least.”
“Isn’t that what I’m doing now?”
I don’t answer him, knowing that I’m treading in morally ambiguous waters. When is breaking the law right, and when is it wrong? He’s making money off my situation, but where would I be without his services?
Leonard explains that while he was working as a clerk, he slowly downloaded their records. He did it slowly and in small chunks, which took him years. What he does is give his clients the name and identity of someone that already exists and replaces the picture.
The thought makes me grow cold.
“But what about the person whose identity is getting stolen?” I ask. I’ve seen advertisements about people who have had their identities stolen, and it sometimes takes them years to get their lives back.
“I make all my clients sign a waiver that they won’t partake in illegal activities and that they’ll stay under the radar.”
Well, I have no intention of doing that. I’m still determined to take down the bureau when I get the opportunity. I’ll just have to do it from the sidelines.
“But they’re already partaking in illegal activities.”
Leonard sighs. “Do you want to stay alive or not?”
Leonard’s database is relatively out of date, and he needs to check the election list every quarter to make sure that the person is still alive, but the good news is just about everyone on his list will never age. He can give me the identification of someone that’s five hundred years old, and no one will think twice. In my case, I’ll be taking the name of a woman named Elisa Meeks. She’s one hundred years old, but she stopped her aging when she was young. I try to imagine the rest of my life in this woman’s shoes.
It’s four o’clock in the morning when I finally fall asleep while curled up in the corner of his office. When I awaken a few hours later, I have a blanket draped over my shoulders and a pillow underneath my head. Leonard is sitting in his swiveling chair behind his desk. The desk is cleared out completely, save for a large yellow envelope – one that looks as though it’s been scribbled and torn a few too many times – that’s laying in front of Leonard.
I stand up – ouch, I think I slept at the wrong angle – and make my way towards Leonard’s desk. As I approach him, I can see the bags under his eyes and the way his hair is sticking up in the back. I should be thanking him for his hard work. Instead, the only thing that comes out of my mouth is, “How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing.”
My mouth nearly drops in shock. “You pulled an all-nighter for me.”
“You said you knew someone that used his position to help people,” Leonard says. “I knew someone like that as well, and you remind me a lot of her. So, save your money. You’re definitely going to need it.”
I don’t know what to say. “Thanks. I – uh – I have one more thing…”
“Information about your mother is in the envelope as well,” Leonard continues. “She’s going by the name of Miranda Tonkin. She had me list the address on her driver’s license at Burnside Street, in District 205. That’s all I know.”
I pick up the envelope. A part of me wants to hug Leonard for all that he’s done for me, but I decide that it might be weird. Instead, I say, “Thank you.” He meets my eyes, so I continue, “Thank you so much. I… I’d be royally screwed if it wasn’t for you.”
Leonard nods, but he doesn’t say anything else. I think he’s in dire need of sleep. After a moment of silence, I take the envelope and walk out of the office. By now, a hint of sunlight is peeking over the horizon. That gives me just enough time for my third and final stop.
Autumn’s voice is muffled by sleepiness when she finally answers her Mobiroid. “Hello?”
I can tell that she must have reached for it and clumsily placed it around her ear. Her voice sounds far away.
“Autumn, I’m outside your house.”
“What? Why?”
“Just come outside,” I insist. “Hurry up! I don’t have a lot of time!”
A few minutes later, Autumn emerges from the back entrance. She’s still wearing her nightgown. I’m leaning against my car with my arms crossed when Autumn approaches me, still wiping the sleep from her eyes. “April? What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”
‘Night’ is a subjective term, I think with a glance towards the rising sun.
“It’s punishment for all those times you woke me up to crawl into my bed in the middle of the night. Remember that time when you kicked me off the bed?”
Autumn crosses her arms in a huff. “I did not! You rolled off!”
“I know how I sleep. I most certainly did not roll off the bed.”
“Well, when I go home, I’m going to prove to you that I definitely do not kick in my sleep. You, on the other hand…”
Home.
Right now, that place seems as far away as a foreign country. I look away, unable to bring myself to see my sister’s face when I break the news to her. “Listen, Autumn… I think you’re going to have to stay with Darcy.”
Autumn’s eyes widen. “What? Why?”
“Because as you already know, I’ve been elected!”
“So? You can fight it!” Autumn insists, and I realize that our optimism and determination must be hereditary. “They’d have to let you live! People know you, and you’re only twenty years old! You’d have to win!”
I bite my lip. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“But you promised!” Autumn screeches, her nostrils flaring. She’s crying now, but it’s not tears of grief. They’re hot tears of anger. “I knew you’d do this!”
My mouth drops. “Do what?”
“Leave!” Autumn cries, stomping her foot. “Just like you always do! Just like Mom and Dad!” She wipes an angry tear away. “I don’t even know why I bothered getting my hopes up! I just thought that Mom leaving would make you a better person, but I guess –”
I clench my fists. “Don’t you fucking dare compare me to Mom and Dad!”
“You promised!” Autumn screeches.
“Shh!” The last thing I need is Darcy waking up.
“You promised that you’d fight for me and that I’d get to go home!”
“It’s different now, Autumn!”
“How is this any different from Mom leaving?”
I stop myself from saying anything more. I have every right to run away. My life is in danger, and I won’t do Autumn any good if I’m dead. But I can easily recall the way it felt when my mother left – how abandoned I felt. But it’s different this time. Now, I’m leaving Autumn on her own.
“So, you’re… you’re leaving then,” Autumn asks, and her voice breaks. “Is… is that it? Did you come to tell me goodbye?”
To be honest, I was coming to say goodbye; but the word feels wrong to say. I take Autumn’s hands and get on one knee so that we’re nearly eye-level (or at least, we would be if Autumn weren’t so tall).
“Listen to me,” I say slowly. “Just because I’m leaving right now doesn’t mean that you’re not going to see me. It doesn’t mean goodbye.”
“What does it mean, then?”
I offer her a half smile. “It means that I’ll see you later.”
Autumn eyes me skeptically. She has every right to mistrust me. I’ve broken many promises to her, and I’d deserve it if she doesn’t believe a word I say. But I’m going to keep this one, even if it kills me.
“Are you sure?” Autumn asks. Her voice quivers, betraying her emotions.
