The Way

by Mary E. Twomey

  It was difficult to decide which was better – a controlled life in The Way working knee-deep in scratch, or this impoverished existence where you could earn a wage and rub elbows with the Vemreaux, but you made do on the lowest standard of living and highest rate of crime.

  “It’s amazing,” Blue offered kindly.

  Gesturing to each makeshift room as though it was not already self-explanatory, Elle gave long dissertations on how they acquired each belonging, down to the torn rug laid on the wood floor of the kitchen that she bragged gave the place a “homey feel.”

  Taking a brief inventory of the cupboards’ contents, Elle called over her shoulder to Baird. “Everything’s here! They didn’t take a thing!”

  “Glad to hear they didn’t steal back Vemreaux trash,” Baird grumbled as he inspected the wall. “Of course they didn’t take anything. I killed them.”

  Blue grimaced that her brother had done the brunt of the dirty work, while she’d stood on the sidelines, chickening out.

  Elle swayed her hips as she walked over toward Baird and pinched his cheeks. “Except your smile. I think they got away with that.”

  “Are you trying to piss me off?” Baird glowered at her grin. Blue could see that perhaps Elle had not made as much progress with her brother as she’d hoped.

  Elle ignored his sour remark. “This gets to be your cup, Baby Blue.” She opened a cabinet to pull out one of the few things resting on its shelf.

  “Wait, what?”

  Elle grinned. “This cup is for you. Your very first thing that’s just yours.”

  Blue spluttered, “But I don’t need something so nice. We should all share it.”

  “We each have our own, and this one’s yours.”

  Blue examined every detail of the plastic vessel in awe. “Seriously? All mine? Whoa.”

  “We found it last week. Isn’t it perfect? See that?” Elle pointed to the design of the New World King on the cheap vessel. Despite the cartoon-like depiction, the benevolent eyes of King Sinclair shown clear. “It’s like owning a cup and a portrait all in one. Like a rich Vemreaux!” Elle spoke to the cup in an exaggerated feminine voice. “I think I’d like a drink, King Sinclair.” Then she answered back in a low imitation of a man’s cadence, “Why yes, mi’lady. Happy to serve you. You’re an invaluable part of society. Your beauty alone could…” Elle stopped at Blue’s laughter. “What? You don’t think he sounds like that? Watch. I can even make him bow to us.” She tipped the cup forward, and sure enough, the image volunteered its obeisance to Blue, who curtsied in return.

  A mousy voice spoke up. “There’s no chips or dents in it either. Good as new.” Grettel had not let go of Blue’s hand, using it as an anchor to convince herself that her friend was indeed, right next to her. She had not stopped crying, and no one expected her to. Occasionally Blue would squeeze her fingers, and the tears would start afresh, washing down her cheeks as Elle prattled on about the six spoons they had collected and which restaurant they were sure each came from.

  “Do you want to see the bathroom?” Elle asked, though there was not much choice in the matter, once she was on a roll. “Baird found the hairbrush.” Elle strode into the bathroom and picked up the wood-handled paddle brush. She twirled it around effortlessly in her palm as though it was a toy top. “He said it came from some Femreaux’s garbage. There wasn’t even any hair to pick out of it.” She gave a vain stroke through her long blonde locks to demonstrate its usefulness, and then placed it on the edge of the sink. “We all use it.” She snatched it back up and held it out to Blue, in case she wanted to admire it or put the loved trinket to use.

  Blue moved into the tiny bathroom, but threw herself back out, stumbling as she went. “W-What is that?” she stammered, pointing toward the sink, but refusing to look at it again.

  Her face. Her ugly, disgusting face shown back at her with too much clarity. The only chances she’d had to see her reflection in The Way was the distorted or foggy images found in a shiny shovel or stainless steel appliance. The sole mirror in the entire facility was in the infirmary, so the only clear images Blue had ever seen of her face were when it was covered in scratch or smeared with her blood. Even though there were no such impurities on her this time, it was all she could see. Brown smudges covering her cheeks. Blood in the shape of her fingerprints dotting her nose or forehead after a thorough beating appeared as she looked at her horrified reflection. She’d been exposed to a lot that morning, but the mirror was a step too far.

  “What?” Elle looked around. “Oh, it’s a mirror like they had in the infirmary in The Way. So we can look perfect before we start our shifts. All the Vems have them. They’re everywhere in the real world.”

  “No! I don’t want to see it!” Blue shouted, wishing she could rein in her overreaction. Her fingers dug into her cheeks, wishing she could claw herself a new face. “I’m disgusting!”

  “What? No, sweetie! You’re very pretty,” Elle assured her.

  “Why would you say that?” Grettel squeezed Blue’s hand. “You’ve always been beautiful.”

  “Stop it!” Blue shook her head, disturbed and beyond comforting. She jerked from Grettel’s grip and backed away. “Baird!” she shouted, not bothering to hide the distress from her pinched tone. Though she was in the living room now, it was still too close to that wretched reflective glass. She shut her eyes tight, turned and ran blind out of the hut, not stopping until the cool night air calmed her halfway to the car.

  Elle watched as Baird bolted after his sister. The blonde turned to Grettel and shrugged.

  Two minutes later, Baird returned, walked straight to the bathroom and took down the mirror. “It’s gotta go,” he declared.

  “What? Why?” Elle protested, dismayed.

  Baird did not answer. He removed the glass and took it out back to the garbage, tilting the reflective side down. He came back in and was greeted by Elle’s glower, which he ignored as he returned to cleaning the floor.

  Grettel gently touched Blue’s arm. “Are you okay?”

  Blue shuddered, but nodded. “That was awful!”

  “What?”

  Blue’s eyes shut in pain. “My face!”

  Grettel and Elle both opened their mouths to protest, but Baird cut them off. “Leave it alone, guys. For your own good. Just let it go.”

  Elle huffed, but her actions consented. The girls flopped on the couch and spent the next several hours foregoing sleep so they could catch up. Baird was grateful when Lawrence came by an hour later to remove the bodies; the girl talk was starting to wear on him. What was new in The Way, a few of the things Blue needed to know before conversing in the real world, and the latest gossip they’d picked up around the diner kept the three entertained until Baird interrupted, announcing that they should all get ready for work.

  Elle showed Blue their uniforms as she and Grettel poked their heads through the light blue shirts with lemon piping down the sleeves that read “Joe’s Diner” on the back in black script.

  Baird bent down and reached under the couch, which was the only hiding place to speak of. He returned to full height holding a box, which he unceremoniously shoved toward his sister. She took it from him and opened the container with all the hesitation he knew she would exhibit. Inside was two pairs of jean shorts like Grettel and Elle’s, one pair of long jeans for colder weather, three pairs of white socks, three sets of underwear, a Joe’s Diner sweater and three fresh work shirts that remained untouched. “I’ve never seen colors this pretty before. I get to wear this? They’re really mine?” Blue asked aloud, tracing the perfect stitching.

  “Of course, Baby Blue.” Elle grinned, bumping her hip against her friend’s. “No more orange Wayward jumpsuits for you!”

  Baird held his hand up. “Elle gets the new shirt. Blue, you take Elle’s that she wore yesterday and Grettel’s dirty shorts. That should give you enough A-blood scent to last you the day once you wash the scratch stink off of you.”

  Déjà vu hit the girls
all at once. Elle peeled the fitted polo off her white tank top, and handed the uniform to her friend. They had done this routine nearly every day when they were students at The Way to hide Blue’s lack of a sulfuric odor from the Vemreaux Supervisors. It was comforting to bring the habit into the real world.

  Elle sighed. “Lucky that you don’t smell like sulfur to the changed Vemreaux. A few of the snobby ones won’t eat at our diner because Waywards serve the food. They think we make it taste bad or something. Losers.”

  The idea of a Wayward calling the Vemreaux losers was ridiculous, but somehow Elle pulled it off with bravado.

  Blue took the new clothes and examined the material with amazement. She had seen jeans before when outsiders would occasionally tour The Way. The navy material had a backing of white to it that she studied like an intricate map. Her eyes were wide as she turned the fabric over in her hands, weighing the difference in weight alone. “Wow! This is so many clothes! Really? They’re for me?”

  Baird interrupted her musing. “Today, Blue.”

  Instead of meeting Baird’s eyes with frustration, wonder and awe sparked in her as she looked up and nodded. Then, before he could say anything to ruin her bliss, Blue scampered into the bathroom to wash and change.

  Blue scrubbed with the harsh Brand A soap that guaranteed to keep A-blood types fresh all day, hoping that it would remove the odorous stench of scratch that marked her as a new arrival.

  She pulled on a white ribbed tank top as a barrier between her skin and the foreign itchy material of the fancy new work uniform. It fit her thin, muscular frame like a glove. Form-fitting clothing was new to Blue, and the difference was shocking. There’d be no hiding it now; the modest curves definitely marked her as a girl.

  Blue had never worn shorts. When she walked out of the bathroom, she felt exposed as the air hit her bare calves and the tops of her knees. These were Grettel’s shorts, which fell modestly to the small girl’s knee. Blue’s added height coming mostly from the longer legs she sported took the shorts a good ten centimeters up her thigh. Nothing racy by Femreaux standards, but it was enough to make Blue feel horribly self-conscious. Her bare knees felt as shameful as if they were her furiously covered breasts being exposed to the world.

  Elle clapped and let out a sexy whistle. Blue cringed in response and hid one knee behind the other to give it the dignity it now screamed for. Grettel smiled with compassion, understanding the girl’s discomfort.

  Baird said nothing to his sister’s obvious embarrassment, but his upper lip twitched as he bit back a snarky remark.

  “And the best part!” Elle flitted over to the kitchen and pulled out a smaller box from one of the cupboards. She handed it to Blue, who did not conceal her concerned look of surprise.

  “What is it?” Blue asked without opening the box.

  Elle rolled her eyes. “Open it up and see!” Grettel nodded in encouragement at Blue’s wary look. She pried the lid off the box slowly. When she peeked inside, she was relieved to find a pair of running shoes.

  “Jeez, Blue. It’s a present from your new owner, not a snake.” Elle pulled out the shoes so Blue could examine them. All footwear in The Way either slipped on or came with a Velcro strap to secure them into place, but there were white ropes on these, which were completely unfamiliar. The ropes were tucked into the mouth of the shoe, and Blue wondered how they worked. She was beginning to think that perhaps accelerating her Vemreaux Studies course had not been so wise. Had she missed an entire section on shoe ropes? Surely Jack should have mentioned something so crucial.

  Grettel smiled. “They’re called ‘shoelaces’, and I’ll show you how to tie them.” She dropped to Blue’s side to help her tie the shoes for the first time.

  Baird stepped in and stopped her. “She can figure it out, Grettel.” He shook his head. “Don’t give me that look.” Baird crossed his arms over his chest and glared at both girls.

  Elle returned his stare with interest. “Oh, it’s not just a look you’re getting. It’s a look and a lecture. Just because she’s the Light doesn’t mean she’s all-knowing. Give the girl a break, Baird!”

  “Do you think some Vemreaux’s gonna stop and tie her shoes for her? She’s got to learn these things.”

  It took a few minutes of patience as Blue worked on her shoes while Elle and Baird argued, but finally they were tied to her liking. When Blue stood, Baird examined her uniform to make sure she’d put it on correctly.

  “Alright, then. The diner’s south of the wooded area behind the hut. We usually walk, but you need to get used to the feel of being in a car.”

  Elle grinned, shoving Baird for good measure. “You ready for the real world, Blue?”

  Baird cut off his sister’s response, his feet thudding toward the door. “It doesn’t much matter if she is. Let’s go.”

  Chapter Six

  Found

  The hotel was the most expensive one in America’s Capital City, so the mattresses were downy soft. The penthouse suite was quiet as the four men slept soundly after their cross-continental flight and night of debauchery.

  The shout that woke them was unnerving, but not unexpected. Brody, Liam and Alec each groaned, but Alec was the only one to lift himself from the bed that beckoned him to stay. Instead of moving toward the commotion, Alec went to the kitchen in the suite, filled a glass with cold water, and then made his way to Sam’s room where the predictable cries for help sounded.

  He turned on the bedroom light and found the man on the mattress with his back arched, writhing against an invisible foe. Sam called out, twitching and flailing to no avail. There was no one to fight with. There never was. In all the times Alec dispatched himself to wake Sam from his night terrors, it was only ever himself he was battling.

  “Don’t touch me! Get offa me!” Then he began pleading in Italian – a language not spoken publicly since King Sinclair declared the one world language to be English. Many European families still spoke whatever their tongue had been before that in their home. That was allowed. Just no public shows of disunity. You were permitted as many freedoms as you wanted…in your home. Freedom with strings attached.

  Sam pulled at his dark brown hair and kicked at the air, swearing at the top of his lungs as he absorbed whatever attack he was under.

  After all the countless times he’d had to wake Sam from his nighttime horrors, Alec was still susceptible to pitying his friend and former co-worker. They’d been a great bodyguard team until Sam resigned. Alec turned the water glass over on Sam’s head, but did not act quickly enough in jerking the sheet out from under him to complete the disruption of the dream.

  Sam’s hand darted out and gripped Alec’s throat, squeezing the breath from the guard with unhampered force. “Never again!” Sam shouted, kicking at the air and punching aimlessly with his free hand.

  Alec was not a fan of fighting for breath. He cut the flat of his hand through the air to Sam’s elbow, knocking the offending limb away. Alec was only permitted a short gasp before Sam landed a fist to Alec’s gut, knocking the newly acquired air from him.

  “Let me out!” Sam yelled, before spinning off into Italian mutterings.

  Once Alec collected enough of his bearings to stand upright again, he grabbed hold of the bed sheet and ripped it out from beneath Sam.

  Sam landed with a confused thud on the carpet, breaking him abruptly out of his panic. “What the –?” He blinked the room into focus. “Where am I?”

  “Capital City. Americas. Hotel. Any of this ringing a bell?” Alec tried to keep the irritation out of his tone, but being interrupted in the middle of a REM cycle only to be choked and punched did nothing to improve his mood.

  Sam scratched his head with his weighted hand. “Oh, yeah. Okay. Sorry I woke you.”

  “It’s fine. You alright?” Alec wanted to check if Sam was physically functional, not emotionally. He knew better than to ask that.

  “Yeah, yeah. Kinda hoped sleeping in a different country would…” Sam shook his
head. “Not that it’s worked any of the other times we’ve hopped on a plane.”

  “I know.”

  Sam reached a shaking hand to his nightstand, fumbling for a cigarette. He dropped the lighter twice before he could indulge in the only thing that calmed him after the appearance of the shadows that chased him nightly.

  “It’s a non-smoking room,” Alec reminded him for the third time since they’d arrived.

  “Then they’re gonna be really unhappy.” Sam’s black irises still showed signs he was thinking about his dark dream. “Look at that. It’s a smoking room now. It can be a bowling alley for what we paid.”

  “Do they even help? Maybe you should switch to the old-fashioned plain nicotine cigarettes. Those changed Vemreaux ones, they’re supposed to calm you down, right?” Alec observed his friend’s anxiety. “I don’t think it’s working.”

  Sam’s sarcasm came out hollow as he stared lifelessly ahead without blinking. “No. They just look cool.”

  Alec didn’t know why he wanted to know, but that night he found he couldn’t stop himself from asking. “So who was it this time? Your dad?”

  Sam brought himself back to the present and shook some of the water droplets from his messy hair. “Nah. It was nothing.” He cast around for something to give Alec. “A giant chicken trying to peck my eyes out or some shit. I don’t remember.”

  Alec saw the lie, but allowed it. “Alright. I’m going back to bed, then.”

  Sam took a long drag on his cigarette. “I think I’ll go for a run.”

  He glanced at the alarm clock and groaned after Alec shut the door behind him. Five forty-five. He was never able to sleep past five forty-five, no matter how hard he tried. Medication. Self-medication. Different beds. Different houses. None of it soothed the nightly battles that gripped him in his most vulnerable state.

  Today it was memories of his father. Drunk, stumbling and incoherent, Saul Boniface was a man who tolerated no mistakes. Sam made sure none were made, but even that was not a guarantee of an uneventful childhood.