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Dark Parties

Page 20

by Sara Grant


  Braydon appears in my limited field of vision. I should stop him. He hesitates at the front door and glances up the stairs as if he’s checking to make sure Sanna and I are still tucked in his bed. What is he doing?

  He opens the door halfway, his body a barrier between me and whoever is outside.

  “Braydon, where have you been?” A rough male voice slices through the silence.

  The door is being forced open, but Braydon stands his ground. He struggles to close the door a little farther. “I’ve got the situation under control.”

  “I doubt that.” The door is thrust open and in strolls a man in a police uniform. I bury myself farther into the musty coats behind me.

  Braydon steps in front of the officer and blocks my view. “I said I would handle it.”

  “You’ve made a mess of things so far, Braydon.” He laughs.

  I can’t process what’s happening. I don’t understand.

  “Just back off and let me do my job.” Braydon shoves the officer, pushing him into the doorframe.

  The officer pokes a black-gloved finger at Braydon’s chest. “You need to watch it. We’ve tried it your way. Now we do it mine.”

  “I can still turn them. I’m so close.” What is Braydon saying?

  “We want to make an example of them—”

  “And you will,” Braydon interrupts.

  Time stops. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I’ve been dropped into a black hole, my senses muted. I hear Braydon say the word complicated. I listen hard for the officer’s response.

  “I expect them delivered to the Central Police Station by midnight tonight.” The officer’s words rise through the rubble in my brain.

  Braydon’s nodding and edging the man out the door. He glances up at where I should be sleeping, then follows the officer outside and shuts the door behind them.

  The truth resonates to my core. I should have trusted my first instinct. I can’t believe it, yet all the puzzle pieces fall into place. That’s how he lives here. How he has new clothes and other things none of the rest of us can get. That’s why he singled out Sanna. That’s how the police have tracked me down. That’s why he kissed me in the dark.

  The only piece that doesn’t fit is why he saved us. He could have left us at the Empowerment Center. I don’t understand, but I know I can’t trust him anymore. I befriended a snake and shouldn’t be surprised when it bites. I block out everything except my need to survive. I race up the stairs and, as quietly as I can, I wake Sanna. She’s confused, but I tell her we have to go. Now. I think of the only lie that will get her moving. “Braydon’s in trouble.”

  She’s on her feet. We communicate wordlessly, the way two people whose lives are as intertwined as ours have always been. Sanna follows my lead and helps arrange the pillows to make it look like we’re asleep. I open the doors that lead onto the balcony, which overlooks the back garden. I see the garage and know the van is our only means of escape.

  I climb over the balcony railing. Sanna follows my lead. I bend down and grip the lower ledge as I cautiously dangle my legs over the side. I’m about five feet from the ground. I let go and fall with a thud. I spring to my feet and raise my arms to help break her fall. A strange thought flashes in my mind: I’ve got to protect her because she’s pregnant. Maybe they didn’t do that to her. Maybe we got to her in time.

  I catch Sanna, and we run toward the garage. A car engine starts. I pull her to the ground and clumsily drape myself on top of her. I try to decipher which direction the car is moving. There’s a crunch of gravel and then the roar of the engine fades. I hope this means that the police officer has left. I search for a back way out, but I can’t risk getting trapped. I lead Sanna to the garage. We climb into the van. I start the engine and fumble with the gearshift. I squint to see when the D for drive lights up. I’ve only watched my parents drive; I’ve never been behind the wheel. I tap the accelerator and the van lurches forward and stops. I ease it down and carefully steer down the dirt alley that leads to the house’s front drive.

  “What about Braydon?” Sanna says, pressing her palm against the windshield when we both spot him staring wide-eyed at us from the front door.

  “We’re meeting up with him later,” I lie. “Get down and stay out of sight.” I shove her onto the floor with my free hand so she can’t see Braydon chasing after the van. I press the accelerator until it makes contact with the floor. I consider for a second if I should run him over. But I can’t waste time. Grinding his body into the gravel won’t make a damn bit of difference. Braydon’s already dead to me.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY

  Night is closing in, and the chill is inside me, emanating from me. I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been. From the first moment I met Braydon, my gut told me not to trust him. Then we kissed. That horrible, treacherous kiss. I wipe my mouth on my shirtsleeve at the thought of it. His shirtsleeve. I want to rip off his clothes and tear out the part of me that he touched.

  I glance in the rearview mirror. Sanna’s asleep in the back of the van. She can never know of Braydon’s betrayal. It would kill her. The thing I keep trying to focus on is that I’m leaving tonight. I will take Sanna with me, and we will put Homeland and all its death and corruption behind us. I will make myself forget about Braydon and the last few days. I will be reborn when I emerge from the Protectosphere. That thought gives me a little comfort.

  I have one final stop to make. I park the van in the alley behind my house. I leave Sanna sleeping. I cover her with one of the blankets Senga gave us so she’s partially camouflaged. If Braydon has contacted the police, then nowhere is safe. But I’ve got to risk it. I’ve got to warn my mom, tell her what the government is doing. I watch the house until I’m sure Mom is alone. I crawl under the ramshackle fence that borders our backyard. For once I’m pleased nothing gets repaired. I open the back door soundlessly. I’m startled when I hear a baby cry. I follow the noise to my bedroom. I peek inside.

  “It’s okay,” my mom coos as the baby’s cries subside. She’s pacing across the room, bouncing as she walks. Her ponytail is loose and hangs to one side. Her face has the bleached look of someone who has been crying. She cradles a baby close to her chest. “That’s my girl. It’s nighty-night time.” She used to say that to me. She starts to hum a lullaby. I haven’t heard that melody in years, but I recognize it instantly. She presses her cheek to the baby’s. She sways and hums as if in a trance.

  “Mom,” I whisper, breaking the spell between mother and baby. She doesn’t hear me. “Mom,” I say a little louder.

  She screams. The baby starts crying again. Her whole body starts shaking, and I think she’s going to drop the baby. I rush to her and scoop the baby into my arms. Mom throws her arms around me and sobs into my neck. “They told me you were dead.”

  I wriggle free to give the crying baby some air. She’s so tiny and fragile. Her face is red and blotchy and her cheeks are damp with tears. All I want to do is stop her flood of tears and see her pouty lips smile. Her sadness I can remedy. I bounce, and the baby’s cries turn to a whimper.

  “She likes it if you walk,” Mom says, wiping the baby’s tears.

  I pace the floor. All my furniture is crammed into one corner. There’s a crib where my bed used to be. My clothes are still scattered on the floor. When I stop moving, the baby starts to cry, so I keep moving, even though I’m weary.

  “I wouldn’t let anyone take anything,” she says, closing the curtains.

  I tell Mom everything about the Women’s Empowerment Center, what they’ve done to Sanna, what Braydon has done to me, and my grandma’s invitation. Mom’s gaze follows me, but her body is still. Her arms hang limply at her sides.

  “I’ve heard rumors,” she says when I’ve finished. “They are taking young girls, but I never thought they would go this far. I tried to protect you, but you’re too much like your grandma.”

  “I’m a lot like you too.” I wish I’d known sooner what a rebel my mom was in her ow
n quiet way. I wish we’d trusted each other with our secrets. I want her to make it all right like she used to. She could kiss a scraped knee and make it all better. She could sing me a lullaby and chase the monsters away. But I know she can’t make this okay.

  “Neva, you have to leave. Go be with your grandma.” Her eyes sparkle with tears.

  “Come with me,” I say, and realize that this is why I’m here. She’s the only thing keeping me here.

  She doesn’t hesitate. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” I ask, but I know her answer already.

  “I could never leave your father… or Jane.” She nods at the baby.

  She’s got to stay and fight alongside the Sengas and Carsons of Homeland. Part of me wants to stay and fight too.

  Tears stream in tandem down our cheeks.

  She wipes her eyes and coughs back the emotion. “You better go.”

  Jane is finally asleep. I pull her close. I smell that sweet combination of milk and baby lotion. I kiss her on the cheek and hand her back to Mom.

  “She’s got your nose,” Mom says, touching the top of Jane’s nose.

  “Everyone’s got my nose.” I study Jane’s tiny features.

  “She’s got your sparkle. She’s really smart. I can already tell.” Mom lays Jane in her crib. She tucks the tattered blanket around Jane’s tiny frame. She already loves her. Even though Jane’s been manufactured to keep Homeland alive, Mom sees her unique beauty, just like she always saw mine.

  I feel a slight sting of jealousy. Jane gets to keep my mother.

  “Is it okay if I take a few things?” I ask.

  “Sure.” Mom fusses around me, picking up the clothes that litter the floor. She strokes my hair when I pass her. She never takes her eyes off me. We are bumping into each other as she shadows me. “You must be hungry,” she says when we collide again. “I’ll get you some food to take with you.” I couldn’t eat a thing, but I know she wants to keep busy. I can’t take her sad eyes watching me. It’s hard enough without seeing the hurt I’m causing. She scurries out of the room.

  First I strip out of Braydon’s clothes. I find scissors in my desk and rip his shirt in half and half again. I want to shred his clothes until they are only a pile of thread. Then I want to burn the thread and flush the ashes. My anger is building on itself. I want to scream. I stare at myself in the mirror. My body is battered and bruised, but it’s nothing compared the wounds I can’t see. The wounds that will never heal. For a fleeting moment, I think maybe I could stay, but I can’t. Braydon has orders to turn me in. The government wants to make an example of me and Sanna. The police are probably looking for us. If I want to survive, I have to leave Homeland forever.

  I’ve got to make it to the Capitol Complex by midnight.

  I dress quickly. I dig out my journal from the mattress. I kneel by my bed as if reciting my bedtime prayers. God bless Grandma and Mommy and Daddy and Sanna. That was my order of things. I think it bothered Dad that Grandma got top billing, but she was the one who helped me memorize that awful prayer: Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.

  One night I told Grandma I didn’t want to say the prayer anymore.

  “Why not?” she asked; we both stared at our hands, which were clasped together in prayer.

  I pressed my lips against the edge of my hands and mumbled, “ ’Cause I don’t like the death part.”

  “I don’t like the death part either,” she said, looking heavenward. “Let’s see.” Her eyes seemed to search the ceiling for something and then the edges of her lips twitched in a wicked smile.

  “Now I lay me down to snore,” she started. “Make tomorrow not a bore. Give me laughter, song, and smile. And keep me safe all the while.”

  I press my forehead into the journal’s rough cover and repeat that prayer.

  I flip through the pages, stroking each one, until I come to the end of The Missing. I flatten the next blank page. I write my name and Sanna’s in bold, black capital letters. I retrace each line. I write today’s date and in the final column I write: “I love you, Mom!” I pause and try to think of something more. I want to tell her I’m sorry and that I hope I don’t get her in trouble. She has been living a second life for some time, not the recycled kind like her mother did, but a fresh new path she’s created for herself.

  “Nev?”

  I gasp at the sound of my name, even though it’s barely spoken. Sanna is standing in the doorway. Her fuzzy hair creates a ragged halo around her face. She’s staring at me with blank eyes. I close my journal and tuck it under my shirt.

  “I woke up and you were gone.” Her tone is flat and her face registers no emotion. She blinks once, twice.

  “I’m just picking up a few things.” I go to her side. “Why don’t you meet me back in the van?” I cradle her elbow and try to steer her out of the room, but it’s as if Sanna’s body is here, but she’s somewhere else.

  Jane makes a soft sucking sound and stirs in her crib. The noise seems to draw Sanna back. “What’s that?” She walks over to the crib.

  “That’s Jane,” I say.

  She leans over the crib and gently strokes Jane’s back. She’s transfixed by the baby.

  I’m almost annoyed at the interruption. “Stay here for a second. I’ll be right back.”

  I slip into my parents’ room. I head straight for Mom’s dresser. It’s solid oak, a hand-me-down from her mother. The scratches from decades of use blend with the wood’s grain to make it somehow appear more solid. I open the top drawer and slip the journal underneath my mom’s beige cotton panties. At the bottom of the drawer I see a hint of color—something red and pink that reminds me of fingernail polish. As I cover the journal in a pile of beige cotton, I can’t help but expose the two colorful items—lacy underwear. My mom has two pairs of lacy panties, and not the old-lady style with lace over a cotton brief. These are see-through lace, cut high to expose the curve of the hip. I’m not sure I want to think of my mother wearing sexy underwear. How did she ever get her hands on these anyway? Another mystery about my mother I will not get to solve. I put them back where I found them. I thought she was beige cotton underwear and now I know underneath that frumpy mom camouflage, she’s lacy pink bikinis.

  When I get back to my room, Sanna’s cuddling Jane in her arms. She’s swaying the same way my mother did and humming a tuneless lullaby. Her eyes are fixed on something far, far away.

  “I know what they did to me,” she says, not looking at me, not looking at anything. “They examined me. They said I was ready.” She half laughs. “Just my luck, huh, Nev? Captured in perfect time.” She’s still swaying. “They strapped me on one of those butterfly tables.”

  I know what she means. I shiver at the thought of that examination table, which held my legs open, like butterfly wings.

  “I knew what they were doing and I couldn’t stop them.” She kisses Jane and gently lays the sleeping baby back in her crib. “I can feel it there, growing.” She presses her hand into her abdomen.

  I take a step toward her. “I’m going to get you out of here.” I move closer. “We’re leaving Homeland forever.”

  She looks directly at me as if she’s trying to take it all in. “What about Braydon?”

  “Braydon’s not coming.” I swallow with the effort it takes to say his name. She’s got to know the truth. “Braydon is working for the government.”

  She nods, unphased, as if she’s known it all along.

  “Sanna, Braydon’s got orders to turn us in. The government wants to make examples of us.”

  She squints and studies my face but doesn’t say anything.

  “We’ve got to leave tonight.” I reach to put my arm around her, but she moves away.

  “I can’t go.” She wraps her arms protectively around her stomach.

  “Didn’t you hear what I said? The police are looking for us. We can’t stay here.”

  “She’s righ
t,” Mom says, stepping into the room and handing me a brown paper bag. “For later.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  She hooks one arm around me and one around Sanna. “You both need to go.”

  Sanna curls into my mom. “I’m not going.”

  Mom and I glance at each other and then at Sanna. Sanna straightens herself and steps free. “I said I’m not going.” With her tear-stained cheeks, she looks as innocent as Jane. “Let them make an example of me.” She tugs at the tail of her shirt. “Let everyone see what they’ve done to me.”

  “But—” I stammer. I can see a flicker of the old Sanna glowing in her eyes. “Then I’m staying too.”

  “No,” Sanna and Mom say almost in unison.

  “But—” I try again. Sanna stops me.

  “Nev, don’t end up like me. Go find out what’s out there.” She lifts her gaze skyward.

  “I can’t leave you. Not like this.” I shrug off Mom’s embrace.

  “You’ve got to, my precious girl,” Mom says, and strokes my hair. “I’ll take care of Sanna.”

  “We’ll be a team again,” Sanna adds. “You on the outside and us on the inside.”

  I wrap my arms around them both. I have no intention of going. Not now. I cling to them and sob uncontrollably in my mom’s shoulder. If they can stay and fight, so can I.

  “Neva.” My mom’s voice is cold. “Neva, you must listen to me.” She holds me at arms length. “You have to go. If Sanna is pregnant, the government won’t hurt her. But if you stay you will endure much worse than Sanna.”

  My reality dissolves. I don’t know what to do. I can’t stay, and I can’t leave.

  “Nev,” Sanna says softly. “Do this for us? You aren’t leaving us. You’re giving us hope.”

  My vision is blurred with tears. A new plan begins to take shape. If I can make it out alive, then I can save them too. I’ll find a way to come back. This isn’t good-bye.

 

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