Weeping Justice

by Jennifer Froelich

  “Well, I’m here.” I cross my arms over my chest. “You told me to come.”

  Ridhaan licks his spoon and smiles. “I’ll take you to Zoya.”

  He turns left and walks into the darkness without checking to see if I follow him. “Are you hungry?” he calls over his shoulder, waving his spoon in the air.

  “Depends,” I say. “What are you eating?”

  “Caramel.”

  “Caramel?” I repeat.

  He turns around. “Yeah. As in caramel sauce. The kind they probably put on ice cream sundaes when this place was…well, a place. We found great big cans of it in the basement. Honestly, it’s taking forever to just get through one of them. I was hoping you’d help. You look like you might have a sweet tooth.”

  My eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He smiles again. “Sour girl, sweet tooth. Isn’t that…a rule, or something?”

  “Ridhaan! You’re doing it again!”

  Zoya emerges from the darkness, smiling and holding out both hands toward mine, as if we are old friends. Her head is wrapped in a bright yellow hijab this time, and the color suits her.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Riley. We have so much to talk about. Come! Despite what Ridhaan would have you believe, we have more to offer you than expired sweets.”

  She links her arm with mine and we stroll into the overgrown vegetation. Ridhaan falls in step behind. Zoya steers me around various hazards in our path: decaying photo booths, a rusting ice cream cart, and several chair rides that apparently fell from cables that once looped overhead among the treetops. “Just a little farther,” she says, guiding me over a footbridge. On the other side, we zigzag through picnic tables and stop in front of a purple building with a metal door. Zoya leads me inside, down a gloomy corridor, and then up a flight of stairs to a room that once must have hosted a wall of windows that have since been broken out and replaced with screens. Night air whips through the room, giving me a chill, but Zoya smiles like she enjoys it. She drops into a chair and indicates another for me.

  I sit on the edge. “I don’t have a lot of time tonight, but I need to know more about you. Your operation, what you do, what your goals are…”

  “How many more of us are lurking in the shadows?” Ridhaan says.

  I frown at him and turn back to Zoya. “You must understand my concern. Trust isn’t easy to give.”

  “Who said anything about trust?” Ridhaan asks.

  “Excuse me?”

  He laughs. “You don’t know us, Riley. We’re not asking you to trust us. We just have information to share. Stuff we have learned that might help you. You can take it or leave it.”

  “What I think Ridhaan means is that we are not asking for a show of faith.” Zoya casts him another sidelong glance of disapproval. “We don’t need information from you, or any promises.”

  “Then why approach me? Why follow me, help me, or ask me to come out here?”

  “To warn you,” Zoya says. “A war is coming, probably more quickly than we can even guess and you—you and Reed—have inadvertently walked into the thick of it.”

  “War is coming?” I shake my head. “No. War is already here. Just tonight, I received a message from a friend on the frontline. You know what he was lamenting? That we’re not all working together to defeat the UDR. That our…fragmentation is going to be our downfall. Meanwhile I’m just…”

  “Yes, we know. You’re just here to break your sister out of The Rose.”

  I throw up my hands. “How do you know any of this?”

  “We told you. We operate a network of rebels. Some of us are in the Sand, others in various parts of the Dirt, both in UDR strongholds and Red Zone cities like Slick.”

  “But you don’t work with the Resistance, do you?”

  Ridhaan smiles tightly. “The Americans? I suppose it’s one of their battles you referenced?”

  “Their goals are honorable,” Zoya says quickly. “But specific and targeted, don’t you agree? They are not interested in side projects like yours or so many others that need help. Rescue operations, emergency food assistance, an underground railroad, prison breaks…”

  I nod, frustrated. I understand what Sam said about working together, but Zoya has a point too. “Isn’t there a way to do both?”

  Zoya frowns. “We often do work toward the same goals, Riley. Just not…”

  “Not by the same rules.” Ridhaan smiles. “Which can infuriate even their not-so-American loyalists.”

  I frown. “Who?”

  “Tell me, is Bess Stuart still with them?”

  “Bess? Um…”

  “Never mind.”

  I stand up. “Okay, well I need to go. It’s going to take time to get back into Slick.”

  Ridhaan lifts an eyebrow. “Before Reed gets back? You didn’t tell him you were coming out here, did you?”

  I open my mouth to say I don’t need Reed’s permission, but I’m afraid it will come out like a child’s denial, so I switch gears. “As I said, our focus is getting my sister out of The Rose. If we need help with that, I’ll let you know.”

  Zoya rises to follow me out. “We’ll help if we can, but Riley. Whatever your plan is, put it into action quickly. This war we’re talking about isn’t between the UDR and the Resistance, but between General Northcote’s soldiers and Amaron’s. It looks to be bloody and nasty.”

  “And The Rose,” Ridhaan adds, “may just be Ground Zero.”

  42

  Reed

  It’s Monday night, the one night every week when the Thorns don’t play. That doesn’t mean it’s always a quiet night at The Rose, but there’s always a different mood with only bland pop music blasting through the speakers. Tonight is no exception.

  Of course, the atmosphere at The Rose has been tense every night since the fight broke out last week between Ogas’s soldiers and the new men with blue service caps. Rumors fly in the kitchen, but I only catch bits of the conversation. Still, it seems consistent with what I hear among the customers. Most of these soldiers report to General Northcote. Their allegiance to him has grown so strong, grumblings that he and not President Amaron should be leading the nation growing louder.

  “You’ll never hear disloyalty from the general, though,” I heard one soldier boast. “He may believe Amaron is a feckless buffoon, but he’s too honorable to say so.”

  “It’s his policies that speak for him,” said another. “Where Amaron is weak, General Northcote fills the gap, expecting more from his men.”

  “And getting better results from the citizens we interact with. He’s made more progress against the Resistance in one year than General Vegas made in the decade he served before—”

  “Before General Northcote retired him?”

  Everyone laughed and I moved on to another table. Most soldiers are more subtle about it, but I hear similar murmurs every night.

  “Excuse me. Boy!”

  I turn around and say, “Yes sir!” to a voice I recognize even before I see his face. Captain Ogas is sitting in his favorite corner again. He beckons me with one hand and I quickly head his way, heart thumping against my ribs. He never saw me at Claire’s cabin, I remind myself. He doesn’t know me.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Clyde, sir. Clyde Ferdinand.”

  “Clyde, I wonder if you can get me fresh silverware and a new water goblet.” He spreads his hands. “In fact, why don’t you start from scratch and replace everything on this table.”

  I frown. “Is there a problem, sir?” Sergei set this side of the salon, but I don’t see anything out of place.

  “The problem is, I have asked you to do something, and you still haven’t done it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I quickly transfer everything from his table into my gray bin, pulling off the tablecloth, and wiping down the table underneath it. I have to cross the salon to reach the extra service linens and flatware, but return quickly and reset his table, polishing his fork,
knife, and spoon before setting them in front of him.

  “Is everything as you would like it, sir?”

  He nods. “Now. Where is Alessandra tonight?”

  “I don’t have information about the escorts,” I say, because it is the precise phrase I’ve been ordered to use. “Mr. Bell should be in the salon soon. I’ll pass along your question to his staff.”

  I bow and Captain Ogas waves me away. I breathe a sigh of relief and go back to work. Three hours into my shift, when I’m given a break by Seth, I head out to the service area on the south side of the building. This is where staff members gather to eat, smoke, or gossip. I usually stay nearby, engaging when I can. Anything they might inadvertently reveal about The Rose could make a huge difference in our plans to rescue Lexie, and I certainly don’t want to stand out as that one weird guy who keeps to himself.

  But tonight I’m tired and grumpy. I’m still worried about Riley and those people who contacted her. She seemed on edge when I left for work and I can’t shake an unsettled feeling that rolls around in my gut.

  My interaction with Captain Ogas didn’t help.

  I talk to a prep chef for a few minutes, then retreat to a wall near the kitchen vent where I lower myself to the concrete and think about another kitchen vent where Riley pulled me close for the first time.

  “Hey.”

  I look up and find Gabriel standing just around the corner.

  “Hey,” I say. “Gabriel, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  He lowers himself to the ground and sits just like me against the other wall, out of sight of the others.

  “You’re the one who’s here to help, right? To get Lexie out of here?”

  “She told me she’s not going.”

  “She’s scared. Do you really have her sister with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s totally freaking out about that, man! Like…I can’t even explain it. She doesn’t want her anywhere near this place. You know?”

  “Yeah, me either.” I tilt my head closer to the corner and whisper. “But tell her the longer we wait, the harder it’s going to be to keep Riley away. Lexie’s best option is to let me get her out of here.”

  Gabriel laughs. It’s not a healthy sound. “Yeah, that’s what I want for her too. But she’s also stubborn. Must be a family trait.”

  I feel like such a jerk, but I say it anyway. “Listen, Gabriel, I would include you in the escape plan, but…”

  “Yeah, I get it. Probably a bigger risk if I came along.” He laughs again. “And you’ve seen how clumsy I am, spilling food all over the stage the other night.”

  “I thought you dropped the tray on purpose?”

  “Oh, right. Yeah. Anyway, I’ll work on Lexie. I’ll convince her to go with you.”

  “You two are close, huh?”

  For a minute he doesn’t say anything.

  “I wasn’t trying to pry,” I say.

  “No, it’s fine. Just thinking about the word ‘close.’”

  I sneak a peek over my shoulder and see that he’s got his hands stretched out in front of him and his fingers are moving through the air. Like he’s playing piano, I realize.

  “Lexie’s everything to me,” he finally says. “I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for her. Or maybe I would, but it would be worse than death. You know?”

  “I think I do.”

  “But girls don’t last long in this place. Girls like Lexie. She can only be Alessandra for so long, you know? Playing the part—it splinters you and there’s really no glue to put you back together.”

  “We wanted to get here sooner,” I say.

  He continues as if he doesn’t hear me. “She’s been here too long and there’s only so much I can do. I can deaden the pain, but I can’t take it away.”

  I frown. “Are you safe? I mean…”

  He sniffs. “Yeah, um. They need me for the band. For now, at least.”

  “You’re a good musician,” I say. “That has to help.”

  “The last in a long line of good musicians. Everyone’s expendable in the end. Lexie says it’s a matter of how you leave, not when.”

  “How?”

  He laughs and his voice cracks. “If you’re going to end up in a body bag on the frontline, why not just cut out the middle man?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.” There’s that laughter again, and I finally realize why it bugs me so much. I swear, it’s one of the saddest sounds I have ever heard. “Lexie can be free.”

  “Maybe we can send for you too. Get you out another way.” For the first time, Riley’s new acquaintances pop into my head in a positive way. “We have friends who might help. Resources.”

  “Just focus on Lexie, okay? Get her out and I’ll be happy. Get her out and I’ll be free too.”

  43

  Xoey

  Five days after my arrest—four days after all charges against me are dropped—the media still has not let the story die, despite my father’s monologue, trying to blame it all on enemies of President Amaron. Middlebrooks is all but living at my father’s apartment, swooping in whenever the cameras are off to discuss strategy for turning my story around. Every angle is dissected, including a new thought—maybe they shouldn’t have been so quick to share my clean toxicology report.

  “A brief stent in rehab might have served us better, Sean,” Middlebrooks says. “People love someone who has overcome adversity. Battled their own demons and won.”

  “I disagree. Part of Xoey’s allure has always been her good-girl image.” My father jabbed his finger at her. “But you kept pushing, Yvonne. ‘Get an edgy haircut, Xoey, wear this short dress, Xoey, go clubbing with celebrities, Xoey.’ Just look where it’s gotten us!”

  “Xoey was only going to rise so far without showing signs of assimilation, Sean. Besides, you’re the one who wanted to distance her from her Christian upbringing.”

  “Oh, don’t start that again!”

  And around they go, never solving anything. The only benefit is that I can easily retreat to my room to do damage control on social-media sites. Middlebrooks gave me three rules to follow. First, I’m supposed to share quotes and memes that demonstrate strength, humility, and resolve.

  “These are the words that marketing strategists say resonate with fans who may feel a sense of betrayal by you,” Middlebrooks said.

  Second, she wants me to post pictures of myself doing “everyday things” with Electra, Nox, Portia, and my father. “Remind them that you are a sister—a daughter. That you have a family that still trusts and supports you.”

  Third, she wants me to communicate with my fans, answering questions, and “being honest and vulnerable about the struggles you’re facing.”

  “I’m supposed to pretend to be honest?”

  “Oh, Xoey, don’t be difficult,” my father said. Then Middlebrooks uploaded a file to my nanochip with pat answers I can copy and paste into these raw and honest discussions with my fans. At least it all gives me time away from them and, more importantly, great cover for communicating with my friends. Of course, I hear little from Sam and Adam, which terrifies me. Bess wrote to me last night, just a brief note with few details.

  Keep the faith, X. You’ve always known the media prefers a load of codswallop over the truth. None of these battles—not yours or ours—resolve as quickly as we like. I’ve been thrown off course a time or two in my life, but always did best when I focused on my goal. Keep at it. You’re doing better than you think. I’m sure of it. - B

  I wake up today to hear news that makes my father happy, Middlebrooks elated, and me sick to my stomach. TMZ breaks the story. Kelan Thomas has been indicted on charges of planting drugs on me. Why? Because he’s a Resistance sympathizer who sought to make me and President Amaron look bad.

  “No.” I shook my head when my father told me the news. “I don’t believe that. Sadie was the one with drugs in her purse. Kelan didn’t do anything.”<
br />
  “You don’t know that, Xoey,” Portia chimed in.

  “Sweetie, I know you have a tendency to trust people, but you just can’t.” My father tilts his chin toward the camera. “People have their own motives for things. They’ll use you if you let them. Just, please be careful when making friends. Be true to the wonderful daughter I raised you to be.”

  This afternoon, I share all of this with Riley, who is online when I login to my computer.

  Me: Can you believe he is lecturing me about using people? As if he’s not using me!

  R: True, but X, you’re using him too, right?

  R: X?

  Me: You’re right. I know you are. But what has it accomplished? I have failed to draw K out. I have not found out anything about O. I have not even helped GK—with info on H, who is still missing, not on the president, or GN. I haven’t even gotten to see my mom—one of the only things I was really looking forward to when I came back.

  R: Well, not yet.

  Me: In the meantime, I keep messing up stuff for people around me and ruining my reputation in the process.

  R: X, take a deep breath and a step back. You know that’s not true. I see working girls on the streets here all the time. I haven’t even tried to help them. I’ve thought about it—thought about what you would do, but that’s it. At least you tried to help that boy in the alley.

  Me: Little good it did.

  R: Maybe. Or maybe that doc got there in time. You don’t know.

  Me: And the thanks I give Kelan? He’s in jail now for planting drugs on me. Something he did not do.

  R: That’s terrible, and I’m sorry.

  Me: Me too. I just do not know how to fix it.

  R: I need to go, X. But I have a wonderful friend who gave me good advice for situations like yours. Want to hear it?

  Me: Yes please.

  R: Pray.

  The next day while Portia is at work and my father is getting his teeth whitened, Electra knocks on my bedroom door.