A Broken Time

by Anna Oney

  Plath smiled and grazed his fingers across the wall of stone. Blythe’s breath was stolen away. A section of stone opened the way a curtain would when moved from blocking a window. A shimmering hallway of distant whispers beckoned them inside.

  “Take my hand, son,” he whispered. “It’s just one step behind the veil. Then up, up, up we go until we reach the Pearly Gates.”

  With a heavy heart, Blythe peered over his shoulder across the river. The post he’d stepped from had disappeared. He thought of the eleven children he’d grown to love and care for at Griffin’s home. The smiles on the kids’ faces when he’d ride up to the orchard. How they’d run into his arms and hug him. He thought of Fawn and the troubles she’d face without him. He thought of the moments he’d made her laugh. How her nose would scrunch up as she playfully smacked his arm.

  Lastly, he thought of the night he and Fawn had spent together inside that cabin. Seeking shelter from the snowstorm. He wished he’d thanked Fawn for inspiring him to be a better man. A man that he and his father could be proud of.

  Blythe grasped his father’s hand, taking a deep breath. He exhaled, splaying a content smile across his face.

  “I’m ready,” he finally said, nodding satisfied. “It was a good life.”

  Father and son stepped onto the cool, white marble behind the veil, leaving the mortal world behind.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  January 17, 2087

  “State your name for the record,” said the uniformed woman, whose blonde hair was slicked back into a tight bun.

  “Fawn McCord.”

  The uniformed woman wore glasses on the tip of a nose that was pricked upward.

  “Hello, Fawn. My name is Oleander Crane.”

  “Oleander Crane,” Fawn repeated, swallowing the hot bile that had risen at the back of her throat. “Yeah, I know you. I shot at you. Didn’t get a good look at your face, though.”

  “No,” she replied, sitting up straighter in her chair. “I guess you didn’t since you shot at me from behind. You’re quite famous around these parts.”

  Fawn had no recollection of when she had been removed from her cell, or how she came to be strapped to this chair. Tall fixtures, holding up two bright lights, stood directly behind her interrogator. They were blinding. This was the first light Fawn had seen for five weeks. But what she craved was natural sunlight — the warmth on her skin as the sun broke through the shade of trees that inhabited the woods.

  The woods, she thought, sighing as she imagined herself there.

  “Please,” Crane said. “Pay no attention to the man standing to your right.”

  The soldier was so eerily quiet, Fawn hadn’t even noticed him. The tall man clutched his automatic rifle, prepared for anything that might go wrong.

  “This isn’t one of those types of meetings,” Crane said. “There won’t be any beatings unless you bring them on.”

  Fawn had reached a point in her captivity where she’d grown accustomed to the beatings — especially, the taste of blood. The whippings themselves weren’t the worst part. It was the anticipation of them — the waiting. The echoing footsteps that approached her dark cell would make her back into the nearest wall with fright.

  Most of Fawn’s days in her cell were spent lying on her back with her eyes closed. She thought of a time before she became a prisoner of that dark, hateful place. Most of her dreams were of reuniting with Hunter in the afterlife. Blythe’s death hadn’t haunted her as fervently as she’d believed it would. She’d made peace with the fact that she’d killed him out of mercy. It had been a kindness. An act of love for a trusted friend.

  She’d grown skinny and frail as she couldn’t keep down the food given to her by her captors. She could only eat the slice of bread they provided with each meal if she took small bites and paced herself. But despite her lack of nutrition, her belly had developed a slight pudge. While the bones in her face were sharp and her arms and legs resembled twigs.

  “Tell me, Miss McCord.” Crane clicked her pen and prepared herself to jot down Fawn’s responses on the clipboard in her lap. “Why are you here?”

  “I don’t know.” Fawn turned her face from the piercing light and shrugged one shoulder. “Probably has something to do with me killing Blythe before you were finished torturing him. Oh . . . and me trying to kill you, of course.”

  “Terrorism . . .”

  “Terrorism,” Fawn angrily repeated. “What title would you give yourselves after what y’all did to my people?”

  With squinted eyes, Crane looked at the soldier stationed at Fawn’s right.

  “Corporal Briggs, correct our prisoner.”

  The muscles in Fawn’s body tensed. She gripped the armrest tighter, bending her nails backward as the soldier stepped closer. Briggs slapped her across the face, reopening the healed gashes inside her mouth.

  Refusing to backdown, Fawn fought back the pain in her jaw and sat up straight.

  “Is that light really necessary?” she asked, closing one eye and peeking through the other. “I’m sure your egos would glow in the dark.”

  “Now, Briggs,” Crane said. “You can do better than that. Hit her again.”

  By the time Crane’s minion was finished, Fawn’s cheeks had begun to swell. Her head was spinning. For a moment, Oleander Crane wasn’t a merciless interrogator, but a swirling, blonde blur of nothing.

  The blur was slowly pieced back together as it said, “You are the granddaughter of Emma McCord. Maiden name Clery? Is that, correct?”

  “Yes,” Fawn struggled to reply. “Yes.” Blood escaped her mouth and trickled over her chin. “But . . . how do you know?”

  Crane reached into a pack that hung from the armrest of her chair.

  It was then that Fawn noticed her bow and quiver hanging from the back of Crane’s chair. Crane’s hand reemerged holding a journal. She proceeded to use the weathered pages of Gran’s memoir to fan herself.

  “What do you think she’d have to say about your actions?”

  “My actions?” Fawn cut back. “What about yours?”

  Crane widened her eyes and they seemed to grow darker.

  “Briggs—”

  “Let me guess,” Fawn interrupted. “Hit her again?” She smiled up at the soldier, raising his hand to strike. “A little originality would be nice.”

  The amount of trauma Fawn could take was about to be surpassed. No one could endure continuous beatings without slipping into a comatose state. Refusing to give Crane the satisfaction of seeing her crumble, Fawn fought against the pressure to close her eyes.

  Crane reached behind her to fetch Fawn’s bow.

  “So primitive,” she said, pulling back the trigger. “I’m enamored by you all’s ability to survive all these years. Truly, I am,” she said and paused, returning the bow to the back of her chair. “I’m not just saying that.”

  “Blythe told me about the civil war that broke out in the Northern states. It would be beneficial for y’all to learn our ways. Don’t you think?” Fawn asked, craning her neck. “So next time something like the solar flare hits, y’all won’t be up shit’s creek without a paddle.”

  Crane jerked back her head in laughter.

  “Up shit’s creek without a paddle,” she repeated. “I haven’t heard that one before.”

  The shift in Crane’s serious, cunning demeanor should’ve brought Fawn relief, but the woman’s obnoxious, grating cackles were just as unnerving. Crane brought a hand to her chest, catching her breath.

  “Briggs,” she said, waving him over. “If you’ll leave us. I’d like to have a chat with Fawn. Woman-to-woman.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Briggs replied, clicking his heels. “I’ll be right outside.”

  Once Briggs had exited the room, Crane relaxed her shoulders and uncrossed her legs.

  “Bryon, you see, needed to feel like he was in charge. I did a marvelous job of making the poor bastard feel like he was calling the shots. I stayed busy, whispering sweet nothings in hi
s ear. It was easy, really. Men are driven by an unwavering desire to prove themselves. First, it was proving himself to his late father. Then to me. I was behind most of the executions and which communities needed to be eradicated — yours included. I wanted power and you gave it to me when you imprisoned Bryon. I wanted to personally thank you for that.”

  “I—” Fawn began.

  “However,” Crane interrupted, narrowing her eyes. She leaned forward, intertwining her fingers. “I can’t let go of the fact that you robbed me of a life with Logan.”

  “You mean,” she said, on the brink of laughter. “Big Sneed?”

  “His name was Logan,” Crane cut back, bolting forward in her chair. “He never liked it when people called him Big Sneed. We were supposed to rule the NWA together.”

  “Were you aware of how horrible he treated women?”

  “Yes,” she replied, leaning back in her chair. “But those other women, they-they had it coming to them.”

  “How can you betray your own sex and say they had it coming to them? You’re just as sick as he was.”

  Crane took a deep breath and exhaled, splaying her fingers on the armrest.

  “If you could speak to Hunter Bogan now, what would you say?”

  A lump surfaced in Fawn’s throat.

  Not his name, she thought, cutting her eyes to the ground. Why’d you have to say his name?

  Sniffling, Fawn swiped her cheek across her shoulder.

  “I would say that he should’ve known better.”

  Crane gave a smug smile.

  “Elaborate.”

  “He should’ve known better than to love me. Everyone who loves me . . . dies.”

  “Your people continue to ambush my soldiers on the road. They’ve disappeared from the tracker monitor.” Crane rolled back her shoulders, popping her neck. “You have any idea where they are headed next?”

  Spitting out a small puddle of blood, Fawn raised her head. The pounding in her cerebrum forced her to stall before responding.

  “I’ve never really cared much about what happens to me. But my people. I care about what happens to them a great deal. So, if you think I’m just going to give them up, you’re mistaken. Besides, if I told you where they were, you wouldn’t believe me.”

  Crane leaned forward in her chair, resting her elbows on her knees.

  “You’d rather die?”

  The only thing that kept Fawn together was Gran’s cross resting beside her heart. She raised her chin, glaring in Crane’s direction.

  “Jesus Christ is my personal savior.” Taking advantage of Crane’s silence, she continued, “If I don’t survive whatever is to come, I will stand before the almighty God and take my judgment. No matter how steep. And by His word, I will live again. If you decide to kill me, you’ll meet my people when they come to avenge me.”

  “Briggs!” Crane called, drumming her nails on the armrest. “Fetch our guest from his cell.”

  Fawn clenched her jaw.

  Guest?

  “Yes, ma’am,” Briggs replied outside the door.

  Fawn could hear Briggs’ footsteps advancing down the hall. The noises that followed were the opening and closing of more than one door. Crane set her clipboard and pen on a side table next to her chair and sipped from a glass of water. Her eyes were glued to the cross that hung from Fawn’s throat.

  “Such a frail thing, religion is. Much like hope. There’s no hope for you, Fawn McCord. None. There’s no God looking out for you. My mother was devout like you. So devout, that when we were starving, she prayed to God to save us. She swore He spoke back to her, saying He’d provide. So, guess what my mother did? Nothing. Because it was God’s will. No such God exists. I tried telling my mother that, but she wouldn’t listen. So, one night I snuck into her bed and drove a knife into her chest and stomach until I was certain I wouldn’t hear her voice again. Believe me,” she said, nostrils flared. “When I’m through with you, you’ll stay dead.”

  “Commander Crane!” Briggs called from outside the room. “I have him.”

  “Bring him in,” she replied over her shoulder.

  The door to Fawn’s interrogation room swung open, its knob pounding against the brick wall. Briggs strode through the doorway, his hand latched tightly to the prisoner’s arm. The man could barely keep his head raised, much less speak. All Fawn could see was the top of the man’s head. Blood dripped from his face to the concrete floor.

  “Tell me the location of your people,” Crane said, folding her arms across her chest.

  “I told you,” she replied, her stomach in knots. “You won’t believe me.”

  “Fa—” the prisoner began.

  Briggs took hold of the prisoner’s hair, forcing back his head.

  “Fa-Fawny,” Hunter whimpered.

  “Hunter!” Fawn screamed, rocking forcefully back and forth in her chair.

  Her lover’s eyes were swollen shut and a dark blue. The blows to Hunter’s face had left behind cuts that would one day turn into nasty scars. Blood streamed down his cheeks and from his bottom lip. He struggled against Briggs’ firm grip. Briggs hit him across the back of his head for good measure.

  “Stop!” Fawn exclaimed, tugging against her restraints. “Leave him be.”

  “Where are they?” Crane calmly asked again. “It’s simple, really. You cooperate, I’ll make sure Hunter is examined by Dr. Wenze’s medical team. Don’t cooperate, I’ll shoot him in the back of the head.”

  “I told you,” she wept. “You won’t believe me.”

  Crane removed the pistol from a holster at her side, stepping closer to Hunter.

  “Tell me where your people are hiding, Fawn.”

  Crane raised the pistol to the back of Hunter’s head.

  “Or watch your man die.”

  Fawn had already lost Hunter once. She didn’t want to lose him again.

  “Wait, no, stop,” she said, choking back the tears. “The veil. They’re behind the veil!”

  Hunter broke free of Briggs’ grip, falling forward on his palms. Crane took an exasperated breath, lowering her pistol.

  “Veil? Really?” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Unbelievable. You know, all of this could’ve been avoided. Since our arrival to this savage state, our goal was to bring you all in. Teach you all our ways. And you had to go and ruin it for everyone. Anyone that was silenced before,” she ranted, her face turning red. “Was silenced due to your actions.”

  Fawn cringed at the sharp edges of her handcuffs, which left red welts on her wrists.

  “When y’all dropped the Red Rain, I believed it was something I had done that forced y’all’s hand. That it was my fault. But now,” Fawn said, taking a deep breath as she fought off a wave of throbbing pain. “I realize that’s not the truth. Nothing I did made y’all murder my people. That was a choice y’all made. A merciless one at that.”

  Fawn looked to the concrete floor, covered with drippings of her and Hunter’s blood. She thought back to that fateful night on Lacing Switch road. The screams that no one heard. The shame and torment that had haunted her for the last thirteen years. All because one sick individual had made a choice to assault her. To rip her soul apart.

  “That man,” Fawn said to herself. “Nothing I did made him do that to me.” She met Crane’s questioning gaze. “That’s on him. Not me.”

  A small, glowing arm emerged out of thin air to Crane’s left. Fawn’s eight-year-old, bright-eyed-self stepped from behind the veil. Crane and Briggs continued to stare at Fawn, as they couldn’t seem to see the girl. The young girl brought a palm to the top of Hunter’s head, stroking his hair. She kissed his forehead before passing him by. Looking Crane up and down, Fawn’s younger self clenched her jaw. The rise and fall of Fawn’s chest quickened at the sight of her younger self’s advancement toward her, strapped to the chair.

  “I can come home,” the girl whispered, gracing Fawn with a smile. “It’s about time, too.”

  The young girl turned and backed i
nto Fawn’s beaten form, combining their spirits. The little girl inside of Fawn, who had been severed from her soul that day on Lacing Switch road, now resided within her, making her whole again. Missing piece restored, the throbbing, debilitating pain faded back.

  Fawn smiled big at Crane. She flexed her arm muscles as she tugged at her restraints.

  “I was once a troubled soul, desperate to find some kind of peace. And I think I’ve finally found it.”

  A pounding at the door caused Crane to flinch.

  “Commander Crane!” a soldier shouted from behind the door.

  Crane closed her eyes, hissing through her teeth.

  “What?” she called, slowly turning to look at the door. “What is it, Corporal?”

  “A fight has broken out.”

  “Between who?” she asked, rolling her eyes. “Two of our own?”

  “No, ma’am,” the soldier replied, his voice unsteady. “Not two. And not our own.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Crane clenched her fists at her sides as she faced the door.

  “Put the building on lockdown,” she urgently replied. “Seems as though your people have finally come to your rescue,” she said, addressing Fawn.

  A warm breeze came from behind Fawn, slightly lifting her auburn waves from her shoulders. A woman’s voice came from behind her, turning her skin into gooseflesh.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said.

  Briggs took one look behind Fawn and bolted through the door, leaving Hunter unguarded. Crane’s clenched fists relaxed. She turned around. Her eyes widened considerably at the sight of this stranger standing behind Fawn.

  “H-how?” Crane began, backing away. “Mom?” Her chair tumbled over on its side as she ran into it before reaching the wall. “Y-you’re dead. I-I killed you.”

  The woman came up beside Fawn. She had the same clear skin and yellow hair as her daughter.

  “And I don’t blame you,” the woman replied, drifting forward.

  Fawn peered downward at the woman’s feet, which floated above the concrete floor.

  “I’m sorry I mistreated you,” the woman continued. “You were so young. So innocent. I should’ve protected you.”