Unequal

by B. E. Sanderson

  Nothing had changed. And everything had changed.

  Bruno pulled the transport to the curb in front of her former home. Identical to her memories, except the spreading oak tree in the front yard had become a stump with plastic daisies pushed into it. Her breath hitched up into her chest as she gazed at those fake blooms.

  This is it then. They’re gone.

  Her parents couldn’t live there and put up with the garish touch. Her mother would never have allowed it.

  Sucking in more air than she needed to fill her lungs, she grasped the door handle. “Wait here.”

  “The hell we will.” Shiraz’s door was already partially open.

  Bruno grasped the girl’s hand. “Let Rue do this. If she can get Justin out by herself, fine. If neither of them comes out, we’ll go in.”

  “Give me fifteen minutes.” And Rue had to hope they weren’t either dead or disappeared by then.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The trip up the front path was a journey back in time. Every step, Rue had to remind herself she wasn’t the same little girl, pretending to be Equal until she got inside, crossing her fingers behind her back with childish hope her father wasn’t home.

  A man’s voice shouted something and she stopped cold. It’s not him. He’s not here.

  The man called out again, but it was several houses over. Releasing a breath she hadn’t been aware she held, she moved a step nearer to her unwelcome goal.

  The door was closed. Maybe Shiraz heard the message wrong. Maybe Winston changed his mind. Neither was a possibility, but she grasped onto shreds of hope like a drowning sewer rat clings to garbage.

  The bottom step creaked the same way it had on her last trip up those stairs. No turning back. Even if those inside weren’t watching, no one could miss its squeak announcing guests. She cast a glance back toward the transport. Bruno sat stoic. Shiraz waved a hand toward the house, impatient to end this.

  No time. I’ve run out of time. Her heart hammered in her chest, every beat shouting at her to stop, but she quickened her pace. Up the last two steps and across the porch before she lost her nerve. The screen door shrieked a warning she couldn’t heed. This was no simple mean trick played by the naughty child her uncle had become. He wasn’t a little boy holding her favorite doll. He was an evil force holding the one man who opposed the twisted plans of a madman.

  Her hand rose to knock, but she hesitated. This was my home. Who knocks on their own front door?

  One twist of the knob and the door silently swung into the living room. The scents assailing her were so familiar. Recently, someone had baked cinnamon rolls. Her mother’s cinnamon rolls. With a touch of cloves. “For luck,” her mother always said.

  “Mom?” she called before she could stop herself.

  Some small part of her expected the lilting voice that soothed her fears to come back to her. The laughter shocked her to the core.

  “Did you really expect her to be here, darling Rue?” She couldn’t see him, but her uncle had to be in the kitchen. “I knew you’d come, but you’re so slow. If you waited too much longer, you wouldn’t have made it home in time to eat these while they’re hot.”

  She shook her head. He couldn’t be serious. Winston was acting as if this was a family reunion. Hell, he’d made her mother’s rolls.

  “I’m not here to eat,” she said. “I’m here for Justin.”

  “I’m afraid he’s not in the mood for breakfast, little one.”

  Steeling herself, she took the few steps necessary to enter the kitchen. Inside, her uncle was seated at the aging vinyl table where her family once ate. Casting her gaze right and left, she verified he was alone before she stepped inside.

  “Where is he?”

  “Around here somewhere.” Howard acted as though Justin had wandered into the den for a nap. “But let’s talk about something else. We haven’t talked in so long.” He steepled his hands in front of his face. “I’ve really missed our chats, Rue. Haven’t you?”

  “I miss my uncle, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I’m right here.” He pulled out the chair next to him and patted the seat. The familiar gesture almost crumpled her resolve. No matter what Winston implied, he wasn’t her uncle any more.

  Leaning one hip against the cracked counter, she said, “You’re the Citizen Equalizer.”

  “And so I am.” He let out a full belly laugh as Rue stood with her mouth hanging open. “Whoda thunk it? If you’d told me all those years ago I’d be running the agency we were so afraid of, I would’ve slapped your face. Funny how things change. Funnier how events can change us. How much have you changed since last I saw you?”

  More than you’ll ever know. Working as a doctor didn’t give her a whole lot of experience with the diseases of the mind, but some kind of sickness had worked its way into her uncle’s brain. The few texts she’d read on the subject were enough to tell her she should tread carefully.

  “Not much, Uncle Howard.” She was walking the fine line between soothing and patronizing.

  Her calculated bet worked out. “There’s my girl. You could never change.”

  His face spread into a wide smile. It was then she noticed the white scar creasing his cheek, beginning at his jaw line and ending at the hairline near his temple. If the wound went deep enough, it would explain a lot about her uncle’s personality change. It might explain why his memories seemed selective.

  “How have you been?”

  He spread his arms wide. “I’m great. This is my house. Isn’t it exactly the way you remember it? Well, except for a few things, but I can’t make the oak tree grow back.” Winston’s eyebrows drew into an angry vee. “Your father never should’ve cut it down. He made me very unhappy.”

  “What did you do?”

  He shook himself and the craze seemed to subside. “Don’t worry, little Rue. I didn’t harm your father. I reassigned him. He’s very happy working for the Department.”

  Happy? If her father was happy in the same way her demented and damaged uncle was, she dreaded the idea of what might’ve happened to him. Imagining her father slaving away inside the agency he feared enough to torture his own flesh and blood twisted her heart.

  “Why?”

  “Because he needed to be taught a lesson.” Winston hadn’t given her the answer she wanted. She didn’t need to know the reasons behind her uncle’s treatment of her father. Years of living with them both provided plenty of those.

  “No. Why did you…? What happened to you?”

  As minutes ticked by, Rue worried whether the simple question had pushed him too far. Everything she read told her how recalling a traumatic event sometimes made the trauma worse. If he could remember the event causing such a shift in his personality. Whatever the consequences, Rue had to figure it out.

  “Uncle Howard? What happened to you the day they disappeared you?”

  “Disappeared me?” He seemed to shudder but the movement happened so fast, she wondered if she imagined it. “No one disappeared me, dear. I left here by my own choice. Poor, little Rue. Did you miss me terribly?”

  “I still miss my uncle,” she admitted. “But you aren’t the man I grew up with.”

  “We all change, Rue. Even you. You’ve gotten so tall, and you’ve become the beauty I always believed you would be. And you became a doctor! Remember those nights we would lie awake talking about what you wanted to be?”

  “I remember. Do you remember how much you wanted to be an architect? What happened to your dream?”

  “I became something so much better than an architect. Instead of creating buildings, I’m creating an entire society. Of course, it isn’t finished yet. But you have to lay the foundation before you can put the structure together.” He seemed to gaze off into the distance as if he was peering into the future. “Soon. Everything will be in place soon. You are one of the keystones, little Rue. I’m so glad you’re going to help me.”

  A muffled thump sounded from below. “About that… If you w
ant me to help you, you have to help me.”

  “Anything,” he said, the same way he had when she was small.

  “Let my friend go.”

  “Friend?”

  “Justin. He’s not really who you want, is he?” she asked in a small and unthreatening voice. “The Unequals aren’t really your enemy. You know they aren’t. They’re merely people, no more or less than you or me. They can help you build your society.”

  “They’ve been helping me for years. They simply didn’t realize it. But I can’t give them Justin back. He won’t let them continue to help me. He wants them all for himself.”

  “He wants what you and I want. For people to be who they are.”

  “I want that?”

  “You used to. You haven’t really changed so much you can’t remember how you used to feel. Remember how we talked about this, too. You wanted for people to be allowed to be themselves. So I could be a doctor, if I wanted. And you could be an architect. And Mother could write books. Everyone allowed to be exactly what they wanted to be without someone else telling them they couldn’t. Remember?”

  “Things change. People must be made to want what’s best for them.” Blinking his eyes, he reached for a plate and carefully placed a cinnamon roll on it. “You really should try one. Tell me if I got your mother’s recipe right.”

  Rue pushed herself away from the molding and walked to the table. The rolls smelled incredible, but her stomach was roiling. The bite lay like dust on her tongue, but she smiled through the nausea. “Perfect. Exactly what I remember.”

  The smile blossoming across his face reminded her of one Unequal boy who was mildly retarded. The slightest compliment made him inordinately happy. Is Howard…?

  “About my friend?” she asked gently. “Can I at least see him?”

  His eyes darted toward the door leading to the basement. “Forget about him. We’ll all forget about him soon enough.”

  Snatching up a gooey roll of his own, Winston bit off a large enough piece to puff out his cheeks. As he chewed with utter contentment, Rue eased toward the door.

  “Don’t go down there,” he said around his mouthful. “There’s nothing to see there anymore.”

  She got an idea and prayed it would work. “But I want to see if your drawings are there.”

  “They are.” He gustily gulped milk from a nearby glass. The white mustache he didn’t bother wiping away afterward made her wonder how damaged her uncle’s brain actually was.

  “Won’t you show me them again, Uncle Howard? Describe the buildings to me like you did all those years ago. I miss your buildings so much. I miss talking to you. Can’t we go and pretend we’re young again?”

  Her last question flipped some kind of switch because his smile came back. Gobbling the last of his roll, he pushed himself away from the table. “Anything for you, pretty, little Rue.” He crooked his arm, attempting to escort her with the same mock formality he had once used to amuse her. “May I?”

  She stifled away her own feelings of dismay as she looped her hand under his arm. Winston patted at it as if he really was a long, lost uncle. Somewhere in his crazed head, he was, but the kind and gentle person was buried so deeply, she wasn’t sure she could ever dig him out.

  A muffled groan sounded below and to her left as they traversed the stairs. Justin had to be down there somewhere, but she couldn’t see him. Since the basement was one big room, she couldn’t imagine where Winston had hidden him. Another groan echoed against the concrete blocks, followed by a series of thumps.

  “Where is he?” she whispered, half to herself.

  Winston didn’t seem to hear her. He was leading her toward the one finished wall. The plasterboard tacked over the concrete was covered in lines and squiggles from one end to the other. Some of the drawings looked new, but Rue couldn’t be certain. Maybe her uncle really had filled the whole space way back then. Still, her heart was positive it had been no more than half drawn at the time he was disappeared.

  “You’ve been busy, Uncle Howard. Can you explain your new sketches?”

  “New sketches?” A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “I told you, I don’t draw anymore. I have better things to do with my skills.”

  He believed what he was saying, but Rue didn’t. The closer they got to the pencil lines and pen marks, the clearer it became some of them were new. In fact, a few of the inked lines were shiny-wet. On closer inspection, something other than the wet ink separated the newer sketches from the old. The more recent ones didn’t show a fraction of the skill he had demonstrated over a decade before.

  She stared once more at the makeshift blueprints. With one hand, she traced the same path an unsure hand had traveled. Then with the same hand lifted it to her uncle’s face, she gently followed the scars.

  “What happened to you, Uncle Howard?” she asked, letting the sympathy she felt shine through. Whoever he had become, her uncle must’ve endured something horrible to slip from brilliance to lunacy.

  His left hand darted up so fast she didn’t have time to pull away. As his fingers tightened around her wrist, a yelp escaped her. In the stillness, a groan replied to her pain.

  “Never touch me there.” Then he slapped her hard across the face.

  She hit the wall and the dimness of the basement slid to darkness.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Before Rue opened her eyes, she felt as though she’d been transported back in time. The cloth beneath her cheek was the soft cotton her mother washed so lovingly. She snuggled deeper into the bedding. In an instant, she was a child again. Even the birds in the tree outside her window sounded the same. Scents she hadn’t experienced in years filled her nose. Lilacs and linen—

  The cinnamon and cloves snapped her back to the present. The smell was the same, but it wasn’t her mother’s doing. Those scents had been created by the shadow of her uncle. She gazed at the bedroom she’d left over a decade ago. The room was more in keeping with the child she’d been the day Howard disappeared than the adult she’d grown into. It was almost as if he remade this room to meet his jagged memory.

  “What happened to you?” she whispered. The sound of her own voice brought the silence of the rest of the house into sharp aspect. Lying perfectly immobile, she strained to hear some signal her uncle was downstairs. Nothing. She would’ve settled for a muffled groan wafting up from the basement.

  Her thoughts flew to the duo she’d left outside. Surely, fifteen minutes had passed. She should’ve been awakened by the sounds of them entering the house behind her. Her stomach curdled. Silence couldn’t mean anything good.

  Pushing herself upright, she strained again to hear something. Anything.

  Rue swung her legs over the side of her bed. Her feet immediately touched something soft and fluffy. A pair of slippers at least three sizes too small had been placed on the floor, waiting to warm her tiny toes.

  She glanced around for some sort of footwear, but she came up empty. Winston had stripped her feet bare before he laid her in bed. She was thankful he stopped there. The rest of her body was clad in the remnants of her prison garb.

  “Rue?”

  The rasp of a voice sent a jolt through her spine. She scanned the room, looking for the source and coming up empty.

  “Over here.” Shiraz’s face was mostly hidden by the curtains, but the distain etched there was unmistakable. “Come open the window the rest of the way. I can’t get any leverage out here.”

  The girl had to be sitting on the slim ledge or hanging from a tree branch.

  “He’ll hear you,” Rue said, afraid to move.

  “If you’re talking about Winston, he left about ten minutes ago.”

  “He left?” Rue couldn’t imagine how long she would’ve lain in bed afraid her uncle would check on her. She imagined she would’ve eventually taken the same route down as Shiraz had taken up. But then there’d be the problem of getting Justin out of a locked house—

  “Don’t worry,” Shiraz said. “He’s not getti
ng away that easy. Bruno kicked me out of the transport to check on you and then followed Winston. Open the damn window before I fall and break something.” Her face twisted into sneer, but the girl didn’t seem to put much effort into her hate this time.

  “Give me a second. This sash sticks.” One hard tug shot the window open and almost sent Rue sprawling. Her near fall was worth it to hear Shiraz’s soft laugh. “Well, it used to.”

  Sliding through the opening, Shiraz took a hard look around the room. “A little more girlie than I would’ve pegged you for.”

  “It was perfect when I was a kid.” The smile drained away. “Winston’s insane enough to believe I’m still a little girl.”

  “And you’re surprised why?” A short tour around the room ended with Shiraz flopping on the bed. “We tried to tell you he was nuts. You’re the one who didn’t want to believe it.”

  “Hey, I figured my uncle had to have lost his grip on sanity to work for the DOE. But I never dreamed it would be this bad. He’s not just insane he’s lost his grip on reality. He actually thinks he’s doing a good thing.” She dropped her tone like they weren’t alone. “Crispin is…”

  Shiraz grimaced. “Bruno told me.” A thud echoed from below. The girl jumped up and into a fighting stance. “Who else is here?”

  “Justin!” Rue raced toward the door and tried to throw it open. It wouldn’t budge.

  “Does the door stick, too?”

  “It’s locked. Another one of my darling uncle’s tweaks. My parents never installed a lock on this door. My father was too afraid I’d find a way to shut him out and do evil Unequal things.”

  Shiraz ignored her comments and removed a small package from her jacket. Sliding a slim tool out, she went to work on the door. Before Rue could ask what she was doing, the lock released. The girl eased the door open and presented Rue with a genuine smile.

  “A little trick Max made sure I learned. He didn’t like the idea of my ever being less than free.”