by Shanon Hunt
She shifted onto her backside with her legs out in front and rolled the marathon stick up and down her knotted shins to inflame her bruises. As the pressure increased, she ground her teeth and groaned. She wished she had other pain mechanisms in her arsenal, but burning and cutting were prohibited. Lashing and caning were allowed when administered by a pure, but inductees were permitted to supplement their experience only using the hard rollers of the marathon stick, as long as it didn’t break the skin. They couldn’t risk infection.
“With pain comes peace,” Layla murmured between gritted teeth. She pulled the stick upward across her shin, relishing the throbbing ache that radiated from the point of contact.
She was deeply conflicted, and she didn’t know where to turn for help. It had been barely two weeks since the memory of her father’s funeral, and flashes of her past were coming more frequently now, in small clips, sometimes so quickly that she didn’t have a chance to commit them to memory. Often she caught just a brief image, sometimes just a voice. While she knew in her heart that these images and voices were real, she also knew that they were harming her progress toward purification. What she saw in her mind’s eye was not what the Father wanted her to see. Dr. Jeannette had made that perfectly clear.
So Layla had stayed quiet about her real memories. But her silence had earned her nothing but disdain from her therapist. You’re acting like you don’t even care about purification, Dr. Jeannette had told her this morning. It was a dagger to her spirit. How could Dr. Jeannette think she didn’t care, when it was all she thought about, morning to night?
Your progress seems to have completely stalled. Another of Dr. Jeannette’s daggers.
Maybe you’re just not good enough. Dr. Jeannette had sighed after this one, removing her glasses and tossing them onto her desk, her signature sign of disapproval.
Layla could still picture Dr. Jeannette’s scornful look as she sat tall in her chair, literally looking down at her. Layla pressed the marathon stick against her shins harder. She knew it was wrong to be angry with Dr. Jeannette. But did Dr. Jeannette really like her? No. She was sure of it. And she was certain Dr. Jeannette didn’t want to hear about her real memories.
She traced her fingers up and down her bumpy shins, reveling in the burn. The physical pain gave her confidence. The Father would see her devotion, even if Dr. Jeannette couldn’t. She rolled back into a heel-sit position and exhaled, allowing her shins to sink into the rough, uneven gravel. She clenched her jaw tightly and closed her eyes to focus on her mind’s eye.
With pain comes peace. With pain comes peace. With pain comes peace.
A helicopter was approaching in the distance. The green military helicopters, which she’d learned in class were used to monitor the impures on their way to try crossing the border into the United States, usually flew over the Colony in groups of five or six. She liked watching them. The sound of the beating blades growing louder as they neared gave her a feeling of excitement, as though something dramatic and powerful were about to happen.
She rocked back a bit more, applying more pressure on her shins. Her thighs burned from the stretch. The helicopters were coming closer, but she kept her eyes closed to keep her salty sweat from burning them.
“I love helicopters,” she whispered in an effort to distract herself from the pain.
***
“I know you do.” Mom smiles down at me as I look up at the helicopter. It’s hanging just above us, with KTVU written on the side. It’s a TV helicopter, and I wonder if I’ll be on the news later.
The crowd behind us cheers, and I look down the road.
“He’s coming!” I yell, jumping up and down. “Look!”
At the bottom of the long hill, the wheelchairs have just rounded the corner and are beginning the final climb to the finish line. They slow down as the climb becomes more demanding.
Mom’s cheering wildly. “Go, Mike! Go, nineteen!”
I look at her shirt, same as mine, which says Robert Joseph Foundation Wheelchair Marathon, plus a one and a nine in extra-big numbers.
“Go, nineteen!” I yell, to be like her. “Go, Daddy, go!”
As Dad’s wheelchair gets closer to where we’re standing behind the ribbons, I can see his red, sweat-covered face. It’s filled with pain and anguish. His mouth is open, trying to breathe as much air as his lungs can hold, and he’s panting. His eyes are wide. His arms shake as he pushes the wheels, white-knuckled, to make them turn. He’s working harder than I’ve ever seen him work.
He needs me. He needs me to help him finish the race.
Without asking Mom, I duck underneath the ribbon and run onto the road. I catch up with him, running beside him as fast as my small legs will move.
“I’ll finish this race with you, Daddy,” I say. “I’ll be your guardian angel to the end.”
But in only seconds, my lungs begin to burn and my legs slow down. Dad’s getting ahead of me, and I can’t catch him. I push harder, but I still fall behind. I see the finish line getting closer, but I can’t make my legs go any faster, and my chest hurts so much. I’m afraid I’ll stop. I won’t make it. I won’t be his angel to the end.
“Don’t you quit on me, Butch!” Dad calls out. “You’re almost there!”
I look up and see the finish line, so close.
“I won’t, Daddy,” I pant between fast breaths. I so badly want to do this for him. I want to cross the finish line with him. I want him to know I’ll always be by his side, I’ll always take care of him. We can accomplish anything together.
I push one last time to increase my speed, and just as I near the back of his wheel, my feet somehow tangle. I fall down hard on the pavement. Daddy rolls across the line without me.
My skinned knees are burning, and they start to bleed. “I failed, Daddy. I didn’t make it.”
But I know he can no longer hear me.
***
Layla opened her eyes to see the last helicopter in the group pass overhead. The evening became quiet again.
She rolled off her shins and looked at her bruised, swollen knees. Even though the image was still fresh, she couldn’t remember if she got scabs on her knees. She couldn’t remember if her mom had run into the road to pick her up. The memories came on their terms, and no matter how much she begged, no matter how hard she squeezed her eyes shut to return to the scene, they never gave her more once they were finished.
Instead, they tormented her emotions. The feeling of failing her dad when he needed her sapped her resolve, and she sat in the sharp-edged gravel and let the sadness trickle away.
“Layla.”
Brother James towered over her. He looked freshly showered, his brown hair shiny and combed back. She tried to stand, to be respectful, but her weakened legs crumpled beneath her weight.
Brother James rescued her. To her horror, he scooped her into a cradle hold and carried her to the bench near the rose garden. She felt like a baby in his arms.
She lowered her head, too embarrassed to look at him. “I’m sorry. I … I just … I didn’t …”
She wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for, maybe for covering him with dirt and sweat, but she knew it was nervous babble. She seemed to apologize a lot when Brother James spoke to her. She stared down at her legs, black and blue, red and inflamed. How ugly they were. She tugged down her pant legs to cover them.
She waited for Brother James to say something, but he sat silently with an odd smirk on his face. She focused on the stunningly large rose blooms across the garden to avoid his eyes, wanting to offer another apology for being so shy. For being so plain. For being so bruised.
“Layla.”
She glanced up nervously.
“How is it possible that a woman as beautiful and charming and intelligent as you is so self-conscious?”
She couldn’t possibly answer such a ridiculous question.
“Layla.”
Her already crimson face grew hotter.
“Okay, okay. I didn’t come
to torture you. I just saw you in the garden, and I came over to say hi.” He sounded defeated.
Instantly, she felt she’d disappointed him again. Why was everything with Brother James so difficult? He was her friend. He was supportive of her.
She sat up taller. “Hi, Brother James.”
He chuckled. “Whew, glad we got that over with.”
She smiled shyly.
“I wanted to talk to you about how you’re feeling these days. Dr. Jeremy says you missed your checkup on Monday.”
She knew it was wrong to skip her weekly body check. But she also knew that Dr. Jeremy would scold her. She hadn’t been following her nutritional plan and her weight was sinking again. And she hadn’t wanted him to see the new self-inflicted bruises and swelling across her shins.
“You know how important the body checks are for inductees during the pain rituals. You can’t be pure if you’re not physically healthy. Tell me what’s wrong.”
She desperately wanted to tell him everything from her first vision of her father’s funeral until now. She wanted to confess how she’d lied to Dr. Jeannette. She wanted to admit how jealous she was of Nicole and everyone else who could remember their past, everyone who’d been chosen before her. But mostly she wanted him to hug her and tell her that she was okay, that the Father loved her and she could still be pure.
Instead she forced a smile. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just doing as Dr. Jeannette says, trying to open my unconscious mind so that I can remember my poisoned life. She says it’s really the only thing that’s preventing me from progressing to purification.”
“Give me your leg,” he said.
“Huh?”
“Your leg. Right up here.” He patted his lap.
She looked down at her legs, still unsure she’d understood him.
“Yep. Here.” He patted his lap again.
She did as she was told and lifted her left leg onto his lap.
He rolled her pants leg up and winced at the bruises and swelling. He slid his fingers very gently over the knots. “This is too much, Layla. It’s not good for you.”
She flinched at the reproach in his voice, and a wave of panic washed through her. “Is the Father unhappy with me?”
“No, beautiful girl, he’s not. But he doesn’t need you to suffer this much.” He pulled her pants leg down and set her foot gently back on the ground. “Layla, you’re different than the others here at the Colony. I don’t know if you are aware of that. The Father has chosen you for a special purpose. He sees purity in you, deeper and brighter than in any other inductee. I can’t tell you more than that because it’s not for me to do so, but you’ll learn your destiny here at the Colony from the Father, when your time comes. When you’re ready for your purification.”
She gaped up at him, and he grinned as he nudged her chin to close her mouth.
“He sees your diligence. He sees your impact within the community. He sees your beauty the same as I do, your charm, your grace, your goodness. He’s already chosen you, Layla. All you need to do now is carry on with your daily schedule, get strong and healthy, and continue being the model inductee that you are. Let your memories come in their own time. You’re doing a wonderful job.”
Relief and joy swept over her, stripping away her fear and embarrassment. She threw her arms around Brother James and squeezed him as hard as she could from her awkward position next to him on the bench, pressing her face into his broad chest.
He laughed and hugged her back.
She held on tightly, savoring the scent of his bath soap. God, he smelled so good. She tilted her head slightly, and her lips brushed the skin of his neck. She gasped and pulled away.
He didn’t seem to notice. He stood up, offering his hand. “Can you walk yet?”
Her legs were shaking, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the meditation or nervousness.
“You seem a bit wobbly. I better walk you back.”
He held her hand and walked beside her, along the path directly into the most beautiful sunset she could ever remember. The cool breeze dried her sweat, and she felt a little less filthy. He began humming a tune as they walked, her hand completely enveloped in his grip and their arms swinging together between them.
Layla heard a chirp. More came from all around them. She craned her neck but saw no birds overhead.
He stopped walking and cocked his head. “Uh-oh. We’ve upset them.”
“Who?”
“The other colonists," he said in a low, ominous tone.
“What?” Her eyes shot left and right, as though she were expecting to be ambushed by some unknown enemy.
Brother James laughed. “Prairie dogs. They’re barking to warn the others that evil bipeds are nearby. And what a treat. They should be in bed by now.”
“Prairie dogs,” she repeated slowly, trying to remember what they looked like. No image came.
“Gunnison’s prairie dogs, to be exact. Did you know they live in a colony, just like us? With underground tunnels that lead to their little houses. They come up to the surface through small holes, popping their heads up and standing on their hind legs to see what’s going on.”
He did an impression of a prairie dog, and Layla giggled.
“I wish I could show you how funny they are, but they live on the other side of the wall.”
Layla turned and gazed at the towering cement wall that protected the entire Colony. It must have been twice the height of Brother James, and miles in length. For the first time, she wondered why the walls were necessary.
“Why does the Father want walls to keep us in here? Are we … are we prisoners?” She immediately regretted asking. The Father would be disappointed in her distrust of him.
Brother James put a hand on each of her arms and drew her to face him.
“No, beautiful girl, of course not. The walls are there to keep the poisoned world out.”
***
The rain on Layla’s dorm room window came in pounding bursts, as if someone were throwing buckets of water against the tiny panes. In the moments between the waves, a soft tink-tink-tink of drops hit the window frame.
You are superior to me and all other impures, Madeline had told her.
She caressed the opal necklace in the dark, running her thumb around the diamond circle. The symbol of purity. Madeline had given the necklace to her, not Nicole or anyone else.
He’s already chosen you. Brother James’s words echoed in her head, and her stomach fluttered. She’d been chosen. She was protected from the poisoned world lurking on the other side of the imposing cement walls.
She was special.
Chapter 33
Follow the money. It was a phrase Allison had learned in her one and only political science class. If you wanted to learn the truth, you had to follow the money. The FBI would certainly be looking for the smoking gun, a bank account large enough to buy that $32,000 diamond ring, which now resided in a small safe at the bottom of her dresser, and a goddamn house. Somewhere, deep in the detail, she’d find a transaction. Or a suspicious account. But Quandary’s archaic financial systems, which Austin had refused to upgrade, were not searchable. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.
She drilled into the data like a madman. Printed spreadsheets highlighted in bold florescent colors covered the desk and walls. At least a dozen half-full coffee cups from the weekend, reeking of sour milk, littered every surface. The trash can overflowed with wadded paper and grease-stained bags from Wendy’s.
Carol ignored the handwritten Do Not Disturb sign Allison had taped up and cracked the door just enough to sidle inside.
“Golly,” she breathed.
She tiptoed around the stacks of folders lined up on the floor and set a pile of mail on Allison’s chair. “Um, Austin liked doing his own mail. I’ve been storing it for him, but the pile was getting kind of big, and I wasn’t sure what to do with everything. I guess it all should go to you for now, right?”
She sounded weepy, but Allis
on was in no mood to show any empathy. “Okay.”
She swiped yellow across another line item: United Airlines EWR to PHX $1,076. She twirled the highlighter. It was the sixth trip he’d taken to Phoenix this year. What had Austin been doing in Phoenix?
“Anyway, I took out all the usual administrative stuff,” Carol continued, “but I didn’t know what to do with the rest.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Allison highlighted a trip to Las Vegas.
She pulled her eyes from her paper only long enough to watch Carol shuffle glumly back to her desk. She understood why the staff moped around. Austin had been the heart and soul of Quandary. He had a way with people, made every single employee feel special. He remembered everyone’s name and joked with them in the coffee room. He was the embodiment of charisma. Men wanted to be him, women wanted to sleep with him, and motherly secretaries wanted to hand deliver his mail.
And all that time, it had been a lie. A big fucking lie.
She threw her highlighter across her office. They’d been tricked. His employees meant nothing to him. She meant nothing to him. And now he was gone. She’d never get an explanation.
Why? Why, Austin? She pounded her forehead with her fist several times.
She pushed her hair from her eyes. Outside in the main office, Carol stood next to her desk watching Allison closely, her brow furrowed.
Keep the train on the tracks.
Allison forced a smile and began picking through Austin’s mail, which seemed to be one invitation after another to some benefit dinner or special interest group meeting. She grabbed the trash bin and set it in front of her. Alzheimer’s Association. She tossed it into the trash. Movement Disorder Society. Trash. Benefit for the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. Trash. The Pain Institute.
She stopped.
The Pain Institute. Dr. Jonathan Chambers. Ryan said he and Austin were planning a meeting at the Pain Institute? She’d completely forgotten. She tore open the card, a dinner meeting with key opinion leaders, experts in pain management. No details other than the topic, Future Directions in Pain Management. It was uncharacteristically vague for a KOL meeting.