Inner Circle
Page 7
“Why?” she asked aloud. I asked the same thing, only to myself.
“Didn’t you just say that people die in war? Why not your friend, Rylan?”
My doppelgänger said nothing. Her eyes drifted off.
“I’m also sorry to inform you that both children, Mari and Miko Sampo died of injuries from the bunker raid a few days ago.”
“No,” I whispered.
My doppelgänger followed suit. My heart cracked inside of me and fell deeper within my chest, but my doppelgänger’s eyes turned vicious. She surged toward the reporter, knocking the woman to the ground and screaming. “You’re lying. You’re a liar!”
Guards ran over, yanking my doppelgänger off the reporter.
Everything that followed on the screen blurred as my mind tuned out the world. A monochrome blob covered my eyes. I didn’t have any words. I couldn’t process emotion. My heart dropped right out of my body and there was nothing left of me, but a crumbling shell.
I stumbled from the door. I didn’t know if I had closed it or not. I didn’t care. My feeble legs took me back to the bed where I abandoned the IV stand and fell onto the white sheet and blanket. I covered myself in the blanket and tugged on the pillow, balling the fabric into my fists.
Streams of dark ink spread within my veins, coloring everything within me. Confusion exploded inside my mind, followed by regret, then anger and frustration. I could see Mari and Miko and feel their bodies against mine. Their warmth was gone forever. I could never touch them again or hear their voices.
I tossed and turned. I thought I had already exhausted this year’s supply of tears, but I was wrong. My eyes flooded and poured over my cheeks. I pushed the emotions away, but they wouldn’t stop. Every piece of my body hurt from the light hairs on my arms to my bones—my very being was in agony.
Mari and Miko were my life. They were my everything. How could they take them from me? I hated this life. I hated everyone. Why? Why? Why!
While I fumbled in the bed, my mind focused on the responses of my doppelgänger, muffled through the door. At first, I drowned them out with my inner voice. The longer I listened, the more the doppelgänger’s words made sense.
She said, “Violent people are always surprised when violence returns to them.” On another segment, she replied, “A person who is ignorant can’t be considered innocent when they have the resources to understand.”
She told the world that I was a killer, but I wasn’t. I was just me, broken, feeble me. After a long rant in which she gloated over the twenty-one deaths supposedly done at my hands, she finished with, “Those who are afraid will never have peace, for they struggle within their own dreams.”
For three, long hours, I absorbed each and every one of the doppelgänger’s words. She wasn’t me. She was a better me—a stronger me.
I liked the me that she was. I longed to be her. There was no need for the old Paeton anymore. Mari and Miko were dead. Rylan and Dhyla were gone. The person who came into this hospital, who had her first date with Rylan—that girl couldn’t save anyone.
The reporter tried to mar Escerica, to which my doppelgänger ranted, “I enjoyed watching the Governor fall. I saw the pain in his eyes that I would love to see in everyone I meet.” When asked about the dozens who died or were injured at Perimeter Market, she stated, “Like our forefathers, I enjoy watching people die. Everyone should be so lucky.” She closed the interview with words that chilled me to the bone. “My mind imagines nothing better than to dip my hands in the blood of the so-called innocent.”
The interview ended. The quiet expanded as the volume was either muted or the monitor turned off. A few, soft footsteps picked up as the nurses and staff returned to their business.
I lay in the darkness. The constant beeps kept my mind alert as the words of the other me—the better me—took hold. I remembered each paragraph, statement, and phrase and etched them across my mind with the same venom that my doppelgänger had.
I liked, no, I loved my doppelgänger’s words. “Dipping my hands in blood.” What must that feel like? What must it smell like—taste like?
I imagined myself wrapping my fingers around Clarisse’s neck. I saw myself grab a knife and cut open her throat. I smelled her blood as it flowed to the floor. And not just her, my mind took me to a place where all those I had seen: the nurses, security guards, police officers. All of them were dead, their crimson blood staining my clothes and dripping from my hair. I detested them to the deepest, darkest part of my being.
At that moment, I died.
The passion of my doppelgänger rose within me. My voice, my cares, my loves were locked away within my body. I placed my hands into the dark void and closed my heart inside. I would be secure, proud, and focused. I would be ready for the next step.
CHAPTER 7
Clarisse entered the room in the morning. Her shoes rapped the floor before her fingernails tapped her PCD. She neared my bed, and I opened my eyes. Two men walked in behind her but stayed at the doorway.
They had come to take me to prison. There were no reservations in my mind that my doppelgänger had gone to trial for me. Sooner or later, the real me would be removed from my hospital bed. My doppelgänger and I would switch places, the real me filling in where she left off.
“Is it time?” I asked, my voice cheerful. She would not get to me or notice I was still broken inside. She was afraid of something and that was my advantage.
Clarisse cocked her head to the side. A crinkle between her eyebrows appeared. “These two gentlemen are here to escort you to prison. Did you know you were going to prison?”
“Yes,” I said and sat up on the bed.
“How?”
I shrugged. It was logical. Honestly, I wondered what had taken so long. My only guess was that she played a mental game with me. Maybe if she could break me, then she might be able to manipulate me in some way. When that didn’t work, I guessed the two pills were the quick way to dispose of me. I’ll admit that I had given up by then. If it wasn’t for something inside of me fighting to remove the poison from my stomach, I’d be dead.
Clarisse moved forward, but hesitation warped her movements. “I hope that you won’t put up a struggle, Paeton. We want to make this as civil as possible.”
“I won’t. I’m ready to go.” I jutted my arms forward with my palms facing up. I hoped she didn’t see the venom in my eyes. It leaked out of my pores.
Clarisse flinched as though I had a concealed weapon.
I forced a cheerful giggle. “It’s just me.”
One of the two men moved into the room and threw a bundle onto the bed. I stared at the bundle and noticed the orange clothing that was used for prisoners. It was amusing to see the exact, orange outfit that I had seen on the monitor the day before.
“Y-You’ll need to change and then we will come and get you,” Clarisse said.
“Oh? Okay!” My voice sounded like I was about to go to the best amusement park ever. I could hardly believe the sounds were coming from me.
For two full seconds, Clarisse stared. Her eyes rolled down, and she took notes on her PCD.
“I’ll only be a few minutes,” I said as chipper as ever.
They all left me in the room and closed the door. I put the orange clothes on and sat on the bed. As I folded my hospital gown, my eyes locked on the cord the clothes were bundled with.
I could almost feel myself wrapping the cord around Clarisse’s throat. I wondered how long it would take the two men to kill me before I had time to strangle her to death. For whatever reason, the thought amused me. I couldn’t quite understand why, but it did.
If I died, why would it matter? Everyone I cared about had been taken from me. I wanted to take Clarisse away from someone who loved her. If I knew whom she loved, I could take that person away from her. Yes, that would be so much better, sweeter. To watch her be filled with the same pain that flowed through me.
“You ready?” Clarisse said, walking into the room.
; My attention snapped to her. “Yes, I’m ready.”
The two men followed, but I walked up to them and put my hands out like before. Handcuffs clinked on my wrists and ankles with a long chain stretching between the two sets of handcuffs. The men slid my feet into a pair of slippers.
They guided me through the building where the nurses watched in amazement. Part of me was curious as to why they stared at me with so much fear. They had to know that wasn’t me on the news network last night. I made sure that I bounced around, basking in their worried gazes.
We took the elevator down to the first floor. Afterward, we walked through several, empty hallways until we reached a set of double doors. The whole process took around ten minutes. At the double doors, Clarisse exchanged glances with one of the guards. She nodded and pressed a large, circular button off to the side, which triggered the doors to open.
Flashing lights struck me as I stood there, hands forward, in the baggy jumpsuit. Dozens of men and women stared or pointed cameras, microphones, or recorders at me. My lips opened into the brightest smile. My hands lifted to wave to my fans, to my adoring fans.
The main guard grunted and grabbed my shoulder, pushing me forward. I stumbled a bit, but I strutted into the lobby toward my fans.
A handsome gentleman in his fifties moved within two feet of me. “Paeton, do you have any words for the rest of the Escerica members?”
I didn’t say anything. I had no ideas or thoughts. I simply smiled and nodded.
A woman with beautiful, red hair and full lips approached me next. “Paeton, being so young, are you afraid to go to maximum security jail?”
I leaned forward and whispered, “I’m thrilled.”
The guard tugged me away from the woman just as another reporter stepped forward. “Paeton, what do you think about the Death Days?”
I paused and stared at her. Confusion washed over me.
“They start tomorrow, the day after you enter prison. What are you thinking about?” the reporter asked.
I understood what the Death Days were. They were designed to kill off prisoners. Hearing the reporter’s question, my capture and imprisonment had to be about killing me. Why else would the government fake a trial and even setup an interview to make me look evil in the eyes of the public? This was a quick way to see to my death by the hands of someone else.
I glanced away. My heart stilled inside my chest. I wouldn’t let the worry to pass-through. I refused to show weakness. The Death Days would have terrified me yesterday, but something was different now. Something had changed. I couldn’t be afraid. That emotion was gone.
The guards pressed my head into a cop car and shut the door.
I glanced back at my fans. A surge of giddiness enveloped me. I blew them kisses and gave them my best face as the car roared to life and slid off down the street.
***
At the prison, two, heavy-set women stripped, cavity searched, and bathed me. Four metal bracelets clicked around my wrists and my ankles, but the bracelets weren’t connected together like handcuffs. I didn’t understand what the bracelets were for. They had a salty smell and tiny dents along the surface.
After I put on a fresh jumpsuit, I was brought into a circular office with windows stretching in both directions, giving the owner a 270-degree view. A mahogany desk sat in the middle of the room. A matching file cabinet and display case were a few feet from the desk. An older, wiry man sat there, peering into a monitor while he spoke to a few people who stood near the windows.
As I stumbled in, Clarisse glanced over from one of the few chairs. The guard behind me guided me to a circle on the floor made of what appeared to be ceramic tile. Two more circles outlined the four-foot diameter area. The inner circle was about three feet around, where the outer circle was the same color as the edge of the tile. Once beyond the tiled area, the floor was a pine hardwood, covered in a few throw rugs here and there.
Once I settled inside the circle, the guard took a few steps back and hit a button on the wall. I glanced at him before hearing a humming sound. The bracelets became extremely heavy, especially the ones around my ankles. At that point, I realized the floor was magnetic and that this place utilized magnets as a way to control the population.
I’m not sure if I would have been able to deduce that a few days ago. For whatever reason, I wanted to know everything. Why the 270-degree view? Why the hardwood floors? Why was Clarisse here? Who were these other two men silhouetted near the windows?
The man at the desk glanced at me before waving the guard out of the room. The guard turned and left me in the circle. My next mental question was: Why did the man at the desk send the guard away?
Clarisse stood. She had on a neatly pressed, blue dress suit with matching heels. She gave me a half-hearted smile. “How are you, Paeton?”
Nothing in particular went through my mind. I didn’t feel anything. The loathing inside of me had cooled to a simmer. The only thing that echoed in my spirit was that I was not going to let these people get to me. They were not going to see me beg, cry, or even release a drop of sweat.
“I’m fine.” My lips curled into a smile. “I could have gone without the cavity search. After all that, I would have hoped Barbara would make an honest girl out of me.”
Clarisse stifled a laugh.
“I’m sorry that you find all of this funny,” the man behind the desk said.
“No sir, I don’t find this amusing at all. I’ve just learned to keep up my spirits.” I stared at him, hoping that my face was as innocent as a newborn’s. I hated them all. Hated them for what they had done to me, for killing those I loved. As far as I was concerned, none of the people in the room deserved to live another day.
Clarisse took a step back. The man at the desk appeared in my line of sight. “Paeton, this is James Norwood, the warden of the North Georgia Penitentiary,” she said.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Norwood,” I said.
“I’m not happy to meet you Ms. Washington, nor am I impressed by your misdeeds to our society. You represent the worst of America.” He leaned forward and placed his braided fingers over the desk.
For some reason, Norwood’s words pinched something inside of me. I wasn’t sure what it was, but my gaze dropped for a moment before I forced my head to line up with his face. There was something about him, his tone that resonated with me. “I’m sorry that I have disappointed you, sir.”
His eyes darted toward the corner of his desk for an instant, just enough to draw my attention. I glanced at the holo-projector at the desk’s corner. A hologram of a girl around my age with dirty blonde hair smiled merrily. She disappeared and another holo-vidpic replaced her with a family of four, smiling at the camera.
My mind rambled questions. Who was this girl? Why did he glance at her? Why did he look at her holo-vidpic when I was in the room? Why was he saddened by someone he had never met? His tone wasn’t anger; it really was disappointment.
My conclusions came as quickly as the questions. He is married with two children. His oldest is a girl about my age. He was disappointed in me because he saw something in me that reminded him of his own daughter.
My gaze slid over the room. A miniature of the Statue of Liberty was on the side table. The one-starred flag was pinned open on the wall, not merely hanging by a pole. This guy didn’t just care about America, he believed in it.
The only, non-American thing on his desk was a blue and white envelope with the word “Kapoor” written on the front. Even the envelope was weighed down by a paperweight of the Declaration of Independence.
“Well, it doesn’t matter, does it? You’ve been tried and found guilty. As of this point in time, you are officially my problem.” Norwood leaned back and separated his hands.
“She’s the state’s problem,” one of the men said near the windows. He took a step forward, and I was able to just make out his features. It was Lieutenant Governor Dalton, the same guy I saw on the android’s helmet after I killed Governor Read.
“Nice to finally meet you, Paeton. In person, that is,” he said.
I had a million questions for him. Starting with, why did he frame me and let Governor Read try to kill me? But for some reason, I didn’t care anymore. I glanced across the room at these people. No matter what their real or imaginary motives were, it wouldn’t change one thing. They could say I was the Queen of England and put enough pomp and circumstance behind it to make the average person believe it.
The gears turned in my head as concepts tied themselves together. Who was connected to whom? Political and financial bridges were being constructed, and I was just the glue that held them all together. I was an opportunity that they had all been waiting on.
A flash of nervous energy slid into my bones. A few blinks from my eyes pushed it away. I was already in deep. There was no need to worry. My concerns faded. I had already resolved myself to die. Why be afraid now?
Dalton continued walking to a few feet from me. Norwood stood in an effort to stop him, but Dalton put up a hand, and Norwood sat back down. “She’s harmless,” Dalton said.
More questions buzzed in my mind. Dalton controls Norwood. So, who controls Dalton?
“I’m sure you have a lot of questions for me, Paeton.”
I glanced at Dalton. He was more handsome than he was in the videos. Mid-forties, slightly graying, however, the gray hair added to his features rather than removing from them. His teeth had been whitened, or he had never drunk a cup of coffee in his life. He was slightly taller than normal, but not so tall that he would stand out in a crowd. He was the type of person who could be seen or not seen. He had pale blue eyes. Like the rest of him, they were unnoticeable unless you were close to him.
“So?” he prompted again.
I eyed Norwood and Clarisse. I was pretty sure that Norwood was in this as deep as the rest, but I was uneasy about it. I glanced toward the window and the final person whom I couldn’t see.