Unfit

by Karma Chesnut

  “No,” John replied. “I haven’t even seen any Old World books before, let alone read any.”

  “You’re not the only one. Most of the world’s libraries and archives were destroyed in the fallout after the plague. This is by far the largest collection of pre-Haven literature I’ve ever seen. This entire library could very well be a historical gem, and no one besides us will ever know about it.”

  John turned the book over in his hands. The binding was cracked, and a few pages were beginning to come loose. He wondered how something so fragile could have survived all these years in a place like this.

  “It’s good, that one,” Buck stated.

  “What’s it about?”

  “Star-crossed lovers. But their families disapprove, so they’re forced to keep their affair a secret. It’s quite possibly the greatest tragedy ever written.”

  Sounded a little too close to reality for John. “I don’t have much use for tragedies these days,” he said as he set the book back on a nearby shelf.

  “Too bad,” Buck replied. “It really is quite good.”

  “The way I see it, I don’t need to spend my time reading about someone else’s misfortune. I have enough of that in my own life right now.”

  “Welcome to the life of an inmate.”

  “Life of a patient you mean,” John corrected.

  “Right, and this isn’t a prison so long as no one calls it one,” said Buck. “Either way, this place has a way of getting to you. You could be the sanest person in the world but spend a few months here and you’ll start to wonder.”

  “Wonder what?” John asked.

  “If everyone else is right. If you really are insane.”

  “I’m not here because I’m insane.”

  “Then why are you here?” asked Buck.

  “I’m here because I’m unfit,” said John.

  “See. You’re already starting to believe them.”

  “Believe what?”

  “This whole place is designed to break you,” Buck said. “The smells, the food, the sounds. Day by day, they will wear you down. And it all starts with the simplest of thoughts—you are unfit. You deserve what they deign to give you. And the moment you begin to believe it, that’s when it starts.”

  “When what starts?”

  “You start to give up,” said Buck. “You’ve heard them, right? The screams in the middle of the night? Those are the screams of an inmate dreaming about what it could have been like outside these walls. What life could have been if they had never been sent here in the first place. But maybe the dreams are a good thing. They mean you haven’t lost all hope yet.”

  “Hope,” John scoffed. “What’s left to hope for?”

  “Maybe you’re right then,” Buck said, grabbing the bookshelf above his head for support as he slowly pulled himself up off the floor. “Maybe it is better to give up. That’s the only way to get rid of the dreams, in my experience.” Glancing at the candle, now melted down so far it barely stood half an inch off the candlestick base, Buck added, “You better head back to your room. The keepers are going to be making their rounds soon.”

  Buck struggled to crouch down to pick up the books that had been scattered around him on the floor. John knelt beside him to help gather the books.

  “Tim,” Buck said, shaking Tim’s shoulder ever so slightly, “it’s time to wake up.” Tim stirred and looked up groggily at Buck. “Time to go back to our room.”

  Buck helped Tim to his feet, but exhaustion got the better of Tim, who immediately leaned on Buck for support and closed his eyes again.

  “Well, good luck, my friend,” Buck said as John handed him the stack of books. “Hopefully I won’t see you around here much longer.”

  “I hope so, too,” John said.

  With that, Buck walked down the aisle towards the doors, Tim shuffling sleepily behind him. Pausing, he turned back to John. “Try the history section. It’s not exactly cheerful, but there are a few interesting reads.”

  “That story you were telling me about,” John called after Buck, “what happens to the couple in the end?”

  “They die,” Buck replied before he disappeared around the corner.

  As Buck and Tim’s footsteps faded, John serpentined down the aisles of books until he found what he thought could be the history section. It was hard to tell when most of the books had illegible covers, and it had probably been decades since anyone cataloged the library books. Every book was at least three inches thick and the titles that were still readable were cryptic things John had never heard of like ‘WWII’ or ‘Adventures of a Huckleberry’. He pulled a few of the books down from the shelf and flipped the covers open only to eventually put them back where he had found them.

  As he pulled a particularly large leather-bound book out from where it had been wedged into place, a cascade of books came tumbling down to the floor. John collected them in his arms and began stacking them back on the shelf when he noticed a small, black leather book pushed behind the others. It was about the size of John’s hand, and even though it was obviously old, the pages were still white and crisp, suggesting it wasn’t nearly as old as the other books in the library.

  It was some sort of journal. John quickly flipped through the pages. Almost every page had been written by hand. Who in the asylum would have taken the time to write something like this? And why had it been left in the library? Judging by where he had found it and how covered in dust it was, John guessed it had been there for a long time.

  Almost instinctively, John looked over his shoulder, half expecting to see the owner of the journal barreling down the aisle to reclaim their personal property. But no one was there. He opened the cover to the first page. It was mostly blank, except for two lines neatly scrawled in black ink.

  My name is Theodore.

  These are my sins.

  A loud clang suddenly reverberated through the walls of the asylum. John jumped at the sound, nearly dropping the journal. As a second clang rang through the library, John decided it was time to go back to his room. He stuffed the little black book back where he had found it, behind a stack of library books titled “The ‘evolutionary War” and made his way back in the dark.

  Opening the door as quietly as he could, John slipped back into his room and onto his mattress. He thought about the library and the strange old man called ‘Buck.’ More than either of those, though, he thought about the book he had found and the single sentence he could not get out of his head. These are my sins.

  The mattress next to his creaked as Amos rolled over. Not everyone had been as asleep as John had hoped.

  “Where have you been?” Amos whispered harshly.

  “I just went out on a walk. That’s all,” John whispered back.

  “The keepers don’t like it when we leave our rooms. They locked the last guy who got caught outta bed in his room for two whole days just to teach him a lesson.”

  John apologized and made an empty promise to never leave the room at night again. Heaven forbid the keepers lock me up, John thought bitterly to himself. But before Amos’s snoring had resumed, John was already making plans to go back to the library to find out exactly what sins the book revealed.

  Morning came all too soon that day, flooding the small apartment with early morning sunlight. Morgan shielded her eyes, wishing she could have just a few more minutes of sleep. She felt completely drained. Tossing and turning, she attempted to block out the light, but soon realized it was useless. She was already awake, and her mind was already racing.

  The books scattered across the floor had become her life. Some on Haven law, others on Council history, and none of them containing anything useful that could get John out of that awful asylum. From the moment she woke up until the late hours of the night, Morgan pored over them, hoping something useful would present itself. Some loophole, some legislature. Something. But, as she rummaged through book after book, she just wanted to scream.

  She sat down at her books again and turned p
age after endless page, already knowing she wouldn’t find anything. One solution kept popping into her head. One person who had the power to get John out. But she didn’t even have to ask because she already knew her father wouldn’t help her. No one would help her. “Unfits don’t deserve our help,” they would say.

  “Damn it!” she shouted aloud, throwing her book across the room and watching it thud against the wall and then the floor.

  Burying her face in her hands, Morgan felt completely useless. What was the point of being a Loughlin if she couldn’t even bring her husband home? There was no point. There was no point to any of it.

  She rubbed her temples and stared at the book she had thrown, now crumpled on the floor. Carefully picking it up, she dusted off the cover and opened it back to the page she had left off on. Maybe today would be the day she found something. If not, there was always tomorrow. And the next day.

  There was a knock at the door. Strange, especially since hardly anyone knew she was there. She ignored it. If it was for her, she didn’t want to talk to them, and if it was for John, well, the last thing she wanted to do was explain where he was. But the knock came again. And again.

  Finally relenting, Morgan set her book down and answered the door. Charles stood in the doorway. Before she could ask him what he was doing there, Charles said. “I need your help.”

  “What’s wrong?” Morgan asked.

  Charles stepped to the side and, for the first time, Morgan noticed the dainty woman standing behind him. Her face was young, but the way she dressed and styled her black hair suggested she was trying to look older, more refined. And while her blue dress looked expensive, it was wrinkled as if it had been balled up in a suitcase until recently. More surprising though, Morgan already knew this girl.

  “What is she doing here?” Morgan asked, turning back to her brother.

  “I need your help, Morgan,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for whatever this is.” Morgan went to close the door, but Charles stuck his boot in the doorway and pushed his way inside the apartment, his friend close behind him.

  “Don’t be like this, Morgan. I only brought Katherine here because I don’t know what else to do.”

  “We’ve already tried five different lawyers, but no one is willing to help us,” said Katherine.

  Morgan turned to Katherine, ready to throw her out of the apartment, when she paused. Tears freely streamed down Katherine’s face, and although she wore a heavy layer of makeup, Morgan could make out the green-blue tint of a faded bruise around her left eye. That wasn’t what caught her attention though. Now that Morgan was looking at Katherine, truly looking at her, she could see the fabric around Katherine’s abdomen was pulled unnaturally tight, revealing an unmistakable bump.

  Grabbing Charles’s arm and pulling him aside, Morgan whispered, “Please tell me that’s not yours.”

  “No, of course not,” said Charles.

  “Then what are you doing, Charlie?” Morgan demanded. “Why are you walking around with your very pregnant and very married ex-fiancé?”

  “I’m just trying to help a friend,” he said.

  “A friend? Really?” Morgan asked. “Why are you doing this to yourself? You shouldn’t even be in contact with her.”

  “I’m not,” said Charles. “I wasn’t. Not until a few days ago. And this has nothing to do with our past, I don’t feel that way about her anymore. It’s just… she has nowhere else to go, Morgan. No one is willing to help her.”

  Morgan was infuriated now. “Help her with what?”

  “My husband is trying to make me abort our baby,” Katherine said.

  “What?” Morgan asked. Surely, she must have misheard.

  “My husband has convinced himself the baby isn’t his. A couple of days ago, he asked me to get rid of it. When I said no, he screamed that I was a liar and a whore and that he would never raise another man’s baby.”

  “Whose baby is it?” Morgan asked a little too candidly.

  “My husband’s,” said Katherine. “We were happy together. I have no idea why he thinks he’s not the father.”

  As much as Morgan hated to admit it, Katherine was right. It didn’t make much sense.

  “There must be some reason he suspects it isn’t his,” Morgan said. “Did he say why? Does he have some sort of proof?”

  “He doesn’t because there isn’t any,” Charles chimed in.

  “I have a summons,” Katherine said as she unfolded a letter and handed it to Morgan. “I have to appear before the Council in three weeks.”

  Morgan scanned the letter’s contents. Katherine did indeed have only three weeks before she had to defend herself and her unborn child before the Council. Something wasn’t adding up here. Why would the Council agree to hear such a baseless case so soon? Then Morgan saw the name of Katherine’s accuser.

  Morgan’s eyebrows shot up. “Your husband is Henry Bell?”

  Katherine began to wring her hands together. “Yes, he is.”

  “As in the son of Algernon Bell, the Councilman?”

  Katherine nodded. “He’s the one who gave me the summons.”

  “You two are out of your mind,” Morgan said, shoving the summons back at Katherine.

  “Please, Morgan. You’re my last chance,” Katherine pled. “Every lawyer I’ve met with so far has refused to help me.”

  “Of course they did. This is career suicide. No lawyer with half a brain is going to go up against the son of a councilman,” Morgan replied. “I’m not even a lawyer. I don’t even know where to begin to defend against a case like this.”

  “But you are studying the laws. That makes you the closest thing we have to a lawyer right now,” Charles said.

  “I don’t know what it is you expect me to do,” Morgan said.

  “I don’t know either,” said Katherine, shaking her head and fighting back more tears, “but I have nothing left to lose. Henry has made it perfectly clear he will have nothing to do with me after this, no matter the outcome. When this is over, my reputation will be ruined. I will never remarry, and my family will never take me back. You may hate me, Morgan, and that’s completely justified, but if Charles can find a way to forgive me, then I think you can, too.”

  Morgan scoffed and turned back towards her mountain of books, her back to Katherine.

  “Please,” Katherine said. “This baby is the only family I have left, and I want it more than I have ever wanted anything before in my life. Please help me, Morgan.”

  Morgan looked from Katherine to Charles, both silently pleading with her. If the last few weeks had gone differently for Morgan, she may not have said what she was going to say next. But Morgan couldn’t help but feel she and Katherine were strangely connected.

  “Katherine,” Morgan said finally, forcing as much civility as she could muster, “would you please step outside for a moment? I need to talk to my brother.”

  Katherine obliged, silently closing the door behind her.

  “Do you think she has a chance?” Charles asked.

  “I don’t know, Charlie,” Morgan said. “I want to help her, I do, but I’m not sure I see the point.”

  “You heard her. She said she never cheated on Henry.”

  “What she did or didn’t do doesn’t matter unless we can prove it to the Council, and I don’t know of many ways to prove you didn’t cheat on your husband.”

  “Doesn’t matter since they can’t prove she did,” said Charles.

  “She’s guilty until proven innocent and the evidence against her would be pretty easy to fake, especially for a family as connected as the Bells,” Morgan said. “I’m not sure she can win this.”

  “So that’s it?” Charles said, folding his arms across his chest. “You’re not even going to try to help her? What happened to your bleeding-heart ‘Save all of Haven’ sentimentality?”

  “I’m so sorry, Charlie, but I think that trying to fight against this is a waste of time. I already have one impos
sible problem right now that I can’t figure out. I don’t need another.”

  “You mean John?” Katherine asked, appearing in the doorway. Their conversation hadn’t been as private as Morgan had thought. “That’s his name, right? John? I heard he was arrested a few weeks ago.”

  “Look, Katherine,” said Morgan, “I’m sorry if my brother led you to believe I could help you, but I just can’t—”

  “I can get John out of the asylum,” Katherine said.

  If Katherine didn’t have Morgan’s attention before, she definitely had it now. “Excuse me?” Morgan asked.

  “They told you it would take months for him to get processed and released from the asylum, right? I might know a way to get him out sooner.”

  “How much sooner?” Morgan asked.

  “As soon as you want. Now,” Katherine said.

  “And how exactly would you do that?”

  “I—” Katherine hesitated for a moment, “I know someone at the asylum. He’s extremely influential and not above taking bribes. If you agree to help me, then I’ll arrange for you to meet with him. A simple ‘I scratch your back, you scratch mine’ deal.”

  “Exactly how influential is this contact of yours?” asked Morgan.

  “He’s the asylum’s Head Sterilization Surgeon,” Katherine replied.

  Morgan’s jaw dropped, and her mind instantly began to race with the possibilities. Influential? The Head Sterilization Surgeon was probably the most influential man at the asylum. She couldn’t even begin to process the potential opportunities having someone like him in her pocket would unlock. She might be able to get John out of the asylum. She might even be able to stop him from being sterilized.

  “I can’t promise anything,” Morgan said. “Fidelity cases are tricky. It’s all ‘he said, she said,’ and the Council rarely rules in the woman’s favor.”

  “That’s a better deal than what I’ve currently got,” Katherine said, a hint of a Southend accent peeking out ever so slightly.

  Morgan sighed. “All right,” she said finally. “I will help you.”