The Complex Law: Young Adult Dystopian Page-Turner (The Complex Trilogy Book 2)

by Heather Hayes

  Garth can't keep his eyes off me. "Good morning, Elira. You look beautiful." How did I live 16 years of my life without hearing a voice as appealing as his?

  "Yes, you do," Jefrey says across the table with a much louder tone.

  My mother looks at Garth and me curiously and clears her throat. "Yes, Elira. You look like a Hamble now that you're out of that horrible jumpsuit." She looks down at the portion of my leg that is showing and jumps back. "I—I will teach you girls what socks, tights, and nylons to wear with your dresses. And, I'll acquaint you with the razors in your bathroom."

  My stomach drops. I knew it, she is ashamed of me. I look at her apologetically. "This is a dress? I'm sorry I didn't know I needed something else to wear with it. I've never worn one before, but I love it. Thank you, Mother."

  My mother nods and asks to be excused as she rushes out of the room crying.

  I look at Ernestine questioningly and ask, "Did I do something wrong?"

  Ernestine swallows and shakes her head without looking at me. "No, child. She can't imagine the way you have been brought up. She's sad that you don't know what a dress is and such. Don't worry about it. It will take time to learn each other's language, if you know what I mean. Get yourself a waffle and some bacon and eggs."

  "I—Okay." My mouth waters as I take in all the food on the table. "I'm so glad I didn't miss the morning victuals. They smell amazing."

  Garth smiles at me and loads up my plate. I am relieved that his ear is covered up with a bandage; I don't want to relive it getting shot last night.

  I am mesmerized by the plentiful golden-brown syrup that is puddling around my waffle. I've never had so much delicious sweetness before. It brings a memory from the complex to mind. "I made a waffle once. It didn't look near as tasty as this one does though." I take a bite of the beautiful golden circle covered in little square pits. "Mmm, this waffle and the syrup are delicious."

  Ernestine smiles a crooked-teethed smile at me. "They really are; your mother employs the best cook in the city."

  Everyone except Avra nods their approval. "Are you saying that we won't get to cook, ever?" Avra asks.

  Ernestine shrugs. "You won't need to, but if you want to, I don't see why you couldn't. I usually have to do all the cooking and cleaning at my house."

  An unsettling idea comes to me. "Won't the cook get suspicious if she's asked to cook so much food every day?"

  Ernestine shakes her head. "She's been told that six people have been hired to remodel the basement and do the landscaping. She's used to cooking for employees."

  "What about you, Ernestine?"

  "Cook Freda knows me. Florence and I have been friends for 14 years. Cook Freda thinks I've been hired to supervise the remodel, so I'll be eating here too."

  The frown on my face doesn't budge. "I still think she might get suspicious after a while."

  "She might, but that's not your concern. Florence has a way of getting people to see her point of view about things."

  Avra smiles at Ernestine. "I like to make victuals. I'll cook if Florence's cook needs a break."

  Ernestine turns the corners of her mouth up at Avra as she slides her empty plate away from herself. "So, the plan for today is to teach you all about life outside the complex. This meal we are eating is called breakfast, not 7:00 victuals."

  Avra looks perplexed. "Really? Breffest?"

  "Breakfast."

  "Oh, breakfast."

  "Yes. The next meal we eat is called lunch. The last meal of the day is called dinner."

  Rocky's blank eyes reveal that he is still slightly under the influence of the complex's medication. "When do we eat lunch, Mother?"

  "Call me, Mom, son. Sometime between noon and one o'clock usually, but today it will be later."

  Rocky scrunches up his eyebrows. "So lunch is really noon victuals."

  Ernestine rolls her eyes in exasperation. "I don't want you to call them that anymore. Out here, only cowboys say victuals, and you are far from a cowboy."

  Scott slaps the table in amazement. "Boy cows talk?"

  My mother joins us again to clear the table. She chuckles as she sees the wonder on Scott's face. Ernestine almost hides her low laugh with a cough. "No. People who herd cows are called cowboys."

  Scott is embarrassed. "Of course. Sorry, Ernestine. Keep going."

  "Don't be embarrassed. This will all make sense to you soon enough. The tops you boys are wearing are called shirts. The bottoms are called pants."

  We all nod nervously. I've read about these things before, but it's hard to remember it all. Maybe I should get a piece of paper and pencil to take notes. Avra looks like she's overwhelmed to the point of tears.

  Ernestine looks at Avra sideways and pats her hand. "What's the matter, Avra?"

  "Mentor Ernestine, will you help me find my parents?" Avra asks sincerely.

  "Yes, I will, child. But you cannot call me Mentor. It's just Ernestine. Got it?"

  "Yes, M-Ernestine."

  "We will start looking for parents as soon as the security guards stop scouring the city and these two have healed up." Ernestine points to Garth and me with two outstretched fingers.We hear clamoring coming from the stairway. I turn as a deep voice says, "Elira!" A middle-aged man in a white lab coat with balding light-brown hair rushes down the stairs with outstretched arms. I recognize him from the picture in my room. I stand up cautiously on my throbbing foot and hug him. I wish I felt as much happiness as he obviously does, but this is my first time hugging a man, and it feels awkward to me.

  I smile nervously at him as he pulls back to look at me. "Father?"

  "Yes, I am your father, your dad, your daddy, Elira. I am so happy to have you back." He hugs me again and accidentally steps on my foot.

  "Ahh! Ow! Gah!"

  My father looks mortified. "I'm so sorry! Your mother called me at my hotel and told me you successfully escaped, but you broke toes in the process. I have everything I need to fix you up in my office. Why don't we fix those right now?"

  I take a few deep breaths to stop myself from fixating on my toes. "Okay, that would be great. Can Garth come with me? He needs his ear fixed too."

  My father looks at Garth's bandaged ear and then at me. "I don't want to share you quite yet. Is it okay if I send for him after your toes are taken care of?"

  I look at Garth and shrug, wishing he could come with me, but I need to ‘meet my father' sooner or later. I guess that will happen now. Garth smiles and motions with his hand to go with my dad. "Okay, Father. Let's go."

  Chapter 3

  A rich cinnamon spice aroma fills the air as I limp up the stairs, hanging on my father's arm, to the main part of my parents' house. My mother is waiting for us at the top of the stairs. My hungry eyes take in the fine furnishings around me. "Are you, or I guess your cooks, baking something up here? It smells delicious."

  "No, that is just the air freshener we use," my mother says as she takes my other arm, to ease the pressure on my toes.

  "Oh, I don't know what that is."

  My mother bites her lower lip. "I'll show it to you later, my dear."

  As we shuffle into my father's office, I see a wall covered floor to ceiling with books, a big beautiful wooden desk, a shiny, metal push cart covered in medical instruments, and a flat, narrow bed covered in a white sheet.

  "Hop onto the examination table, and I'll take a look at your toes."

  I'm pretty sure he means the narrow bed thing, so I use my good foot to hoist myself onto it as I'm asked. I feel a stab of pain followed by relief as my father removes my fancy shoe. I curl my head up, off the pillow, to see both of my parents examining my toes. They talk back and forth quietly as they touch them. "See, Florence. All four of the smaller phalanges have separate
d from the metatarsals."

  I try not to flinch when the pain flares. My father looks at me and smiles, "Elira, I am going to splint your toes and fit a stiff boot on this foot. You'll have to wear the boot for six weeks. It takes that long to heal broken bones. Since you are my flesh and blood, I would normally send you to a specialist, but a specialist would turn you in to the authorities, so this will have to do."

  My mother walks to my side and takes my hand. "Focus on my face while Daddy works."

  I bite the inside of my cheek in pain. "O—kay."

  She smooths back my hair. "I am excited to show you the makeup I have purchased for you. It is flesh colored, and if we apply it to your birthmark, no one will see it, unless they look very closely."

  My insecurities come flooding back. "Are you ashamed of my face?"

  My mother looks hurt. "No! Absolutely not. I just want you to be able to go outside and talk to people without them knowing you escaped from the Complex of Undesirables."

  I hope that's true. "I—I'll try it. Do you want me to wear it around the house too?"

  Her eyes melt with concern for me. "That is completely up to you, Elira. Do what makes you feel comfortable."

  I think she means it. I want to be me, like I always have, but it's hard not to compare myself to the beautiful person standing before me. "Okay. Thank you for doing so much for me and my friends."

  My mother brushes my hair behind my ear. Her fingers linger momentarily on my birthmark. "You are our only daughter. We would do far more if we had to."

  Wait a minute. "I'm your only daughter. Do you have a son?"

  My mother's eyes look down as she smooths the sleeve of my dress. "Yes. You have two older brothers who live on their own now. Greggory is attending the University of Tolsa which is an hour away from Herrington. Brock is married and has a little daughter of his own. He is the mayor of Adanlay, which is five hours away from Herrington. We will let them know about your escape today. I'm sure they'll want to see you..."

  My heart beats faster. I have brothers! That is amazing. "Mother, I would like to see pictures of them."

  "You don't have to call me ‘Mother' all the time. You can call me ‘Mom' if you like. Your brothers do. I will show you some pictures of them when your toes are done."

  "Oh, good! Thank you—Mom."

  My father attaches the last velcro strip, as he calls it, to my big black boot and helps me sit up. "Your toes are as secure as they can be for now. Before you run back to your friends, will you tell your old man what life was like in the complex?"

  I look into his longing eyes and nod. "Yes, of course."

  My mother helps me get off the bed. "Why don't we sit somewhere more comfortable while you tell us your story, darling?"

  "Okay."

  Mother takes my arm and leads me to a room with big windows covered by white blinds, a beautiful white couch and chairs, and a big black thing with a bench and an open top. Papers covered in lines and dots are scattered all over the couch. I wonder if it's a secret code or language that I haven't learned.

  She appears embarrassed as she gathers the paper clutter. "Sorry, I left my piano music all over the place last night after I was done practicing. I was so excited to get the basement ready for you that I forgot to finish cleaning up in here."

  "So, you don't do the cooking, but you do the cleaning?"

  I can't tell if my mother is embarrassed or something else. "Oh, no. Well, not usually. I usually have an upstairs and a downstairs housekeeper. I dismissed my downstairs housekeeper yesterday and arranged for the upstairs housekeeper to only come when everyone is asleep. I want as few people to know about you and your friends as possible. My upstairs housekeeper has been told not to go into the basement and not to touch my piano music unless I tell her to."

  I nod my head as I look at the papers in her hands. "I don't know what a piano or a music is, but I can't wait to learn about it. Actually, I think I remember reading those words in a book once."

  My mother shakes her head and wipes something from under her eye with a finger. "I'll teach you all about music, darling. It's a big part of my life and I hope it will become a big part of yours too. Well, that's enough about us, we want to learn everything about you. What was the complex like? Were they cruel to you?"

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out for a minute. The memories I have of the last 14 years feel like a dream already. I force my thoughts to form words. "I wish I knew how to explain it. I wasn't beaten or anything, but I was taught not to ask questions or expect affection. I lived with girls my age, we wore buttons colored according to our deformities, we were told that we were lucky to have a spot in the complex, away from the toxic world where people die every day..."

  "What an absurd lie," my father exclaims.

  "I didn't know it was a lie until a month ago. I had no reason to doubt my mentors."

  "That breaks my heart," my mother moans.

  I tell my parents everything. I tell them that the boys, through the glass, got me thinking about the inconsistencies in my world. I tell them that Mentor Maxine was the only kind mentor I had, that she let me ask questions, and helped me plan my escape.

  My mother tears up for the fifth time. "I will have to look up this Maxine. I hope she wasn't punished for her part in your escape. I will reward her for helping bring my baby girl back to me."

  I nod in approval. "She deserves a reward. She is the best adult I have ever known—until now."

  My mother stands up and walks behind the couch to braid my hair as I finish telling my story. I think she wants to hide the reaction my words are causing. When I can't think of anything else to say about life in the complex, I stand up carefully and shuffle to look in the mirror on the wall. I don't even recognize myself, except for my half raccoon mask birthmark. The beautiful dress and fancily-braided hair make me look like a different person.

  My parents follow me to the mirror and wrap their arms around me. It feels weird, but good. I think I can get used to all this personal contact. That reminds me of my friends in the basement who are not being hugged several times a day.

  I blush as I ask, "Can I hold Garth's hand when his ear is stitched up?"

  My parents look at each other before my father says, "Y-yes. You can. Is this boy special to you?"

  I turn away so Father can't see my face. "Yeah, he is. I owe him my life."

  "You better tell me that story as well."

  "Heh. heh. You probably won't like it."

  My mom puts her hand on my dad's arm. "You won't like it, Ross. I heard it all from Ernestine and Rocky this morning and I am still trying to keep my composure every time I look at our girl. We better sit down."

  So we sit down and I tell my father and mother how we escaped. I tell them about the laundry and garbage chutes, Mentor Briggs, the guards shooting Garth's ear off, how Garth carried me when I couldn't run with my broken toes, everything.

  My father squeezes my hand. "You were so brave, Elira. All of your friends owe you their lives."

  "No. I owe Garth mine."

  My father leans forward and actually kisses my forehead. I feel myself twitch slightly. I hope he doesn't notice. That felt weird.

  "I will do my best to fix him up. You say his fingers are stuck together... I wonder if they can be surgically separated. It is a new and uncommon procedure. The government doesn't want such a deformity to be duplicated, so they are all sent to the complex, but I wonder if Garth would be willing to try it."

  "I will go get Garth," my mother says.

  When she leaves, my father takes my face in his hands and looks into my eyes. "You have my eyes and my hair. You have grown into such a beautiful young woman. I'm so relieved that you weren't one of the unfortunate ones buried on the hill."

  I f
linch at the image his words create in my head. "There is a hill that they bury us on?" Why didn't Mentor Maxine tell me about that? "How many of us were buried on the hill?"

  My father's face droops. "At least one every other day, I'd say. I know a man who works on the burying committee."

  "Is the complex I came from the only complex?"

  "No. I'm afraid not. There is a complex in every major city. No one in the United Cities lives more than three hours from a complex."

  "Are the complexes Alexander Prystine's idea?"

  My father does a double take. "How do you know the President of the United Cities' name?"

  "I asked Mentor Bridget who the mentors' leader was once."

  "Oh. Yes, he is the leader of the country. He didn't start the complex system, but he certainly made it worse."

  "How did he make it worse?"

  "The complex system has been in place for 150 years. They used to only take people with severe deformities away. Once all of the adult deformities were gone from society, they required all children to be inspected the January after they turned two. After 50 years they decided to take children with lesser deformities away to start a work house to produce cheap goods for everyone else. Alexander Prystine took office 40 years ago and decided that unsightly blemishes like yours qualified as a deformity and needed to be removed from our society. He claimed we needed to preserve the natural beauty of the people."

  "So if I had been born before Prystine became president, I wouldn't have been sent to the complex?"

  "That is correct. I wish I could give that man a piece of my mind."