Docile

by K. M. Szpara

  Jess is silent for longer than feels comfortable. Until I’m squirming in my seat, wondering if I should leave. I want her help, but she would deserve some space—to cut me out of her life, if she wanted.

  “Thank you for saying that,” she says, finally, looking directly at me. I feel naked under her gaze. “Dutch and I fought over it, a lot, during university. Why we stayed, why I continued to work on Dociline and he continued to manage your family’s money. Whether we were doing the right thing. I know he’s been seeing a therapist for decades—I did, too, for a long time. But I made my peace with this place. I decided to accept you as you were and do my best to help Dociles through my research. But I honestly never expected to hear an apology like that from you.”

  “I would never have thought to say it.” I huff a little laugh. “Apparently, I have a lot to learn.”

  “Well, I accept your apology on the condition that you keep learning and don’t grow complacent, again.”

  “I won’t!” I almost shout. “No, I’m trying. In fact, I have a favor to ask you, so soon after apologizing.”

  “Well, you’re buying me a steak lunch, so I guess I can hear you out.” Jess leans back with a smile on her face and I know we’re going to be okay.

  “I met Abigail Wilder, when I was in the county.”

  “That’s Elisha’s mom?”

  “Yes, so this is all off the record.”

  Jess makes a show of zipping her lips. “I promise not to tell your superpersonable lawyers.”

  “Abigail acts similar to an on-med, still, but she shouldn’t. She’s been off Dociline for years. I want to create some kind of supplement or—”

  “An antidote.”

  I cringe—hopefully only on the inside—at the term. Dociline isn’t poison. “More like a counteractive agent. Something that can neutralize the effects, so she regains her agency and doesn’t require constant care. I only interacted with her for a few minutes, so I don’t know her full range of symptoms, if she remembers anything, what’s going on in her blood and brain.”

  “I’m assuming you have a plan.”

  “Kind of.” I tilt my head side to side, weighing my options. “Elisha’s going to see if he can get her into the city and find somewhere—a neutral location—where we can set up a small work space. Nothing fancy.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “You want me to help you undermine decades of your family’s work on Dociline?”

  “Uh, I don’t know if I’d say ‘undermine’—”

  “Because hell yes, I will.”

  Suddenly, I’m confused. I wanted her to say yes, of course; I am asking for her help. It’s the enthusiasm that I don’t know how to handle. “You’ve helped put Dociline into the hands of debtors for years, now. You literally design our formulas—my dad loves you. I thought I’d have more trouble convincing you.”

  “I’m a bit surprised, myself.” She leans back in her chair, gazing past me. “I don’t think it’s practical or even healthy to immediately unravel the fabric of society. What would all these debtors do tomorrow, if we told them Dociline was no longer an option? We’d have to rethink the Docile program, which, yes, but where do they go until then? Debtors’ prison?” Jess crosses her arms and looks square at me. “It was rough on me, Alex. I lost five years of my childhood, five years of personal development that I struggled to make up. I stayed at Bishop Labs because I thought I could shape a drug that would make it easier on other kids. That someone who had personal experience with Dociline should be involved with its future. I think what you’re proposing is a natural evolution and I’m in for the same reason.”

  “I’m honored to hear that.” I hazard a smile as my face warms. Am I allowed to feel good, right now? I do. For the first time in a while, I feel energized.

  “Don’t get weird about it, Alex.” Jess rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, too.

  A knock on the door interrupts us. “I’ve got your overpriced dead cows.” That can only be one person.

  “Come in, Dylan.” I slide a third chair out and gesture for her to sit down. “Sit.” When she doesn’t move, I say, “Or don’t. The steak will taste just as good if you eat it standing up.”

  She drops the paper bag in the middle of the table and sits down. “I’m joining you because I want to, not because you said to.”

  “Okay.” I hold up my hands. I’m not trying to coerce her. Never have. I’d have sent Dylan home when I went to visit Elisha, if I thought the Board would let me. Unfortunately, I blew my one chance at amending contracts on Elisha, and look what happened to him.

  I catch Dylan up on what’s happened since she last saw Elisha—and find her hungry for news. I never realized how much of the outside world the Bishop Lab off-meds miss; there’s no news, no television or tabloids or tablets, for them. They live in controlled environments.

  She saws through the medium-rare steak while I tell her I took Elisha home. Stuffs it into her mouth while I say the word “love” out loud, over and over. Chews and swallows while I tell her about Ellicott Hart and the lawsuit. When I tell her my plan, she stabs another piece of bloody meat with her fork and eats it. I look to Jess for help, but she shrugs.

  “I was wondering if you wanted to help us,” I ask forthright. “Help us help Elisha’s mom.”

  “I’d do anything for Abigail,” Dylan finally says, wiping her mouth on one of the cloth napkins that were delivered with our meals. “She raised me, too, you know.”

  “Is that a yes?” I ask.

  “I’ll stay to keep an eye on you. Abigail needs help.” She looks at Jess, next. “And I trust you less, Dr. Docile. How can you work here?”

  “How could Elisha sign a contract with a Bishop? How could you?” Jess replies. “They make our world. It’s a privilege not to interact with it. A privilege not all of us have.”

  A slow thirty seconds pass before Dylan says, “Fine,” smiling out of the corner of her mouth. “Then I’m not going to feel guilty about interacting with this steak.”

  “As you shouldn’t.” Jess holds out her hand to Dylan, who shakes it. “Welcome to the team.”

  * * *

  Several weeks pass before I leave the Silo. A car picks me up and drives me to my attorneys’ office, where I sit like a decorative plant while they depose Mariah. I try not to invest myself too much into the questions—I can’t answer them or talk to her about them. I know she thinks I’ve been fucking up my future, but I still value her opinion. Always have. And when Gabriela asks about my and Elisha’s relationship? This feels like judgment day.

  “How did Elisha affect Alex—if at all?” Gabriela asks.

  “Not much, at first,” Mariah says. “Of course, it was a shock to all of us—Alex included—when Elisha refused Dociline. No one does that, especially not when their Patron is a Bishop. He either was completely ignorant or knew exactly what he was doing.”

  “Objection,” Vasquez pipes up. “Conjecture.”

  Mariah looks to Gabriela for direction. The attorney nods. “Let’s move on to what you do know. Did your friendship with Alex change at all, after he signed Elisha?”

  She licks her lips, waits, then says, “Yes. It was slow at first, as they got used to each other. He was nervous bringing Elisha around, like someone with a new dog they’re afraid will pee on the carpet. But after a while Alex began to bring Elisha with him everywhere. Might sound normal, but consider that Dutch and I almost always leave our Dociles home, unless we’re attending a social function where their presence is relevant. For example, Dociles are commonplace at Preakness, but they come along to race in advance of the horses and then are put in the barn. Alex’s sat at the table with the rest of us. It was like they were on a date.”

  “We—” I say, catching myself before I can finish my sentence. “Sorry.” I fold my hands in my lap, feeling my attorneys’ disapproval. I want to defend myself, but could it be true? Were we on a date? I’d never thought about it that way, before. That in some way, I was courting Elisha. He c
ertainly wasn’t courting me. That would imply he had a choice.

  “Over the six months they spent together, I lost my friend to Elisha.” Mariah’s eyes flicker over but only meet mine for a moment. Does she mean what she’s saying or did the lawyers tell her what to say? “I’ve known Alex almost thirty years, but lately? I don’t know … he becomes more like a stranger, every day.” Mariah wipes her finger at the corner of her eye. Is she crying? I can’t tell if it’s an act. “I rarely saw him, during that time. Either he was staying in with Elisha or he was bringing him along, and, when he was there, Alex only had eyes for Elisha.” With a little sniff, Mariah looks at me. “I miss you.”

  “Will the record please note that Miss VanBuren is looking at Dr. Bishop.”

  “Got it,” the reporter says.

  “Are we finished?” Mariah pushes her hair behind her ears and begins to stand. “Or can I take a break?”

  “Absolutely,” Gabriela says, but Mariah is already pushing the conference room door open.

  Before anyone can stop me, I go after her, jogging down the hall. “Mariah!”

  She doesn’t stop.

  “Mariah, please, wait.” I slow as I fall into place beside her. “Can we talk?”

  “Now you want to talk?” When Mariah looks at me, her eyes are pink and watery. She wipes the pad of her finger across her cheek to catch a falling tear.

  I pull my pocket square out and hand it to her.

  She sighs, reluctantly taking it and dabbing at her face. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather talk to Elisha?”

  “I wouldn’t rather talk to him than you. He’s not the only one in my life I care about.”

  “Doesn’t feel that way.” She leans against the wall.

  I glance over my shoulder to make sure a herd of attorneys isn’t flocking our way, then lean against the wall and lower my voice. “I’m sorry. I am. I know I’ve changed—quickly. But this isn’t—” That’s not true. It is Elisha’s fault, but in the best way.

  “You’re lying to yourself if you don’t think this is Elisha’s doing.”

  “No, I know it is, but it wasn’t intentional. I’m not a victim; I just changed. On my own, naturally.”

  “If you say so.”

  I sigh.

  “You tried to run out of Ellicott Hart naked, Alex. You almost attacked a psychologist. You’ve been freaking out,” she says, the tears welling up, again. “And why? For your Docile? The Alex I know would never lose control like that.” She blots her face dry, then pushes the silk wad into my hand. “I think we should take some space from each other.”

  Even though she’s right, the words sting. “I think that’s a good idea.”

  Mariah disappears into the restroom, leaving me in the hallway, holding a pocket square stained with makeup and tears. Whether or not I meant to, I hurt her. Not like I hurt Elisha or Dutch or Jess, but Mariah hurts and it’s my fault. I hope, someday, she’ll realize why I did it.

  59

  ELISHA

  I’m relieved when Verónica says I don’t have to attend Mariah’s deposition and elated when Onyx suggests we take the day off. “Will you—” drive me to Prettyboy? Too presumptuous. “Are you—” free? He’s probably too busy for me. “Can I ask you a question?”

  Onyx snorts and crosses his arms. “Three takes, huh?”

  I scowl, feeling defensive and hurt. “I did it, didn’t I? You know I’m trying.”

  “I know.” He smiles and leans back in his chair. “And, yes, you can ask me a question.”

  “Are you free today?”

  “You’re really going to work your way backwards, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I say with confidence.

  “All right, then. There’s shit I need to do, but I could be tempted to play hooky. What’ve you got in mind, Wilder?”

  I like when people use my surname. It reminds me that I have one. “Will you drive me out to Prettyboy?”

  Onyx lifts his eyebrows. “I thought you didn’t get along with your dad.”

  “We used to get along.” I bite my lip. “It’s complicated.”

  Onyx hoists himself up out of the old armchair and holds his hand out to me. “You can explain on the way.” That’s his way of asking. He never just takes my hand, as if he has a right to touch me, even though we’ve been friends for a while, now. Friends? I think we’re friends. I should ask. Ask.

  I take Onyx’s hand and let him lead me out of the lounge and into the parking lot. Ask. It’s a hard question. What if he says no?

  When we stop beside one of Empower Maryland’s cars, I ask, “Are we friends?”

  “Yeah,” Onyx says, letting go. “I think so. What about you?” We make our way to opposite sides of the car, then slide into the front seats. I’m still impressed that he knows how to drive.

  “I think so, too.” I take extra care buckling my seat belt to let the blush on my cheeks cool. I made a friend on my own.

  “Well.” He looks over his shoulder as he backs out of the lot. The cars here don’t have cameras, like Dutch’s did. They’re old and boxy, but they work and that’s what matters. “Then I guess we’re friends.”

  “Thanks.”

  When Onyx puts the car into drive, he looks right past me, at the road. “For what?”

  “For being my friend.”

  Onyx doesn’t respond, only smiles—wide and tight-lipped, as he speeds away from Empower Maryland.

  “So,” he asks, “what’s with the field trip?”

  “Couple things,” I say, starting with the easiest. “Verónica mentioned it would be easier if my family was in the city, for the trial, and I’d rather be the one to ask than her or Eugenia. I’ve hoped for weeks that Dad would realize I’m getting better and can be a part of our family, again.”

  “Makes sense.” Onyx looks in the mirror, then back at the road. “What else?”

  “I want to help my mom.” I work up the courage, then say, “Alex thinks we can help her.”

  I jerk forward, the seat belt cutting into my chest as Onyx hits the brake harder than he should.

  “Stop sign,” he says, as if I don’t know the real reason he stopped so suddenly. Slowly, the car rumbles to life. Onyx looks both ways and we continue normally.

  “You just said we’re friends. I know you don’t like Alex, but I could really use your support. After his deposition, he offered to help my mom. Said he wouldn’t rule out Dociline’s influence—of course, I know it’s Dociline, but Alex was raised on this stuff.

  “I had to listen to his deposition. He still believes in Dociline, even though he doesn’t like the current formula or direction the Board wants to take. But look how different he is—at the disruption he’s caused among the most powerful people in Baltimore—after spending time with me. Imagine what working directly with my mother could do to him, especially with his new view on things.”

  I roll down the window and let the roaring wind take over when I run out of words.

  After a minute, Onyx rolls his window down all the way, then the back windows. “Did you practice that speech?” he shouts.

  “No!” I shout back. “I just said what I was feeling!”

  “Well, it was badass! And right!”

  With that, Onyx pushes a button on the dashboard and music floods the air. A loud, catchy song with more soul than trillionaire beats and none of the twang I’m used to from guitars. He sings along as we drive, his rich voice wailing over the wind. My hair whips out the window and tangles. It’s getting so long.

  After a while, he shouts, “I want to make a stop real quick!”

  “O-okay!” the word erupts from my chest. “Where are we going?” The question surprises me so much, my face slackens. I hadn’t even hesitated, just asked. I was curious—am curious.

  “Don’t die from shock, over there.” Onyx rolls up the window as we pull off the highway. “You ask questions, now.”

  My smile resurrects. “I ask questions, now.”

  We pull off the
highway at Exit 27, Mt. Carmel Road, and turn past a small gas station and convenience store into a shopping center that looks like it was busy a hundred years ago. Unlit signs top storefronts with large Xs taped over the windows, except for one. From the entranceway, I’d guess it used to be a grocery store, but now?

  Onyx parks, then opens the hatch while I get out. “Someday, I’ll teach you to drive. No one knows how, anymore.” He tosses me a trash bag that’s soft, but heavy, when I catch it. “Talk about freedom.”

  I smile at the idea, as I follow him to the storefront. I’m not sure even Alex knows how to drive. The rich don’t have to, because they pay professionals, and debtors don’t have the opportunity. Bikes cost less, are easier to repair, and don’t require licenses or ID or interacting with the government at all. Lately, I’ve preferred my own two feet, but it wouldn’t hurt to learn how to drive. I bet Alex would be impressed.

  “Is Betty in?” Onyx asks a tattooed person, when we walk inside. I quickly realize this isn’t a store at all. It’s a donation center—bigger than the one at Empower Maryland.

  “That you, Onyx?” a voice shouts from the back.

  “Yeah!” he hollers back. “Just dropping off two bags of winter gear.” He lowers his volume as a Black woman with dreadlocks and a warm smile nears. “I know it’s tropical outside, still, but I don’t want anyone to be surprised when the temp drops.”

  “Shucks, hon.” She kisses his cheek, then takes the bag off him. “Who’s your…” Her sentence dries up when she looks at me. “Wilder, right?”

  My surname still feels like a secret I’m supposed to keep locked deep down inside me. The sound of it is both freeing and terrifying. Like I’ve broken a rule that shouldn’t exist in the first place.

  “Yes,” I manage to say, my mouth dry with nerves. “Elisha Wilder. Nice to meet you.”

  Betty sets Onyx’s bag down on top of a pile of coats, then takes mine. “I heard you were a bit worse for the wear, but you look good, kiddo.”

  “Thank you,” I say, glad when the words come easily. How did she hear? And how did she know my name? From Onyx. He must’ve told her we were coming. But worse for the wear? “I’m getting better.”