“My commander was innocent of the crimes she accused him of. I saw it in his face and the faces of those under her command. They were just too afraid to stand up to her. I refused. I tried to stab her with the knife, but she was ready for me and made sure to leave her mark.” Commander Vye lifts her shirt and shows me a mark on the right side of her abdomen where someone had stabbed her a long time ago. “She gave the order for the transports to drive away, ripping my commander in half, and covering me in his blood.
“When Arel learned of her actions, they recalled her and placed her in the crematoriums. I later found out that my commander had slighted her at supper, so she decided to teach him a lesson. I made sure that bitch got what she deserved.”
Commander Vye watched her commander die, over something so trivial? I have no idea what I would do if I ever saw her die. I can’t even…
Commander Vye slumps over the table, exhaustion taking its hold on her, and I rush to her side, helping her up, knowing that I need to get her to bed before anyone finds her like this. She protests at first, but stops the moment I fling her arm over my shoulder and guide her to the door. The hallway is empty as we head for the staircase, and make our way up, making certain to not step on the one creaky step. Darkness swarms around us as the hall lights shut off, leaving us to fend for ourselves, but I refuse to leave her in the hallway, to be the perfect victim for Molers to sink his teeth into. Her room is at the end of the hallway, and I help her down there, hushing her when she starts to speak, knowing what the consequences will be if she is seen in such a state. Relief showers over me when the door to her room—coated in grime and fogged just like the others—slides open, allowing us entrance, and I place her on the cot, tucking the pillow under her head. Her eyelids flutter just a little, telling me that she is on the verge of passing out. Before I am able to turn and leave, she grabs my arm and pulls me in close.
“Don’t trust anyone,” she tells me.
Her grip loosens as she falls asleep, leaving me to wonder about the meaning behind her cryptic message. It seems odd that she would tell me not to trust anyone, though it could be the alcohol talking, but my mind dismisses that the moment I think it.
I leave Commander Vye alone, hoping that she will sleep off the amount of alcohol she has drunk and that she will be more like her old self in the morning. When I enter the corridor, the sound of a door closing catches my attention, and I turn toward the sound, unable to learn where it originates from, but the uneasy feeling that someone else in this manor is aware of Commander Vye’s vulnerability fills me. Not wanting to be caught out of bed, I hurry back to my room, where Chase waits for me, and fall asleep the moment I lay down, with him holding onto me, afraid to let me go.
Chapter 23
Sickening Silence
The last bobby pin slips into my dark hair, securing the final strand into place. Taking a step back, I look into the mirror at my walnut colored face, and the slight blemish that is still there from where I received a burn from my time in the detention center and the chute that they had put me in as a test of my loyalty. Two weeks have passed since that incident, though it seems more like two years, since whenever I step outside my room, wandering eyes always stare at me, only to dart away the moment I glance in their direction, but they are the least of my worries: Amal has kept a close watch on me. Why, I do not know, but guess that he has decided that I am a threat, and that he is going to deal with that threat the only way that is proper in Arel: by eliminating it.
Worried eyes, stare back at me as I study my reflection in the mirror, a stark contrast to the confidence that my uniform instilled in me on most occasions. I reach up and touch the remnants of the burn on my face and scrape off the last bit of the scab with the tip of my nail, flicking it into the air and watching as it swirls downward, landing on my right foot—a speck tarnishing the pristine, black polish of my boot. A dish on my desk with a spoon next to it captures my attention. Turning, I pick it up and examine the quinoa mush with strawberries mixed in. Shelia must have snuck in here and left it for me before I woke up, since I chose to sleep most of the day in preparation for my shift, so that I would not have to eat in the dining room with Molers. I scoop some of the mushy mixture into my mouth and chew as I try not to think about the next few hours. I got stuck with night rotation—with Molers. Unnatural heat rises around me, surrounding me, as the dread of spending the next 12 hours with Molers overtakes me. I finish the last bite of my meal and place the dish and the spoon back on the desk, making sure that the spoon is even with the edge, before summoning my courage to face the unavoidable.
My door slides open, allowing me to leave, and I step into the familiar hallway with its peeling, speckled wall paper, it’s once white shade having darkened from time and the buildup of grime, and stalk toward the stairs that descend to the main floor, taking each step with purpose, determined to face the night’s threats. Once I reach the bottom, I glance around for Sheila, Gwen, or Chase, desiring to assure myself that they are safe for the moment, but can find no sign of them, until a wisp of blonde hair dances from behind the staircase, pushing a broom, much like Sheila had my first day here. It’s Gwen. She looks up at me and manages a small smile, but darts away the moment Commander Vye appears.
“Noni, a word.”
Commander Vye’s voice commands obedience, and I follow her to her office, remembering the night I had chanced upon her after she had indulged in a forbidden vice. I haven’t seen much of her since, and suspect that she has been avoiding me, or watching me to see if I intend to turn her in. I could have, and any other arbiter might have. Commanding officers are not supposed to drink, though everyone knows that some do, but if caught, the punishment is swift and severe, and I would have been well rewarded for snuffing out a weak link in the strength and might of Arel; but I have no desire to be remembered for such a thing, for being a snitch. I do not wish my commander harm. I sympathize with her and now understand the weight she bears. I do not want to add to it.
Once I step into her office, she shuts the door behind me, before stepping around the room and taking her place behind her desk. The wild, disarrayed reports that had littered the floor that night sit in tidy stacks on her desk: read and to be read. Though, I cannot find the one that had my name on it. She must have hidden it. Disappointment rises within me at the thought, not that I blame her for doing so; but I do want to read what it said.
“Two weeks ago, you may have witnessed something…”
Her words are cautious, as though she is gauging my reaction more than struggling to find the right words, to discern my loyalty to her. We both know that all I have to do is go to any of the other arbiters here and mention that she has violated Arelian law, give details of the infraction, and she will disappear like so many, but I do not want that, and having that sort of power over her sickens me.
“…and I want you to know…”
“What I saw,” I say, interrupting her and hoping to put her anxiety at ease, “wsa my commander sacrificing much needed rest to do her duty for Arel, and reminding me of my own duties as well.”
Commander Vye’s hardened face stares back at me, but despite the façade she exhibits, relief floods her eyes, and my mind.
“You be careful out there tonight,” she says in a low voice, with a note of caring that I have not heard before. “Do as Molers tells you. Do not give him a reason to report anything negative about you.”
The warning in her voice unnerves me. The gnawing feeling that she had tried to prevent me from having to go on patrol with him, but was unable to, fills me with dread. “Yes, ma’am,” I say.
“Watch yourself,” she says to me in a lower voice. “Dismissed.”
I open my mouth to ask her about her warning, about why she is giving it to me, but think better of it, and leave her office as ordered. Taking a deep breath, I walk to the entrance, and the yellowed door slides open, allowing the last rays of the sun’s light to enter the building as I step outside, and find Molers ta
pping his foot with impatience.
“Your shift started five minutes ago,” he says to me, as a way of trying to instill fear into me, but I ignore him and continue down the driveway to the gate, and into the street as a trolly races past, allowing the long shadows of a building to flicker on it as it roars down the street to its destination.
Curfew will be soon. Molers catches up to me, but I continue to ignore his small outburst of frustration, refusing to allow him to dictate how this night will go. I make my way to the plaza, passing under the moving walkways, and the hum of the conveyor belts working nonstop fills my ears as I near them only to fade away as I continue on, to be replaced by the bustling, ordered chaos of the square. The crowds are not as thick as they would have been earlier in the day. The lower the sun sinks in the sky, and the longer the shadows of the buildings become, the more people hurry inside, knowing that curfew will be soon, and what the consequence is for being caught outside once it passes. I check the time on my wristband. There is still a couple of hours left, but I am just as pleased to see people abiding by the curfew law. I don’t feel like arresting anyone today and sending them to the detention center, where they may face far worse than I did.
Molers grabs my shoulder and whirls me around to face him, not caring about the odd glances from the people around us. “You don’t have to like being on patrol with me,” he growls, placing his face so close to mine that our noses almost touch, “but you will respect me. Understand?”
His fingers dig into my shoulder, pinching a nerve and causing it to burn, but I refuse to allow him the satisfaction of knowing that he has hurt me.
“Yes, sir,” I say, keeping my voice even.
Before he can respond, a shop owner rushes out of his store, yelling, “Thief!”
We both look over and see a man in brown overalls and a long-sleeved, brown shirt, indicating that he is one of the Arelian maintenance crew (people responsible for fixing power lines and water lines), running through the square, clutching something in his hand. Molers lets go of my shoulder and motions for me to chase after the man. I sprint across the square, shoving people out of my way, though most jump to the side on their own, not wanting to get caught up in arbiter business, as I hurry after the thief. A woman screams as the man grabs her and throws her at me, but I catch her before continuing after him. He darts down a side street.
“Stop!” I yell at him, but he continues to run away.
My feet pound the pavement as I hurry after the man, ignoring the pain in my side from the exertion, but he continues to outpace me and darts down another side street, knocking over a cart full of apples. I jump over the cart, but my foot lands on an apple, causing me to lose my balance and fall to the ground, but I ignore the stinging pain of the hard pavement digging into my skin, and grab an apple, throwing it at the man, hitting him in his calf. For a moment, he stumbles, and it appears that he might fall, but he manages to regain his balance and continue on. I scramble to my feet and hurry after him, stretching my legs as much as I can to make up the distance. Squinting, I do my best to keep my eyes on the thief as he blends in with the ever-darkening part of the city as the buildings block every part of the sun.
He heads for the trolly tracks, and its whistle reaches my ears, warning us of its approach. Dread fills me as he races for the rails while the trolly draws nearer, playing a dangerous game of chicken. With each passing second, I watch as the two continue on a collision course, and hold my breath as the man jumps the tracks right before the trolly rushes past. I stop. Heaving, I wait for the trolley to roar past, allowing me passage across the tracks. Once it’s gone, I scan the crowd of people beyond for the thief, but the darkened area around me makes spotting him difficult, except I see a man in brown overalls. Taking a chance that he is my thief, I jump over the tracks and rush for him. He turns around and sees me. The man takes off. Once again, I shove my way through people as they head home, trying to catch the man before he gets away. I do not need another failure on my record.
The thief veers left, taking another side street. Knowing that I will never catch him like this, I pause, scanning the buildings and spot a door that leads to a small eatery. I run for it, bursting through the door, and ignoring the man asking if he can seat me, as I charge past tables where diners finish up their meals and prepare to leave. A tray clatters to the tile floor as dishes crash around it, splattering food all over the nearby tables and chairs, and the waitress glowers at me as she cleans it up, but I don’t have time to apologize for making her drop her dishes. I rush through the dining area and into the kitchen, looking for the back exit. Found it. As dishwashers and cooks glance in my direction, I hurry past them, ignoring them, while they turn back to their work, not wanting to get involved in my reasons for disturbing their workday. I slam into the exit door, forcing it open just as the thief races by. Quickening my pace, I charge after him, moving my feet as fast as I can, until I am close enough to him that I jump on him, tackling him, and taking him to the ground. He tries to get away, but I place my left knee in the middle of his back and wrench his arms behind him, forcing him to drop what is in his hand and it clatters on the pavement, rolling away, until it nestles into the concrete foundation of the building next to us.
“Please,” begs the man, “let me go. I was told not to come back without it!”
“You are being detained for stealing,” I say, ignoring his pleas.
“Please,” the man continues, “my supervisor told me it would be my head if I failed to get it, but didn’t give me the credits to buy it.”
Before I can bind his hands, a single gunshot rings out, echoing off the sides of the tall buildings, and the man goes limp, while a hole appears in his head and blood splatters onto my uniform jacket. Stunned, I let go of him and turn in the direction of the sound. Molers approaches from my right and holsters his pistol. As I stare at the lifeless body in front of me, I spot the item the man had stolen and pick it up. It is just a copper fitting for a pipe. That’s it. This is what the man died for. Enraged, I throw the copper fitting away and jump to my feet.
“Are you crazy!” I yell at Molers, not caring about the consequences afterward. “The man was just a thief. According to stature 2626, all thieves are to be remanded to the detention center where—”
“There have been a few changes since you’ve been gone!”
Molers’ voice echoes around me in the alley, and anyone passing by on the street continues on, ignoring the exchange, not that I blame them.
“But you wouldn’t know any of that, would you,” says Molers, “since you were so busy being President Tapiwa’s emissary. To deal with the terror threats, arbiters have the authority to deal with violators with any means they deem necessary.”
What? This goes against the law that I am sworn to uphold—that we are all sworn to uphold. The man hadn’t harmed anyone. He just stole something, and if it wasn’t his third offense, he could have been reeducated, and… My stomach churns as I realize that the thoughts in my head are no better than the ultimate solution Molers had decided on. Maybe killing the man was more merciful than sending him to a reeducation center, but what is the point of the law, if we can just decide how it is to be executed? Confusion mixed with anger roil through me, filling me, until it boils over, causing me to not think about my next set of actions.
“You could have struck me,” I say, my voice a low growl.
“If I wanted you dead, you would be.”
“Then perhaps you should have.”
Molers whips out his pistol and points it at my forehead, saying, “I can right now, if you’d like.”
Refusing to flinch or show any ounce of fear, I stare into his cold eyes, remembering all the pain he had put me through while I was in the training facility, and this is no different. It’s just another mind game of his. “Do it,” I say, stepping forward so that the cold end of the barrel presses into my sweaty forehead.
He smirks, entertained by by boldness and puts his pistol back in its hol
ster. “This way,” he says, turning around and walking away, while speaking into his wristband to report the dead body next to me. A cleanup crew will be here soon to cart it away.
Knowing that I will not get away with disobeying him again, I follow after him, clinching my fists as I do, and drawing blood as my nails dig into my palms.
“It’s time you learn that everyone in Arel has their place,” Molers says as he leads me to a disreputable part of the eastern sector, one that Commander Vye forbade her arbiters to go to, “and you will either learn yours, or be assigned other duties.”
Molers marches through the streets of the eastern sector, and I dare not disobey him, knowing what can happen to me if I refuse. His quick pace proves a little difficult to keep up with, and I find myself somewhat surprised, considering that he is at least 40 years my senior. The streets turn narrower, with more cracks in the pavement, and in some areas, entire chunks of concrete are missing, leaving sinking holes in their place to capture unsuspecting people who are unaware of their existence. The deeper we go into the heart of the eastern sector, an area I never had the courage to venture into, the darker it becomes as the sun’s rays cannot reach between the tightknit buildings that are squished together, forming a prison of decaying brick that crumbles away from its place, yet refuses to allow its structure to wither into nothingness. Despite the eldritch nature of these tucked away roads, no graffiti, no trash, no rats plague this area, unsettling my nerves as the ominous feeling of being led into the deepest chasms of a sickening horror, so evil, so diabolical that even hell itself repudiates it, for the vomitous thing that it is. My heart skips every other beat as Molers leads me deeper into a tangled web of malevolence that many in Arel pretend does not exist, though all make use of its offerings.
Ensnared (Enchained Trilogy Book 2) Page 36