by C. E. Wilson
The voice.
The floppy hair and the eyes with no color.
My pulse quickens.
“I’ll get them and send them in,” Shawn says, turning on his heel. “I’ve already given them instructions so don’t you dare try to convince them otherwise.”
“Of course not—”
“And,” Shawn says as he turns back around. He’s much like an owl swooping on his prey as he crouches back down and takes my cheeks between his four fingers and thumb. “You are not to tell them your true name. You are Eleven, or whatever else they decide to call you. Under no circumstances are you to reveal that your name is Grace.”
“Yes, Shawn.”
“The name Grace belongs to me. Just as you belong to me. Am I clear?”
“Of course,” I say through a muffled mouth. It’s hard to speak when he’s pinching my face, but I try not to let the discomfort show. I wouldn’t forget. I could never say my name. The fierce look in his bright green eyes is a reminder that he’s not to be crossed. My tongue and lips are still raw from a lesson learned the day before.
“How is your face today, Grace?” he asks with a scrutinizing look.
I try to lick my lips, as scabs and scrapes graze across my tongue. “I’m fine. The penance was fitting for the crime.”
He continues to inspect for a bit longer before his lips pull apart into an eerie, satisfied smile. “I swear, Grace. I still can’t get over the manner you have of speaking. You’ll be perfect. Perfect, if you could get your act together.”
He releases my face and stands up. As much as I want to lift my head to watch him go, he’s testing me. He wants to see if I’ll ask questions, but I won’t. I’ll remain silent and obedient because that’s what he wants. I want out of the garage, and though I don’t like the heavy shock collar, not many go into the house so early. Shawn wants to trust me.
Several sets of footsteps return after a few minutes and Shawn’s calm voice washes over them.
“Thank you, boys, for taking your lunch break to do this,” he says. “I didn’t want Celia here. I have no idea how it’s going to act. I’ve already sent my wife to the spa for a few hours so do what you have to do. I’ll call the school and let them know you may be late.”
No one’s home. Celia’s at school. I’m going to be alone with strangers. They will have all the power.
“Do you need me to stick around?” Shawn asks. I imagine him pulling up the cuff on his sports coat to look at his sparkling watch. “They keep talking about Collectors and I can’t have anyone else trying to sneak a look at my rare find.”
“I’m sure it’ll be okay, Mr. Paulson,” a new voice comes. It’s familiar, but not the voice that gives me goosebumps. “As long as you give us the remote.”
“I don’t want it harmed,” Shawn says.
“It’s an Eleven,” the voice laughs. “I’m sure there’s not much else that can happen, sir.”
“Elevens are rare. I had proof of that last night,” Shawn says. “And you will take my request seriously. You will not shock it unless it disobeys a direct order. I’ve already spoken with it. You must be careful.”
“Careful?” a third voice asks and my heart feels like it’s stopped completely.
That voice. The one from before. The one who spoke with Celia! I sit up straighter and though the leash crackles against the floor, I try to make myself look presentable and non-threatening. I don’t want to be shocked. I have hazy memories of being shocked many years ago, but very vivid memories of its effect on wilder Potentials. I still hear their screams in my nightmares.
“It’s well-spoken,” Shawn explains to the two voices. “Another great find, Reese. She’s charming.”
“Charming?” the less familiar voice sneers. “I think we can handle it.”
“Without hurting her,” the kind voice says. “You heard the doctor.”
“I’ll do what I need to do so I don’t get hurt.”
“Griff…” the kind voice says, “… don’t start.”
So the one voice is the guy from the night before. He’s come back for another showing. I can almost imagine the look of excitement on his face when Mr. Paulson asked him to help. He probably thought I snitched and he was getting exactly what he thought he deserved. Another chance to see me.
“You should give me the remote,” the kind voice says to Griff.
Please. I hope he does.
“Yeah right, dude. I’ll hold this. You’re such a bleeding heart, you’d let that thing bite you before you’d punish a poor little Potential,” Griff says.
“Don’t you dare let it climb on you!” Shawn replies sharply. “I’ll speak to it when I come home from work tonight. I’ll get a report. I know where each and every scar and scab on it has come from and if I see new ones, I’ll report both of you. Am I clear?”
“Clear, sir,” Griff’s voice says.
“Yes, sir,” the other voice says.
“I’m counting on you,” Shawn says in a softer voice. I can tell he’s speaking to one of them directly, but behind the door, I can’t tell who. “There could be a lot of good things happening to you soon. You know that, right?”
“Yes, I do, sir,” the voice answers. It’s the kind one.
“I know how much you mean to Celia and getting into our family would mean a safe future. You could pretend the whole world of Potentials doesn’t exist if you marry into our family, Reese.”
“I’m aware, sir.”
Reese. I try out the name, barely allowing myself to whisper. It’s not a typical Beauty name. Most of those who have been promoted from a Potential to a Beauty often change their name to something more eloquent or exotic. Reese sounds plain, but there’s a familiarity to his name so I dare to smile. I like the name Reese.
What I don’t like is hearing that he’s with Celia. What could he possibly see in a young woman who is disgusted by Potentials when he used to be one himself? Where is the appeal? Isn’t there any other way for him to move up in this society? I’ve never even seen this person, but my mind keeps reeling… trying to make excuses for him. I don’t even know him and I’m making excuses to find the best in him. Just because he used to be a Potential doesn’t mean he has any respect for them as a Beauty.
But I can’t deny that he sounds kind. Kinder than Griff and even kinder than Shawn despite the words he utters to soothe me.
“I have to go,” Shawn says and I hear some keys jingling. “Call me immediately if you’re having any serious problems with it.”
“Should we feed her?” Reese’s voice asks.
“Of course not,” Griff snaps. “That’s not our problem—”
“If you think you can handle it,” Shawn says. “There’s some leftover corn in the refrigerator. Don’t bother heating it up.”
“I think I can handle her, sir,” Reese says.
“Are you serious? You want another bowl thrown at you?” Griff moans.
There is an uncomfortably long silence and Shawn is the first to speak. “What… what did you say?”
“I mean… at the caf,” Griff stutters. “Some girl threw a bowl of salad at him. Everyone laughed.”
“I see,” Shawn mutters. I feel him rolling his eyes. “Do what you need to do. You can have the entire afternoon off if it’s behaving. Some interaction might be good for it before it starts working with Celia. I’ll make the appropriate calls.”
“Sounds good, sir,” Reese says.
“However,” Shawn says, his voice lowering. “If either of you touch it… harm it… or damage it in any way, I will know. Do not test me, Reese. Griffith.”
“Yes, sir,” the two say in unison.
“I wouldn’t want to touch one of those beasts if I didn’t have to anyway,” Griff stutters once Shawn’s heavy footsteps recede and I’m alone with the two young men. The door closes sharply and neither of the men come in at first. I can only listen to sounds. Shawn’s car pulling away. The men shifting behind the door and the jangling of keys.
/> “Should we go in?” Reese asks.
“Right away? Naw,” Griff says. “Did you hear the way Paulson described it? When he called my parents’ house this morning, I thought I’d shit bricks. I thought the beast ratted us out.”
“We shouldn’t have been trying to steal a look at her anyway,” Reese says.
“I know, right? If we would have been patient, we’d be seeing it anyway with a clean conscience.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Fingers crack behind the door and now that Shawn’s voice is gone, I become nervous. The new collar is choking the life from me, and my breaths grow sharper and more irregular. New people. New Beauties and they’ve seen me before. I slide backwards to the furthest wall and pull my knees up to my chest as I wait.
“You can go in if you want,” Griff says. “I hear Paulson’s a total porn addict so I’m going to inspect his collection before we get going.”
“We should start now.”
“He said we’ve got the whole afternoon off. Why not enjoy it?” Griff said, as I hear him walk away. “If I were you, I’d be looking in Celia’s underwear drawer. I bet she has some pretty pieces.”
“I could care less,” Reese mumbles.
“You’re such a fag,” Griff says. “I’d kill to be in your position. Nice job at the hospital. Hot girlfriend from a good family. Powerful caretakers. You’ve got it all going right, man. Now, I mean. Not before you were twelve.”
“Before I was a Beauty,” Reese says. “Whatever. Go get your jerk on and I’ll go see her for myself. I’m curious.”
“I bet you are.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing! Nothing,” Griff says as he laughs. “I think it’s funny you’re so obsessed with Potentials. What person becomes a Potential Trainer after being a Potential, huh? What the hell is up with that? You think that’s the best way to get a wife?”
“Shut up! That’s… that’s disgusting.”
I wince. Disgusting? Me? I’m not a Beauty, but I don’t want to hear the voice say I’m disgusting. Bile rises as they continue to argue, and the man’s voice catches my ear.
“I used to be an Eleven, too,” Reese says. “I’m curious about what an Eleven looks like... from the other side.”
“From the beautiful side,” Griff says. He sighs loudly. “Fine. I get it. Go have your special moment with the Eleven and remember what Paulson said. Don’t be creepy.”
“I’m not you,” Reese mutters as I hear footsteps move farther away.
“Have fun Trainer Wynters!”
So he wants to see how an Eleven looks now that he’s a Beauty. What a load. I can’t believe I was ever interested in him. How can he be kind when he finds what he used to be ‘disgusting’? I curl up in a tighter ball, hoping he’ll immediately take the hint when he steps into the garage. The knob of the door shifts and I lower my eyes. I will not look at him. I will not meet his eyes.
The door opens with a gentle crack and light from inside the house pours into my darkness. I can feel the curious eyes on me as the door doesn’t close and I look on the floor for an object to throw if he says anything that pisses me off. I’m not disgusting. He used to be an Eleven like me! How can he be horrible towards someone he doesn’t even know? Someone he hasn’t even seen?
My fists sweat as I hug my knees tighter against my body and his feet shift. Through my half-closed lashes I see his feet as he stands in the doorway. He hasn’t moved. His shoes look expensive, and even from far away I can smell the leather. It smells good and it makes him different. I don’t detect apples. I don’t detect heavy spice.
“E-Eleven?” the voice asks, reminding me so much of the night before, before I threw the bowl. “Eleven, right?”
I don’t give any indication I’m listening; that’s what he wants and I’m not there to play games with him. He’s not my owner. He has nothing to give – he has nothing I want.
“You… you can look up. I won’t come any closer yet,” the voice tries. There’s more shifting as he closes the door behind him, but keeps his promise. His back must be pressed against it. Is he frightened of me? Frightened of my face? My hair flops forward, sealing me even more from his view.
When I don’t respond for a second time, I expect him to rush over and smack or beat me. He may have the remote, so maybe he’s planning to shock me.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says at last. He’s reading my mind as I shift around and pull the blanket closer around my frame to hide my discomfort. Don’t look up. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking at him. All Beauties want and crave that look of awe.
“I guess you heard me earlier,” he says in a softer tone. I can barely catch his words. I wonder if he’s trying to make sure his friend doesn’t hear. “What I was saying. That’s all for show. I guess you also heard I used to be like you.” He crouches down in the doorway, but I don’t lift my head. “I used to be an Eleven.”
Good for you. Congrats to him. So he wants to see the disgusting Eleven to feel better about himself? With lowered eyes, I go back to scanning the floor, looking for an object to throw and scare him off. I hope he’ll leave and give this up so he and his friend can move me to the basement and then leave me alone.
“Can’t throw a bowl this time,” Reese says. I can’t tell if he’s smiling when he says it, but his voice sounds warm. Friendly. “I guess this explains why you won’t look at me. I’m the person from the window last night. I’m sorry.”
Despite not answering, my body betrays my mind and I shrug.
“So you are listening,” Reese says. “I… I’m glad.”
Who cares if he’s glad?
Who cares if I remember who he is?
“You can lift your head. I’m not going to punish you for looking at me,” he tries. I hear him stand up and his one foot lifts as though he’s thinking about taking a step towards me. I involuntarily flinch and his foot returns to its previous spot. “I’ll stay here until you say it’s okay,” he mutters.
He’s going to listen to me?
Why?
“Will you please lift your head? I want to see you.”
I’ve had enough. His kind voice and false modesty are making me sick. He only wants to look at me to satisfy himself. He only wants to see what an Eleven looks like because he’s flawless. He’s sicker than the other ones. Maybe not as sick as Shawn – I have the scabs on my lips to prove that – but being less sadistic than a controlling megalomaniac isn’t that impressive.
Before I can tell my body to resist, I jerk up my head and focus my sharp hazel eyes on his.
Recognition. A long-forgotten memory surges into my mind, but it is driven away by a sharp pain at my neck. As the memory retreats, waves of pain replace it until the world is made of agony and darkness.
Then only darkness.
Chapter Five
“What were you thinking? You idiot!”
“You were arguing with it! How was I supposed to know?”
“You can’t shock her for no reason! You can’t…”
The voices pound overhead as I come in and out of consciousness.
What happened?
I had seen the owner of the voice.
And though I don’t think I agree with a lot he’s said… I think he does care about Potentials. His voice had been so soothing. I remember something else and then pain. My lids flicker as the voices above continue to speak as though I’m not there.
“If Paulson finds out, you can’t expect me to cover for you, Griff,” the one says. Reese’s voice. I want to open my eyes to look at him, but I want to hear what he’ll say when he thinks I’m not listening.
“I’m sure your precious relationship with Celia will remain intact,” Griff answers in a gruff tone. “I’m sorry, okay? I wanted to see if the controller would beep or something when I pressed the button.”
“So you shocked her without even coming out to the garage? What if she tells Paulson?”
“So I’ll tell him my finger slipped. He’s an understanding guy.”
“He didn’t strike me as too understanding when it came to hurting her.” Griff chuckles in response.
“What?” Reese snaps at him.
I’m shocked at how harsh his voice sounds. Only a few moments ago this same voice had spoken softly and promised he wouldn’t hurt me. Talking to Griff, he sounds like a man who cracks a whip and yanks a collar. I keep my eyes closed.
“What do you mean?” Reese asks.
“Look at its lips, man,” Griff says. “It’s obvious he’s making it do some sick stuff.”
I want to suck my lips away from their view, but if I do, they’ll both know I’m awake and I won’t have an opportunity to learn more about the both of them. I can’t believe that Griff had shocked me for such a stupid reason. Didn’t he know that shock collars like these were dangerous? Didn’t he understand the pain that little button could cause?
I can feel the weight of their scrutiny on my face, especially my lips.
“Dammit,” Reese says first. “You’re right. What are those?”
I’m humiliated to say the least.
“Looks like cuts,” Griff says. I hear him nudge Reese. “You should ask Paulson about it. I’m sure he’ll be happy to tell you—”
“Shut up,” Reese snaps. “You better hope she’s okay.”
“It’s a shock collar, not an electrocution device. High and Mighty, Reese, what’s wrong with you? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re sympathetic towards it.”
“Maybe I am,” he says softly.
I can’t help flinching. Why would he be sympathetic towards me? He doesn’t know me! He doesn’t owe me anything!
“I keep telling you,” Griff says, as his voice grows harsh. “Dangerous talk. If anyone heard you talking about a Potential…”
“I know, I know,” Reese mutters. “I don’t know what got into me.”
“You know the rules,” Griff says. “You may not like it, but the rules are what hold society together. You can’t keep talking so openly. Just because you used to be a Potential doesn’t make you above the laws we have to follow. You know that, right?”