A scream builds in my throat. I barely manage to clap a pillow over my face before it escapes. When I stop screaming, I’m breathing hard. My brain is fumbling, juggling the implications. The horrors.
He couldn’t kill Reid . . . could he?
Oh yes, he could. He can do anything. He knows it. He knows that I know it.
But can Skelley Chase control death? Can he control the Clocks? The scary thing is . . . I feel like he can.
What do I do? I’m thousands of miles away. I can’t help Reid at all. I can’t even send Hawke to help my family because I deleted his contact bubble. Maybe I should ask Jude to contact Hawke for me.
Yes, that’s what I’ll do.
It takes all my energy to stay on the couch, waiting for Jude to wake up. I should go wake him, but he’s still healing from his concussion. Darned rest. He needs it. But . . . this is urgent.
I’ll give him five minutes.
I look at my blue watch. Skelley Chase gave this to me. The rat. The slimy evil snake. God, why would you let this interrupt my vision? Would you let Reid die like that?
But why would Skelley Chase kill him? Is my return so crucial to his own plan? What do I have that Skelley Chase wants? He already has fame. He already has my story.
I can’t wait five minutes. I leap from the couch and run to Jude’s room. “Jude!” I pound on his door with the flat of my fist. “Jude! Jude! Wake up.”
The door flies open. “What is it?” Jude stands shirtless wearing only his pants. His snake tattoo weaves around the bullet wound near his elbow.
“It’s Reid. He’s in danger. I need you to contact Hawke and ask him to get Reid out of Unity Village. Ask him to get my whole family to safety. Hide them.”
Jude tosses on his shirt and grabs a tiny NAB from his windowsill. We walk into the living room and I collapse back onto the couch.
“Why can’t you contact Solomon?” he asks, typing away on his NAB.
I clutch Reid’s journal to my chest. “Because I don’t have his contact information anymore.” He pauses in his typing. “Please, Jude, send the message.”
He types for a long time, then we are forced to wait for Hawke’s response. Jude sits on the ground by the fire and closes his eyes. I crack open Reid’s journal, more for the hopes of distraction than any information. Sunlight flickers from a passing bird.
I flip page-by-page, making out single words like adventure, Parvin, and school. At one point, the word Florida stands out three different times. I squint at the watery words in between and make out what look like his first thoughts of traveling to Florida.
The next several pages are almost blank from the Dregs water. Another word starts cropping up. Soon it’s written so often I can’t imagine what words were in between it.
Tawny. Tawny. Tawny.
Tawny is a color, but he capitalizes it every time he writes it. On the next page, I find broken sentences.
. . . can’t bring Tawny home . . .
I think Parvin . . . like how . . . Tawny is.
Tawny sounds like a person or a pet. Knowing Reid, it’s probably a person. It’s probably a girl. Despite the temptation to deny this, I know it is. She must be. It would explain his desire to be in Florida.
My nerves burn. So he deserted me for this Tawny girl? I turn the page with such ferocity the corner rips. On this page is taped a photograph. The colors melt together and I make out fuzzy outlines of two people. I squint as hard as I can, but no clarity comes to me.
I bet it’s a picture of him and this Tawny girl.
Wanting more pictures, I flip to the back of the book where a conglomeration of pictures and emotigraphs clog the binding. The emotigraphs don’t bleed, so I start with them. First is a picture of the ocean, but the next captures the faces of Reid and a girl, as if he held the sentra out to take their picture.
Wary, I press the emotigraph button and I’m floored with joy. Hope. Whimsy. Similar feelings to when Jude showed me the sunset.
The emotions shatter like a smashed windowpane and I gasp, trying to breathe again. I’ve never imagined Reid happy like that.
I scrutinize Tawny. She’s maybe a year younger than us. Her hair is shoulder-length golden blond with dark streaks and the perfect mixture of curly and wavy. It frames her oval face as if a stylist spent hours sculpting it. Dark eye makeup lines her eyes, bringing out the smile crinkles. Teeth: straight. Lips: perfect pink. Eyebrows: trimmed. Skin: smooth.
I don’t like her. Why is Reid’s arm around her? Who is she?
Tawny.
I flip to the next emotigraph and grip it so tight, the small sheet bends. Tawny stands in the center of the picture, her hair half up with flawless makeup. Long earrings dangle to her bare shoulders.
My mouth drops open in horror. The rest of her body is covered in a white wedding gown made of gathered lace, outlining her skinny curvy body, revealing every angle, until it flares out at her knees.
She poses like a model with a little smirk that doesn’t reach her eyes, but shows off her lipstick. She doesn’t look happy. I flip the emotigraph over, not daring to press the button. Black words line the top, written in Reid’s jerky handwriting.
4.02.2149 - Tawny Blackwater. Our wedding day.
Married. My brother. My triplet. On our eighteenth birthday. A Wednesday. Who gets married on a Wednesday?
I throw the emotigraph like a Ninja star across the room. It bounces off the fireplace mantle and lands near Jude.
“Are you okay?”
My skin is being ripped from my bones. “My brother’s married.”
He looks at me for a moment with a small frown. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”
I blink twice. “Yes, you do. You just wrote Hawke about him. Reid, remember?”
“Reid?”
“Yes, my twin.”
Jude looks concerned. He picks up the emotigraph. “Who’s this?”
“Reid’s wife.” I suck deep breaths through my nose. “And don’t press the emotigraph button.”
He stares at the picture. I want it back. I want it away from his eyes. I don’t want him looking at Tawny while I’m in the room for comparison. We’re a set of unbalanced scales and I’m the faulty side.
“She’s pretty,” he mutters.
I jump up and snatch it from his hands. “She’s married.”
“To who?”
Throwing my arms in the air, I release an exasperated huff. “To Reid. My brother.”
“Oh yeah.”
I force myself to crush down my overwhelming emotions. Jude looks lost. “Do you really not remember my story?”
“Of course I do. I remember Reid now. He’s in trouble and Hawke’s checking on him.”
I reach out, hesitant. “Jude . . . you’re forgetting things.”
His shoulders sag. “I know.”
“Are you resting enough? Your concussion was pretty tough and stress causes the symptoms to flare up.”
He nods.
“Any response from Hawke?”
“Not yet.”
I face the window and allow my thoughts to claim control again.
Reid is married and he never told me. Did he think I wouldn’t accept the fact he got married? How could he do this without me? I would never take such an important step without my family around to celebrate with me.
Tawny.
I look at the emotigraph and see a stranger—a pale-skinned, half-smiling, kissed-my-brother stranger. Does she even know about me? About our family? Does she want to meet us? Does she know I’m going to die?
She looks like a man-snatcher.
Pressure builds inside me, turning into pain. How could he, God? How could Reid live such a different life and not share it with me?
Now I have to save Reid. He has a wife.
Thoughts of the
past week weigh me down like spring mud. I’ve entered the seventies and everything is crashing around me. I thought Mrs. Newton and I were starting something great. Now what do I do? What if Hawke can’t help Reid?
Then there’s the issue of our Clock. Reid is so convinced the Clock is his, but I know it can’t be. Why would he get married if he knew he’d die? It doesn’t make sense. The Clock is mine. I can’t let Skelley Chase kill Reid.
The Preacher said life is meaningless. Reid is married. Jude is going to die. Do I go back?
I rest my head against the arm of the couch, allowing it to bang harder than necessary. The jolt is refreshing. I have a sister. The thought is unbidden, but inevitable. I’ve had a sister for almost five months and I didn’t know it. A man-snatching sister.
So that’s why Reid gave me his journal. Maybe his entries explained why he kept her from us. That’s why he left me at our One Year Assessment. He was returning to Florida to marry Tawny. They were married five days before his train accident. Did they have a honeymoon?
My stomach churns at the idea of my brother honeymooning. Neither of us ever dated. I never had a chance to. Reid never seemed to want to—he always had something more important to do like travel, study, and explore . . . or was that all a façade?
God, where do I go from here? How do I become a shalom-maker? The more I strive the more I’m sledge-hammered with surprises. Do I even have time?
I look up. Jude is staring at me. “Solomon replied.”
I breathe heavy through my nose. “What did he say?”
“Reid is being held in the containment center until you return. The rest of your family is under house arrest.”
“No! There’s no way he could have confined Reid so fast.”
“He?” Jude says.
“Skelley Chase.” A sick wave hits my stomach.
“Skelley Chase?” Jude gives me a quizzical look. “I know that name.”
I curl my legs up beneath me. “Yeah, he’s a famous biographer.”
“Oh.” Jude’s eyes droop as he stares at the fire. “I think I know him from something else. I’m not sure.”
I’m nervous about Jude’s memory issues. Maybe his concussion is the start of his death. Perhaps he’s losing his memory because there’s fluid build-up in his brain or interrupted blood flow. I can’t help worrying something more than a simple impact jolted his mind.
“Jude?”
He turns toward me as if pulling out of a deep thought. “Yes?”
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to save Reid.”
“We’re gonna have to brainstorm.”
Brainstorm. It reminds me of Wilbur’s suit and our plan to save Radicals. Mrs. Newton has gathered plenty of resources and even a promise from the Preacher of a mansion to use as a halfway house. The only thing we haven’t secured is a force of men to send to the Wall. Builders.
But what if I go?
What if I return to build the bridge and set up the survival station? I’d still be furthering our purpose and I could save Reid.
But what about Jude? I peek at him, sitting by the fire. His dark hair is longer, getting into his eyes. I can’t leave him. Then again, I don’t know his Numbers. Do his outlast mine? I may have to watch him die. Can I do that?
He rubs his ear. “It’s so quiet. I can’t think straight. I don’t know what I’m feeling.”
I forgot how much he hates silence. He relied on his music to inform him of his emotions. “Jude, why is the Citizen Welfare Development Council trying to kill you if they want your information? Why would that assassin shoot you?”
Jude shrugs, but avoids my gaze. I continue to stare at him and he releases a pent-up breath. “I think he’s trying to retrieve my information. All of my invention formulas are up here.” He taps his temple. “That’s why they’re safe. But my wound hasn’t gotten infected, and that makes me nervous. There are certain chips that can be shot into a person for pirating. Those chips have a solution coating to protect from infection. I’m wondering if there’s one inside my arm.”
“A chip?”
He nods, but doesn’t expound. “I’ve been trying to survive long enough to die.”
What a horrible purpose. How can he continue to breathe, smile, or laugh knowing he’s doing so to breathe out another second of life? “You won’t ever give them the information, right?”
He turns hollow eyes to me. “Never.”
I rub my stump as a tingle sweeps across the scars, then I retreat to my room where I lie facedown on my bed and pray for the longest amount of time I’ve ever prayed. I share my fears about Reid’s death, Skelley Chase’s blackmail, Jude’s memory, and Mrs. Newton’s and my plan to save Radicals.
“Please, please help us save lives. Please help me save lives, starting with Reid’s.”
I sit up. I’ll go to the albinos for help—they live a few days away from the Wall entrance. They might assist me in setting up a system of survival for the Radicals. If I share my hopes, will they listen?
Alder will want to chop off my head the moment he sees me. Daring rashness swirls in my mind, the same feeling that urged me to walk through wolves. He can’t touch me. Not if I get there soon enough with plenty of time left to my Clock.
Anticipation drums through me. I must do this. For Reid. For the Radicals.
For Me.
I bite my lip. Yes. For You, God. Does this mean this is Your plan?
The Preacher’s words float like a loose ribbon into my consciousness. “. . . the disturbing truth is, you have to decide what you want.”
Decisions. Impulse. Is there a difference? Okay God, I don’t know how accurate the Preacher’s words were, but I’m going to make a decision. I just . . . I breathe through my teeth to combat the threat of unwanted tears. I just want to decide with You. Please bless me and guide me as I return to the East.
I don’t want to leave, but that is the beauty of it. I don’t want to leave yet I am choosing to. This gives me strength and confidence. I’m sacrificing for the sake of others. This step brings the same terrified calm I had when I declared myself a Radical to save Reid.
This is right. This is me. This is my purpose.
~You win, Mr. Chase, I type. ~I’ll come back.
His response comes within seconds. ~And you’ll continue to send me journal entries - SC.
I throw the NAB onto the bed and then enter the living room. Jude and Willow are playing a game on the ground with cards Willow won through trade. She’s been bargaining like a master ever since she arrived, winning items for cheap and selling them for more. It’s her pastime, yet I’m at a complete loss as to how she acquired the skill.
They look up. “Hey.” Jude smiles. “I like that dress.”
I look down at the belted black frock I’ve worn all morning. Did he not notice it earlier? “Thanks.”
“Welks.”
“I need to leave,” I blurt without so much as a warning.
Willow’s head snaps up. “You’re leaving?”
I soften my face when I meet her gaze. “Yes, Willow. I’m going to earn a train ticket in the next few days and then return East.”
“Why?”
I kneel on the ground beside her. “The Radicals need me and I’m going to save my brother. In fact, I plan to talk to your people and see if they’ll help me.”
Jude stares at me. His thick eyebrows form a crease of concern. “They’ll chop your head off.”
“No, they won’t.” I’m surprised by the calm in my voice. “Not if I get there soon enough. My Clock still has seventy-six days. They can’t kill me.”
He releases a dismal laugh. “Putting your faith in the Clock again?”
“You do the same thing,” I counter, on the defense. I’ve made him angry. Doesn’t he realize this is something I have to do?
“I don’t think by the Clock. I still live as if it doesn’t matter. My faith is in God.”
“You don’t mention Him very often.”
He rolls his eyes. “Neither does the girl wearing a cross ring.”
The cards lie limp on the ground, like my strength. Will I ever make a decision that doesn’t produce friction?
“So you’re deserting us again,” he says.
A deep breath brings no peace, but I say what I know I must. “If you choose to stay in Ivanhoe then . . . yes, I guess. If that’s how you want to see it.”
“Tally ho.”
I throw up my hands and, with them, my caution. “I don’t understand that saying, Jude, but it’s driving me crazy. Does ‘tally ho’ mean ‘good-bye’ or a period at the end of a conversation? Is it an expression of frustration? What is it?”
“It’s an expression to say ‘okay’ or . . .” He struggles for the right words. “Or a comfortable ending to a letter or conversation.” He shrugs. “People in High Cities say it. Sometimes I use it to convey ‘you win’ or ‘I give up’.”
“So you’re giving up on me?”
Silence rings between us. I bet Jude’s tune-chip would be screaming right now. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t speak.
“Good to know.” I grip the hem of my dress. “Now I won’t get my hopes up.”
“Hopes up for what?”
“A relationship!” It’s out of my mouth before I can catch it. Winter frost replaces my breath and I stare at him, my face warming. The following silence is so stunned, I doubt Jude’s tune-chip could have created a matching song.
A muffled squeak comes from Willow.
“A relationship with me?” Jude speaks in a low voice.
I can’t bring myself to answer, but my silence is answer enough. Jude watches my hand. I watch his face. It’s passive. Deep in thought?
It doesn’t matter what he thinks. I’m leaving.
Then his lips tip upward. The smile grows until his teeth show and he lifts his head, looking into my eyes with a vulnerable display of disbelief. A hesitant laugh issues from him, like an escaped bubble of joy. He reaches forward and takes my hand and stump in his. His fingers wrap around my left arm and slip between the fingers on my right hand.
A Time to Die Page 37