Fury: Book One of the Cure (Omnibus Edition)
Page 19
His words take me back to that first night. He appeared like a dream, speaking in his deep, comforting tone. A part of me must have loved him from the very beginning, in that stupid club, even without knowing it.
I slide over the covers so that I’m sitting behind him, threading my arms around his shoulders and neck. “I love you,” I murmur against his ear, “but sometimes I feel like I don’t know you. Before we met, what did you want, Luke? What did you fear? What did your life contain?”
I can feel his lungs fill with air as he breathes. I move my right hand to rest over his heartbeat. The smell of him is so familiar it makes me ache. I love him so much that I actually miss him, even when he’s sitting within the space of my arms.
“I didn’t fear or want anything,” he says softly. “That’s what’s so scary, Josi. I was a ghost. I lived for work, moving through my life like I was underwater. I was a drone.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m alive again, sweetheart. You woke me up.”
“A cure for the cure?”
He smiles and turns his face toward mine, catching my lips in a kiss. My mouth opens with a sigh and I feel his tongue slide across my lip. He tastes sweet and lovely. He tastes like freedom.
“Who’s Louise?” I ask softly.
Luke stiffens. He pulls away, staring at my face. “What?”
“She just phoned you.” I glance at the clock. “At one in the morning.”
“My boss,” he sighs. “She’s hounding me.”
“Why?”
“Guess I’ve been letting things slip at work.”
I consider this. The woman on the phone didn’t sound like a professional figure—she sounded worried and jealous. Plus she phoned in the middle of the night. But the cure makes people behave weirdly. “Okay, well maybe you should focus more. Leave me to worry about myself.”
“The blood moon is less than a month away.”
I flop back onto the pillow and throw an arm over my eyes melodramatically. “Do you know what I’d like to think about?” I sit up and grin. “The resistance.”
Luke’s expression doesn’t change. He watches my eyes closely.
“Don’t you want to find them?”
He cracks his knuckles. “You know who else wants to find them? The Bloods.”
I roll my eyes.
“Don’t,” he says suddenly. “Don’t make that face like it doesn’t matter. You’ve got no idea who the Bloods are, Josi. You don’t know how dangerous they are.”
“And you do?”
“Actually, I do,” he says.
“So tell me about them.”
He stands up and walks to the window. Golden lights from outside dance across his skin and flicker in his eyes. “You don’t have to be given the cure to be a robot.”
I’m not sure that I know what he means, but I stay quiet, hoping he’ll keep talking. Getting Luke to talk about anything other than my curse is becoming almost impossible. Morsels of his life are so rare that if I had to live on them I’d be long dead. He disappears for several hours a day, but he never talks about his job, despite how many questions I pound him with each time he comes home. Legally he’s not allowed to speak about his cases—I’m just surprised at how strictly he follows that law. I understand what it means never to want to speak about your past—I loathe the very idea of even mentioning my childhood. But the fact that he seems to feel the same way makes me think he must have his own fair share of darkness, instead of the perfect life I used to imagine him having. Perhaps when he goes there in his head he’s met with his brother. I can’t imagine grieving for a sibling—it is too vast a sorrow.
He doesn’t seem to want to go on, so I prod at him, hoping for some kind of reaction. “What if the Bloods did come and find us? Wouldn’t that be better than this?”
“What’s this?”
“This land of drones.”
“You’d rather be dead than live here with me?” he demands.
“That’s not what I’m saying. I’ve been hoping all along that the Bloods would come for me, but they never do. They seem to be the only ones who can stop me now.”
“By torturing you for information and then slaughtering you?” Luke turns around, and I’ve never seen him look so cold. “You’re a child.”
“And you’re a coward,” I tell him softly, trying to hide how much his words hurt me. “You’re too frightened to fight. We could leave right now. We could find the resistance and join them. We could face whoever comes for us.”
“Do you know what the reality of that kind of life is?” he asks. “It’s isolation. It’s having no friends, no family. It’s living your life in fear, never having a place to call home.”
“As opposed to how we live now?” I cry. “This isn’t a home—it’s cold and empty. We spend our lives searching for something that doesn’t exist, and we dread the moon. Why couldn’t we do the same in a place where we could actually try to make a difference?”
“You idealize it.”
“I don’t idealize shit,” I snarl, standing up. I spread my hands. “My whole goddamn life has been a waste. Did you know that until I met you, no one had ever touched me, except to harm me? I’ve lived with more instability, more isolation than you could ever imagine. I don’t have any friends or family to leave. I know how to take care of myself. And what’s more—you know all of this about me. Which makes me think that you’re the one who doesn’t understand, Luke. You’re the one who couldn’t live on the outside.” And then I tell him again, “You’re a coward.”
He just stands there, looking wounded.
“Fight back!” I yell suddenly. “I can’t bear that you won’t fight back! Yell at me! Shout and scream and get angry!”
“Would you like me to pretend?”
I scream in frustration and storm out, locking myself in the bathroom. I turn the faucets on and start filling the bath. While I wait I can’t help pacing back and forward. Doesn’t he get it? If anyone in the world has the ability to reverse the cure, then it’s the resistance—they are the only ones who won’t have been given it in the first place. And no matter how much I love Luke, I don’t know how much longer I can be with a drone.
*
The boiling hot water loosens my muscles. I feel like a cigarette, even though I’ve never smoked one in my life. I consider calling out for Luke to get me one, but I’m not quite sure what the response would be, or if I’m relaxed enough not to scream at him again. I honestly don’t understand—if there’s even a hope that somewhere out there are other people like me, then isn’t it our responsibility to at least search? If it’s possible, wouldn’t he want his personality back?
That thought stops me short for a moment. It’s never occurred to me before that Luke might not be who he once was. And if he had the cure reversed, then who would he become? Is it possible that’s he’s an entirely different person? One I don’t know at all?
“Josi,” Luke says from behind the door, “I’m coming in.”
He opens the door, wearing cotton boxer shorts and nothing else. Without looking at me, he sits with his back against the tub, hands laced over his raised knees. “After the blood moon,” he says quietly, so quiet I almost think I’ve imagined it.
I hold my breath. I don’t need his permission—the truth is I could go on my own, but the thought of leaving him behind is too painful to entertain. “After the blood moon what?”
“We can look for them. If it’s really what you want.”
I run my hand through his hair, wetting it. He leans his head back against the lip of the bath, closing his eyes and enjoying the feel of my fingers. “You’d leave your job?” I ask softly. “Your family?”
He doesn’t reply. After a while he gets up and climbs into the bath with me, underwear and all. “Fuck it,” he announces wildly. “Fuck it! None of it matters anyway—everything in this whole goddamn world is bullshit. Everything except this.”
“This?”
“You.” He splashes m
e in the face. “You and me. So let’s fly away and join the fairies. Why the hell not?”
It’s kind of lame, but that’s the most romantic thing he’s ever said to me.
I kiss him. He smiles against my lips, threading his hands through my hair. “But first,” I add, smile fading, “We have to survive the moon.”
Chapter Thirteen
September 15th, 2064
Luke
“Your reports have become less and less detailed,” Jean tells me. “It’s unlike you.”
“There’s not much to report, Jean. Watching the girl is as dull as watching paint dry.”
“Then why do you continuously recommend that she needs to be surveyed? It’s been almost a year and a half, and you’ve given us nothing.”
“Like I said, I have yet to ascertain where her loyalties lie.”
Jean laces her fingers together on the desk. She’s gearing up for something big here, and I unconsciously brace myself. “Agent Townsend. I’m going to tell you something very interesting. Josephine Luquet has a unique condition. Once a year, she is overcome with aggression. This causes her to be violent—or at least, it has in the past. For the last four years, we’ve had various agents watching her, all of whom have reported her behavior to be extremely dangerous. On the last blood moon you were the agent sent to monitor her. You were unaware that we also sent three other Bloods to watch the girl. Those three Bloods never returned from the op. But you reported the next day that nothing of any interest had occurred.”
My heart beats a little too fast. Jean leaves her words to pollute the air between us. I keep my expression empty.
“You’re my only Gray, Luke. I’ve waited patiently, trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. Hoping you’d come to me.”
“Why wasn’t I informed of her condition?” I ask softly.
“You didn’t need to be,” Jean snaps. She sits back. “Either you neglected to inform us that the girl murdered three of our finest agents, or she didn’t in fact have an outburst like she has had in previous years. Which is it, Luke?”
My mind starts working quickly. Obviously, this is a trap. The latter explanation is utterly stupid, and she knows it. If Josi didn’t do it, then what happened to the three agents? There’s no way out of this.
“Fine. I have something to admit,” I tell her. “On the day of the 16th the girl was acting strangely. I thought she was sick—she collapsed—so I broke into her apartment to see if she needed to be taken to the hospital. Next thing I knew she was attacking me. I don’t remember anything else. I woke up hours later, alone in her apartment. I didn’t report it because I was embarrassed that some kid managed to get the drop on me.”
“So you let three of our agents die without explanation?”
“I didn’t know about the other agents. You never told me about them.”
We stare at each other. It’s clear she doesn’t believe me, but I don’t really give a shit what she thinks, since she can’t actually prove that my words are false.
“All right. You might be able to explain something else to me.”
“My pleasure.”
“Why it is that you are living with your surveillance subject?”
I freeze. Every muscle in my body goes still as my mind launches ahead and moves faster than it has ever done. It was always a possibility they’d know we were living together, I just thought I’d have more warning than this.
“I changed her status from surveillance. I got sick of your secrecy, and being treated like an amateur. Watching her was delivering nothing. I decided to intensify the information I was acquiring so I upped her to contact status and got close to her. I figured you might want her as an asset, if she turned out to be working for the resistance.”
Jean smiles without any humour. “Really. Townsend, you do amuse me. There’ll be severe punishment for this breach in conduct. Did you manage to learn anything with your reckless activities?”
“Nope. She’s clueless about herself.”
“Very well,” Jean says. “Your new mission has been sent through. It’s very simple.”
There’s something in her voice that makes me wary. There’s no way I’m getting away with what I’ve done that easily. I don’t move a muscle. Jean opens some files and displays them on the wall. It’s a new photo of Josephine—one that I took last week.
“Josephine Luquet has become too difficult to contain. Her crimes are too extensive to disguise. She must be brought in.”
I don’t move—I can’t move. Somewhere inside me I knew that this would come one day, but I’m not ready for it. I haven’t figured out a plan. I’ve been wasting time, trying to help Josi figure it all out on her own, when I should have just fucking told her. I’m a coward. I’m the worst damn kind of coward, because I put my own happiness before her safety.
Bringing her in means one of two things. Either she’ll be cured, or executed. I don’t know which is worse.
“What’s the first rule we learn when we’re recruited into the Bloods, Luke?” Jean asks me softly.
I don’t reply—I can’t.
“Never make contact with a subject. Not even the novices could get that one wrong.” Jean stands up and it’s obvious she doesn’t expect me to answer. “Get it done before she changes tomorrow, or she won’t be the only one who gets brought in. You’re dismissed.”
*
I swerve my car to the side of the road, open the door and vomit into the gutter. Everything inside me comes tearing to the surface, shredding my organs as it goes. When I finally stop there’s a song playing on the car radio, its tinny electronic voice drifting over the quiet of the afternoon air. It seems to be about a man who’s forgotten his wife’s name.
I am so weary of people who forget.
I squeeze my eyes shut and rest my forehead against the steering wheel. Jean knows my secret. I would rather die than be given the cure. The very idea of it makes me sick with loathing.
My phone is ringing. Over and over and over—whoever it is won’t give up.
Filled with despair, I answer it without looking at the caller ID.
“Luke!” It’s Louise. “Where are you? I’ve been trying to reach you for days!”
“Why?” I snap.
“Because you’re my boyfriend!”
I climb out of the car and breathe in the smell of the grass under my feet. I’m not sure where I am—I seem to be standing beside a park. On the other side of it there’s a playground with children climbing over brightly colored objects.
“We’ve been broken up for a year, Lou,” I tell her, forcing myself to stay calm.
“We’re not broken up!” she moans.
“We have this same conversation every time we speak,” I tell her as patiently as I can. “You don’t seem to be able to understand, so I’ll tell you again and again until you do. I don’t love you, Louise. You’re everything I can’t stand about the world.”
“It’s because of Dave, isn’t it? You changed when he died.”
Is this supposed to be a surprise? Would it be strange for a man to change when his brother kills himself? I want to scream at her, but I can’t. Eleven years of being a Blood—of rage—seethes under my surface, but I can never let it out or they will take it from me.
“If that’s easier for you to process, then yes,” I say flatly.
“Have you had an affair?”
“I haven’t had an affair, because you and I aren’t together.”
“Who was that woman on the phone?”
“Louise, I have to go. Don’t call me again. Do you understand?”
She doesn’t say anything, but I can hear her breathing. She’s trying to work out how to feel, but she can’t get there. After a moment she starts to giggle. I hang up the phone.
*
The house I park in front of is small and run down. I haven’t been here for years. I don’t know why I’m here now—a sick kind of self-punishment. Trance-like, I walk to the front door and knock.
 
; My mother opens it and stares at me. Her hair is almost entirely silver, but she wears it with an innate grace she’s always had, even after they damaged her brain and she lost her oldest son. Her eyes are my eyes, but lighter. Slowly they fill with tears and she throws herself into my arms. She’s tiny. I get my stature from my father, who’s a hulk of a man. My mother has never felt so frail though, like she might crumble to dust at any moment.
I feel a desperate kind of sadness. Here in the powerful hold of her limbs is the physical proof of a notion we can never quite understand. It is a real, tangible manifestation of love, this hug, these tears. I feel my own eyes prickle because there is nothing so profound as the way she is, in this moment, forgiving me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. She’s stroking my hair over and over like she did when I was a kid. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Come inside, my darling,” she tells me, taking my hand and leading me into the house where I grew up. The smell of it is intense—a wash of memories and feelings I thought I’d forgotten. And Dave. God, Dave is here in every inch of this place, and it hurts so damn much I feel like my chest is being cracked open.
There are his trophies on the mantel. There are his photos on the wall. His guitar in the corner. A painting he did as a child on the fridge. I thought I would never see these again—I wanted never to see them again. But now that I am here, in among it all, it’s a perfect, sweet kind of agony.
A question with no answer.
My mom—Claire—wipes her eyes and bustles around in the kitchen, making a pot of tea. I sit down at the kitchen table and clear my throat. “Where’s Dad?”
“At work. He’ll be home this evening—if you could wait?” There’s such longing in her voice that it nearly makes me start crying again. Jesus, I’ve got to get a grip on myself. I can’t stay that long—I have to figure out what to do about Josephine—but I can’t bring myself to tell Mom, so I sit quietly and she goes back to the tea.
When she’s brought it to me she sits and we look at each other.