by Rachel Heng
She thought about trying to tell Uju. But looking at her mother’s perfect heart-shaped face, the walnut frizz rising from her scalp golden in the lamp light, Lea felt the words turn spongy in her throat. She saw how, even if she could get the words out, her mother would pretend not to understand. How she would resay them so they came out her way.
So Lea shrugged and said: “I don’t know.”
Uju’s face took on a satisfied sheen. I don’t know she could work with.
“Well,” she said carefully, “they were bullying you, weren’t they, those horrible girls? Not that physical retaliation is ever the answer. But anyone would break under such a prolonged period of psychological torment.”
Lea nodded.
“Try and remember, darling. Don’t leave anything out. And don’t you worry about a thing.”
She felt the force of her mother’s will washing around her as she always had, the invisible tides nibbling away at the edges of herself.
“It started last year,” Lea said. “Small things at first. Whispering. Giggling. Pulling out my chair.”
Uju nodded, squeezed her shoulder.
“Eventually it was happening all the time. My eyes didn’t match my skin. My hair stank. They said it was—greasy. Why was it always so greasy.”
Lea kept going, drawing on Dwight for inspiration. She talked and she talked and she talked. Uju began stroking her hair in a rare show of affection. It was easy now that she had begun.
When she got to the Incident, Lea paused. She suddenly recalled Dwight’s eyebrows pulled tightly together, the weak curve of his cheekbone, the soft pink flap of his lower lip. A faint, purplish blood vessel crisscrossing beneath translucent skin. She wondered, for the first time, what was wrong with her.
* * *
The elevator finally arrived. They piled in, every last one of them. It clanked upward slowly, stopping at each and every floor. When they reached the fifteenth, Lea wriggled out from between suited shoulders.
White plastic signs tacked to the wall matched names to office numbers. AJ’s was the fifth from the top, sandwiched between AG and AJB. Lea walked along the brightly lit hallway, heels clicking on the same veined maroon marble, past door after identical door. The hallway was empty, but a buzz of activity seeped out from the cracks under the black doors. The ringing of phones, urgent voices, scraping of chair legs and tapping of keyboards. Above it all, a tinkling tune—“Triangle and Bluebird Calls,” Lea recognized—streamed out from invisible speakers. When she reached AJ’s office, Lea paused, listening. She couldn’t hear anything from behind the door. Perhaps he wasn’t there. Perhaps she should go home.
“Come in,” a voice called.
Lea opened the door. Two large desks, facing each other, took up nearly all the space in the room. Behind one was AJ, behind the other, GK. AJ appeared to have grown, his toned bulk filling out his small desk chair, his jacket tight at the elbows. Or was it the smallness of the room that emphasized his size? GK, on the other hand, looked skinnier and paler than before, hunched over his keyboard, long fingers pattering across the black squares. Neither AJ nor GK looked up as Lea entered the room.
Lea waited. Still they said nothing. They continued to type, staring fixedly at the multitude of screens that crowded their desks.
She cleared her throat. One would think they’d be pleased to have her just turn up at their doorstep like that, given the amount of time and effort they spent following her around.
AJ glanced up. “Lea Kirino,” he said. “What are you doing here? Wait. Before you answer that. What were you wearing last Tuesday?”
“What?” she said.
“The sweater. Was it orange, or was it yellow? We know it was a crew neck. Tangerine sort of shade. But can you be more specific?”
“Why are you—”
AJ sighed. “Fine. Orange it is.”
He typed harder now, banging on his keyboard so that his screens shook.
On the windowpane was a single photo in a silver frame. She recognized AJ, still in the same dark suit, standing next to a forty-year-old in a mortarboard.
“Is that your son?” she asked. It was strange to think of him as a family man.
AJ stopped typing and looked up. He looked at Lea; then he looked at the picture. Slowly he stood up and took one step toward the window pane. He turned the picture around so that it faced out.
“So,” he said. “What brings you here then, Lea Kirino?”
Lea cleared her throat. GK’s typing clattered on.
“I have a complaint to make,” she said.
“Go on,” AJ said. He was still looking at her but had picked a ball of rubber bands off his desk behind him that he began turning in his hands.
“It’s about George. The—leader, I suppose, of my group. The WeCovery Group.”
“We don’t deal with complaints,” AJ said, putting the rubber-band ball back down onto his desk.
“He’s out of control. What he’s doing—it’s emotionally abusive, cortisol-generating. Completely unacceptable,” Lea said, her voice growing louder.
“Like I said, we don’t deal with complaints. Therapy and rehabilitation—T&R—they’re a different department altogether.” AJ turned back to his screen.
“But he threatened me. He brought up—” Lea stopped.
AJ looked up again. “Dwight Rose?” he said.
So they knew. So everyone knew.
“Is that it? Goodbye, then, Lea; I’m sure we’ll be seeing you soon,” AJ said with a smirk.
“Wait. There’s something else. Someone else in the group. Anja—I don’t know her last name. She’s foreign.”
“Nilsson,” GK said, still typing.
“I think she’s part of—of an illegal group of some kind. Antisanct. Non-life-loving for sure. Some kind of murder cult. The ones who do the videos.” Lea squeezed her eyes together as she said this, but Anja’s face appeared, silent and reproachful, so she opened her eyes again.
“Suicide Club,” GK said. He didn’t look up, but slowed down his typing.
“GK,” AJ said, a warning note in his voice. “Thank you for your time, Lea. Was there anything else?”
“I don’t understand. I thought that’s all you wanted, information. If you already know about the Club, then why aren’t you doing anything about them?” Lea asked again.
AJ pinched his nose bridge.
“We’re very busy,” he said. “If there’s nothing else, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
He stepped back behind his desk. They both went back to ignoring her, and started typing again.
Swiftly Lea rounded around the corner of GK’s desk and slipped behind him.
Verbal: I don’t understand, I thought that’s all you wanted. Information. If you already know about the Club, then why aren’t you doing anything about them Physical: Habitual gesture #7, pinching left elbow. Nails painted, light nude brown, hiding something? Ring finger appears freshly bitten.
The screen went black. Silence filled the room.
“Are you trying to ensure a lifetime of Observation?” AJ said.
“Where does all this information go? What’s the point of it all?”
“That’s none of your business. Classified Ministry information,” AJ said.
Lea suddenly noticed a faint liver spot spreading across the base of his left cheek, coin-sized.
“Actually,” GK piped up, “under the last FOIA—”
“GK.” AJ shot him a look. GK stopped.
“FOIA?” Lea asked.
“Freedom of Information Act. You’ll have to file a request, of course,” AJ said, grudgingly. He began removing rubber bands from the ball in his hands. Snap.
“And how do I do that?”
“The forms are on our website. You’ll get an official answer within twenty business days.”
“I don’t want to wait twenty business days,” Lea said.
They stared at her silently, the same blank look on both their faces.
/> “Look, I just want to give some information on the Suicide Club. And maybe you can take that into account at my hearing.”
They looked at each other.
“You’ll have to download the official reporting app,” AJ said. “We’re not authorized to take oral testimony.”
“Well then, who is?” Lea asked. “I want to speak to whoever’s in charge.” She drew herself up to her full height.
They looked at each other again.
“I’d have to check,” AJ said. “There’s been a lot of turnover lately.”
He waved one hand at their desks, so closely pushed together, Lea saw now, that it was clear they were never meant to be in the same room.
“But they killed her. Dominique,” Lea burst out. She fixed her gaze on AJ’s serene face, but there was no shock or glee, nothing to indicate he had heard her revelation, that it was a revelation at all. He glanced at his watch.
“Fine, don’t leave,” he said, turning away. He squeezed past her, heading for the door.
“Where are you going?” Lea asked.
“Lunch,” AJ called over his shoulder as the door shut behind him.
GK had his screen back on and was typing furiously once again.
“Look,” he said. “We’ve got a lot on our plates. More than we can handle. The Suicide Club—they’re old news. Been on record for decades now. Can’t ever pin anything on them; besides, it’s not our case. Someone else looks after them.”
“Because they’re wealthy and powerful,” Lea said. “Of course. So, what, you’re not even going to try? They’re allowed to get away with it, just like that?”
GK shrugged.
“They killed a girl, got rid of her body in some sick public ritual. And you’re sitting there typing up the color and fabric of my blouse.”
GK stopped typing. He looked up at Lea, suddenly alert.
“What did you say?”
“It’s ridiculous, I should go to the press with this; people need to know where their tax dollars are going.”
“No—what did you say about the body?”
Lea paused. She remembered the tip of the girl’s nose, peeking above the liquid level before it was submerged.
“They had it laid out on stage,” she said in a low voice. “In this—this box—made out of glass.”
“The body?” GK said, his voice excited now. “As in you saw her physical, nonliving body? With Club members in the room? You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Do you want to listen to what I have to say now?” Lea narrowed her eyes.
GK stood up, pacing in the narrow sliver of space between his desk and the wall behind him. He could only take about four steps before he came to the end of the room and had to turn around again.
“And AJ out for lunch,” he said. “Actual body. And you there—a witness. But how is that possible?”
He turned to her.
“You’re lying,” he said coldly. “They would never take a risk like that. How did you get there, anyway?”
“Anja. She invited me.” The lie to protect Kaito slipped out of her like a dropped marble, thudding heavily in the room.
Suddenly Lea realized that if she got the Club shut down, maybe she could stop Kaito from killing himself. Yes, he could still obtain black market T-pills on his own, but he could have done that years ago, and he hadn’t. No, he wanted the spectacle the Club could give him. But maybe she could stop it.
GK’s upper lip was still pursed, a deep line ran between his eyebrows. Lea noticed, once again, that his skin was much duller than AJ’s.
“What’s this cost-cutting AJ mentioned?” Lea asked.
“It’s awful. Started with the move here—what was it—ten years ago now? I’d just joined then, fresh out of grad school, pretty pleased with myself. Entry-level Ministry jobs weren’t exactly common back then, you know. And I’d thought, ‘Wow, new office, this is going to be great,’ but then we moved out here.”
Lea nodded sympathetically.
“And then there was the meal reduction, benefits reduction, supplemental shift schedule, space consolidation … Who knows where this is going to end?”
“I didn’t realize it was quite so bad from what’s been in the news,” Lea said.
“The news.” GK wrinkled his nose. “‘Fat Ministry Gets Long Overdue Revamp’ makes for a headline, and that’s all they care about, isn’t it? You know, I have a triple-postdoctorate in forensic science. Yet here I am.” He gestured toward his screen.
“Paperwork,” Lea said.
“Yeah.” GK looked down at his feet.
“You know, they know me now. The Club. And Anja—she trusts me.”
“What are you saying?” GK’s hands hovered over the keyboard, but he didn’t start typing again.
“I’m saying…” Lea weighed her words carefully. “Maybe I could help you. You said you can’t ever pin anything on them. I could go to their meetings, gather information. Get you what you need.”
“You want to report on them,” GK said. “Report on Suicide Club.”
Lea swallowed.
“Would that help?” she said. “Would that get me off the List?”
“Do you realize who they are?” GK said.
Lea blinked. “Of course I do. I was there. I saw what they do, I heard them speak. They’re a bunch of antisanct criminals.”
GK pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut.
“It’s not that easy,” he said. “The Jackmans—they’re, well, let’s say they’re well-connected.”
“What do you mean?”
GK removed his hand from his face. His nose was red and his eyes bloodshot. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.
“Don’t you know who Mrs. Jackman is?”
Lea shook her head.
“She comes from one of the largest Healthtech families. Ministry folk throughout the family tree. She’s—well, different, clearly. Has her issues, caused lots of problems for the family. But that doesn’t mean they won’t do anything to protect her.”
“But how can that be—”
“You know what, AJ will be back soon, and I still have a full day’s report to type up.” He struck his keyboard, bringing the screen back to life. “You’ll have to leave. We’ll take note of this visit, incorporate it into your case file.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Lea said. She placed both hands on the desk, leaning in toward him. He smelled faintly of antiseptic. “Would it help?”
“I can’t condone any such activity,” GK said. “Reporting on the Club—the Ministry would never ask that of anyone. And we don’t do—deals, as it were.” He glanced at the door nervously. Outside, the muffled ringing of telephones and the clattering of footsteps continued.
“But say you were to receive such information. Say you were to get such testimony, recordings, even. Hard evidence you could use, linking Anja to the actual videos. Linking the Jackmans. That would be useful to you, wouldn’t it?”
GK blinked rapidly. He began running his fingers along the surface of his keyboard, nervously caressing the worn black keys with their faded letters. He looked around the room, his gaze flitting from the towering stacks of paper to the yellowing, stained walls, the sliver of space between his desk and AJ’s.
“We might be able to act on it, were we to get such information. It would have to be a recording, of course, and some sort of eyewitness testimony,” he said. “Quite impossible,” he added hurriedly. “And it would have no bearing on any other open cases. All cases are considered in isolation, with full objectivity. Particularly,” he went on, “with the latest developments.”
“Developments?” Lea asked. “You mean the Third Wave?”
The door clicked open.
“I couldn’t possibly comment,” GK said, avoiding her gaze.
“Still here?” AJ said. “You know, this really isn’t going to help your case.”
Lea straightened up. “I was just leaving,” she said, calmly
now. Glancing at GK, she saw that a deep red flush was spreading across his neck.
“Great. Lots to do, you know, not much time to do it all. You’re not the only one we have to keep track of, after all,” AJ added.
Lea thought of the hallway of doors. How many like GK and AJ were there, how many like her?
TWENTY-SIX
“Three vegburgs, two nutrishakes, four sides of boiled chips!” the chef shouted. “Three vegburgs, two nutrishakes—”
“Got it, got it, I’m here,” Anja said, wincing. She balanced the plates nimbly on her forearms, one shake in each hand.
“I’ll be back for the chips,” she said.
“Better hurry, hon, we’re running out of counter space. And where the hell is Branko?”
“No idea,” she said.
“Of all the shifts to miss,” Rosalie muttered, flipping a row of cabbage patties deftly.
Anja dashed back out. The diner was full, and Branko was still nowhere to be seen. The place was noisy at most peak hours, but today it was absolutely chaotic. Anja set the burgers down in front of an arguing family who barely acknowledged her presence.
As she walked back to the kitchen, a braying voice cut across the noise.
“Excuse me! Ma’am. Ma’am.”
She turned around. The woman she’d just delivered the burger to had plucked the bun off and was waving it at her. Her pearl earrings glinted under the fluorescent light.
“Um, I think we ordered these with carb-free buns? These just look like regular gluten-free ones to me? Also, we’ve been waiting for at least forty minutes now, and no one’s wiped down this table.” She pressed one manicured finger on the vinyl surface and grimaced.
“Let me just check on that for you.” Anja turned to go.
“Aren’t you going to take these back?” The woman’s voice rose an octave.
“I was just going to check the order first,” Anja said through a tight smile.
“Check? What do you need to check? Just get us what we ordered.”
“Of course.” Anja swept the dishes off the table again, the smile on her face unwavering.
“I got four bowls of kale wafers wilting in their own juices,” Rosalie said as Anja reentered the kitchen. “Why are you bringing food back in? No no no. Food goes out the kitchen. Not in. Wrong way. Turn around.”