Damaged Goods

by Jennifer Bardsley

  When I was in Nevada, trapped at the compound Barbelo named Plemora, breakfast was another test. Was I worthy of my birth father’s trust? Would I blindly do whatever he suggested? Survival meant convincing him I was utterly brainwashed. At the table in the atrium together, we’d eat steamed tilapia and fresh figs. Sometimes Ms. Lydia would join us. But never once did I enjoy a bite.

  Breakfast with Cal is different. The dining room at McNeal Manor is formal, with wallpaper, wainscoting, and tall brocaded chairs. But the atmosphere is cozy because of Cal’s company. The latest news stories project from our chip-watches, and we read companionably over omelets.

  Cal pushes buttered toast in my direction. “Have a bit more.”

  “There were three egg whites in my omelet. I’m full.”

  “That’s protein, not starch.” Cal puts the toast on my empty plate.

  “I had lasagna last night.”

  Cal sighs. “Blanca, you can eat whatever you want now. You know that.”

  “I know.”

  “So why not eat a few more bites?”

  “Because I’m not hungry.”

  It’s not like I have an eating disorder or anything. I’m a perfectly fine weight. But after so many years of being a Vestal and having every last morsel of food chosen for me, it’s tough figuring things out on my own.

  “Maybe you should discuss your fear of carbohydrates with Dr. Meredith.”

  “No, thank you.” I take the offered toast and shove it in my mouth. Dry crumbs make me gag.

  “Are you okay? Have some juice. That’s better.” Cal clicks on his chip-watch and pulls up the news. “It looks like Russell is still missing.”

  I fiddle with my napkin. “Yes. I’ll stay close to home until he’s found.”

  “I don’t want you to live in fear, Blanca.”

  “I know.”

  “You’ll be perfectly fine driving around with Alan.”

  “Yes, Cal.”

  He gawps at me. “Well, don’t parrot everything I say. We’ve been over that too.”

  “Ye—” I start to say, but then I stop myself.

  Cal leans on his armrest and rests his head on his hand. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

  A stab of fear hits my heart. The last person I want to disappoint is Cal.

  “I’ll try to be better.” I let myself sound earnest, although it betrays exactly what I feel.

  “You don’t have to be anything but yourself.”

  “Well, this is me.” I hold out my hands. “There’s a lot of junk inside me that will probably be there forever.”

  “Maybe you should see Dr. Meredith twice a week. Maybe once a week isn’t enough.”

  “No! I don’t want to see her at all.”

  “But, Blanca—”

  At that exact moment a maid enters holding a silver tray. She excuses herself for the interruption and leaves it on the table.

  I notice the red and white markings of the USPS immediately.

  “It’s for you.” Cal raises his eyebrows and holds out the letter. “Were you expecting something?”

  “No.” Not exactly. The other two messages are in the pocket of my white jeans.

  Cal watches as I slice open the letter with my knife. Inside are several pieces of ecru paper with the Tabula Rasa letterhead.

  Dear Blanca,

  I can never hope to understand the path you have taken. For Tabula Rasa’s star pupil to throw her privacy away so recklessly disturbs me.

  I do not know what you think you heard or saw at Plemora or what nonsense that Virus has filled your brain with, but I hope there is still a part of you that is loyal to your alma mater.

  Now is a dark time for us, Blanca. The Harvest is three weeks away and we do not have enough bidders. Headmaster Russell and Ms. Lydia used to arrange that sort of thing. This is not my area of expertise!

  Plus, due to all the bad press you have heaped upon us, some parents have pulled their children from school. We only have 500 students left! Imagine how traumatic it is for these young people to be so close to their goal of becoming real Vestals only to be yanked away from their dream.

  I call upon you to right this wrong. Do a blog post or go online or whatever it is Viruses like you do. But let the world know the value of your Brethren. Bring the bidders back!

  You took a vow, Blanca. You promised to give your highest self to our cause.

  You still have an important role to play. Please come to Tabula Rasa at once.

  Headmaster Corina

  I hand the letter over to Cal who crumples it as soon as he reads it. “Garbage. Absolute rubbish. None of that vitriol is true.”

  I stare down at my piece of toast. “She called me a Virus.”

  “You’re not a Virus. You know that. Besides, even if you were, Viruses aren’t all bad. Look at Seth. He does important work, and I’m incredibly proud of him.”

  “Ms. Corina is correct, though. I took a vow. I promised to protect my fellow Vestals.”

  Cal holds up both of his hands. “You never have to help them again. We’re talking about people who almost destroyed you.”

  “But they didn’t. I’m right here! And it wasn’t the graduates. It was Headmaster Russell. And … Barbelo and Ms. Lydia. It’s not the students’ fault. I can’t turn my back on the only community I’ve known for years.”

  “Let their parents help them.”

  “They won’t help. Their parents gave them away.”

  “What if Russell is behind this? Have you thought of that? This letter could be a trap.”

  “Wouldn’t that be obvious?” I hold up the envelope. “If the FBI came looking for me, you’d have the evidence.”

  “By then it might be too late. Tabula Rasa isn’t a safe place. You don’t know what Corina really wants.”

  “She wants my help. It says so here.”

  “And since when are Vestals trustworthy?”

  Vestals are always trustworthy, something deep inside me whispers. Vestals are the only people I can trust. But I know that’s not true anymore. It was probably never true to begin with.

  “So are you telling me I can’t go?”

  Cal grimaces. “No, I’m not. The hardest part of being a parent is letting your child grow up and decide for herself. I’m only giving you advice. I don’t think you should set foot in Tabula Rasa again.”

  I look at Cal square in the eyes. “Ten Tabula Rasa graduates need my help.”

  Cal returns my fierce gaze. “They need help, but does it have to be from you?”

  “Who else?” I throw down my napkin and stand up.

  “Blanca!”

  “Cal, do you trust me?”

  I watch as Cal’s face tightens.

  “Yes, sweetheart. I trust you.”

  “Good,” I say. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  I can’t believe I am doing this. Every fiber of my being tells me this is wrong. The sun feels hot on my white leather jacket as I weave through Silicon Valley traffic on my motorcycle. I intensely hope Seth got my message.

  I pray he understands.

  Windows roll down and hands flash at every intersection. “Hey, Blanca!” fans call, as I fly by. “We love you!” I’ve turned my chip-watch off for the moment, so I can’t be scanned, but it doesn’t make much difference. The public still spots me. The whole world knows me as Blanca, the only de-cuffed Vestal alive. The only one who drives a motorcycle.

  I hope they have no idea where I’m headed or that it’s the last place on Earth I want to be. At least I have a friend waiting for me when I get there.

  I tighten my grip on the handlebars and zoom through the blinding sunshine.

  Chapter Six

  Nancy’s fingers are short and stubby, but she can type air so fast her fingers blur. My feet bounce up and down. Nancy works quickly but not fast enough to keep the damp of the stone bench from penetrating the legs of my pants. Any minute now, we’l
l head into the FBI building where I’ll give a statement. My heart races with anticipation. I’m still not sure this is the best decision. I fold my arms tight against my chest and squeeze hard.

  I want to help the Vestal graduates, I do. But first, I have to help myself. I need to do something my lawyer has bugged me about for months.

  “Almost done, Blanca. I’m glad you agreed to this. What changed your mind?”

  “I want to take charge of my own life.” I look down at the wrist where my cuff used to be. “I’m tired of manipulation.”

  Nancy gives one final click of her finger-chips. “There. This might not work, but it’s worth a try. If any of the property was acquired through illegal activity, your chances are nil.” She twists toward me. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” I run my fingers through my hair to fluff it. “Thank you for coming with me on such short notice.”

  “You bet.” Nancy stands tall in her wool crêpe pantsuit. The color is as steely as her expression. “I won’t let them take advantage.”

  We only wait in the lobby for a few minutes before Agent Marlow shows up and escorts us through security. “This is a surprise,” he says. He’s so tall that when we ride in the elevator, his hair grazes the ceiling. He leads us down the hallway, and I hustle to match his strides.

  The room we enter feels cold and uninviting. I smell stale donuts. It’s the interrogation area from last week. Agent Plunkett waits for us with her ladybug tattoos.

  “Blanca Nemo.” Her fingers rap the table. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

  I give her my most brilliant smile. For this to work, I need every Vestal skill I’ve got. I extend my pale hand. “Agent Plunkett, thank you for seeing me this morning. I can only imagine how incredibly busy you must be.”

  Her handshake is firm, and she looks me straight in the eyes. “Why don’t we take a seat?” Agent Plunkett indicates the plastic chairs by the table.

  I sit down on the edge and neatly cross my ankles. I place my hands on the table so they can see I have nothing to hide.

  Now if only I can convince these agents of my integrity.

  Nancy nods at me. “It’s okay, Blanca. Go ahead.”

  “Agent Plunkett and Agent Marlow,” I say with as much earnestness as I can muster, “I wasn’t as forthcoming as I could have been the other day. Your interest caught me by surprise.”

  Agent Plunkett sits ups straight. “Interest.” Her voice is cool. “That’s one way to put it.”

  I lean forward, like I’m sharing a secret. “I bet you have a file as big on Barbelo Nemo as he had on you.”

  “And what exactly do you know about Nemo’s files?” Agent Marlow rumbles.

  “A lot.” I nod toward Agent Plunkett. “Margie Plunkett, fifty-two years old and divorced. You’ve investigated the Vestals for seventeen years after your nephew was rejected from Tabula Rasa at age seven. Your interest in the Vestals caught Barbelo’s attention.

  “You have two daughters, one in tenth grade and the other in college. As a rookie, you almost lost your badge after kissing your commanding officer’s husband at a Christmas party. Your husband was in the other room helping serve food. Your boss caught and suspended you. You’re lucky you didn’t lose your badge.”

  Agent Plunkett shrugs. “Office gossip. Anyone can make stuff up.”

  But I’m not done yet.

  I carefully control my expression to prevent my glee from showing. I look straight at Agent Plunkett. “Since then you’ve had three long-term affairs. One with a man you met at your gym, one with a father on your daughter’s softball team, and a three-year relationship with your former partner.”

  Agent Marlow raises his bushy eyebrows.

  “That’s slander,” Agent Plunkett snarls.

  “Not if it’s true.” My tone is neutral.

  “Plunkett isn’t on trial here,” says Agent Marlow.

  “And neither is Blanca,” Nancy interjects. “She came here voluntarily.”

  “So why are you here? To show off your ability to prattle filth?” Agent Plunkett cracks her knuckles.

  “Plunkett,” Agent Marlow says, “be nice.” But the way his body inclines toward her shows me this is an act, like good cop, bad cop. He agrees with her.

  I turn toward Agent Marlow. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything about you. I’m not sure if you were on Barbelo’s radar. I hope you’re not insulted by that.”

  “Of course not.” Agent Marlow folds his arms. “Why would I be?”

  I shrug. “Only important people make it to the Vestal files.”

  Agent Marlow presses his lips tight.

  I look back at Agent Plunkett. “I thought you were interested in what I know. I’m here to cooperate.”

  “And to show you this.” Nancy flicks on her finger-chips and holds out her palm. “I have filed a motion on Blanca’s behalf for the immediate return of all her parents’ property.”

  “What?” Agent Marlow scratches his jaw.

  “We don’t bargain for information,” says Agent Plunkett.

  “We’re not here to bargain.” Nancy’s voice is crisp. “As the only known offspring of Barbelo Nemo, and without evidence of a will, Blanca is sole heir to all his property. The Plemora compound in Nevada, all contents held inside—including his files—all assets both foreign and domestic, and quite possibly, Tabula Rasa itself. My people are still looking into it.”

  “And Ms. Lydia’s things too.” I try not to shift in my seat.

  “Yes,” Nancy continues. “Blanca is also Lydia Xavier’s heir. Yet you have withheld key information that we need for probate, such as Lydia’s maiden name. Or perhaps you have encountered a will?”

  Nerves course through me like high voltage. This is the moment. This is why I have come. But if I act too eager, I’ll ruin everything.

  Agent Plunkett stares at me like she’s scanning every inch of my soul. Then she shakes her head.

  The tiniest release of pressure escapes my spine. I surge forward with my mission.

  “You discovered Ms. Lydia’s last name in Barbelo Nemo’s private files,” I say. “He kept them in his study in Plemora where I was held captive. One day, when I was supposed to be cleaning his office, I sat down and read them all. Well, not all of them. I only got from A to P. I never saw the file for Lydia Xavier.”

  There is silence for a moment.

  “Well?” I look back and forth between the two agents. “You have this file, don’t you?”

  Agent Marlow glances at Agent Plunkett, and a few seconds later, he nods. “Yes,” Agent Marlow answers. “We do.”

  “I would like that file back,” I say sweetly. “It belongs to me.”

  Agent Plunkett leans casually on her armrest. “Those documents are part of an ongoing criminal investigation. You can file as many motions as you want, but you’ll never get them back.”

  “We at least need copies for probate,” says Nancy.

  “I’m not sure that can happen,” says Agent Plunkett.

  “That’s too bad,” I say. “I really thought you were the type of person who could think bigger.” I turn toward Agent Marlow. “I came here to cooperate, remember? Because I know that you didn’t find any files on the Guardians.”

  Agent Plunkett sits up straighter.

  “Well?” I ask looking back at her.

  She tugs her blazer. “The information regarding the Guardians was not as complete as we would have liked.”

  “You mean it was nonexistent. Just like there wasn’t an actual file on Agent Plunkett, was there?”

  “Yes,” says Agent Marlow. “That is correct.” Agent Plunkett glares at him.

  “I’m sure you both know,” I say, “that memorization is the very foundation of Tabula Rasa. ‘Vestals are a collective power. We are united by secrecy and code,’” I quote. “I have lots of things I might say about the Guardians. But only to my friends.”

  “We could
subpoena you,” says Agent Plunkett. “Make you testify in court.”

  “You could.” I lean back in my chair. “And maybe you’d find out that my memory has faded.”

  “Give us the file.” Nancy is blunt. “And Blanca will talk.”

  The two federal agents eye each other, as if sending telepathic signals. Agent Plunkett raps her fingers on the table and flashes her ladybug tattoos.

  Finally, Agent Marlow speaks. “We need to clear this with our superiors first. But we’ll see what we can do.”

  The sun hits me like a blinding lightning bolt. The morning chill has worn off, replaced by Silicon Valley heat. Despite the warmth outside, I shiver. I pull the zipper up my leather jacket and click on my chip-watch.

  “You did great,” Nancy tells me as we walk to the parking lot. “You were amazing in there.”

  “Then why am I shaking?”

  “Because you’re human. And because Agent Plunkett could make grapes shrivel. Marlow isn’t bad, but I thought Plunkett would burst a blood vessel when you said that about her personal life.”

  “It felt wrong sharing her secrets in front of Agent Marlow.”

  “Why?” asks Nancy. “The home-wrecker deserves it. A little shame could do her good.”

  “But it’s her private information,” I protest. “And I was supposed to be winning her over.”

  “Sometimes the best way to gain a person’s favor is by showing them you mean business.”

  “You’re probably right,” I admit. “But it felt despicable.”

  We’re standing in front of Nancy’s car now, a silver sedan with a red interior. “Sometimes the ends justify the means,” Nancy says as she searches for her keys.

  “Who are you? Machiavelli?”

  “Who’s that?” asks Nancy.

  “Never mind.” Sometimes it’s hard to remember that not everyone studied as much history as me. “Say, what did you mean about owning Tabula Rasa?”

  Nancy unlocks her door. “It’s a definite possibility. I have people at the courthouse searching through old hard drives as we speak.”

  “But I don’t want to own Tabula Rasa.”

  “No,” agrees Nancy. “You don’t. It would mean a host of legal problems. You’d need your own army of lawyers to deal with angry alumni.” Nancy glances back at the imposing FBI building behind us. “But we should talk more later. These walls might have eyes.”