Chapter Sixteen
The tram starts moving again and, just when I think it’s safe and my breathing begins to stabilize, the canary woman edges her way through the crowd toward the official. Leaning in, she whispers in his ear, and he snaps his head in my direction.
I turn away and try my best to appear nonchalant, but it’s too late. Within moments, the official has asked the person sitting next to me to move. He takes that seat and my pulse starts to race. I know I could be in big trouble and I need to keep myself together.
The official turns in his seat to face me, his brown eyes staring into mine. “It’s come to my attention that you were speaking with the criminal.” He clamps his mouth shut, but his top lip quivers slightly. I don’t know if he’s angrier with me, or the fact that Darian got away…or himself for not catching Darian. But from the look in his narrowed eyes, I’ll probably be the one paying for whoever he’s mad at.
“Criminal?” I croak.
“Yes, don’t play games with me,” he says with a snarl. “A fellow passenger informed me that you were consorting with Darian One Sterling, a known, wanted murderer.”
The way he says the word murderer sends shivers through me. I no longer believe Darian killed his parents, and it irritates me to hear him be unjustly accused.
I swallow. “There was just some guy asking me for spare change and directions, that’s all. I didn’t realize he was a criminal. I’m sorry,” I say, forcing my voice to stay even, even though my hands are starting to shake again.
“So you’re telling me that even though this guy’s mug shot has been plastered all over port screens everywhere since his escape, you didn’t recognize him?” His eyes flick to the tattoo of the number six swirling on my wrist, and I know he’s deciding whether or not to scan me. I slide my fingers back through my hair nonchalantly, and replace my hand on my lap, careful to keep it wrist down.
I shake my head, and try on an innocent face. “He had a hood over his head. Other than that I didn’t really pay any attention. It’s crowded in here. I’m sorry,” I say again for effect.
The official widens his eyes in what looks like disbelief for one second, then tilts his head back and peers at me through narrowed eyes. “Wrist, please,” he says. “I need to verify your identity.”
“What?” I say, my heart heaving painfully against my ribs. If he scans me and they do their homework, they’ll find out I was friends with Darian before he was convicted.
He lifts my right arm, twists it over to reveal my wrist. “A Six, huh? One of the luckier ones.”
I want to tell him I don’t feel so lucky right about now. He tugs out his scanner and his jacket sleeve slides up and I notice the tattoo of the number five on his wrist.
“Wait,” I say. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” I plead, desperate now. He can’t scan my wrist…he can’t. “I-I didn’t realize who he was.” All I can hope is that he’ll take pity on me. But this guy is older than the official at Pluto’s Plate, more experienced, less tolerant.
Before I know it, he has run the scanner over my wrist, activating the chip beneath it to reveal my data across the scanner’s screen with a notifying beep.
“Desiree Six Haven. 18 Osteen Avenue,” he mumbles aloud.
The tram has come to a stop, and I vaguely notice people getting off. I blink my eyes and notice that it’s my stop, too.
I clear my throat. “This is me,” I say, desperate for air and needing to get out. “My stop.” I meet his gaze, feeling like the walls are closing in. “Do you need anything else?”
“No, we have what we need for now, Miss Haven.” He looks me up and down like I’m a statistic, one he’s not yet sure adds up or not. “If there’s anything else that requires our attention, or we need to ask any more questions, we know where to find you.” His lips narrow into a tight smirk and he nods once. “Have a good evening.”
I stand and walk away, feeling his eyes burning a hole in the back of my head.
As soon as I’m outside, I grab my bike and start racing home. The rain is hammering down, sideways sheets of cold water—torrents of rain— soak me, but I don’t care. I tilt my cheeks up and let it wash over me, as though it could wash away all of my worries. I push my legs harder, ribbons of wet hair sticking to my skin.
A million thoughts run through my head: Darian, Ellery Walsh, the official, and the trouble I could be in. I think about how I lied right to the face of not one, but two officials in one day—and got away with it. At least for now. I also think about Asher and Mallory and how I want no part of that situation anymore. I grip the handlebars of my bike and catch sight of my pre-binding bracelet. Despite the cool rain, the bracelet stings as though it’s burning a hole straight through my wrist. All of these thoughts melt together until they form one horrible realization that sends my stomach into a tumble.
I’m trapped.
Chapter Seventeen
Before turning into my neighborhood, I toss Darian’s borrowed jacket into the trash. I can’t wear it home without getting a million questions. Questions I could never answer. My parents meet me at the door with troubled eyes. Mom runs to grab several towels and dry clothes while my dad makes me hot cocoa. I don’t tell them about the official or about Darian on the tram. I’m too tired. Too exhausted to answer the million questions that would definitely follow. I don’t have the energy to try to calm them down. I’m not sure how I could even do that when I myself don’t feel calm. The last thing I need to do is worry my parents. After mumbling a few words about how great my first date was, amazed at how easily I now lie, I head to my room to do the one thing that allows me a release—I paint.
I think of Mr. Williams, the sanitation worker at Mercy Hospital that I’ve grown close to, about how hard he works, and how much he loved his son, Henry. Placing a small canvas on my easel, I then pull out the paints Mr. Williams gave me and begin to paint Henry’s image.
Henry comes alive on the canvas in swirls of color. His brown eyes, with flecks of gold, shine out from beneath his dark brows, and his full lips turn up at the edges into a toothy smile.
The time ticks by and I eye my bed. The Syncro-Drifter, which links to the Dreamscape, both beckons and taunts me. I’ve never needed and despised something so much at the same time. If the Dreamscape is what somehow made me forget my sister, and is what keeps the citizens of Tower in line—brainwashed—then I want no part of it.
The hours tick by, until finally my body caves, but jolts of needles pierce my skin, zapping me alert the moment I start to drift off.
Unable to fight it any longer, I collapse onto my bed and activate the Syncro-Drifter, surrendering to the soothing, pulsing rhythm of the Dreamscape.
Its lilting voice beckons me under…“…Here to keep you safe…”
It seems like only seconds have gone by before it’s time to wake up and get ready for school. The blinds automatically open to an unusually bright sky. My heart rate is slow, even, and the remnants of a beautiful dream of a day at the beach still linger in my mind.
For a minute, I forget the drama surrounding my life—then my gaze falls on the portrait I painted of Henry last night, and it all comes rushing back.
I quickly shower and place the small portrait carefully in my backpack as a gift for Mr. Williams.
During the tram ride to the hospital, the newscaster speaks of a Darian sighting last night, and of how The Protectorate is closing in on him. Right, I think. They wish. But another part of me worries that it might be true and that it can really only be a matter of time before they find him. The thought makes my stomach flip and I gaze out the window, imagining Darian hiding behind every tree we pass.
At Mercy Hospital, I quickly find Mr. Williams. He’s sitting on a bench outside, shining an apple against his shirt.
“Hey, Desiree,” he says with a broad smile as I approach. He reaches into his lunch pail and pulls out another apple. “Apple?”
“Sure.” I take a seat beside him and bite into the juicy fruit.
Then I smile and say, “I brought you something.”
“For me?” he says around a mouthful of apple, his brown eyes gleaming.
Using my free hand, I tug out Henry’s picture and hold it up. “It’s Henry!” I say with a giant smile. “And I used the paints you gave me that were his. I thought he would’ve liked that.”
Mr. Williams swallows a bite of apple and places what’s left of it into his lunch pail. He turns shining eyes on me and pulls me into a hug. “Thanks, Desiree,” he says, patting my back. “You’re really a sweet girl.”
He takes the portrait of Henry and stares at it, dazed. “Rayleen will love this, you know,” he says, referring to his wife. “I’ll make sure to frame it.”
“You’re welcome,” I say in-between bites of the red fruit, so happy to have made him smile. “Hey, where’s Diesel?”
“Oh, he’s inside powering up. I’m about to get to work right now, and you should go on into class.” He stands up and smiles again. “Thanks again, Desiree. I knew you were talented. Henry woulda been proud to know you drew him so well—with his paints no less.”
“My pleasure, honestly. Thanks again for the paints.” I stand up and dunk the core of the apple into the trash. “And thanks for the apple, too. See you tomorrow,” I say, before heading up to the third floor.
When I get to class, I’m surprised to see Sage there early. Even stranger is that he’s outside the classroom speaking to our teacher alone.
He glances at me as I walk by, his face pale. I wonder if he’s in trouble for all the times he’s been late, or if something else is wrong. My insides do a little flip and I hope nothing has happened to his patient, Mrs. Walsh—not only for her, but because I need to talk to her. She’s one glimmer of hope for me to find Sophia, if Sophia is even still alive.
I hardly hear anything Mrs. Vickers says during her lecture, wishing I could communicate with Sage telepathically to find out what’s going on. I’m dying to get to Mrs. Walsh, to see if there’s something…anything…she can tell me about her baby Jax—like who she thinks took him, and where she thinks he could be.
Once we’re outside the classroom and into the hallway, it’s me that’s pulling Sage aside this time. I stop a few doors down from Mrs. Walsh’s room. “Is everything okay?” I ask him, breathless.
He scrunches his nose like he smelled something bad. “Mrs. Vickers called me at home last night and asked me to come in early this morning to talk to her.” He pauses, frowns. “I’m being assigned a new patient in an hour or so. So, once Mrs. Walsh is done with breakfast, I need to set her up under the Dreamscape and go with you.” He makes a face. “Looks like we just have your patient until then.”
“What?” I say, panic filling me. “Why?” If he’s assigned a new patient, that restricts my access to Mrs. Walsh too. I need to talk to her.
“Apparently, she should never have been assigned to a student in the first place.” He rolls his eyes. “Mrs. Vickers will probably get her knuckles rapped for this one,” he says, flicking his hand through the air. “Whatever.”
“It’s not whatever, Sage. Aren’t you curious what she kno—” I clamp my mouth shut, then try again. “I mean, you know, aren’t you curious what it would be like to heal her? This is the Mrs. Walsh after all.” I play to the drama I know he loves. “And aren’t you the slightest bit curious about the special drug that’s coming today straight from The Empire?” I raise my eyebrows.
“Yes, and yes.” He tilts his head and lets out an exasperated sigh. “Please, Desiree, you know I am, but what do you want me to say? And besides, Mrs. Vickers said that Mrs. Walsh received her treatment early yesterday evening, shortly after we left, and that she’s been under the Dreamscape ever since. Apparently, they only shut it down this morning so that she can have a quick breakfast because the woman refused to eat since she came in. But after that, it’s bedtime for the news lady. Believe me, I’m pissed.” He runs a hand through his faux-hawk, shakes his head and snorts. “They’re actually treating her husband and daughter, too, in case they caught it from her.”
“Her family? Here?” I ask, shocked. “Sage, c’mon. Doesn’t that sound strange to you? I mean you can’t catch psychosis. Think about it.”
“Well, apparently whatever caused her psychosis, you can catch.” He shrugs. “I don’t know, Desiree, but you worry too much.”
I need to think fast. I swallow hard and force a smile. “Mrs. Vickers said you have to put her under the Dreamscape, right? Do you mind if I do it and you start with my patient instead?”
He eyes me funny and I laugh. “I want to sing to her as she falls asleep, you know? She’s been through a lot. And, well, I think you’ve heard enough of my choked chicken for one lifetime. I promise I’ll come right back as soon as I’m done.”
He shrugs. “Okay, fine. Shoot me your patient’s data, and I’ll get started.”
“Thanks, Sage,” I say and send the information. “I owe you.”
I suit up in the precautions gear and when I enter Mrs. Walsh’s room, she’s propped up in bed. The restraints have been removed and she’s already eating breakfast. I don’t know what kind of miracle drug they produced, but I’m hopeful the change in her is because they returned her baby. Something tells me that’s very wishful thinking.
“Good morning, Mrs. Walsh,” I say as I approach her bed. I’m surprised to see her makeup has been neatly applied, her telltale botched tattoo neatly penciled in, and her hair combed. “You’re looking good. You have any good news to share?”
She smiles. “Do I know you?”
“Oh, sorry. My name’s Desiree. I met you yesterday.”
She reaches for a packet of sugar that is just out of her reach. I pick it up and pass it to her. “I’m a nursing student here.”
She tilts her head and eyes me carefully. “Oh, really? Yes, right. You do look familiar, but I can’t quite place you.”
I figure she was pretty upset yesterday and her memories are probably jumbled. I need to say something to help her remember. “I—um sang a little to you yesterday because you were upset about…” I lower my voice to a whisper, “Jax?”
“Jax?” she says, raising both eyebrows. “Who’s that?”
Her question knocks the wind out of me and I twine my trembling fingers together behind my back. “Mrs. Walsh, do you remember Tiki?”
She laughs. “Of course I do, honey, that’s my daughter. And call me Ellery. Are you okay?”
I nod, even as my stomach churns. “And why do you think you’re in here?”
“I just caught a bad bug.” She takes a bite of toast and swallows. “I received some medication last night by the most handsome doctor.” She laughs. “And now I just need to rest. But I have to tell you, I feel great and I’m anxious to get back to my family and start working again.”
I’m desperate now, and fire creeps up my neck. “You told me they took your son Jax away, Ellery. Don’t you remember?”
She pinches her brows. “What? When did I say that nonsense?”
“Yesterday. You were very upset.”
She pats my hand. “I must have had a high fever, honey. I bet I was hallucinating. I’m Ellery Walsh, the newscaster. You’ve probably heard of me? I have a daughter named Tiki, not a son.” She pauses. “You look so upset. Why don’t you check me out on the net if you’re worried?” She smiles. “You can see for yourself that I have a daughter. Now, I really do need to get some sleep…Desiree, is it?”
I nod, stunned. Where is the woman from yesterday—the woman crying and screaming, insisting that her baby had been stolen from her? She seemed so convinced. Now I’m wondering if it really was all in her mind—just a bad virus like she said. But why is her medication so secretive that Sage couldn’t give it to her, or even Nurse Brown?
My head spins. Medication! I spin around and peer at the sharps container attached to the wall next to the door where they dispose of used depressors. I wonder if they deposited the depressor inside. Even though it would be used,
it should still have an empty vial inside that would have the name of the drug written on it.
I take one last stab. “You sure you don’t know a baby named Jax?” She opens her mouth to respond, and I squeeze her hand. “It’s okay, you can tell me.”
She closes her mouth, seems to think. “The name does sound familiar, but I think it’s just a name I might have mentioned that I liked one time—oh, wait!”
Hope ignites inside me. “Yes?”
“I think it was when my husband and I were choosing baby names.” She laughs and pushes her tray away. “He was sure we were having a boy, but then sweet little Tiki was born,” she says with a yawn.
I take a deep breath and release it slowly. So much for that. Either the drug she received messed with her memories, or I’m going crazy myself.
Memories…it hits me. Maybe that’s why I forget about Sophia—why my whole family forgot her.
Mrs. Walsh finishes her breakfast and I realize I won’t be getting anything more out of her today. I lift her hand and press it between my palms with a smile, then set her Dreamscape to twenty-four hours, as instructed. She quickly drifts off, her face lighting up into a gentle smile, as my hope of ever finding Sophia dims.
Sage will be looking for me soon or, worse, Mrs. Vickers, or Nurse Brown. I make my way across the room to the sharps container, knowing I’ll need to pry it open somehow and that if I’m caught, I’ll be in big trouble. But it’s a risk I have to take. I have a burning need to know what they gave Ellery to alter her memories. I wrap my arms around my elbows with a shiver, realizing it’s probably a drug that’s coursing through my veins, too.
After sticking my head outside the door to ensure nobody’s coming, I pull out the house key from my pocket and start prying it into the crease of the metal frame. Footsteps echo in the hallway outside the room, and my heart jumps. I take a deep breath and wait a moment until the footsteps fade away.
If I’m caught tampering with the sharps container, it would bring suspicion on me no matter who the patient was, but especially since it’s Mrs. Walsh.
Awakening Page 13