“Get out of my room,” I said, glaring, willing her to move. She didn’t. “Get out!” I said louder.
She went back to nervous, flustered by my temper. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice sawing my nerves as her eyes fluttered up at the camera purposefully.
I got to my knees, shuffled towards her, and shoved her shoulders. She flew backwards, her flannel-clad legs pointed to the ceiling, and she landed on her butt.
She sat there, propped on her elbows, breathing hard for a second. She shot me a disapproving stare, her face tight, her lips pouting. I growled like a feral animal, leaning over her from the top of the bed.
“You don’t get it,” she said, her voice snapped, full of haughtiness as she got to her feet. “You do as you’re told. I do as I’m told. You don’t have a choice!” She stormed away from me, her arms folded across her chest like she thought that was what you should look like when you were angry. She was as unreal as a mirage. As any vision I had of Joseph breaking this door down and taking me away from this place.
The problem was I knew she was right about doing as I was told. As she padded out of my room and closed the door with a clap, I whispered to the depressing air, to my prison, my words coming out like a thin stream of vapor, “I don’t know how.”
ROSA
Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow morning with Joseph’s arms around me. He’ll nuzzle into my neck and kiss me. I’ll swat him away half-heartedly because I want him just as much as I pretend not to… no… much more.
Orry will be asleep in his cot. His curls falling around his face like a lazy crown. He’ll snore, stir, and smile in his dreams.
I’ll be whole. Broken, but whole. Pieced together from heartbreak, from torture and love.
This mattress wanted to swallow me, its comfort of no comfort at all. I wouldn’t know it was morning. When I swept back the curtains, I was staring at another manufactured view. The only way I knew was by the sound of Red, pushing her way through the doorway and screaming at me for—
“How could you treat Miss Judith that way?” she yelled, her eyes as red as her roots. She stomped her foot like a bull and charged at me. Taking one look at the pajamas on the floor, her nostrils flared. She grabbed my arm and wrenched me out of bed. I tried to pull away from her grip, but she was too strong. She pulled my cardigan from my body, ripping it, and threw it on the floor, dragging me to the bathroom.
“She was in tears when she came to me. She has a bruised… a bruised…” Red’s lipstick clotted in the corners of her growling mouth.
“Butt?” I said through a wide grin before I could stop myself.
Red made a high-pitched noise, gasping in shock, and I knew I’d said the wrong thing.
She grabbed at me with chubby fingers trying to pull my shirt off, but I hugged it tight to my body. Each grab was like a punch. She was as strong as the ox she was acting like. Her curves were so tightly bandaged in her tight suit that she resembled a chunky, carved table leg. She kept hold of me with one hand while she turned the knob on the shower. There was no steam pluming off the tiles. I shivered and braced myself.
She kept pecking at my clothes like a nervous, lead-beaked bird, but I wasn’t giving her my shirt. When she realized this, she threw me under the water, my back crashing into the tiles, my body making a hollow thud like a lonely drum. My muscles tensed at the shock of ice-cold water, and I spat as it ran down my face and over my lips.
“Clean yourself and change for breakfast!” she snapped. I heard the bathroom, then the bedroom door close and lock.
When I was sure she was gone, I turned the hot water tap on and removed my clothes, letting the hot water attempt to thaw my frozen body, inside and out. I tried really hard not to think of my last shower, with Joseph, in Este’s house, but the memory was there, inside of me, and my body remembered before my brain caught up. My cheeks flushed red and I ran my finger over my lips, trying to bring back that last kiss. His arms wrapping me so tight because we knew it could be the last time. I turned off the taps. Drips of water ran down my nose and over my mouth as I let out a small cry. It couldn’t be the last time.
He ruined my heart. But in a good way.
I was a patchwork of wounds and scars. He was the glue that held me together. And now, he was gone.
I pressed my palm to the tiles and waited to wake up from this nightmare.
When I got out of the bathroom, another hideous outfit lay on the bed. I put it on this time, grimacing at the purple blouse with diamanté buttons and the black skirt that flared at the knees. The sleeves were puffed and when I saw myself in the mirror, I couldn’t help but laugh. A pair of blue contacts sat on the bedside table. I ignored them and sat down to wait for the guard. My hands were clasped neatly in my lap, mostly to stop me from throwing stuff.
The knock on the door still startled me. The politeness seemed so out of place.
“Come in,” I yelled through the solid timber door.
The guard stepped in, giving me a nervous smile as he looked down at me through the light brown hair hanging over his eyes like vines over a cave entrance.
“Your presence is requested at breakfast,” he said eagerly.
I rolled my eyes. “Faaantastic!”
The guard frowned. “You’re lucky.”
I shook my head. “No. I’m about the unluckiest person you’ll ever meet. Don’t get too close. I’m pretty sure it’s contagious,” I said, scratching my arms like I had a rash.
His eyebrows rose in confusion but he didn’t say anything except, “Follow me,” smiling with his arm extended.
I followed him down the long, curved hall. Large rectangles of light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, stretching across the carpet and creeping halfway up the walls. The timber glowed like amber honey under the sun. I paused to watch the tiny dust motes flying through the air in the clean-cut rays. They swirled and danced, landing on my arms. The air was thick and warm in here, artificial.
This was the first time I’d seen Grant’s grounds in daylight. It was different to Este’s in a lot of ways. Still vast, open, and stupidly luxurious, but everything outside was sharp, softened only by the light covering of snow, which a servant was busily dusting off with a hand-broom. Spiky, inhospitable sculptures made from concrete and rusty metal were scattered around the lawn. They were beautiful and raw, but frightening in their harshness. I imagined if you touched one that you would cut yourself, and then I shuddered at the thought that Grant would probably enjoy watching me bleed.
“Ahem,” the guard coughed. I jumped. From here, I could see the outside world and my eyes, my heart, didn’t want to leave it.
“It’s alright, Harry,” a cool voice spoke behind me. “I’ll take her in.”
Harry, the guard, grabbed my elbow and steered me towards Grant’s son, Denis, letting him take me, or my reins I guess. Harry winked at me and said, “Enjoy your meal, miss.” I smiled awkwardly. I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.
Harry walked briskly back the way we had come, disappearing around the curve.
Denis’ hand slid around my waist, barely touching me, just kind of hovering there with a millimeter of air between his hand and my body.
“Shall we?” he asked, looking down at me from his very tall height, his eyebrows raised in question. I noticed a scar wrapped around the end of his eyebrow like a crescent moon.
The earphones dangled from his shoulders again. I stared at them too long, and he noticed.
“Do you enjoy music?” he asked. For him, this seemed to be a very serious matter.
I wondered whether I should lie, but then I thought, What’s the point?
“It’s new to me, but yeah, I do,” I replied.
He tipped his chin. We hung around the door to the dining room. I didn’t want to go in.
He put a hand on my arm so gently he could have been a mosquito resting there. “Don’t worry. You have some time before…” His eyes moved to the tip of the painting next to us. A smal
l camera buzzed on the frame like a housefly. Denis turned so his back faced the lens, his whole long body shadowing my own. “Don’t show fear,” he whispered.
His hand left my arm, raking over my skin like a breeze. His touch was so light but strong at the same time, like everything he did, he meant to do.
“Wait,” I hushed, my lips barely moving. “Why should I listen to you?”
His mouth turned up in one corner, a crooked smile almost there. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”
I huffed and pursed my lips. My instincts pushed me to trust him. They were all I had left, and I needed to believe in something.
“Okay, tell me one thing,” I said, looking up into his strong face.
It creased momentarily with irritation, his hand clenched around the handle. “Quickly,” he hissed.
“What did you mean by replacement?” I said, leaning on my tiptoes to get closer.
His eyes closed briefly like he was remembering something unpleasant. When they opened, they were ringed with sadness.
“Let’s just say, I’m not the first Denis Grant,” he muttered impatiently. His words were quick and tinged with warning.
I blinked up at him. “That’s not an answer. I’m going to need more than a cryptic sentence and a look,” I whispered boldly.
He craned his head up to the ceiling and exhaled in exasperation. Licking his lips, an answer forced its way between his rigid, set mouth. “Dad has had several offspring ‘made’ as back ups. When one of us misbehaves or displeases him, we are ‘replaced’. I have many brothers and sisters I will never meet. The photos on the wall are a warning,” he said grimly, and sympathy sketched its way through my mind briefly.
Before I could respond, Denis turned the handle. When it coasted open, his demeanor stiffened. He bowed slightly and allowed me to pass through first.
Grant was in his wheelchair, rolling himself past a low bench laden with breakfast food. I tried not to drool at the smell of bacon and eggs.
When he heard the door close, he spun around slowly, a plate balanced across his knees. He didn’t look at me, only at his son.
“Leave us,” he ordered, holding up his hand.
No don’t, I thought. But before I could blink, Denis was gone.
Grant wheeled himself to the table and placed his plate on the glass tabletop with a clang. “Would you like some breakfast, Rosa?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Sure.” His face twitched at my response, but he nodded and wheeled himself back to the bench to serve me a plate.
“Sit down please,” he said with his back to me.
I sat down like an obedient dog. He had this power over me, and I hated it. I clenched my teeth, fighting the words that wanted to spew from my mouth. I hated his control, his weird politeness.
I knew it had to end soon.
“I suppose you’re wondering what you’re doing here?” he asked, drawing out his words painfully as he took his place at the table and placed my plate in front of me.
I stared down at the steaming plate of scrambled eggs, the crispy bacon shining with fat, and sucked in my bottom lip. All of a sudden, I felt nauseous.
“I know you want information,” I said, my voice as dry as cracked wheat, “but I can’t tell you anything. I don’t know what they’re planning.” I lied unconvincingly.
He smiled at me, and I wondered if he knew how to smile for real or if his smile was only used to unnerve and threaten.
“Oh, we’ll figure it out eventually. I’ll figure you out eventually too,” he said, winding his fork in the air at me. “The ‘how’ I figure you out is up to you.” I placed a hand over my stomach protectively. He eyed me like a present he’d like to tear open. “How about I let you ask me a question and in return, you allow me to ask you a question that you must answer truthfully?”
I picked up my fork, pushing the eggs around the plate. This was a game. I could play a game. Jabbing the fork in his direction, I watched as his jaw clenched. “How could you be so selfish? Do you really think you’re worth all those lives you took to get the healer?” I asked, my voice wavering with nervousness.
His fingers spread out and then clenched into a tight fist. “Yes. I’m worth ten times the number of lives I took,” he stated. It was a stupid question. Of course he thought that. “My turn.” He took a sip of his coffee and breathed in and out several times, making me wait.
“Do you really think your cause is worth all the lives I’m going to take in response to yours and your comrades’ actions?” His tone was mocking, as if my cause were a childish faze.
My chest felt like ice. I tried to breathe, but there was something in the way. Guilt.
“No,” I answered. “But the life you’ve allowed us in the Woodlands is not a real life. They’ll see that.”
He seemed extremely unsatisfied with my answer. His eyes rolled over me from head to toe, and found me lacking.
“You’re a foolish girl. You think you’re strong. You think I won’t win, but I will always win.” I was getting to him. The victory was small, but enough to fuel me, until he squashed it.
He composed himself quickly and said, “It is clear to me that you require a firmer approach.” He rang the bell by his coffee cup with a sharp twist of his wrist and picked up a document next to his plate, running his eyes over it, and ignoring me. We were done.
Red appeared in the doorway. She grinned at me in a sick kind of way.
“Rosa here has chosen not to do as she is told,” Grant said without looking up from his paper.
“Wait!” I said as Red gripped me under the arm and pulled me from my chair.
Grant raised his eyes to meet mine. My promise echoed in my head. I promised I would live.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I’ll do as I’m told.” I dipped my head down, in apology. My head felt like it would explode at the words. Every part of me wanted to scream.
Grant smiled, his teeth glinting under the slowly waving pendant light that hung over the table.
“Good girl.” His voice was quietly satisfied. “Tell the others they can come in now,” he said to Red. She looked put out by the change in events but left, returning with the rest of Grant’s family.
I ate breakfast quietly, avoiding eye contact with Denis, who was staring at me like I’d killed his pet rabbit or something, and Judith, who was pouting.
What was I going to do?
The only answer was to play along, give them some of what they wanted but not everything. Ride it out and hope they didn’t kill me.
It didn’t seem like a very good plan.
ROSA
I bang against the cell bars. Gripping the iron, I hold on so tight my knuckles turn white. I’m slipping away, a new, different person taking my place. Someone I don’t recognize. Someone who’s supposed to save me but is killing me at the same time.
If I do this? If I stop being me? What’s left if I manage to survive?
This was the second day of interrogations.
My fingers ached. They did small but painful things. I’d been warned that it could be a lot worse. If I didn’t cooperate, the torture would be worse. I wasn’t sure I cared. I’d lost myself. I’d retreated. There was a cage around me now.
I was bearing it. Just.
I scratched at the edge of my bandages as Harry stood next to me in the lift. He kept his eyes forward on the door. I looked up from my hunched position, the blood seeping around the edges of the white cloth like red ink blots. They were going to pull them off anyway so I removed one, inspecting the pink, raw skin around my nails. Harry flinched at the sight of them.
I held it up to the metallic light, the elevator humming in the background. “It hurts worse than it looks,” I shot at him with a wink.
He grimaced, sighing in relief when the doors opened. I stepped out and he followed two steps behind me.
I distracted myself by taking in the details of the cars on either side of me as we walked through the under-house garage. Three red cars, one green
, two black, and four silver. I breathed in the smell of motor oil and damp. Four convertibles, six hard tops. The chrome detailing glinted and winked at me. I gripped onto the wide headlights, shining like forced-open eyes. I wanted to be as vacant and empty of thought as the cars. I didn’t want to go in there. I suppressed the panic as we reached the end of the line. Even if my brain was pumping its hands and calming me, telling me I could handle it, my body wasn’t ready for this. I stalled. I couldn’t take another step. But then I thought of Orry and I edged closer to the door, leaning into imaginary hands that were pushing me forward. The big, black door howled hollowly.
“Miss?” Harry asked questioningly, a hint of sympathy in his voice.
I put my hand to my chest, blood pulsing in my fingertips, the rest running away from my center. “Just give me a minute.” He moved towards me, and I caught his eyes. “Please,” I pleaded with a finger up as I bent over and tried not to vomit.
“One minute,” he agreed.
I tried to slow my breath, compose myself. I had to take a few steps back into myself. It was small bites of pain, but it was constant. And I was afraid.
“Can he drive these?” I asked, attempting to sound light when my breath felt like coal bricks stacking on top of each other in my chest.
The guard stood straighter. “Yes, Miss. Some. But after the procedure in a few weeks, he’ll be able to drive all of them.”
I did a series of small nods, talking myself into moving. “Ok. Let’s go.”
Harry opened the door for me, and I stepped into my tiny nightmare.
My eyes adjusted to the darker room, the color of midnight. Navy with cold white stars.
Mr. Hun tottered over to me and took both my hands in warm greeting. “Sit, sit,” he said, his round, dark face squishing into a smile.
He was a hessian sack with eyes, his dark skin rubbed and worn; his body low like his whole weight was sagging to the ground because his short legs couldn’t hold him up. Small tufts of hair like those on old potatoes sprouted from the top of his mostly bald head. If you met him in the street, you’d think he was cute and completely unthreatening. But I knew better now. I hesitated but then the two guards leaning against the wall gave me a look and pointed to the camera that was always watching me.
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