Chapter Thirty
Ted marched the length of his living pod. That couldn’t have been her. His blood boiled cursing her stupidity. What were you thinking? He rubbed his forehead as if would help untangle the jumbled thoughts and make sense out of what he’d just witnessed.
She had no business being out on her own. Next time, he would not let her out of his sight. Next time his iron hand was going to come down on with that curly-haired terror.
Like a lion waiting to be fed, he patrolled the entry to Nissa’s chamber. Since she manned Behemoth, Ted was sure she’d be able to clarify the parts of the show he’d missed. As he paced, the door hummed open. Nissa burst through, all smiles and giggles.
“Did you see that, Teddy-Bear?”
“Oh I saw it, alright.”
“Wasn’t that spectacular?! Nissa and Ted’s voices collided as he growled. “What was she thinking?”
They paused to examine one another. Nissa perched her hands onto slender hips
“That was one of my best games ever. You are proud of me, aren’t you?”
Ted shook his head. “My sister almost died.”
“Was that Wickerbug? I thought it looked like her. But then again, all of the Rebels started to blur into one, so I wasn’t sure.” Nissa shrugged. “I will totally need to thank her when we see her next.”
“Holy indifference, Nissa! You don’t understand, do you?” Ted slapped the hallway table. “It wasn’t just a game. The deaths weren’t simply avatars. They were real people.”
Nissa waved a slim hand and began to saunter away. “Oh I know. But they were Rebels, anyway—“
She recoiled as if being hit by her own words.
“I mean, except for Frannie. I would definitely have felt bad if our little Wickbug died.”
She turned back to Ted wearing her best pouty-face.
Ted’s nostrils flared as he pulled in a controlled breath. He allowed the oxygen to take up residence in his lungs while examining her sappy expression.
“What? She didn’t die, did she?” Nissa drummed her nails onto the table.
He waited until his lungs cried, “Uncle,” before allowing the breath to whoosh forth. “No, she didn’t die,” he growled. “I mean I don’t think she did. After the lights went out, she was simply gone.”
Nissa placed her hands onto Ted’s shoulders. “Oh Teddy. I hope she’s not dead.”
That word. Ted felt the ripple move from his gut to his spine and down his legs. He’d already felt the punch of that word two times in his short life. Ted looked down at this feet and shrugged away from her hold. “I hope not.”
The mechanized, door greeter interrupted the conversation.
“You have a visitor.”
Ted growled with frustration as he moved toward the doorway. The greeter commenced the next cycle of alert. “Ted and Nissa Monde, you have a visitor.”
Ted swiped the display icon next to the door, and the face of security—the human kind, not the typical holographic version—appeared on his flat-screen.
“Can I help you?”
“Ted Monde?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“I have official business of a grievous matter to discuss with you. May I come in?”
If sending a human in place of the standard holograph hadn’t sent Ted’s alarm clanging, this statement would have. Ted’s entire body felt weak as the guard lifted his com device to auto-scan, and the greeter announced his credentials.
“Officer Gregory Reynolds. Order of the Council.”
Ted held his breath, wishing for the disconnectedness of a Graphie instead of warm body. Nonetheless, he slid the door open and Officer Reynolds stepped inside.
“Ted, we have been informed that your sister, Sarah Monde, has been in violation of her house arrest status. Although we have suspicions as to why, before we make a final decree on her status, doctrine dictates we check with surviving family members as to Accountability.”
“You mean you want to know where she is? Fran?” Ted laughed. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
Officer Reynolds shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Monde.” He voice lowered. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
He turned away from Ted’s stare and began to fidget before clearing his throat and continuing his speech.
“Because of her Unaccountability, the Council has declared Sarah Monde… Deceased.”
Air whooshed from Ted’s lungs like he’d been hit in the gut, and he folded his arms around his midsection. The way the horrible words eased from the officer’s lips, nice and easy—like ordering a hamburger at the Lunch Hut—repulsed Ted as much as the words themselves. He eased his breath through flared nostrils and tried to pull in another shaky lungful. His chest locked up on a sob.
Officer Reynolds flinched and looked down his nose as if a sudden stench filled the air. He turned on his heels and moved back toward the doorway.
“You can follow me to collect her belongings.”
Ted’s head snapped up and he glared at the detached officer’s back. “Hey, your sister’s dead. Come get her stuff.” He imagined yanking the moron by the collar and unloading a piece of his mind—Officer of the Council, or not.
He spoke through clenched teeth. “Yes, Officer Reynolds. Thank you.”
Nissa’s pouty murmurings followed Ted as he exited the pod only to be silenced when the door whooshed behind him. He followed the officer through the long maze of hallways, away from his upgraded West Wing residence and back to the East Side where he’d been raised. The familiarity ripped at his gut. He could almost hear the pounding of Wickworm’s boots digging into the hard floor, trying to keep up with her big Bro. He swore he could still hear the echo of her laughter and jammed his hands into his pockets, as he stifled the urge to scream in protest.
When they reached Fran’s accommodations, Officer Reynolds stepped aside, allowing Ted entry. He moved into her home, taking note of the scarcity of belongings. The refrigerator housed no icy drinks and the cupboards, nothing other than a few dusty plates. She had left an unmade bed and a bag of garbage. The transient atmosphere seemed to laugh a mocking reminder of his sister’s Rebel behavior.
Ted moved to the edge of the bed, eased onto the hard mattress, and placed elbows onto knees, while he stared at the floor. He reached for a pillow and then pressed his face onto its softness while breathing in the essence of his sister—fast food and sweet honey.
Could this intangible aroma on this pillow be all that remained of the curly haired Wickworm? He breathed it in again, unable to even think of letting her go. At least Mom and Dad had lived a full life before their decline. How could it be? How could his fifteen year old sister be gone forever?
A sob ripped through his gut and seared the hollow of flesh as it shredded through his throat. He balled up the pillow and chucked it at the wall as he bellowed. The rush of blood in his head manifested as black spirals in his vision. He flopped back onto the tangle of sheets and squeezed his eyes shut as tears threatened to spill, but the lumpy bed offered no comfort.
He reflected on the plush comfort of his own West-Wing bed, and guilt raced through his veins. He hadn’t taken care of his sister like had promised his mother. Sure, he’d tried to bring Frannie into his and Nissa’s world. But when she resisted, he never really pushed back. Was he lazy? Selfish? Maybe both. And now? Now she was gone. Forever.
An extra hard protuberance jutted into the top his spine. Figuring Fran had left a food carton in the folds, he reached a hand behind his neck to push the object aside. Instead of crinkly aluminum, however, his hand brushed against the cool, smooth, surface of an E-reader.
A reader? He almost laughed at the audacity. The girl who couldn’t even afford decent clothes somehow managed to get her hands on a reader. He dragged it around to take a look and as he turned it over in his hands, noted her initials etched into the side. Messy, like she’d used the edge of a knife, they touted her ownership. So Fran.
He gazed at it as if
he’d just discovered a historic relic. It bore evidence that Fran had been a part of this room. Something tangible he could hold, unlike the invisible scent on her pillow. Ted held it to his chest and allowed himself the luxury of a few scattered memories; dancing blue eyes, ringlets like paper ribbons, and laughter so riotous it bordered on hilarity.
Finally, he sobbed for the girl he had left behind last year and the hardened teen who had replaced her when she came back. He cried for his own losses and the pain that never seemed to go away.
When he had emptied himself of memories and tears, he stood, and with Fran’s old reader tucked to his side, exited her old residence.
In your unfailing love you will lead the people you have redeemed. In your strength you will guide them to your holy dwelling.
Exodus 15:13
Acknowledgements
It takes a village to write a book, and I thank all my patient and dedicated readers, friends and awesome family. You all share in this story.
Special thanks to you, Suni, for lifting Fran to higher highs (and lower lows).
Anita. You’re a genius. The end.
M’boi’s… you’re the lights of my life.
Benj. My partner, friend, confidant, cheerleader and amazing man of the house. We’re rocking the kingdom, Babe!
Yet, above all, I thank Christ Jesus our Lord, who has given me strength, that he considered me trustworthy, appointing me to his service. 1 Timothy 1:12 (NIV)
About the Author
Heather considers herself but a worker in the field with a desire to share truth through the art of a good story. In real life, she’s the proud mother of two grown sons and the wife to one super-husband. In addition to the Ascension Series, Heather enjoys sharing her writing through blogs and Christian magazines, as well as traveling the U.S. on a full-time basis with her fellow Gypsy Nerd. Keep an eye out, you never know when she might roll into your hometown! If you’d like, you can follow their trail @ www.lettotravels.wordpress.com
Learn more about Heather @ www.heatherletto.com
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