After a long period of silence, he answers, “Yes, ma’am.”
“And don’t call me ma’am.” As a passive threat, I mutter to him, “I know who you are.” He is an Entity and soon-once Morris dies-I will join him and Crane and Alexander and whoever else is part of that group.
He nods and turns to open the door to his office.
“Elvis.” I stop him. “There’s one more thing.”
“That is?”
“I want my own car.” Elvis has been hiding his keys from me for months, ever since I took his SUV on tattooing day, and I dislike not having the freedom to go where I want when I want.
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Make me happy, Elvis. Either share your keys or get me my own.”
He adjusts the brim of his hat. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you.” I walk away, baby in tow, two Guardians following me. I’m not sure where I want to go or what I want to do. I just need to stretch my legs, to try and quell the unease in my gut from finally telling Elvis what I want. I feel Raven stir in my arms and, looking down, I see his eyes open.
“Want to meet the animals?” I ask him.
He blinks and sighs as though I’ve bored him. What more could I expect from a three month old baby?
Walking through the barn, I introduce Raven to the cows, the horses, the alpacas, the ponies, the chickens, the geese, and the handful of Guardians that roam the barn and the pens that we are walking by. This is enough to lull him into a deep sleep and I’m sure he has listened to none of my rambling. Soon I become bored with myself. Finding I have walked a full circle around the barn, I decide to make my way home.
I set Raven in his crib and turning around in the room, I stop when my eyes fall upon my dresser.
Damn you, amygdala.
As soon as I take that first step I know what I am about to do is wrong. But the memories propel me forward, they tell me to open that drawer, to lift up my old shirts and pull out the one that doesn’t belong. The black one that smells just like Adam.
I sit on the edge of my bed, holding the shirt in my hands, rubbing my fingers over the soft fabric. This is so wrong. I shouldn’t do this, not when I can’t even hold a conversation with my husband. Still, I close my eyes and press the shirt to my face, taking a deep breath in.
In this moment I realize fully that I am an addict. All I need are the jittery hands and the sunken eyes and the look of despair to be complete. Even with the wrongness of this moment, I get to remember him, if only for a few minutes. I press my eyes harder together, letting his image form in my mind. It wavers and wanes. He gives a short smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling, before disappearing.
I open my eyes and look at the shirt in my hands. The guilt I’m now feeling is as fresh as the newly fallen snow. Cold, crisp, and heavy. I need to stop this. Folding the shirt into a small square, I walk it back to the dresser and hide it behind my clothes. Just as I’m closing the drawer, I hear the rapid running of small feet. Lina bursts in the bedroom, followed by Astrid and Stevie.
“Mom!” Lina starts as Stevie trots to where Raven sleeps and presses her nose between the crib slats.
Mouthing, “Quiet,” I point at the crib, where Raven merely flutters his eyes open and then closes them again. Herding the girls out of the room and closing the door, I turn to find Lina ready to burst.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“The mare, she’s having her babies! Come watch with us.”
“Okay, okay.” Looking up and down the hall, my eyes fall on a sleeping Guardian. “Watch the baby,” I tell the Guardian. It rises, dwarfing Stevie in its size, lumbers to the bedroom door and lies down, almost silently, in front of the door. “Come on girls.” I take Lina and Astrid’s hands and head for the coat rack.
chapter three
Morris hasn’t been confined to the hospital. Yet. Instead, he has taken up his residence in one of the local Queen Anne historic homes. We sit in a walnut-paneled living room with an ornately carved fireplace. There’s a tin ceiling, beveled glass windows, and an alabaster chandelier. A small fire warms the room. It’s strange that he has a fire going, being almost spring now. But then, the weather hasn’t exactly been cooperating. We’ve had blizzards followed by seventy degree days. It seems the earth is confused as to what seasons belong where.
“Are you ready for your lesson today?” Morris asks between bouts of coughing.
“If I said no would it matter, Morris?”
“No,” he replies.
“Fine then. I’m ready.”
He looks at Raven sleeping in my lap. “No babysitters available today?”
“He’s a baby, Morris. He’s not going to disclose your secrets. What’s on the agenda for today?”
“Self-sufficiency,” he replies with a weak voice.
“What do you mean?” I ask. “Here? We are already self-sufficient.”
It’s been a few months since we returned from the tour with a small amount of scavenged supplies. Other than that, with the farms and local workers, the District has been independent.
He shakes his head slowly. “The other countries.” I wait as he takes a shaky breath, preparing himself for the lecture. “Remember what Crane told you? This is global. While you were gone, Canada was Reformed, as well as the South American countries.”
I remember about Canada; George Crossbender from the Hanford District told us it was the reason for flying us in the helicopter to Alaska. That, and I am quite certain it was the starting point for chipping away at Adam’s sanity.
He continues, “When this started, the Funding Entities built the Reformation on the idea that each country was to regain a sense of self-sufficiency. The loss of this is what some think helped with the downward spiral of civilization. People lost the knowledge to grow food and how to repair clothing with simple sewing techniques. Everything was imported; food, clothes, natural resources that already resided under our noses. And as each country developed their own main export, the other countries lost their ability to provide that resource for themselves. So we had food from the south, oil from the north and middle-east, mechanics and technologies from Asia. And when people could no longer buy what they needed, be it clothes or shoes or potatoes, they simply floundered without, unsure of what to do or where to start. And this is where the creation of the industrialized world went wrong. The new initiative: no trade, no swapping, no monetary exchanges. A District may bargain with another from their own continent, but never with another continent.”
“I don’t see how this would work, Morris. Self-sufficiency is hard enough to obtain let alone to have it happen overnight,” I say.
“The gears have been turning for a while now. A process has been set up, just like here. Hanford wasn’t built overnight, Andromeda. Each continent has its own District just like Hanford. Europe, Asia, Africa, and Australia are slated for Reformation in the upcoming weeks.”
“You don’t think they’ll fight back, Morris? You don’t think people will see what’s going on over here and try to prevent it in the eastern countries?”
“They may, but the ones in power, the ones with the money and weapons, they are all on board. This is going to happen. This will happen. It’s already happened here with success. Failure is not an option.”
I think of the Residents, how they’ve worked to make the Phoenix District run as a well-oiled machine. There is order; everyone knows what is expected of them. And since I made that speech, the one to unite the District, to help gain the Resident’s trust, they’ve been weaned off their mind-numbing medications. They are a bit too grateful for being alive, for being allowed to reside within these walls of safety. Still, there are all those people who died in the bombings and who will die in these bombings.
“So who’s taking the responsibility for killing all those people?” I ask him. “The ones who die from the bombings? Who’s going to take on that guilt?”
Morris sighs and looks at his hands, his ey
es widen slightly as though he could see the blood there. “We all will. Each Entity will live with this guilt. It will make them better.”
I think back to my life, before all this. We had a garden, we grew our own vegetables. We were trying. We didn’t deserve this. No one deserves this. To be plucked from the population, to serve and better mankind against your will. Or the alternative: to die, bettering the population through death. Neither option is one that I like.
Raven nudges his head into the crook of my arm.
“Does that mean they will be responsible for their own genetic pairings?” I ask.
Morris begins to cough, so much that he can’t catch his breath. I reach for the oxygen tank at his side, pulling the mask to his face and turning the flow up. “Can’t they give you some inhaled steroids to help?” I ask.
He shakes his head as the coughing slows. “I don’t want them.”
“Why?”
“This is how it is to be. Self-sufficiency in the District, in life, in health.”
“But Crane went out and sought medication for me, to save me. He took some of our most important people. One who didn’t come back.” I argue. “Your self-sacrifice doesn’t make sense, Morris. You are one of the original Funding Entities. Are you telling me your life is not important?”
“There are few exceptions, you were one of them. I am replaceable. You are not.”
“You people keep saying this, but I find it hard to believe you can’t find anyone else to do what I do. So what about the other countries, who does their genetic pairings?” I have to ask this. I want to know because my ability to do this job, to pair the Residents and their children, to help Crane create a race of passive, obedient humans, is the only thing keeping me and my family alive right now. I’m sure of it.
“That is a conversation for another day, Andromeda. I must rest now.”
I stand, adjusting Raven in my arms.
“Andromeda?” Morris stops me.
“Yes?”
“Are you working things out with Ian?”
“That is none of your business, Morris.”
He nods, sleepily. “Just remember, you are…” he falls asleep midsentence.
I watch him for a moment, holding my hand over his lips to make sure he is still breathing and didn’t actually just die in front of me. Feeling the warm bursts of breath coming from his mouth, I leave Morris to rest and head home to the comfort and seclusion of the Pasture.
chapter four
Staring at the wall, ignoring Dr. Akiyama, for the first time I notice that there are no pictures here; no artwork, nothing but dull gray paint on the walls. I wonder how he can work in here with all of its lifelessness. A couch and chair have been added. The couch is small, simple, covered in a dark blue fabric. The chair Dr. Akiyama sits in is of a similar style, its fabric a deep burgundy. Besides the furniture we are currently sitting in, the dark cherry wooden desk is the only other piece of furniture providing color to this room.
“How are you, Andromeda?” Dr. Akiyama asks.
Crane has ordered me to come here. Morris confided in me that they think this will help me become more approachable towards Ian. They can’t have me ruining the values of the District, one of their own Sovereign, imagine that. Either way, I’ve been coming here for weeks now, and it’s done nothing to help.
“Andromeda?” Dr. Akiyama asks.
When I look at him, his face is placid and smooth, his fine Asian characteristics a stark contrast to the now whiteness of his hair. How am I feeling? I cringe inwardly at the thought. I killed a man in cold blood, shot him in the head. I took a life out of this world, someone who was no threat to me. In my rush to get home, I didn’t even give him a chance. I was selfish. A murderer. And then Adam died because of me. So in total I killed two people. So how do I feel? The only way I can: I hate myself.
I hate everything I’ve done and everything I’ve become. I went against everything I ever believed in; to do good and to preserve life. And I know if Ian knew this he would most certainly never look at me again. He would never trust me, and maybe he’d even take Lina away.
“How has the baby been?” Dr. Akiyama asks, changing the subject.
I nod at him, remembering his visits he made to see me after the baby was born. He would take my blood pressure, my temperature, and then he would turn to the baby, looking him over and judging his growth between visits. But Raven’s not really a baby anymore.
“He doesn’t ever seem to cry,” Dr. Akiyama says.
“I know.” I look at the child sleeping on the couch next to me. “How was my surgery?” I ask about the cesarean section he performed to deliver Raven.
“About the same as any,” Dr. Akiyama responds his voice devoid of any tone which might make me think otherwise.
“It is very strange that I had this baby. I wasn’t able to get pregnant before. Ian and I tried for years. So why this time?”
“You know I can’t answer that, Andie. You were a nurse once, you know these things sometimes happen when they are least expected.”
Being less than satisfied with his answer, I press on. “You didn’t implant anything inside of me, did you? I know how Crane is with his transmitters and medications.”
He seems to squirm a bit before replying with a firm, “No.”
“I sure hope you’re not lying to me.”
“Andromeda,” he says. “I take my position as District Physician very seriously. I have not harmed you, or anyone else, in any manner. Why are you asking me this? Is it because you feel different?”
I nod and turn back to the window, watching the snow flutter between the branches of the leafless trees. Of course I feel different.
“Andie?” he presses on. “I’m here to help and listen. I know you don’t want to be here, but Crane demands this. You need to work towards coming here with…” he pauses as I turn to him, “with Ian.”
“I don’t want to do couples therapy, Dr. Akiyama. This isn’t going to help us. I’m not sure if anything will.”
“Maybe we need to think about some medication?” he asks, raising his thin white eyebrow. “You could be experiencing postpartum depression.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, knowing full well that all non-essential mediations and medical procedures have been done away with. Crane let the cardiac and diabetic Residents die rather than continue them on with their medications. To weed out the weak, he had told me once. “There are no medications for mundane illness anymore. Besides, Raven is hardly a baby anymore.”
“We have another medication.” He dips his chin as he looks at me. “The Residents’ medication.”
“No. That’s the last thing I need, walking around all happy, not caring what happens or what people tell me to do.”
He crosses his legs and adjusts the notebook on his lap, marking the paper as he does. “Just a small dose, you’ve experienced it before. How did it make you feel?”
“I don’t remember any of it. And I don’t care how it made me feel. I’m not taking that medication. I see what it does to those people.” I point towards the window.
“They’ve never been happier.”
“No. Never.” The dose I received was an accident and no doubt the cause of my illness at the end of my pregnancy.
He takes a deep breath in, blinking slowly as he exhales. Dr. Akiyama never loses his cool. He’s always level headed and I’m sure I’m annoying the crap out of him right now. “You have to do something. We can’t let you go back to the way you were the first time you went to the Pasture. If you hadn’t come out of that-”
“I don’t want the medication.” I tell him. “I don’t want any medication.”
“Then speak.”
I glare at him for a long time before finally talking. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“Start at the beginning,” he suggests.
“Will you tell it all to Crane?”
He shrugs a little. “He likes to be informed of everything.”
“You owe me still,” I tell him. “You were supposed to keep my pregnancy a secret and he found out before I could tell anyone else.”
“It’s hard to hide things from Burton Crane. He…” Dr. Akiyama grips the top of his pen between his front teeth for a moment as he forms the thought. “He likes to know all things that are going on with those he cares most about.”
I snort out a laugh. “He doesn’t care about me, only what I can do for him.” I adjust myself on the couch, tucking a leg under myself. “So, will you tell him?”
“I’ll do my best to keep this private.”
“I’m sure patient doctor confidentiality doesn’t matter anymore?”
“It never really did.” He closes the notebook on his lap and uncrosses his legs. “Let’s start at the beginning.”
“There are too many beginnings.”
“How about when you woke up after having the baby,” he suggests, motioning to Raven who continues to sleep.
“Yes.” I gaze at him, remembering the first time I met him. Raven had been two weeks old. The aftereffect of the seizures and the medication kept me in some state between a coma and a stupor during those two weeks. “I woke up and Sam and Lina came in the room with the baby.”
“How did you feel?”
“Confused. A lot had happened before I delivered him and I felt foggy from the alcohol and the magnesium.”
“Is that what you’d like to talk about?” he suggests.
“There’s so much.” I pull my sweater tighter around me and button it a little higher. “So much happened.”
“What is the one thing that happened that keeps you from speaking with Ian?” he asks.
My heart rate picks up and feeling a sudden flush of shame. I unbutton the sweater to its original state. “There’s more than one thing,” I admit.
“There’s Adam?” he suggests.
I close my eyes when he says his name, flinching. “He’s dead,” I say. “He died.”
“He died to save you.”
“He died because of me. Because I am weak.”
“No one could have guessed you would become sick during the pregnancy.”
The Phoenix Project Series: Books 1-3: The Phoenix Project, The Reformation, and Revelation Page 56