by Zoe Cannon
No matter what happened to her, that was enough.
She had known since her first week working here that the transcripts always ended the same way. What she hadn’t known was that the defiance wasn’t pointless. The defiance was the point. It changed the story, even if the story’s ending never changed.
She waited. When night came, she slept. Then she woke and started waiting again.
Last time, the lights had stayed at a constant level; she hadn’t known two days had passed until her mother had told her. Now the lights dimmed and brightened at regular intervals. Last time, her stomach had cramped from hunger; her lips had cracked from thirst. Now a guard appeared at the door every few hours, each time with a plastic cup of water and a plate of something bland but edible—oatmeal, a sagging sandwich, a square of unidentified meat with rice. Sometimes the guards didn’t say anything. Sometimes, along with the food, they gave her a small smile of solidarity, a whisper of encouragement, an assurance that she and her mother would be free soon. That nobody here would let anything happen to Raleigh Dalcourt.
The light rose and fell and rose again seven times. Seven sets of three meals, seven long stretches of staring at the same four walls. Waiting.
Then the door opened, and instead of a guard, her mother stepped in.
Her hair was neat, her clothes crisp. Her arms weren’t restrained. The guard with her gave her a nod of deference as he waited by the door.
Her smile made her look years younger and years older at the same time. Like she had aged a hundred years in the past month and come out the other side. “I’m here to take you home.”
It had worked. She had saved her mother. She had saved herself.
She wasn’t going to die here after all.
She waited for the relief to surge through her. It never came. Instead, all she felt was a strange hollowness where her acceptance had been.
From the time she had decided to save the kids on her own, she had known she wouldn’t survive it. Despite her hopes, despite her desperate plans, she had known.
She had been ready.
And now…
Now she didn’t know what she felt.
Her mom reached out a hand to her. She took it and tried to smile. “Let’s get out of here.”
* * *
“So it’s over?” Becca looked around her mom’s living room, half-expecting to find herself back in her cell at any second. This all felt like a movie set, like a paper-thin illusion of a life she was never supposed to have.
Smile, she told herself. Be happy. You’re still alive. It wasn’t as if she had wanted to die, after all.
She hadn’t wanted to die. She just hadn’t expected to live. And now, sitting here with her mom in the aftermath of what should have killed her, she wasn’t sure she knew how.
“It’s over,” her mom confirmed. “I’ve been reinstated to my former position, with a full apology. You’ve been invited to come back to 117 as well, in the placement of your choosing. But I would suggest taking a couple of weeks to think it over. This isn’t the time to be making any major decisions.”
Her mom reached across the couch and clasped Becca’s hand in hers like she was afraid Becca would disappear. A line of angry red marks traveled from the back of her hand up under her sleeve. Becca looked away.
“Your friend Heather saved both of us,” her mom continued. “She’s been working closely with Milo Miyamoto over the past few months. She noticed a few things that looked suspicious, but didn’t put it all together until she overheard him discussing his plan. She went to Internal as soon as she found out what he was planning to do to you. They sent Enforcers to 117, to Investigation, and to your apartment, in case the two of you showed up at any of those places.” She squeezed Becca’s hand. “I’m glad it wasn’t too late.”
“So am I.” Becca leaned into her mom, into the comforting solidity of her presence. It took her a moment to realize her mom was also leaning into her.
Her mom didn’t know what Becca had done. She couldn’t. If she did, she wouldn’t be sitting with Becca like this, wouldn’t be talking to her as if there were no betrayal between them.
She didn’t know. Which meant Becca had to be the one to tell her.
She never has to find out, whispered her almost-forgotten voice of temptation. What harm would it do to just… not say anything?
But she couldn’t go on as though nothing had happened, as though she were innocent. She owed her mom more than that. There were too many secrets between them already.
She pulled back—but her mom spoke first. “Becca… there’s something you should know. I wish I didn’t have to tell you this, but you deserve to know the truth.”
It’s supposed to be over, she wanted to whine like a five-year-old. You said it was over.
But she was still alive, and that meant it would never be over.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s about Micah Nevin. The evidence suggests that he was working with Milo Miyamoto from the beginning. He disappeared along with the prisoners Miyamoto freed. At first they thought he had been killed in the escape, but if that were the case, there would have been a body. As it is, he still hasn’t been found.” She squeezed Becca’s hand. “He was a dissident, Becca. I’m sorry.”
Hasn’t been found.
Internal hadn’t caught him. Not yet. He was free. They were free.
They were free because of her.
Her lips twitched as she fought down a grin. Careful. She tightened her mask. Creased her face into some approximation of shock.
“There was no way you could have known,” her mom assured her. “Dissidents can fool anyone. It’s what they do. You already learned that lesson with Heather’s parents, but that doesn’t make this any easier, I’m sure. Betrayal always hits hardest when it comes from the people you love most.”
Betrayal always hits hardest when it comes from the people you love most.
“I need to tell you something.” But the rest of the words wouldn’t come.
Her mom waited, not speaking. Giving her time.
“I’m the one who gave Milo the evidence against you.” Her confession came out in a whisper, and still it was too loud. She stared down at her lap as tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. “I recorded a statement for him. I said you killed that prisoner. I…” She couldn’t keep going.
Her mom took a finger and lifted Becca’s chin until their eyes met. “You did exactly what you should have done.”
“I got you arrested. I almost got you killed.”
“And what might Miyamoto have done to you if you hadn’t? There are some things I would gladly give up my life for. You’re one of them.”
Only Becca hadn’t done it to save herself. She had done it to save dissidents. People her mom had devoted her life to fighting.
But that part was something she could never share. That guilt would remain hers alone.
The tears began to fall. She didn’t try to stop them. “I never wanted you to die.”
“I know.” Her mom wrapped her in a hug. She tightened her grip as if she were afraid Becca would disappear as soon as she let go. “I know.”
The guilt would probably never go away completely. It would live in her heart like an old scar, pulsing with every beat to remind her what she was capable of.
But she could accept that. For Kara’s sake, for Micah’s, for the sake of everyone she had saved—for the sake of the better world she believed in—she could accept it.
Still, she couldn’t stop the tiny voice that said it would have been so much easier if she hadn’t survived.
She wanted to stay folded in her mom’s arms forever. Wanted to pretend that she was safe here, that her mom could shield her from the world.
But they were both long past that now.
She disentangled herself as she straightened. “Why don’t I stay for dinner?” she offered. “I’ll cook this time.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
When the knock c
ame the next morning, she opened the door half-expecting to see someone from Internal on the other side, someone who would tell her, Sorry, this was all a mistake. You’re going to have to come with me. Instead she found Vivian and Ramon—Vivian with her arms wrapped around some kind of leafy potted plant bigger than her head, Ramon holding a cactus adorned with gaudy flowers.
Vivian moved as if to hug her, then looked down at the plant in her arms like she had forgotten it was there. “We heard everything. It’s all over the news. How are you holding up?”
Becca shrugged. “Okay, I guess.” She waved them inside.
“If Heather hadn’t made that call, you’d be dead by now.” Vivian set her plant down in the center of the room.
Ramon placed his plant next to hers. “You sure know how to make someone feel better, Vivian.”
Vivian pulled Becca into a short, fierce hug. “I just mean you must be glad to be alive.”
“I am,” Becca murmured. And she was.
She was.
I’m glad to be alive, she repeated to herself, willing herself to believe it.
Her impossible plan had worked, and now here she was, still breathing. Standing in this bare cell of an apartment, this relic of the temporary life she had outlived, of the purpose she had outlived. Trying to figure out what to say to the friends she wasn’t supposed to have now that she was done using them.
“We brought—” Vivian gestured to the plants. “It’s not much, but I thought this place could use some—hey, are you okay?”
Becca wiped her eyes. Funny how crying in front of them didn’t scare her anymore. Careful. That was the first step down a dangerous path.
Ramon raised an eyebrow. “Really, Vivian? Are you really going to ask her that?”
“Sorry. Of course you’re not okay. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re not curled up in bed bawling right now. Between Milo and—” She stopped.
Ramon sighed. “We’re going to have to say his name sometime.”
Becca spoke it softly, like a secret. “Micah.”
Vivian let her breath out hard. “It’s got to be worst for you,” she said to Becca. “He lied to all of us, but I saw the way you looked at him when you two were together. You fell for him hard. And you’re the one who almost died so he could break a few prisoners out of some overflow processing center.” She shook her head like she couldn’t believe her own words. “Do you think he knew what Milo was going to do to you?”
“I don’t think so.” She could salvage this small piece of Micah’s reputation, at least. “I don’t think he even knew Milo had gotten me involved. I think he just wanted to save those prisoners.”
“So do you still love him?” Vivian asked. Her tone was carefully casual, with hidden tension lying underneath.
Careful.
Ramon sighed. “With that kind of tact, Vivian, I’ll never understand why you weren’t placed in Processing.”
Becca shook her head harder than necessary. “Not now that I know what he really is.”
Betraying Micah all over again. At least this lie couldn’t hurt him.
“Good.” Vivian gave an emphatic nod. “No point in wasting any tears on a dissident.” She spat the word. “I can’t believe we trusted him.”
If things had gone differently, they would have been standing in someone else’s apartment, saying these things about Becca. She drew her arms in closer to her sides.
“I don’t see why we should waste our time thinking about him,” said Ramon. “Let him be some Enforcer’s problem.”
“Right,” said Vivian, too loudly. “He’s gone, and good riddance. I hope Internal finds him and executes him for what he did.” Her voice shook.
Ramon shrugged. “Let Internal execute him. Let him disappear forever. If there’s a reason I should care, I can’t see it.”
“I hope they—” A shudder rolled through Vivian. She clenched her fists. Stared down at the floor. “I can’t do this,” she said in a voice suddenly thick with anger and tears. “I can’t. Report me if you want, but I’m not playing this game. I’ve known Micah for half my life, and if he’s a dissident, fine, then he’s a dissident. And if he showed up at my door tomorrow morning, I’d do whatever I had to do to keep Enforcement from finding him. I don’t walk away from my friends, so you can go ahead and call Enforcement, because that’s not going to change.” Her reddening eyes met Ramon’s, then Becca’s, as if daring the two of them to make the call.
Something lodged in Becca’s chest, something hot and hard and unfamiliar.
If things had gone differently, would Vivian be standing in someone else’s apartment, saying these things about her?
But didn’t dare speak. Nothing she said would be right. She would be the worst kind of hypocrite to condemn Vivian for defending Micah, but if she didn’t… if she agreed…
Just saying the words would be dissident activity. A simple nod of agreement would give the others enough ammunition to use against her.
Ramon broke the silence. “If he showed up at my door,” he admitted heavily, “I’d be right there with you.”
They both watched Becca, wary, waiting.
Don’t do this.
They are not your friends.
They’d turn on you in a heartbeat.
She tried to stop her hands from shaking as she spoke. “I love him just as much now as I did before. And if he came back, Internal would never find out from me.”
She let the tears come. Because Micah deserved them; because she didn’t have any energy left to hold them back. Because maybe it didn’t matter if the others saw this small piece of her.
She brought her head up and saw tears running down Vivian’s cheeks to match her own. Even Ramon’s eyes glistened a little more brightly than usual.
“Do you want to be alone for a while?” Vivian asked.
Becca looked at her in surprise. What had happened to We’re done giving you space?
Vivian wiped her eyes. “I was wrong before. I didn’t know how to help, and it scared me, so I pushed you too hard. I shouldn’t have. You need to deal with this however you can, whether that means having us around or not.” She tried to smile. “You don’t even have to take the plants if you don’t want. I mean, that’s a pretty ugly cactus.”
Becca looked at Vivian and Ramon, at the tears they were crying for a dissident. For a friend. She looked at the plants sitting on the floor, a tiny patch of life in this cell she had built.
She let the mask drop a little. And then a little more.
“No,” she said. “Stay.”
* * *
The next knock woke her from restless dreams. Dreams of her mother in an interrogation room, of the betrayal on Milo’s face, of Jake falling to the ground in front of her again and again. In her pajamas, she stumbled to the living room, trying to blink herself awake. She mumbled something incoherent as she opened the door.
Heather stood in the hallway, shaking like a wet cat, face wet with tears. “How do you do it?” she whispered. “How do you live with it?”
For a moment Heather looked like a ghost, like another figure from Becca’s nightmares. She rubbed her eyes to clear away the haze of sleep. Heather was still there.
She motioned Heather inside. Heather stumbled through the door, hugging herself, teeth chattering. For the first time Becca noticed she wasn’t wearing a coat.
“I tried to call you after I got out, but you weren’t answering your phone,” said Becca. “I wanted to say thank you. You saved my life. And my mother’s. I know it can’t have been easy—but we’d both be dead if it weren’t for you.”
“I couldn’t let Milo do that to you. I… I didn’t know he was capable of that. I didn’t want his help if that was what it cost. And your mother…” She stopped again, and took a couple of breaths before continuing. “Raleigh Dalcourt wasn’t a dissident. I might have wanted her dead for what she did to my parents, but she didn’t deserve that.”
“You did the right thing,” Becca assured her. �
�You did.”
Heather hugged herself tighter. “But he’s in 117 now. Because of what I did. Because I lied about him the same way he wanted to lie about you. So how am I any different from him?” An exhausted sob wrenched itself from her throat. “And what I did… it makes me a dissident, no matter how I feel about Internal. They’ll kill me for it if they ever find out. I haven’t slept since I did it. Every time I start to fall asleep, I keep thinking I hear Enforcement coming for me.”
“They’re not going to find out.” Empty words. But it was the only reassurance Becca could give.
“You live with this every day,” said Heather. “With knowing they could catch you any second. With… with remembering the things you’ve done. How? How do you do it?”
The question stopped her like a punch to the chest. Once, the answer would have been easy. I do whatever I have to do. Live with whatever I have to live with. I do it because my mission matters more. But she had walked away from the mission that was supposed to have killed her, and her success, her survival, had left her purposeless and stranded.
Except… her mission wasn’t over.
It will never be over.
Last night, the thought had filled her with dread. Now she straightened, standing proudly, as her lips curved in the beginnings of a smile.
It would have been simpler if rescuing the kids had been the end of it. Just like it would have been simpler if she had died in 117. But freeing those prisoners, she understood now, had been one small part of her work, nothing more. She would never defeat Internal—which meant there would always be more for her to do, always another way to change the story.
Her fight, her life, had only just begun.
“I live with it because I have to,” she said. “Because I want to create a better world, and that’s what it takes. It takes sacrifice. Sometimes it means sacrificing my safety, or a chance at love, or the future I could have had. Sometimes… it means sacrificing others. People I care about. People I love.” She drew in a shaky breath. “But it’s worth it. Because it’s what I have to do to create the world I want to live in.”