We reached the grated stairs and Clark ascended them, still holding my arm as I clumsily pulled myself up the stairs in my heels. Admittedly, I was curious to see the balcony. I thought it would be a simple balcony with some tables and chairs, but it was different. It looked more like a posh country club than a nightclub. There were couches and coffee tables spread out over the balcony and a bar in the corner. It was warmer on the balcony due to the close proximity of the lights above.
As soon as I reached the top of the stairs I was the center of attention. Clark released my arm and went to talk to the girl who had summoned us, leaving me on my own. The thumping of the music was almost drowned out by the thumping of my heart as the Commish Kids moved toward me, as if I was a piece of fresh meat placed before a pride of hungry lions.
“Hmm…” one boy mused. “She’s pretty enough.”
“Yeah, you clean up real nice, Sandover,” Felicity said, suddenly at my right.
“I don’t know.” Another boy shook his head. “I never did like the look of a virgin trying too hard to look sexy.”
“Wonder how long she’ll stay a virgin,” a girl sneered.
“Back off, you vultures,” a voice snapped. The others cleared a path and I saw the girl who had motioned for us. She looked me over, smiling thinly.
“I’m Melissa,” she said.
“Lily.”
“I know who you are.” She looked me over again and then shook her head. “Clark, why did Mr. Christenson assign her to you?”
“I don’t know,” Clark snarled, stepping to her side. “But it was his order, so you need to back off.”
“Relax,” Melissa groaned, rolling her eyes. She turned her blue eyes back to me. “Mr. Christenson has been talking about your father a lot. He says that he’s excited to bring you in…” She smiled in a superior manner that made me feel like melting between the grates at my feet and disappearing. “Figures.”
“What does that mean?”
“Oh, honey, don’t make the mistake of thinking that Mr. Christenson only looked at your father’s accomplishments,” Melissa laughed. “He has seen pictures of you and your mother and he has researched both of you very thoroughly.”
“W-why would he do that?”
“Well, he has to be sure you’re qualified for the Commission,” Melissa chuckled, as if I was stupid for asking the question. “Now, you listen here,” she snarled. “You’re the new one in the Commission, so you are on special watch until you fully become integrated, do you understand?”
“N-no…”
“Oh, God, she’s stupid.” Felicity rolled her eyes.
“It just means that we’re going to make sure you don’t say anything you’re not supposed to,” Clark explained. I nodded, feeling frightened and embarrassed.
“Oh, Clark, why are you being so nice to her?” a boy groaned. “She’s not gonna sleep with you.”
“No one will sleep with you, either, until that strange little affliction of yours clears up,” Clark snapped, looking over his shoulder at the boy.
“How the hell do you know about that?”
“All medical bills are paid for by the Commission,” Clark said, speaking to the other boy in a very condescending manner. “Didn’t you know that?” He turned to me and his eyes softened, taking my hand. “Come with me.”
I eagerly took his hand. I felt my knees wobbling as we neared the bottom of the stairs. When we were back on the floor, I remained clutched to the railing, shaking uncontrollably.
“We’re going to take a quick trip outside,” Clark declared, his hand on my shoulder. I followed his lead around the side of the bar and to a door leading to an alley behind Club Archangel. The cool night air hit my face and I gulped it in greedily, thankful that it helped me collect myself. I could still hear the heavy thumping of the music as Clark closed the door.
“Just so you know,” he murmured, “up on the balcony, you really have to hold your own or you will get eaten alive.”
The words resonated far deeper than Clark realized.
“Take your time to collect yourself,” he assured. “You’re allowed to be on the floor tonight as long as I’m with you.”
“What…I’m so…”
“It’s difficult for you because you haven’t seen everything, yet,” he said, placing a hand on my shoulder again. I looked at him and, for the first time, saw the real color of Clark’s eyes. They were a very bright hazel, gentle and sympathetic. He smiled. “I’m here for you. I’ll help you through this. We’ll help each other.”
“I thought you said you couldn’t help me.”
“I can’t help you get out,” he admitted. “But I can stand by you through it all.”
“Clark, I’m scared…” I breathed. “And I don’t even know what I’m scared of…”
“That will be cleared up tomorrow night,” he told me. “Before we head back in, there are a few things I need to tell you.”
“Okay…”
“For the first few weeks, when you show up at Archangel, you are to wait with the girls and I will take you up to the balcony when I get here,” he explained. “Just…please remember that you cannot say anything to them. I really mean it.”
“Okay…I promise.” I nodded. “But why can’t I just stay with them? I mean, they’re my friends.”
“Lily, I’m sorry to say this, but now that they know about your induction…they won’t treat you the same way. They will be really guarded around you. You are part of the secret police force of the government and their parents are the politicians. It’s a tough thing for them to work around or ignore.” Clark shook his head. “It’s easier on everyone if you go up to the balcony.”
“Clark…”
“Yes?”
“When you said that you and I were in the same boat…did that mean that Mr. Christenson took an interest in your family, too?” I breathed. “That you know what might happen to us?”
Clark hesitated.
“I won’t tell you tonight. Next week, after you’ve seen everything.” He looked me over. “Are you ready to go back in?”
I nodded, though all I wanted to do was run. Run away from the Commission, from the balcony, the Commish Kids, the rules, the club, the capital…everything.
Chapter Twelve
My friends treated me differently when I returned to the table, just as Clark predicted. They asked why I hadn’t told them about the Commission of the People and Clark interjected with a concise answer that somehow managed to answer their question without giving any real information.
At the end of the evening, I got on the early bus and headed home with my friends. They weren’t talking as much, but it did make me smile when Devon put his hand on my shoulder and told me that he still expected at least one dance with me every night at Archangel. Clark stayed behind for the later bus, a bus I was to catch every subsequent Friday—a bus just for the Commish Kids, who held a meeting after the club closed every Friday.
I walked into my house with a heavy heart, closing the door on what little peace I had found in my turbulent new life. Everything was upside down and it would never be the same as soon as I closed the door on the world that night.
My parents were not home, leaving a note explaining that they went to a late dinner. I went to my room, climbing each step slower than the last until I was crying at the top step. I closed my bedroom door and flopped on my bed. Dex leapt up beside me and I grabbed onto him, holding him tight as I cried.
This was it.
I was trapped.
* *** *
It was the day I had been dreading.
I had to wait fourteen hours before the start of the Commission meeting…thirteen hours until the guides came for us…
Time went too fast and too slow at the same time.
My stomach was in knots and my brain was a mess of tangled fear and incoherent thoughts of running away.
The last three hours were the worst.
My mom kept coming in with my father, talking about how they ex
pected me to behave and how much better our lives were going to be as part of the Commission of the People. They told me what to wear, what to expect—though they had no clue what to expect, either—and then continuously came to check on me.
The hour finally came.
I moved downstairs and paced anxiously. I was not the only one nervous. My mother and father were also moving around, fidgeting or picking nervously at their clothes. They shared excited, yet nervous, glances with one another.
The doorbell rang.
“This is it!” my mom gasped. She moved to the door, her heels clicking on the hardwood. On the front step, there were three men, burly and emotionless, dressed in clean suits.
“Thomas Sandover and family?” one asked in a clipped tone.
“Yes.”
“Excellent,” he said. “Please, come with us. We are here to take you to the meeting.”
Tunnel vision enclosed as anticipation and fear consumed me. The three large SUVs with tinted windows were menacing lined along the curb. The driver of the middle SUV opened the back door for us and we loaded into the convoy.
“Please pay very close attention to the route,” the driver told us as he started the car. “This is the way to take to get to the meeting hall of the Commission of the People.”
We glued our noses to the dark windows, memorizing the route. We maneuvered our way through the quieting city, passing through downtown lights. I enviously studied those who were enjoying their normal Saturday night on the town.
The expansive Leadership District housed the towering government buildings. Some of the more beautiful buildings were lit up from the outside to show off their amazing architecture. Other buildings were darkened, making the area one of the darkest in the city.
We entered a maze of darkened office buildings and skyscrapers at the far west side of the district, finally coming to a security gate. All three cars slowed and were cleared by the hard-faced guards. After two more turns we were at another gate. Clearing through the second security checkpoint, we rounded the final corner and finally caught sight of the building.
The building of the Commission of the People was not what I had expected. It was a small, seven story office building with dark letters over the illuminated lobby doors that read “Commission of the People.” A few of the above offices were lit, but otherwise, the first floor was the only one casting light against the barely-visible foliage around the building.
We pulled into the circular driveway and our driver hurried to open the door for us. I looked at the surprisingly-unimpressive structure, caught off-guard by the banality of the building.
“Mr. Sandover,” the driver called his attention, handing my father a key card. “This is your card to get through the security gates,” he motioned back the way we came. “Keep this on you at all times. Don’t leave it in the car.”
“Alright.”
“That is also your card to enter the building,” the driver continued. “But for the meeting room, you will need a different key.”
The driver led us to the door, leaving the two other drivers by the cars.
The guard flashed his own key card in front of a magnetic pad and the doors slid quietly aside.
The lobby was so quiet, the echoing of our shoes on the marble floor was deafening.
Four security guards and a woman stepped out from behind the reception desk. All looked like they had stepped out of a stereotypical espionage movie, dressed in dark suits with clear ear pieces.
“Good evening, Thomas Sandover and family.” The woman smiled, though the greeting was not at all warm. “My name is Madeline. I am in charge of admissions.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” My father shook her hand.
“Likewise,” she said. “If you would please step over here,” she motioned to the large marble reception desk. “Thank you, David,” she called to our driver, asking him to leave.
“Now, Mr. Sandover,” Madeline started. “Can you remember how to get here?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent,” Madeline smiled in a fake manner. “As your induction letter stated, meetings are held every Saturday at ten p.m. exactly. If you are late, you will not be admitted. If you are unable to make any meetings due to prearranged trips, illness, or emergency, you are to contact Mr. Christenson or anyone on his personal staff immediately. We will download the contact numbers directly into your cell phones. All these numbers will be represented by a speed-dial number. Number one is Danielle Markus, number two is Vincent Greene, and number three is Sandra Hansell. These three are Mr. Christenson’s personal advisors. Number four is Sean Jacobsen, Mr. Christenson’s head of security. Number five is Mr. Christenson’s private cell. Please use his number as a last resort if you cannot reach anyone else. Mr. Christenson is a very busy man.” She repeated the information without falter, reciting a perfectly memorized monologue. She extended a plastic tray. “Please place your cell phones here.”
I nervously placed my phone with my parents’ phones in the tray.
“Before each meeting, check your phone in with us at the front desk. You may retrieve it as you leave.”
She moved the tray and picked up three substantial stacks of multicolored paper. I’m sure my eyes were not the only ones that shot wide. Madeline chuckled.
“Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it looks,” she assured. “However, this is the contract for entering the Commission of the People. It’s all very basic,” she said, setting a stack of papers before us. “It really is just a glorified non-disclosure agreement stating that you will not discuss any events or topics of the Commission with those who are not members and you will do your best not to discuss the Commission in a public place where things could be overheard, misinterpreted, etcetera.”
Madeline set a pen before each of us.
“Of course, we encourage you to read through it before you sign, but the meeting begins in twenty-three minutes. These are filled out with triplicate carbon copies, and you are always welcome to look over the contract at any time if you have any questions or so desire.”
My mom and dad were already looking over the papers while I felt overwhelmed with the task before me.
“Um…”
“Feeling a little at sea?” Madeline asked.
“Yeah.”
“You understand what we mean by a non-disclosure agreement, right?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. The rest of this is really just outlining the situations in which you cannot speak about anything in the Commission, even if other members of the Commission are present.” She motioned to that area in the contract. “Back here,” she leafed through some papers, “is all on general conduct within the Commission meetings and outside respect for others. Basic rules, I don’t think we really need to explain it to you. It’s all common sense, but it’s still a legal matter.” She pointed to the blanks. “All the blanks at the bottom you sign and date. There are some blanks in the contract where you will need to print your name and date, so be sure you read what each blank is for.”
I picked up the pen and started signing the contracts, feeling so nervous that my signature was warped by my shaking hand. I went through the papers, trying to press hard enough for the carbon copies. My eyes were focused only on finding the blanks, skipping over the fine print. I finished signing shortly after my parents and Madeline took the contracts and pens and smiled.
“Now, ladies, if you would please place your purses up here for the boys to check, and Mr. Sandover, if you could please remove your jacket and set it on the counter as well.”
The amount of security around the Commission was terrifying and impressive at the same time.
The big guards carefully opened our bags while a third felt through the pockets and seams of my father’s jacket, all three men wearing gloves.
Our purses were returned and my father pulled on his suit jacket again before Madeline led us to the nearby elevators.
After pressing the button to go up
, Madeline reached into her coat pocket and produced a key, turning to us.
“This is the key to the meeting room,” she explained. “When we are in the elevator, I will show you how to use it.”
It was a short wait for the elevator. I could feel myself slipping into a panic for the umpteenth time that day.
The elevator doors opened and I had to force my legs to stop shaking in order to command them to step inside.
Madeline pressed the button to close the doors and then moved to the number pad. She pointed to the emergency keyhole.
“Place the key in here,” she did so, “and turn it to the left,” she turned the key, “and then press two and one at the same time.”
The elevator jolted before descending into the basement. We looked around, confused as to why the meeting would be held below ground.
“Do not remove the key until the door opens again,” Madeline instructed. “You will not need the key to come back to the lobby—just hit Lobby. We will have a car waiting to take you home tonight. Next week we will have the guards bring your car forward after the meeting.”
When we had been in the elevator for an abnormally long time, I became suspicious of just where we were going and why the meeting was being held so deeply underground—I wasn’t sure how such a small building could have such an extensive basement.
I felt the elevator slow as soon as claustrophobia set in.
The doors slowly opened and I had to take a deep, calming breath before stepping out after my parents. We found ourselves in a hallway with the other five elevator doors.
“Alright,” Madeline concluded, handing my father the key for the elevator. “Go through that door and follow the hallway to the meeting room. Congratulations, again, for making it into the Commission of the People.”
“Thank you,” my father said. She stepped back into the elevator, smiling at us briefly as the doors closed.
I hadn’t thought it was possible to be more nervous until the moment she left. There were two dim lights between each set of elevator doors, but it did little to illuminate the hallway of the abnormally deep basement. My dad smiled at me and my mother, placing his hand on our shoulders.
Inside, Pt. 1 Page 10