“Here it is. Listen to this.” He looks up at me before turning his attention to the object in his lap.
He’s going to read to me. A thrill of anticipation shoots through me. In a melodic voice, he begins, and it’s as if a thousand butterflies have been released in my stomach.
“My father’s family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip. I gave Pirrip as my family’s name, on the authority of his tombstone and my sister – Mrs. Joe Gargery, who married the blacksmith.”
My eyes close as the ancient words fill me, rolling from the deman’s tongue like silk. I’ve never heard anything this strange before, at least not from a book.
“Do you like it?” he asks.
My eyes fly open when I realize he’s speaking to me.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It’s called Great Expectations.”
“I don’t understand. What does it mean?”
“This part”—he taps his finger over the paragraph he read—“means that people didn’t always use Greek letters for names. They were able to choose names for themselves. Even make up nicknames, like Pip did.”
“That’s not such a big deal. We use nicknames now. You call your mothers Del and Epsie,” I say, but the words ring hollow. Nicknames don’t seem like such a great innovation when we only have twenty-four names to choose from.
A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “And you said I could call you Meg.” He reaches over and places the book on my lap.
I’m afraid to touch it. I’ve never held something so old or so precious.
“Here’s what I read.” He lifts my wrist and places my finger against the paper. The paper feels weird. It’s rough and smooth at the same time. I examine the words with my fingertips, embarrassed at how cracked and dirty my nails are after crawling through the ducts.
“Why does his sister have such an odd name?” I ask.
“It’s her husband’s name,” he explains.
“I don’t understand.”
“Joe Gargery. That’s the name of her husband. In those days women used to take their husband’s names.”
Husband? I vaguely remember the term from history class. Something to do with the deman era. I have a sense it’s a bad word, but it doesn’t sound so scary on Ghent’s lips.
I return to my original question, the one he never answered. “Is Ghent a nickname? Like Pip?”
“No, but my mothers did make it up for me.”
“What does it mean?”
“It’s the name of an old city, in a place that was once called Europe. No one knows if it even exists anymore. We lost contact with everything outside the walls so long ago. It was famous for education and trade.”
“Really?” These are the things my mother talks about. Trade and new learning. According to the Temples, that’s why she went outside the palisade. I shiver when I think about what happened to her, grateful for Ghent’s warmth by my side.
I’m leaning so close to him that the book is almost crushed between us. He pries it away and returns it to the shelf. With his back to me, I notice the muscle beneath his shirt. When he turns to me, I’m struck by how human he looks. With a jolt, I realize we’re the same. Neither of us should be here, but we both are because our mothers loved us more than they loved themselves. They were prepared to take big risks for us.
“What happened to Epsie? Where is your other mother now?” I pull my robe over my toes to warm my feet.
He hunches beside me, leaving enough room that we’re not quite touching. “She’s probably wherever Del is.”
“And where is that?”
“I don’t know.” He rubs his hand across his jaw. “Epsie has a medical condition. It’s serious. She’s been getting worse for a while and we realized that eventually she’d have to be admitted to the Clinic. We also knew that as soon as they examined her, they’d discover she had been an undocumented Expectant. It was an impossible situation. I knew I’d have to run when she finally admitted herself to the Clinic. I’d have to get outside the palisade, get so far that no one could ever find me, so my mothers wouldn’t get into trouble. If I was gone, they could make up some story about a miscarriage, and there’d be nothing to find when the authorities searched their quarters to check for evidence of living children.”
“But you didn’t want to leave?”
He turns aside, so I’m talking to his profile. I can’t help but notice his high cheekbones and straight nose.
“No, but that wasn’t the problem. Epsie wanted Del to take me away from here, so she could admit herself to the Clinic after the two of us were safely away. She’d heard tales of a sanctuary outside the boundary, where we might be safe. Even if the stories weren’t true, I’d have a better chance outside the walls than within. Maybe I could even search for some of the lost cities”
Sanctuaries and lost cities, outside the palisade? Was my mother right all this time?
“Even if that’s true, why would Delta agree to take you and leave Epsie behind?” I ask.
“She wasn’t happy about it, but it was what Epsie wanted. Del has always done what Epsie wants.”
“Why is Delta still here? Why didn’t the two of you get away?”
“Epsie’s condition deteriorated more quickly than we had expected. She collapsed a few nights ago and Del had to take her to the Clinic. There was no way around it. She knew Epsie would never forgive her for leaving me, so she told me to wait for her outside the Clinic. She’d come for me as soon as Epsie was stabilized. She never showed up.”
“And you were waiting for her there when I found you?”
“Yes.” He turns away and moves to the shelf where he picks up something, a flat object that had been lying beside the lamp.
“What’s that?” I ask.
He offers it to me.
It’s a piece of paper with an image emblazoned across it. All gray and white. Two women, beaming at each other. One is tall with short light hair, and the other is shorter with unruly dark hair, and dark eyes. I can see the resemblance to Ghent immediately in the smaller woman. The women are sitting on a sofa, holding hands.
“My mothers.” Ghent is so quiet I can barely make out the words. “That’s Delta.” He points to the taller woman. “This is Epsie.”
I examine the strange paper in awe. “What is this?”
“A photograph. Before we had digital tech, people used to take photographs with a substance called film. Epsie is an antiques collector.” His voice breaks.
Returning the paper to him, I whisper, “I’m so sorry about your mothers.”
He tenses. “I don’t know where they are, but I have to know they’re safe.” He replaces the photograph on the shelf. “Anyway, it’s not your problem, or your fault. Del was probably already in custody before you ever got to the Clinic that night.” He wipes his face with his sleeve. “I’ve never told anyone any of this before. I’ve never spoken to anyone at all except my mothers.”
The impact of his words strikes me like a physical blow. I crane my neck to look at him. “You’ve never been out of this room before your mothers disappeared?”
“Our quarters are bigger than this room. This is only my private space. I’ve been outside, too. A few times. Mostly at night when no one’s around. I use the ventilation shafts.”
That’s how he knows his way around.
“You know you have to get outside the palisade, right? Whatever is going on with your mothers the commander knows you’re around now. It’s not safe for you to stay.”
“I won’t leave until I know my moms are safe.” He paces alongside the bed. He seems so large in the confined space. “And there’s you to consider.” He regards me in my dusty robe with my messed-up soggy hair. My cheeks flush. “They know that you’ve seen me. You’re not safe either.” I can almost see the idea brewing in his mind. “You have to come with me.”
“Outside the palisade?” I ask.
He drops to his knees and clutches my wrists. “If we’re both out of the way, the Protectors won’t be able to do anything to them. There won’t be any evidence of any wrongdoing.”
“I can’t.” My mind reels with the risks and the possibilities. I want to see outside. I do. But this would be so permanent. If I left with him, there’d be no turning back. And what about my mother? What happens when she gets back and finds me gone?
“I can’t,” I repeat. “My mother wouldn’t be safe. The commander’s after her, too.”
“That’s a problem,” he says. “We’d need some kind of insurance.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’d need an airtight story,” he continues. “One that even the commander would believe.” He starts pacing again. “Something that would make her leave your mother alone. We’d need to do more than slip away. We’d need to leave proof that we’ve gone for good.”
Gone for good. It’s a scary thought. Exciting, but scary.
“What kind of proof?” I ask.
“I suppose we could leave a note,” he says, “but they might not believe us. They might think I had kidnapped you and forced you to write it.”
He can’t be serious. He wants to stage a kidnapping? He finally stops pacing.
“Right, and the Protectors would form a search party and leave no stone unturned until they found us,” I agree. “There’s no way we’d escape them. Even with a head start.”
Does the fact that I’m thinking this through mean I’d consider it? I shudder at the thought of Commander Theta and a band of Protectors hunting us through the wasteland. What if Delta and my mother are wrong? What if there’s nothing out there? Ghent and I would die in the desert. Of starvation. Or worse.
“This is crazy. I can’t leave.” The realization crashes down on me. “I have to stay here, but I can make up a story. I’ll say you kidnapped me and let me go. That way I could vouch for the fact you truly left and that you won’t be a danger to anyone anymore.” Ghent tries to interrupt but I keep going. “And I could get a message to your mothers. Let them know you made it out safely.”
He drops onto his mattress. It takes him a few moments to form his next words and when he speaks, his voice is reedy. “I don’t want to be alone.”
My heart aches for him, but it’s impossible. “I won’t go with you. I can’t.”
None of this is his fault, but he has to get out of here, and it has to be alone. The strange thing is that the thought of leaving him makes me uncomfortable. Maybe it’s guilt. If it weren’t for me, he might have gotten away without the commander knowing for sure that he existed at all. I owe him.
“I’m sorry,” he says on an exhale. “Of course you’re right. I can’t ask that of you. I’ll go alone.”
I hate the thought of what he’ll have to go through out there, by himself.
“You don’t have to be alone yet. We have to find out about your mothers.”
He brushes off a blanket that has tangled around his foot, then rises from the bed.
“You must be hungry,” he says, “and I’m sure you could use a painkiller if I can find one.” Maybe this is an act to cover up his fear, but whatever it is, he’s doing a convincing job. “Do you want to see the rest of our quarters?”
“Won’t the Protectors be monitoring it?” I ask.
“Should be fine. As long as we come and go through the inside doors, they shouldn’t detect us. The scanners are only triggered when the front door opens. This room opens directly to the inside of the quarters.” He pushes against a concealed panel at the end of his bed, and it swings open to reveal a dark room beyond. “Wait here a second.” He ducks out and returns a few moments later with what looks like an antique gas lamp. I’ve seen them before in the museum. “Can’t risk the lights in case they’re monitoring the power.”
Guiding us with the lamp, he helps me through to the outer quarters. “Welcome to my world, Meg.”
Chapter 13
The living area is large and well furnished, much like the Temples’ quarters. There’s a plush sofa with several matching arm chairs. I recognize it from the photograph of Ghent’s mothers. There are two large picture windows. Passing me the lamp, Ghent moves into the darkness with easy grace. He rustles around, opening and shutting cupboards. A few moments later he returns with a box of supplies: nutri-bars, painkillers, and bottles of water. He places it on the coffee table and examines my feet. Despite being dirty and sore, my toes are sinking luxuriously into the carpet. I feel guilty at the thought of leaving marks and can’t help remembering the mess I made of the Temples’ carpet not so long ago.
“I think my mother’s shoes might fit you,” Ghent says, rubbing his chin. He ducks out of the room. While he’s gone I lift the lamp to better illuminate my surroundings. The living area is even bigger than I thought. There’s an impressive exercise station complete with treadmill and weights that are more high tech than the gym at my school. I had assumed Ghent’s powerful build was attributable to what he is, that he has the brawn of the male of the species, but now I realize he works at it. There’s probably not much else for him to do. I had always thought of my own life as pretty sheltered, but it’s nothing compared to his. I try to hoist one of the weights but can hardly budge it. A tap against my elbow startles me. I wheel around to see his beaming face inches away.
“Try these.” He takes the lamp from me and presses a pair of sturdy ankle boots into my hands, along with a clean pair of thick wool socks. The shoes look comfortable and well made, but I’m conscious they belong to one of his mothers. I slip on the socks first, and then the boots. Taking a few experimental steps, I almost overbalance. The shoes are too wide, but I should be able to walk if I’m more careful.
“Good?” he asks.
“Yes. Thanks.”
He looks me up and down. “I should find you something else to wear.”
I blush as I scan my ratty robe.
“But we should probably take this stuff back to my room first.” He makes his way to the pile of supplies before pausing to ask, “While we’re out here, do you need to…?” He points in the direction where I assume the bathroom is. I haven’t had a chance to clean up since my shower earlier. The grime from the ducts covers my every pore and mats my hair. Clutching the lamp, I scurry in the indicated direction. Once inside the bathroom I lock the door.
Setting the lamp down, I examine the small space wondering why the bathroom is so tiny in such enormous quarters. I realize that it likely shares a wall with Ghent’s room. His mothers probably remodeled it to give him more space. Everything in here is white: tiles, towels, fixtures. The lamplight bathes the room in shadows, making my reflection in the mirror seem alien. The hollows remain under my mismatched eyes. Strange that Ghent hasn’t asked me about them.
Even in the dim light, I can see that my face is slicked with grease. My hair hangs in thick hanks around my shoulders. I gaze at the shower stall longingly, but I make do with splashing water on my cheeks and cleaning up as best I can. I try to pry some of the dirt from under my fingernails, but soon give up. There’s a lavender soap. It smells heavenly, and I use it liberally on my hands, reveling in its soothing scent and soft, creamy texture for as long as I dare.
An antique comb sits on a shelf beside the mirror. I hope no one will mind if I use it. Wetting it first, I attack the worst of the tangles in my hair and gradually restore order to chaos. I reach into my pocket, relieved to find a hair tie. I use it to slip my hair into a ponytail before replacing the comb on the shelf. When I notice my reflection again, I’m surprised by the look of grim determination on my face. I’m going to get out of this mess somehow. And get Ghent outside the palisade.
When I leave the bathroom, the quarters are empty, and I panic for a few seconds before realizing that everything is exactly how we left it. Ghent must have gone back to his room. I head for the panel. It’s slightly ajar. I tap before entering. Ghent�
��s sitting cross-legged on the crate, wolfing down a nutri-bar.
“We need a plan,” I say as I snap the panel back into place. My voice is surprisingly confident. “We need to find out about your mothers. You said Epsie was sick.”
“It’s a kidney problem,” he says, offering me a nutri-bar. I wave it away even though I’m hungry. I need to focus. “She’s had it most of her life, but Del has been able to keep it under control, until now.”
“There must be a record of her in the Clinic, right?”
Ghent regards me with a scowl. “You don’t think I thought of that already? I can’t use any communications port without being discovered, and now neither can you.”
That’s true. With Commander Theta watching me, I can’t access the communications system either, not even from a public terminal. “We’ll have to ask someone else.” I fold my arms over my chest and lean back against the wall, trying to project confidence I’m not sure I feel.
“Brilliant idea. Why didn’t I think of that?” He shoves the last morsel of the nutri-bar into his mouth.
“Don’t get mad at me. We’re in this together now.”
Ghent is on his feet, pacing again. Tension crackles in the air around us.
“Who can we ask for help?” he says.
I shake my head, then look up at his eyes. They remind me of someone else, another set of warm brown eyes, soft and reassuring. “Gamma Temple. Her mother is a Med-Tech.”
Ghent’s brows shoot up as he strides forward and grabs my elbows, gripping them too tight. I cringe as pain shoots through my arm. “Did you say Temple? We can’t talk to them. Please tell me you didn’t say anything to the Temple family about me.”
Inside the Palisade Page 8