I hate being the cause of the silence, but I don't know what to say either so I dig into my own food. The flavors are all familiar though the seasoning's different. It reminds me of those times when Mom would go to her political functions and leave me with Uncle Wiley. He'd show me how to play chess while we dug into our canned dinners with our spoons.
It won't help the silence any, but I still ask the question, the words are so thin they slip right out. "Brandon, do you know anything about my mom?"
The light of the lamp on his face casts a shadow over half of it when he turns and looks at me. He clears his throat and wipes his mouth with his hand. "No. Henri-- Mr. Smith is looking into it."
I nod. It is sort of a relief and sort of not to have no definite answer. There is still hope.
"That's why you're still here."
My eyes drop to my plate as I gather another forkful of food. It's only my second day. I haven't really had time to give thought to my living situation. And then I realize with another guilty pang that I've had all day and I spent it feeling sorry for myself and not thinking about what a burden I must be to him.
Brandon speaks at once, his voice steady and calm. "I just mean if you were wondering. Because he's going to want you to go with him at some point."
That doesn't make me feel better.
A sad fold forms over the corners of his eyes. Perhaps he realizes that there isn't really anything he can say that will make me feel better, so he leaves it alone.
I take a bite of my food and that seems to signal that the awkward conversation part of the night is past so we both return to silence. But after my second bite, I'm staring at the small flame on the lamp and really thinking about the situation. At some point, Henri is going to want me to go with him, but he doesn't even know me.
There's a question I'd never asked of those in control of my life before. The word comes out without my even needing to think it. It's there across the table before I've even realized I asked it. “Why?”
Brandon pauses, his fork lowering to his plate. “What?”
“Why would he want me? He hardly seemed interested in me when I did see him, and he's never been a part of my life. So why would he care?” I sound angry though I don't mean to sound that way, so I take a deep breath and keep my eyes on the table. “Sorry. This whole thing is just-- it's just hard to understand. I don't really know why I'm here, or what we did. Mom's always worked for the government to make things better. So I don't understand why they'd...” My voice slightly warbles right before I just let the words die. Crying in front of Brandon isn't acceptable, so I turn my head and blink through the mist of unshed tears until my vision is almost clear again.
Brandon is very still. He clears his throat after a couple of seconds and speaks before I have my eyes back in my control. “You'll have to ask Hen-- Mr. Smith when you see him.”
I turn back to him unsure how to take his words until I see his eyes and the steady way he looks at me. He's being honest with me. There's no way for him to know what's on Henri's mind. He could guess, but that won't help me right now. I need honest facts. I do need to talk to Henri about this, not Brandon.
“So I'll get to see him?”
“In a day or two.” Brandon's look softens ever so slightly and I'm not sure if it's just because that's what I'd like to see. “In the meantime, you really should start taking a look around outside. You should get used to it.”
I nod though I honestly have no intention of going outside for as long as I can hide away.
Five
"Henri's coming to see you today." Brandon says it with a piece of toast near his mouth, watching me carefully as if waiting for some reaction. "He should be here around lunch."
My toast scrapes down my throat, but there isn't really much to say to that, is there? I glance out the window looking at the roofs of tall buildings all stained and dirty. When the leader of a large tribe makes plans to see you, it's not as if you can just refuse politely.
Brandon leaves and I pick up the dishes to wash in the sink slowly with a thin stream of water. There isn't much more than crumbs on the plates this morning, but still I wipe at them with the rag while trying to ignore the way my stomach roils. There's no avoiding it. Henri will bring news of my mom.
After I've cleaned up the plates and cleaned up myself, there isn't anything else to do. The past couple of days I've been taking afternoon naps until Brandon gets home. But my stomach and that twitch in my leg that makes me bounce my knee when I sit won't let me settle. Brandon hasn't said anything more about it, but I know there's one thing I can probably do and in my heightened state of activity/awareness, it's probably not a bad idea.
Before I have a chance to think my way out of it, I'm at the front door and opening it cautiously. No one stands on the balcony, so I take a few steps out and leave the door open in case I need to rush back in.
The morning air is fresh and cool against my face. I give a slight shiver and rub at my arms as I look around. Down below, people hang around out front doing thing much of interest. Most are just talking and laughing. From three stories up it's hard to really absorb any minute or important details about them.
On the balcony across the way and one floor down, two people stand close in discussion. One looks to be a very large male who towers over the shorter and more delicate frame of a woman wearing clothes very much like I am. She leans away from him slightly, but there's hardly any distance between them. He lifts one large hand to her face and stands much closer to her. The girl only comes to his chest. She stands stiffly and doesn't look directly up at him.
I turn away and look out over the buildings, trying to put the scene from my head. One of the things they taught us in school is that there were more men than women experimented on. So as dangerous as it is to be here at all, being female and being here is even worse.
The buildings go far off into the distance. Most of them are tall buildings that reach high into the sky. They are in much better condition than the buildings I first saw when we drove in, though they are all dirty and stained. Some of them have green tints to them where mold or something is growing up the wall. Others have dark stains and spots where paint is starting to fade or chip off and reveal the plaster or wood underneath.
This was a city once. Not everyone who lived and worked here was a scientist. Some were just the support for the labs-- janitors, cooks, maintenance men and women. All of them regular people who happened to live on this side of the fence. It's something that I never gave thought to when I was learning about The Revolution and the Wildlands in school. Real people lived here with their families, raising children in a place they believed was safe.
I chew on my lip. How many died? There are buildings as far as I can see, and if they were even half way filled, I still can't imagine the number of people that would have once roamed with their families, greeting friends on their way to work. The buildings further out look as if they're sagging, starting to rot and fall apart from disuse.
Behind me a door squeaks open. I turn quickly, ready to dive back into Brandon's apartment, until the boy stepping out looks up at me. His eyes open wide at the sight of me, and then he smiles. Everything about his face seems open and honest and-- normal. Like any of the guys back home. He seems closer to my age than Brandon, but still I freeze in the face of his apparent kindness.
"Hi," he says as he shuts the door behind him. "I'm Mitchell. Is it okay if I join you?"
The door to Brandon's isn't far away. It still sits partially ajar, waiting for me to slip back through. But there's nothing for me to do in Brandon's apartment except to wait for Henri to show. I look at Mitchell and shrug even as my stomach twists. "Yeah. Sure."
He steps up to the railing with me and leans on it with his forearms so that his face it at least level with mine. From this point, his eyes look almost green as he turns his head towards me slightly to smile. "So what's your name?"
"Paula," I pause and decide to say no more. It just doesn't seem like
a good idea to tell him too much about myself when I don't know anything about him yet.
Mitchell looks out over the buildings and his smile fades a bit. "You're a long way from your home aren't you? You're Neutral." His voice is soft, spoken low just between us without being accusatory.
Still, I swallow and fight the urge to run away. It's no secret how the Wildlanders feel about Neutrals. They blame us for the Labs and for keeping them here. I look away from Mitchell, one hand on the rail holding tight.
He peeks at me from the corner of his eyes before looking away and tapping on the rail with a finger. "It's okay. Hey, we're the same really. I mean, I'm human too." My words are caught in my throat and I gag on them. When I don't speak, Mitchell stands up and lets his mouth creep slowly into a friendly smile again. "Hey want to see something?"
Not really, but I just shrug and say in a small voice, "Sure."
Mitchell backs away from the rail and steps towards Brandon's apartment. For half a second I worry he's going to step inside, but then he stops and looks back at me to motion for me to follow. "Over here." He stands at the side of the building, and I follow him. He points off in the distance, and my eyes follow his pointed finger.
I stare into the distance without knowing exactly what I'm supposed to see.
"Do you see it?"
One of my hands shields my eyes as I look at the buildings. Those out in front and further away from us look in the worst shape. Some of them look burned, the walls and windows are blackened with soot. All of the buildings sag with the same weary weight as the other non-used buildings.
Except for one far away building. Gleaming brightly in the distance there is a large dome. It almost blends in with the other buildings around it, but now that he's pointed it out, it's impossible to miss. The other buildings around it are darker and damaged.
Mitchell grips the rail with his hands. "You know, that's where the Revolution started."
My mouth falls open as I take in the scene, but the second he says the words, I close it and look at him, shocked that he'd show this to me and that he can even say that with such certainty. "That's a lab? How do you know that the Revolution started there?"
"Everyone knows that." He raises one of his brows at me, a corner of his mouth lifting. "That's how I can tell you're Neutral. We don't get many down this far. They're always easy to spot."
That makes my stomach tighten. “Do many Neutrals get dumped into the Wildlands?"
He looks at me with some pity and I have to turn away. "Yeah. It happens. They don't usually get far though from what I hear." Mitchell sputters a bit, scratching at the back of his neck and his ear. "But, ah, you'll be fine. Brandon's a good guy. I'm sure he wouldn't ever force you to do anything you didn't want to do."
"What?" I lift my eyes again, searching Mitchell's face for understanding that seems to completely pass over my head. What would Brandon ever force me to do? What does Mitchell think I am to Brandon?
"Brandon's a good guy?" Mitchell says it again not as if he's unsure of what he's saying, but he's unsure of why I'm having a reaction to his statement.
Heavy footsteps sound on the stairs behind us and we both turn around to see the back of the person coming up the stairs. The man walking up comes into view quickly, first a head of mostly brown hair with plenty of silver strands throughout and then broad shoulders. Right away I know who it has to be and I glance at Mitchell. He stares straight ahead, his tanned face suddenly ashen. My visitor reaches the top of the stairs and turns towards Brandon's house. At the door resting ajar, he pauses and that's when his sharp eyes land on me and Mitchell standing side by side. We must look like a pair. Me short and stumpy and him tall and lanky with his mouth agape.
“Uh, I have to go,” I say softly.
Mitchell looks down at me, but he doesn't say much more. He manages to close his mouth and give a little nod, but his wide eyes are turned on me like I've suddenly become a completely different person in just the few seconds since we heard the footsteps coming up the stairs.
Henri stands by the door and waits for me to enter. He is a giant of a man compared to Brandon. His height alone is enough to be intimidating, but he's also broad across the shoulders and thick in the waist though nothing hangs over his belt except a fold of the shirt he wears tucked into his pants.
A tiny prickle of dread creeps up my center as I walk to him and slip inside the apartment. Henri doesn't say anything as he follows me and shuts the door behind him.
I haven't really decided what to call him out loud or in my head yet. Brandon makes an effort to call him “Mr. Smith” but he slips and calls him “Henri.” I don't feel either name is exactly right, but neither is calling him “Dad.”
For a second we both stand quietly together. He has that same weary expression he had when I first saw him in the judgment room. I can almost sense the sigh before it comes. He motions to the couch, his back still against the door blocking my one exit. "Have a seat. We need to talk.”
He's larger than I remembered him being. Or maybe now that I know a little bit more about him, he seems more intimidating. His entire frame blocks the doorway. I had thought that I was becoming braver, starting to be the sort of person who would make my mother proud, but now that I stand in front of the man once again I can't help realizing just how far I still have to go.
I take a seat on the couch. He steps over to sit on the table in front of me as I hike my knees to my chest as some small form of protection from him. Already, he's spoken more than he spoke before. It throws me off and only makes the situation less real.
“About my mom?" My voice sounds so pitifully light compared to his deeper tone that rumbles up from his chest when he speaks.
I see the corner of his lips pull back ever so slightly. The first sign of anything I've seen on him other than weariness. "Mostly."
His face is drawn making him look like he hasn't slept for days. There's a good amount of stubble on his chin, but it appears as ever present as the lines on his face. He rubs at it subconsciously.
For a moment he looks down at the ground as if contemplating what to say, and I fear the worst. I blink back the tears, trying to be brave enough to hear the news but the silence stretches out too far. I know only seconds have passed, but the fear creeps up my spine and I can't help softly asking, "My mom?" It prompts him to glance up at me as if he just realized that I'm sitting before him waiting for him to give me the news that will completely devastate me.
"She's alive." He says it in a way that makes me think she really isn't but he's just saying what he thinks I want to hear so that I won't start to cry in front of him. Then he reaches into his front pocket and pulls out a small envelope which he holds out to me. It has my name on it in her curly script, slightly squished together as if she wrote it in a hurry. At the sight of the familiar handwriting, my stomach hops and makes me nauseous.
I reach for the letter trying to be quick about it, aware that my entire body is shaking. Though I blink quickly, my eyes still start to moisten, and I try my best to focus on something here and now but the letter weighs heavily in my hands. I can't help but be very aware of the heat trapped between my fingers and the thin paper. It hits me that this may be my very last communication from her. I can feel myself already drowning, the water piling up near my eye and ready to spill over. To be able to go on and breathe, I have to push the thought away and focus on the present.
Henri hasn't said anything. I don't know how long I've been sitting there not speaking and on the verge of tears, but he's not looking at me again. He clears his throat before he speaks again as if he's aware that I'm managing even though he hasn't looked up. "How much do you know about what she did?"
The question surprises me. I pause to gather my thoughts as I think it over. “Mom was a politician,” I say as if I'm on a quiz show and only mostly sure that I have the right answer. “She used to warn me never to get involved in politics.”
Henri lifts his eyes from the ground then and plants
them directly on me. They narrow as he draws his mouth closed and I feel like I've failed the quiz even though she was my mother. Of course I knew what she did.
His hand rests on his thigh, slightly pressing on the fabric, legs open wide before me so that he looks even broader sitting than he did standing. He hesitates, thinking of what to say or how to say it. "She wasn't just a politician; she was an activist. There were things she didn't like, and she told people so. She has enemies.” He levels his gaze at me and I try my best to meet his eyes without facing away. "They're the ones who have her now. There aren't any strings I can pull to get her out."
The letter between my now moist fingers is still very heavy and I stare down at it, my hair falling into my face and covering my view of Henri. I think this quiet lasts longer than the initial quiet at the start of our conversation, but neither of us interrupts it. I assume he's letting it sink in. This isn't the bad news I was expecting, but I'm sure that it isn't any better. In fact, it's probably worse.
For as long as this quiet lasts, it isn't enough. Henri eventually breaks it, his deep voice pulling my eyes up just enough to look at his knees through my hair. "You can't stay here. I want you to go with me while we figure out what to do with you."
I don't like the way he says it as if he has no clue what to do with me, and he probably doesn't. I'm just a banished girl from the Neutral Territory-- nothing more than a stray even if I was handed over to him. What can I do that will be useful here?
My eyes focus on his as I swallow the last tiny bit of moisture from my mouth. Brandon did try to warn me that Henri would want me to go with him at some point, but I wasn't ready to hear it then, and I'm not ready to hear it now. Henri doesn't make me feel comfortable. He watches me with hardened eyes incapable of understanding how I feel.
Ruin Page 4