by Anne Tibbets
Two cars ahead, the guards were yanking a family of six from a dented minivan and patting the lot of them down, including the children. Looking for what, I couldn’t tell you.
“Try and keep relaxed if they frisk you,” Ric said.
My whole body stiffened. They were going to touch me?
“Breathe in through the nose and out the mouth to control your heart rate,” he added.
I felt lightheaded at the thought.
The guards wore the same grey uniforms as the guards on the Line. The only difference was the color of the patch on their sleeves.
In my head, I heard the stomp of heavy boots on the cement walkways from within the Line walls. I felt the leering eyes of the guards as they walked beside the manager during his inspection. I shivered at the memory of standing there naked and could have sworn I’d just been blasted with the frigid waters from the infirmary hose.
My whole body jolted.
Ric leaned back into me and grabbed my hand, squeezing. I assumed he was trying to be reassuring. His touch sent me into a panic. Suddenly my skin was on fire. I ripped my hand away and wiped sweat from my brow with the back of my leather glove.
“Shh,” he whispered. “You’re all right.”
There was a commotion at the gate. Guards hauled away the father of the family, leaving the wife and kids by the minivan, horrified. The wife had her kids pile into the beat-up car and pulled the vehicle forward into the gated area by the checkpoint trailers.
The next car moved forward.
We waited, closer to the guards.
I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking.
“You’re all right,” Ric said again, though I wasn’t sure whom he was trying to convince, him or me.
A hand extended from the next car in line, showing a tablet to the guard, who eyed it quickly then waved them through.
Our turn.
“Travel orders, please,” said the guard.
Ric opened the satchel in his lap and produced his tablet.
“Yours too.”
He meant me.
I handed mine out to the guard, but he was still looking over Ric’s, which was a good thing because my hand was shaking uncontrollably.
“State your business.” The guard’s eyes lingered on Ric’s tablet.
“I’m transporting this maid to the Bennett estate in South,” Ric said.
“You have a work agreement?”
“Here.” Ric pointed to his tablet and touched the screen.
The guard nodded, handed back the tablet and then took mine. He didn’t seem to notice how petrified I was.
The guard stood so close I could smell the starch from his uniform. It was the same smell as the guards from the Line. Sweat pooled in the hollow of my breasts as I suppressed the urge to scream in the guard’s face.
He touched the screen a couple times, reading, then handed it back to me. “Move along.”
Ric pulled the bike forward slowly. Then he hit the accelerator and we shot ahead. Wind whipped my face and hair but I was too terrified to enjoy it.
Once we rounded the corner and left the blaring brightness of the spotlights, my stomach unclenched but I still felt a throbbing in my head.
I was glad Ric didn’t try to shush me and tell me again that I was all right.
I was far from that.
* * *
We drove through South for another hour. It was dark, but for the brightness of the motorcycle’s headlight. From what little I could see, South was quite different from Central. There was lots of greenery. Trees, grass and bushes lined the smooth paved streets. In contrast to battered skyscrapers and mountains of crap, there were large houses with pristine lawns and tall, shadowy gates surrounding them, each with its private landfill, compost heaps and burning piles of stinking garbage. Auberge security patrols were around almost every corner, driving by the houses with large searchlights.
I remained silent throughout the rest of the ride. Truth was, I was hungry to the point of feeling sick and so lightheaded I could have passed out on the back of the motorcycle if I’d put my head down. But I didn’t figure that was a good idea, so I kept my head up and tried to absorb the manicured landscape of South.
After turning a series of corners and going down a number of residential streets, Ric pulled up a long gravel drive and stopped the motorcycle in front of a gargantuan brick wall with a wrought iron gate. He punched a few numbers on the side panel keypad, and we waited as the gate groaned and creaked open.
We continued through the gate and down the gravel road, which stopped at a circular driveway. I recognized the large water fountain in front of the mansion as the one from the picture of Anj, Ric and their brother, Charle.
Ric pulled the bike into a separate garage, which must have had a motion sensor because it opened on its own, and we slid off.
My legs were stiff. My head pounded. I could have slept on the floor. “Nice place,” I said.
Ric turned away from me. “Father came from money.”
“Is he here?”
“No, they both passed away during the pox outbreak a few years back.”
I wanted to say some sort of reassuring thing after hearing about Ric’s parents, but the expression on his face was quickly hardening, and I thought it best to wait.
He led me out of the garage, which closed on its own, to the largest house I’d ever seen in my life. It seemed as wide as an entire city block and was built of old brick, which was covered by vines. Little lights the shape of mushrooms lined the lush flowerbeds, leading us to the front door.
Ric opened the large double doors with a scan of his palm print and held it open for me.
I stood in the dark entryway until he came in from behind me and flicked a few switches on the wall. Inside was a foyer with black-and-white checkered marble floors and bright white walls with framed paintings.
I couldn’t help but gawk.
“I know,” he said. “Disgusting, isn’t it?”
“Not quite the word I was looking for.”
“I wanted to sell it, but Charle wouldn’t allow it. He’s executor of the estate—he took Father’s fortune and invested in Auberge.”
“It’s beautiful.” And I meant it.
Ric glowered and dropped his satchel on the mahogany table, which sat against a wall mural of a rolling countryside. “I hate it here.”
“You want to go someplace else?”
He shook his head. “If anybody is looking for me, this is the last place they’d think to go. Come on. There’s usually something to eat around here. You look like you’re about to collapse.”
“I am.”
“Through here.”
We walked down a wood-paneled hallway. Ric flicked switches on the walls as we went, illuminating the halls and rooms one at a time. We entered a large area, complete with leather sofas, wooden tables with clawed feet and rugs covering the marble floor. It reminded me of a larger version of Anj’s décor.
This was how he’d grown up?
The house felt more like a palace.
Opulant.
There was a slight dinge to the rooms, as if they’d been neglected and left to decay in the last few years. But the sheer size and richness left me feeling grimy by comparison. The deeper we moved into the center of the house, the more I felt swallowed by it.
“This is the parlor,” he said, tossing his hand dismissively into the air as if we’d just breezed by a landfill.
Behind the lush furnishings was a table with holes in the corners and sides. Brightly colored balls were stacked on one end. It was a game of some kind.
“Gorgeous,” I said.
He scoffed. “Decorated with funds acquired by dividends earned from Auberge.”
“It�
��s still...nice.”
He missed my hesitation. “Glad you like it. You paid for it.”
Before I could ask what he meant, we arrived in the kitchen. Across the back of the room there was a wall made of brick that had a half-moon hole at the center; I recognized it as a brick oven. It was similar in design to the one in Vira’s restaurant. There was also a large sink, hammered-copper countertops, several wall ovens, a dishwasher, a refrigerator and an eat-in table, complete with upholstered chairs.
Ric flicked a few more switches, turning on the overhead light fixtures, and went to the refrigerator, pulling out some bread, cheese, a pitcher of water and a slab of meat. “Sandwich?”
“Sure.”
His entire demeanor had changed. He was sour.
Cross.
As if he’d eaten a lemon whole and sucked on the peel for good measure.
As he made two sandwiches, I could tell he was bothered.
“What did you mean, I paid for it?” I finally asked.
This caused him to pause. He put down the bread and turned to me then, a butter knife in one hand, the other waving in the air as he spoke. “Auberge owns everything.”
“I know.”
“They own the currency. All credits come from them. All jobs come from them. We all work for Auberge. We can’t get out. We can’t work someplace else. We’re all slaves. Even if we’re not on the Line, we’re all getting screwed.”
I frowned at this, but he continued.
“Especially those who think they’re rich. This isn’t my father’s house. This is property of the Auberge bank, purchased with their money, paying the mortgage with their funds, earned with interest on Auberge investments. They own this house. Me. My brother and sister. You.”
I sat at the kitchen table but didn’t speak. There was nothing I could say to contradict him. I knew he was right. It didn’t sit well within me, but I let him speak. He obviously needed to get something off his chest. He finished the last sentence by slapping some thinly sliced meats on the bread.
“Now we’re trapped in this cage, with no escape. No real money. No real anything. This isn’t a free society. So I guess what I’m trying to say is, when you were on the Line, making Auberge money, you helped pay for all of Auberge’s assets. Including this stupid house.”
“So what can we do to stop it?”
Ric scowled. “I don’t know. I thought by saving one person at a time, it would make a difference, but it doesn’t. No matter what we do, as long as Auberge exists...” He turned back to the bread.
“At least on the Line we knew we were slaves,” I said. “Out here, there’s the illusion of freedom. But it isn’t real.”
“Exactly.”
I thought my response before I spoke it. A part of me wanted to play devil’s advocate, to see how he’d react. I preferred him angry to defeated. “Then maybe I should go back.”
He turned to face me, his mouth hung open. “What? Why?”
He looked angry.
Good.
He wasn’t allowed to give up. If anyone was allowed to feel overwhelmed and dejected, it was me. I couldn’t let him be swallowed by it, as I was. My frustration rose. “If Auberge owns me and my babies either way, why fight it? Besides, maybe then they’ll leave you alone.”
He clenched his jaw and reddened. “That what you want? To go back and for me to leave you alone?”
“No.” I folded my arms across my chest, my stubborn streak rising.
His lips thinned and pressed together. “At least out here you aren’t subjected to daily rapes.”
“Not true. I barely escaped being raped twenty minutes out the Line door.”
“Well, it’s different in South.”
“Is it? Say I get a job as a maid or something. What’s to stop my employer from doing the same thing? Where could I go then?”
“See, this is why there are people like me, working against it.”
“You mean Tym and Sonya?”
This was a low blow; I knew it the moment the words came out. Ric slapped the sandwiches on plates he’d pulled from a cupboard and slid one of the plates in front of me. His eyes burned with unexpressed anger.
Perfect. He was good and mad now.
“There are others too,” he sneered. “I’d hate to have gone through all this just to have you give up now.”
I took a bite of the sandwich, then said, “Fine. I won’t give up if you won’t.”
His face softened as he realized what I’d done. I’d tricked him into encouraging me, when in truth, he’d needed to hear it himself.
His mood instantly lifted and he shook his head, looking bemused. He chewed his sandwich. “Oh, you’re good.”
I stifled a laugh. “You have no idea.”
Ric’s smile fell. Coming from me, the joke took on a whole other meaning.
Would it always be like that?
After we finished eating, he took the plates and tossed them into the sink. “Come on.”
He led me back through the parlor and to a flight of carpeted stairs. We ascended in silence, then turned left. The third door on the right was a bathroom.
Ric flicked on the switch.
It was bigger than the women’s room at the boarding house. There was a large tub, a separate shower with frosted glass doors, two sinks with a mirror over each, a toilet, another little toilet without a lid and a big window with frilly curtains.
“Good grief,” I said. “You could fit half of Central in here.”
“Check it out...” He cupped his hands to his mouth. “Hellloooooo!” Then he faked an echo. “Hello, hello, hello...”
It made me laugh.
He grinned. There was that dimple again. He was damned cute when it appeared. It was easy to forget the mess we were in when he looked that way.
“You’re pretty when you laugh,” he said.
My smile faded. I could tell Ric was sincere, but still, voices sounded in my head from past appointments. “You’re so pretty,” they’d say. “How’d you end up in here?”
I saw his face falter, but he recovered quickly. He walked to the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a couple of towels. “I’ll check Anj’s room. And see if I can’t find you some clothes.”
“Thanks.”
He spun on his heel and left me there.
I watched him go. A tinge of regret floated through me.
I used the toilet and ran the water in the shower, which was instantly hot.
After undressing, I got inside the stall. There was a shelf of bottles I assumed was shampoo. I washed my hair and used a bar of soap. The hot water soothed my aching muscles.
What now?
How long were we going to hide in the mansion? I was sure the brother would come home eventually and find us there. What then?
We weren’t certain my prints had been erased or if my new identity had finished uploading. There was a chance Auberge didn’t know I existed at all. But the Line did, and the creepy guy with the big smile who’d retired me knew. I wasn’t in the clear yet, not by a long shot.
I heard the bathroom door open and footsteps.
“Just me,” Ric said. “Come back downstairs when you’re ready.”
“Okay.”
The door closed.
I stayed in the shower and turned up the hot water. Steam filled the stall. My eyes traveled to my stomach, and to my surprise I had gained some weight. There was a small bulge, just under my belly button. It wasn’t much, but I put my palms to it and tried to imagine the babies inside, rolling around in my gut. I hoped they were okay. I wished I could talk to them and tell them everything would be all right, but I knew that might be a lie.
When I noticed my fingers were pruney, I shut off the water and dried off.
The girl looking back at me didn’t seem as sickly as she had a few days before. Her face had plumped up a touch, and the bruises and bags under her eyes had faded. Still, she was completely foreign to me.
Would I’d ever get used to her? The fact I hardly knew her felt tragic.
So much lost time. I was twenty-two and had lived more in the two weeks since my release than in my whole life. Still, I was determined to make up for it.
When I found a brush, inside the same drawer was some makeup. I’d never worn makeup, but I remembered a few girls from the Line had smuggled some in.
I used a pinkish powder on my cheeks and black paint on my eyelashes.
The girl in the mirror appeared older and more refreshed.
I brushed my teeth, then hung the wet towels on a rack and entered the hallway.
Off the main hall were several doors. One on the left had a Do Not Enter street sign tacked to it. I went straight for it.
It was a kid’s bedroom. A boy, from the looks of it.
Toys littered every corner of the room, and strange paper posters of old movies were on the walls. On the desk there were a few trophies.
“South Sector Spelling Bee, Third Place,” I read aloud.
There were also ones for Citizen of the Month and Most Likely to Succeed.
The trophies had been awarded by Auberge Secondary School in South, where only the elite of the elite were allowed to pay ridiculous amounts of credits to educate their children.
Most kids didn’t go to secondary school. Instead, they held apprenticeships in the Institution in the same field as their mothers or fathers right after finishing primary school. The others who didn’t get accepted as apprentices were forced to work as manual labor, but those jobs were scarce, and there was a long line of people to fill them.
I’d heard Vira complain over and over again about how much secondary schools cost. She had been paying for her son to attend, which was part of the reason she’d taken on a number of slaves, to cut costs.