Freedom/Hate (Freedom/Hate Series, Book 1)

by Kyle Andrews

  When she was done, her head felt a little bit less foggy. Her muscles felt a little bit stronger. She walked to the window and looked out at the city. The view was much nicer than her own. She could see lights on in hundreds of apartments. People going about their normal lives. As her world crumbled, everyone else's went on as usual.

  Sim stood behind her and put his arms around her. He held her so tightly, it was as though he thought she were going to slip away.

  “What do I do next?” she asked him.

  “Shower. Sleep. Tomorrow...” he didn't finish that sentence. It sounded like he knew what he was going to say, but he didn't think that she wanted to hear it.

  “Tomorrow I go to HAND?” she asked, keeping her eye on the city.

  Sim didn't answer the question. His silence said it all.

  “I'm scared,” she said. “They're going to want to know why I ran from the hospital. Why I didn't go home.”

  “You tell them the truth.”

  “What if they think I'm a member of—” she managed to stop herself before she let any hint of the word 'Freedom' slip past her lips. She allowed herself to trail off rather than attempt to substitute the word with 'Hate' at the last second.

  That was it. The moment that would get her locked up if it happened in front of a HAND officer. They would see her stumble and they would know what she almost said. No normal person used the group's real name. Only members of Freedom would even know it. And that's what they would think she was.

  The memory of Uly's death flashed through her head again. This time, she imagined it from his perspective. What would it feel like? How long would a person remain aware of what was happening? What must he have been thinking in those final seconds, knowing that there was no escape?

  Libby suddenly felt very cold. Sim must have felt her shiver, because he turned her around and rubbed her arms to warm her up.

  “Cold pizza,” she said, trying to explain away the chill.

  “You're going to be okay,” he insisted. He leaned in and gave her a kiss. It was a long and deep kiss which she would have stayed in forever if she could have.

  His hands moved down to her waist and he slipped one under her shirt, putting his hand on her skin. She knew what he was doing and as soon as she realized it, Libby couldn't help but start laughing.

  “Seriously?” Sim asked, smiling.

  “Me seriously? You're the guy who apparently thinks that 'My mother has cancer and the government thinks I'm a terrorist' is a turn-on.”

  “I thought it would help you... relax.”

  She started laughing harder. Sim soon started laughing too. For the first time all day, Libby felt something normal—something good. It was the first time since Amanda's diagnosis that she felt like her world might eventually go on, just like everyone else's.

  “Thank you,” she told Sim, pulling him close and giving him a quick kiss before wrapping her arms around him again. “I needed that.”

  “Anytime. Seriously.”

  “Would it freak you out if I said that I love you?”

  “No.”

  “I love you.”

  There was a long pause before Sim said, “Thanks.”

  Libby smacked Sim on the chest and pushed away from him, prepared to give him hell for that response. She stopped when she saw his face. He was smiling, just waiting for her to react.

  He grabbed her by the waist of her pants, pulled her back to him and said, “I love you too.”

  She was leaning in, just about to give him another kiss when he whispered, “Do you wanna do it now?”

  “Shower. Sleep. Remember the plan?”

  “You'll notice that I never used the word 'alone' when I came up with that plan.”

  Libby shook her head and started to walk toward the bathroom for her shower. As she walked, the lightness of the moment began to blend with the weight of her situation. Her smile faded.

  By the time she reached the bathroom door, she was once again ready to panic. But there was a difference now. She had someone on her side. Someone who cared about what happened to her. Someone she could trust.

  26

  Washing the day off of her made Libby feel like a new person. As she stood under the water, the rest of the world ceased to exist. All she could see was the small shower stall and all she could hear was the water. If she could have stayed in there forever, she would have. Unfortunately, the hot water ran out and she was forced to step back into the chilly air of the bathroom.

  She dried off quickly and wrapped a towel around herself. Then she stood in front of the mirror and looked at her own reflection. The sight of it surprised her for some reason. She half expected the reflection to look like a stranger, or an aged and withered version of herself, but all she saw was the same face she had always seen. It seemed wrong. It didn't feel like an accurate reflection of her anymore.

  Libby turned away from the reflection and didn't look back. She put on the same clothes that she'd worn into the bathroom, and by the time she put her hand on the knob, she was back to being the daughter of a cancer patient, the cousin of a terrorist, and the homeless girl who was scared to let anyone know where she was.

  The reason she ran in the first place was because she was scared. Now, it was the consequence of that fear that was hovering over her. She should have gone to the authorities right away and explained what happened. Surely they would have understood. It had to have happened before. But that was then. Now she didn't know how they would react, and her fear would undoubtedly lead her to her next bad decision.

  Carrying her shoes in one hand, she stepped out of the bathroom and into the darkness of the apartment. Sim hadn't turned on many lights since coming home. Different shades bluish colors were flashing through the apartment, coming from the TV. It was muted. Sim didn't want her to know that he was watching, but he didn't hear her coming, and he didn't turn it off before they replayed the footage of Uly's death. Again.

  One of her shoes fell to the floor, causing Sim to jump. He immediately reached for the remote control and was just about to turn off the TV when Libby said, “Don't bother. I've seen it. I saw it when it happened. They're not even getting the details right.”

  He stood and walked to her. He didn't say anything right away, but he had a deeply sympathetic look about him. It didn't fit his normal personality at all.

  “I keep hearing them say that he was a terrorist over and over again. But no matter how many times they say it, it's just Uly. The kid I grew up with.”

  “You shouldn't watch.”

  “I don't want to. Then again, if I don't, I'll miss what they say next.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There's always something else. Someone else dies. Some other piece of my life is ripped away. I'd rather know about it than not know about it.”

  “Nothing else is going to happen,” Sim insisted. “In a few weeks, everything will be back to normal.”

  Libby turned her eyes away from the TV and met Sim's. She gave him a look that begged the question, 'Are you serious?'

  With a nod, Sim said, “Okay. Not back to the way things were, but maybe a new normal. I just mean that it won't always feel like this.”

  “Like I'm sinking in quicksand while about to throw up?”

  “Okay. Sure.”

  “There's no going back. There's no making this right. There's just waiting for...” Libby didn't finish the sentence before turning her eyes back to the TV. Her second shoe fell to the ground as she saw the latest breaking news and she told Sim, “Turn it up.”

  Her picture was on the screen. It was a horrible picture that had been taken when she got her Civvie. A clueless, naïve little girl, but still her.

  Sim turned up the volume and the reporter on the screen said “—st seen at the hospital, where her mother was diagnosed with cancer. Authorities don't yet know if the girl's disappearance is linked to the Hate movement, or if she disappeared of her own volition. Initially, it was suspected that Libby Ja
cobs might have been at home when her cousin's apartment exploded, however authorities have not found her remains amongst the debris.

  “If you know where Libby Jacobs is, please call local HAND offices immediately.”

  The screen then went to the image of a kitten playing with a kangaroo, and the reporter's tone became more upbeat as she said, “Talk about your unlikely friendship!”

  Sim turned off the TV and looked at Libby as though she'd just been shot through the chest. He opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

  “Every person in the city is going to be looking for me,” she told him. Just saying it out loud made her legs feel like they were about to give out.

  “We have to call the authorities.”

  “What if they think I was a part of this?”

  “They won't.”

  “How do we know that, Sim? How do we know that I won't be locked up with terrorists?”

  “Because they have a system. They don't just lock people up. They lock guilty people up. You're not guilty.”

  “I'm scared.”

  “I know,” Sim told her, putting the remote down and stepping closer to her. “But it will be okay. I know a guy. He'll listen to what you have to say.”

  “Who?”

  “A police officer, Bey Randall. He lives in the building. He worked for HAND before he was injured. He knows them.”

  “You trust him?”

  “I had dinner at his apartment right before I came home,” Sim nodded. “I call him 'Uncle Bey.' He's probably the reason that I keep getting into the extracurriculars that I want.”

  Libby turned her eyes to the blank TV. She wanted to think matters through and do the smartest possible thing, but she found herself woefully stupid in the moment. She didn't trust Bey Randall. She didn't trust anyone anymore, except for Sim. Since he seemed convinced, Libby nodded to him.

  Sim didn't waste any time before he picked up the phone. He dialed the number and then turned his eyes back to Libby as he waited for an answer.

  It seemed to take forever. Libby could hear the phone ringing on the other end of the line and she held her breath. Deep down inside, she was hoping that he wouldn't answer. At least then she could say that she tried to do the right thing without having to deal with the consequences.

  There was a muffled “Hello?” on the other end of the line.

  “Uncle Bey? It's Sim.”

  More muffled talking from the other end of the line. Sim nodded along as Bey spoke and he waited for his chance to speak. Finally, he said, “I'm sorry about waking you up, but I need your help. Libby's here.”

  The moment he said it, Libby's heart started pounding in her chest. Someone else knew now. There was no more hiding or taking time to think. No more avoiding reality.

  “She's not,” Sim told Bey, who sounded like he was lecturing from the other end of the line. Sim listened for a bit before saying, “She's not a member of Hate. She was freaked out when she found out about her cousin. She came here. That's why they couldn't find her at home. I didn't get back until just a little while ago. She was waiting for me.”

  There were a few details left out of that story, which Sim didn't know and Libby didn't feel a great need to tell him. She needed to pretend that her conversations with Uly and Justin never happened, or she might slip up when questioned.

  Sim hung up the phone and narrowed his eyes a little bit as he told Libby, “Did I ever tell you that Uncle Bey never approved of my dating a girl like you?”

  “You never told me anything about him,” Libby replied, starting to worry about Bey having something against her before they ever met—even before she was a suspected terrorist! “What kind of girl am I? What did I do?”

  “More like what you didn't do,” Sim replied with an awkward shrug. “He thinks you're hiding something. Holding back.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “You're a very private person. I'm okay with that.”

  “But apparently he's not!”

  Sim smiled and said, “Don't worry. It was mostly a sarcastic thing anyway.”

  Libby felt like she should get worked up over this, but the truth was that it seemed silly in the grand scheme of things. Some family friend who she never heard of didn't like her. Big deal. At that moment, half of the people in the city probably wanted her dead, so all things considered, Uncle Bey could go screw himself for all she cared.

  She and Sim sat on the couch, waiting for the knock on the door. Her mind was racing with all the possible outcomes. Only the scariest scenarios seemed possible. Those were the ones that lingered inside of her. The bloody ones. The painful ones.

  Minutes later, the knock came. Sim went to the door and opened it, and in walked Bey. He was a middle-aged man, with a crew cut and intimidating muscles, which were clearly visible through his form fitting black t-shirt. He might not have been a HAND officer anymore, but he looked like one, and he stared at her like one.

  He walked with a limp. Sim had mentioned something about an injury, and the limp would explain why he wasn't with HAND anymore. He also had what looked like a burn scar on his right arm.

  Libby stood as Bey walked closer and she met his eyes, trying not to seem too uncomfortable or cold. She hoped that her distrust wasn't reading on her face.

  His expression was like stone. His eyes stayed on her, even as he spoke with Sim. He said, “You should have called the authorities.”

  “I thought it might help if you called them after you spoke to her. She's scared about what people might think,” Sim explained.

  Bey nodded and replied, “People probably think she's a member of Hate. At the very least, they can't say for sure that she's not.”

  “I don't feel like this is going to comfort her much,” Sim said through his teeth to Bey, even as he tried to smile for Libby's sake.

  Bey took his eyes off of Libby and studied Sim's expression for a moment. Libby could practically hear his mind turning with ideas and strategies as he stood there. She still didn't know whether that was a good thing or not.

  “I'll do what I can,” Bey told Sim. “You care about her, so that means I care about her.”

  Sim smiled and looked at Libby. He knew Bey better than she did, and he seemed to think that things were going well. She was starting to let her guard down, just a little bit.

  She smiled politely, saying, “It's nice to finally meet you. Sim's told me nice things about you.”

  Bey looked to Sim for a moment, and then back to Libby. She still couldn't tell what he was thinking, but he gestured for her to take a seat on the couch while he sat down in a nearby chair.

  “Tell me what happened. Everything,” he said to her.

  Libby sat on the couch and Sim stood next to her as she looked down and tried to find the right words. She then told Bey, “I noticed paint on Uly's pants, and I remembered that Sim was being sent to look for the tagger who was spray painting Hate messages on walls around the city.”

  “What color paint did you see on his pants?” Bey asked.

  This was not as easy to answer as it should have been. Red paint was seen in his apartment when it burned, and that was the color that they were trying to associate with him. Yellow was the color of the graffiti that Sim and his team were sent to respond to. But she couldn't remember whether or not she was supposed to know that, or the message, 'We are Freedom'.

  “Yellow,” she finally said.

  “That was the color that we were looking for,” Sim added.

  Bey looked at Sim, silently telling him to remain quiet. Libby was relieved to have given the right answer. Sim might have corrected her if she lied about the color. If that happened, she would be in a bad position.

  Bey turned back to Libby and asked, “Then what happened?”

  Libby told him about her confrontation with Uly. She made it sound like the argument in the hospital was the direct result of seeing the paint, leaving out the part where she waited to confront him. She explaine
d how she stormed out, planning to go back later, but she never had the chance.

  She didn't lie. She was careful about choosing her words, but she told the truth, simply leaving out certain details of her day. She even mentioned seeing a dog outside, feeling like it was a silly detail that would convince Bey of her truthfulness.

  When she was done with her story, she stopped and waited to see how Bey would respond. Though she doubted that she would be able to guess what he was thinking, she would probably know that things didn't go well if he lunged at her.

  Bey looked down to the ground and rubbed his hands on his head. He took a deep breath and then looked back to Libby as he said, “Okay. You're obviously not a member of Hate.”

  Libby could hear Sim letting out a sigh of relief. She wasn't aware of how nervous he was until that minute.

  “The problem is that the rest of the world doesn't know that, and you really haven't done much to help your case so far. We need to get you down to the HAND building to clear this up. I'll put in a call to my old boss and he'll have someone meet us out front.”

  It almost seemed silly now. After being so nervous about how this would all turn out, Libby was starting to realize that the only thing making this difficult was her own mind. Discovering the truth about Uly made her question her entire world, but some things don't change. There were people who were smarter than her and who knew how to handle these situations. All she needed to do was trust them to do their jobs and have faith in the system which had always been there for her in the past.

  27

  Libby sat in a chair in the living room, putting on her shoes. The TV was on again, because Bey wanted to know whatever news was breaking about Libby's situation. He wanted to know what they were getting into when they got down to the station.

  The volume was turned up high, because Bey was in the kitchen with Sim, making phone calls and undoubtedly discussing Libby. She didn't care. Anyone with an ounce of sense would be telling Sim that he should leave Libby alone, so he wouldn't tarnish his own record—at least while all of this was happening. If Bey was watching out for Sim, that would only make Libby respect him more. And if Sim took Bey's advice, she couldn't really blame him either.