He laughed, too. “Yes, even we go through some of that awkwardness. The pure power of science is no match for the grueling years of being a teenager.”
He was back to looking at our hands.
“You still see your creator?” Was it possible that he had some sense of what a family was?
James shrugged. “Sometimes. He was there when I was awakened. Every year the creators come here to visit us, to see their work. Usually they are busy with the council. But my creator, well, he must have done something to really piss them off, because he works at the sector’s inspection center now. That’s a real downgrade for him. Most creators were selected because they were the best of the naturals. The scientists, doctors…the greatest natural minds. Most of them wanted nothing more to do with their own people. So to be stuck inspecting naturals isn’t their dream job. No offense.”
I shrugged.
“But it means I get to see my creator more than most,” he said.
The inspection center. The place that would forever mark me as proof of my people’s extinction. A rite of passage.
“From what my creator told me, it’s like a sixth sense. I can feel things about those I am close to, care about…”
I turned away, hoping to hide my blush.
“He says I will get better at controlling it,” James continued. “Right now, since I don’t understand it, I can’t just use it whenever I want. That’s why he thinks it happened in my dream, through my subconscious.” James fell silent.
“Sounds like a useful gift,” I offered.
He sighed. “I was beginning to wonder if I even had a gift. Some of the others have been developing theirs for a while now. Probably one of the many reasons I wasn’t chosen—late bloomer. Hell, I think they were worried I was getting the transformation sickness or something.”
Frank. Is that why the council had killed him? How long till they found a reason to kill James, too?
“Why would your creator give you that gift? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I—”
“Yes, I know, not a gift you can see being particularly useful in combat,” he said with a dry laugh.
“Unless they wanted you to guard someone,” I offered.
He looked at me, puzzled.
“I mean, it would be pretty useful then. They pair you with someone, someone you can feel close to, and you would know if he were in trouble.”
“A bodyguard,” James said with a slight shrug. “I guess it could be worse. Too bad that’s not going to happen—they’ll ship me off to a compound soon. The council doesn’t even think I’m good enough to guard one connected to a training center.”
I didn’t want to think of him being anywhere but with me. I couldn’t acknowledge that one day he would leave Templeton. His place wasn’t here, and mine always would be.
He wouldn’t be able to protect me during my now-thirty-year sentence at Templeton.
“And George? You really think he will just let me be?”
“He won’t hurt you. I swear it.” The fierceness in James’s eyes frightened me. I wouldn’t want the two of them to fight, especially since I didn’t know what George’s gift was.
I cringed. “What is it exactly that you do all those hours you spend away from me?” I asked, hoping to change the subject. Besides, we both seemed bent on asking all of our questions tonight. “Other than the physical training,” I added. I didn’t need any reminders of how strong they were.
James shrugged. “Mostly classes. Not unlike when you still had school, I assume. Math. Science. Literature.”
“Sounds amazing,” I replied, trying to keep the jealously out of my voice.
James nodded slowly. “There are other classes as well.”
“And your least favorite would be…?”
“Human Ideologies.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“It’s where we study the mistakes your people made.” James sighed. “How the naturals just let it all slip away. How the original creators were gifted men, men far above others in intelligence, and their creation of the chosen ones would ensure the world went on. We would have no family ties. We would be trained to control our emotions. Everything that made the naturals so weak would be weeded out of us. We would fight in the wars the naturals no longer had the numbers to win. We would continue humanity in a world where women were no longer needed…”
I inhaled sharply. I could hear my father’s words mingle with his, almost as if they were cut from the same cloth. But their lives couldn’t have been more different. Perhaps there were some ideas that transcended time and circumstance, a desire to define ourselves instead of letting others define us that burned unceasingly. Perhaps it was this need that connected the naturals and the chosen ones; it was what made us human.
“These aren’t my thoughts, Tess. But the council believes they can create a perfect future, one where they will have full control over subsequent generations. They will choose how to educate them. They will train them to fight. And if they need more? They’ll just create them. We’re the perfect citizens because we are expendable.”
“It’s not fair,” I whispered. We both sat silent for a long time.
“We should probably go. It’s late. You have work and I have class in the morning. And let’s not forget all that pretending we have to do. Like pretending I don’t want to spend every second with you.” Coming from anyone else it would have sounded cheesy, but when I heard the pain behind his words, I heard them as truth.
I swallowed. “Before we go back, I want something just for us. Before we need to start pretending again.”
“Anything.”
I reached out and placed my hand against his neck. He stilled at my very touch. “I want to kiss you again,” I whispered. I stood up and grabbed James’s hand, pulling him toward me.
He slowly leaned his face down. He hesitated as his lips were only inches from mine. I was tired of waiting for something that I wanted. I didn’t have time to wait anymore. Life was too damn short.
I stood up on the tips of my toes and pressed my lips against his. They felt soft and warm. A strange sensation that seemed to stir from my center spread across my body. My skin was tingling. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
I pulled away.
Before I could tell him how nice the kiss was, James pressed his lips against mine again. A sound escaped my lips. Was that a moan? I reached my hands up and pushed them through James’s curly black hair and he grunted in response. His hands were on my face. His lips opened and I felt his tongue. We only stopped to take a wild gasp of breath and then we were back to kissing. I was moving backward, away from the door that kept the whole world at bay. I stumbled awkwardly against the piano bench, James leaning over me, still kissing. My elbow accidentally pushed down on the keys and we froze with the noise.
We remained silent, the sound of our heaving breaths the only evidence of our transgression. James closed his eyes and kissed my forehead. “Thank you.”
“For what?” I asked, still struggling to breathe normally.
“For seeing me.”
I smiled.
“Can you meet again tomorrow night?”
I knew, without being told, my afternoons spent with James would have to stop. The council couldn’t know what we felt. The day was too bright, too many eyes watching. They already suspected us.
It had to be secret.
He nodded. “And what shall I bring? What book should we venture into?”
“Surprise me,” I said, handing him back his jacket.
I saw his eyes for the briefest of moments glance onto my bare arms. He cleared his throat. “Surprise it is. I will see you soon.” He turned to leave, but I grabbed his arm.
“Wait, I have something to give you.” I undid the ribbon in my hair and placed it in his hand. “I know how you adore contraband things. And what could be more outlawed than this?”
…
As I walked back to my room, realization dawned as I finally understood t
he way my sister had felt for Robert. It was like I was standing over an abyss, and any second I would throw myself right in, just to see if it were possible for the darkness to end. It didn’t make Emma’s actions any less selfish—but at least now I understood why.
Chapter 24
Someone had been pounding on the door. The noise echoed in my ears much too loudly as my feeble hands instinctively tried to block out the intrusion. My mother said nothing, just sat with her bottle congealed to her hand, rocking ever so gently back and forth. I could hear Louisa crying somewhere off in the distance. I wanted to go comfort her but fear had frozen me in place. I heard the gruff, raw punches of male voices outside the door. Who were they? Why were they here? And what could have possibly happened to make them so angry?
My father was pacing. I had never seen him like this before. He was always so easygoing, so calm and collected. Occasionally, he would run his hands through his hair, but mostly they stood limply by his sides, the only part of him that appeared in control. I could see that he was sweating. Sweating! My father didn’t sweat; he was above that. He was a God.
“Emma, your sister,” he barked suddenly.
Emma’s face was white but she didn’t say a word. Just quickly disappeared from the room. I had forgotten she was even there.
The knocking was becoming louder, demanding, taking all sense of sanity from the room.
Without warning, my father stood still. He was staring at me. I could see his mouth twitch; he was trying to smile. The smile I adored. But something inside of him would not allow it. Then I saw pain—pure, unquenchable pain. He kneeled in front of me so his eyes were level with mine, placed his hands on either side of my face, and proceeded to kiss me on the cheek. It was the smallest of moments, one most would think insignificant, but my father was not an emotional man. He had never been a hugger and I couldn’t recall him telling us stories before bed. He was always laughing and joking and pleasant to be around, but never one to wear his feelings for the world to see. A wild, ferocious fear stemmed through my body. Something was horribly wrong. Why did I feel like he was saying good-bye?
I heard the crack of wood against the wall. I looked away from my father’s face and realized the door was off its hinges. Two of the largest men I had ever seen stood watching my father and me. I could see the veins protruding from their much too lean and muscular bodies. Yet they were beautiful. I couldn’t help but stare at them—I didn’t want to look away. There was something hypnotizing about the mismatched color of their eyes. Were there chosen ones in my house? They seemed different than how they appeared on TV—somehow improved, better.
My father moved away from me, held up his hands. His jaw was clearly clenched. I shook my head, trying to clear it. Did he actually have tears in his eyes? No! It was impossible. He was the bravest person I knew, the comforter when the sirens went off, always ready with a joke. In the quickest of seconds, I saw one of the men throw my father against the wall. I started to scream but couldn’t move my feet. How gut wrenching to feel the need to help, to save him, but unable to move an inch. Fear had complete control over me.
I saw his blood smudged on the wall where his head had hit, and I couldn’t look anymore. I shut my eyes tight, waiting for it all to end. Somewhere in the distance Louisa was still crying. I was retreating inside myself when a voice caught my attention, halted my surrender. It was my father’s. “Emma,” he yelled hoarsely, “Louisa will need her medicine. You have to ask one of our friends for a loan to help pay for it.”
My eyes shot open in time to see the taller of the two men backhand my father. I shuddered. My father twisted and kicked the man holding him. The man stumbled into his partner’s arms as confusion swept over their faces.
My father was back in front, clutching me to him, wrapping his arms around me as if I were a butterfly stuck tightly in a protective cocoon. His lips were close to my ear and he was whispering frantically.
“You must be brave. Promise me you won’t ever believe their lies. Promise me you won’t believe what they will tell you about me. Don’t believe what they will tell you about yourself!”
This was all he was allowed. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a fist fly into the side of his head. My father crumpled to the floor, lifeless, weak, destroyed. I could see he was still breathing but it didn’t change anything. For the first time in my life, I knew that my father was human, and I was angry—not at them, but at him.
…
When I awoke my entire body was trembling. It had been years since I’d last dreamt of the night the chosen ones came for my father. It was during the early years, right before we were mandated to move into the compounds. Somehow my father had found a way to hold onto our house while many of our neighbors were forced to abandon their homes for tent city. In the early days we were allowed to leave, take our chances in the Middlelands, and I imagine he wanted to move out into the wilderness, but my mother had a need for her material things. She couldn’t be guaranteed her bottle in the place where civilization ceased to exist. Louisa couldn’t be promised medical aid out there either.
So we stayed. I never knew what my father did to cause the chosen ones to take him. I never asked my mother. I was certain he must have deserved it. I always blamed him for leaving, for choosing some stupid idea over his family.
But now I understood.
If he had stayed, it would have been worse than death to him. He would have become nothing. He would have hated his life and himself. He would have hated us, too.
You can’t care for someone else if you don’t care for yourself.
Call it selfish, but he chose himself. He was the brave one, not me.
I didn’t belong with the chosen ones or the naturals. I needed a place for me, but I was afraid, too scared the chosen ones would come after me. I feared losing James. I was petrified what it would mean to have no excuses for not being true to myself.
I pushed my pillow against my face and began to sob.
I cried for realizing I had a dream I would never be brave enough to chase.
I cried for my father—the man who gave up everything to be free.
He even gave up me.
“What are you thinking this very moment?” I asked James as we sat on the floor in the piano room late one night. I was sitting in front of him, my legs tucked underneath me. He rested his hand on my knee.
“How very glad I am to see you.”
“You don’t look very glad.”
“Because I shouldn’t be this glad.”
I frowned. “Oh.”
His hand found mine in that instant. “No, I mean—I don’t know what I mean. Can we talk about something else?”
I felt his hand leave mine, and I instantly wanted it back. He retrieved a giant book from his bag. While it would have been just as safe, or reckless, to meet in his room, we often didn’t go there. We did this for many reasons really—the bed being the foremost.
He placed the book in my open, empty hands. It was heavy.
“Shakespeare,” he said, his face lighting up.
I raised an eyebrow. “And where would we even start?”
“Your choice, of course,” he replied.
I flipped through the giant compilation of works, recognizing titles as they flashed before me. I smiled as I thought of my father trying to pass as many stories to me as he could before he was taken. I saw Romeo and Juliet. No. Definitely not that one. Macbeth. I remembered something about witches and decapitation. No, that wouldn’t be good. The Merchant of Venice. I hadn’t heard of it. Considering books had been outlawed for years, I was pretty impressed I knew any of these at all. In the early years of the compound, some of the adults would gather the children around and tell them stories, passing down their favorite narratives orally. But eventually that ended, too.
I chose The Merchant of Venice because it seemed safe.
James glanced down and nodded.
Safe.
The first act was more unsettling than I coul
d have imagined. Shylock, a Jew, was presented as evil, licentious, someone not to be trusted. In my mind, Shylock was the chosen ones, though I wondered if a part of James saw my people and me as Shylock—someone outside of normal society. He was portrayed as something to be disgusted by and feared. The racism, the prejudice in it appalled and upset me. Yet I was unable to deny how true to life it was. How easy it was to rewrite people in our own misconstrued ways, in an attempt to make ourselves feel safe. I didn’t want to do that to James; I wanted to see who he really was, not who I imagined him or needed him to be.
I looked up from the book and found James staring at me. I turned away. “I think I need a break from the Bard.”
He nodded. “Agreed.” He took the heavy weight from my hands and placed it away, hidden in his bag.
“Did the story upset you?” James asked suddenly.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to lie to him; I didn’t want to.
“Yes. A little.”
“It upset me, too.” James took my hand back in his. “It’s better knowing what the other is thinking, right?”
I squeezed his hand. “Yes. I always want to know what you’re thinking.”
After a prolonged silence, James said, “Your name is on a list.”
I froze, fear flooding every inch of me. Having your name on any kind of list usually wasn’t good. It was better to go unnoticed. But I hadn’t exactly done a good job with that as of late.
James shifted and lifted my chin so I was looking up at him. “From what I’ve gathered it’s merely precautionary. You have a meeting at the inspection station in a few days. I just thought it would be wise to give you some warning. I know we aren’t always the best at that.”
Oh, yes, the inspection station—I was considered an adult now. I hadn’t even realized my birthday had passed. How could I have forgetten my own birthday?
“Do you know why? Is this normal?” he asked. I could hear the mistrust of the council in his voice.
It made sense that he didn’t know. He was very young and all of his life had been spent in Templeton. He didn’t have the knowledge base that I did. But it also alerted me to something else: he questioned more than he trusted the things his comrades told him. I wondered if I was slowly destroying his world by finding a way to survive in mine.
Chosen Ones (The Lost Souls, #1) Page 15