by Dunn, Pintip
One way or another, he was going to walk through that window—either through a manufactured memory or through the murder of a girl who, in the end, is nothing more than his enemy’s daughter. The chairwoman turned down his request for a manufactured memory, so what else was he supposed to do?
I know all this, rationally. But oh Fates, how my heart aches. I feel like it’s been locked in a vise, one that squeezes in every direction, so that there’s no room, no outlet. So, the pressure builds and builds, until I think it might pop into a trillion pieces, one for every pathway I’ve ever seen, and Father of Time, I want it to pop because then it won’t ache anymore. Then it won’t hurt anymore. Then I won’t live anymore.
When the lights blink off again, signaling night, I pick myself up, wipe the tears on my pillow because my blanket’s soaked through, and give myself a stern lecture.
I knew this was how it would all turn out. I knew it. Oh, not the end of the world. Not the wholesale destruction of our time stream. But the fact that my life would end tomorrow, on May Fourth—and at Ryder’s hands? That was all foretold to me. It didn’t have to unfold this way, but there was a high probability that it would. If I chose not to believe it, then that was my own damn fault.
If I could strip away the layers of my subjectivity, if I could yank all the pain from my heart, I might even agree that Ryder made the right decision. I’m going to die, regardless, if not by his hands then by another’s. Might as well save the life of someone I care about in the process.
Because I do care about him. The thought is sobering, but I’m at the end of my life, and there’s no more time for lies. No point in protecting a heart that’s about to stop beating, anyway. I care about him more than I could’ve imagined. More than I want to admit.
I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting my feelings. I should hate him. I should recoil at the thought of his name. And yet…and yet…a small part of me wants him to walk through my cell door, to give me my final good-bye. That part wants to get lost in his deep, dark eyes once again. Feel the scrape of his jaw against my cheek, his hot breath against my ear. One. Last. Time.
Ridiculous, I know. And yet, there it is.
By the time the morning of my execution comes, I’ve given up hope that anyone’s coming for a final visit, much less Ryder. And that’s okay. Better to exit my life knowing the stark truth rather than indulge in any last-minute hope.
I’m rearranging my blanket, trying to make a softer cushion, when I hear footsteps in the corridor. Two sets of footsteps, presumably an official and a visitor, heading right for my cell.
My breath catches. Someone’s coming to see me after all. Perhaps someone young and male and handsome…
He appears in front of my cell, next to a detainment guard. I was right. He is young and handsome. But I was also wrong. He’s not Ryder.
“Tanner?” I gape. “What are you doing here?”
51
I shake my head, attempting to clear it. Have my long hours of solitude evoked this hallucination? But no. Even after repeated jiggles, my childhood companion is still here, still standing before me.
The guard waves a wand in front of the sensor, and the gate slides open. “Ten minutes.”
Tanner nods and steps over the threshold, his black hair brushing against his straight brows. I haven’t seen him look this solemn since he was six years old. For a moment, we both listen to the heavy tread of the guard’s departing footsteps.
“Why are you here?” I ask again. Awkwardly. To fill the silence. And also, because I really want to know.
“Why do you think? I’m here to give you a couple messages. And to say good-bye.”
I laugh harshly. “I guess nobody else wanted to do it, huh? Sorry you got stuck with it.”
“Actually, I had to fight for this visit,” he says, his eyes black coals in his face. “Jessa, Angela, even Mikey—they all wanted to come. But when I made my case, they backed down. They all recognized I should be the one here.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. He didn’t mention Ryder, and that’s fine. That’s expected. “Why? Because you’ve tormented me the longest?”
“No,” he says slowly. “Because I’ve cared about you the longest.”
I blink. And blink again. Is that what they’re doing these days during the Final Good-byes? Make stuff up to make the detainee feel good? I have no idea. I never studied that particular etiquette book.
Swallowing hard, I order myself not to read too much into his words. “What are your messages?”
He shuffles his feet, clasping and unclasping his hands, as though he’s grown extra limbs and doesn’t know what to do with them. “Jessa wanted me to tell you not to worry about the Mediocres. She broke into the database, put in an order to improve their living conditions. She also pushed back their execution dates by a year.” He pauses, the implication hanging between us. A year from now, this time stream will no longer exist, so it doesn’t much matter what the date is. But at least the girls will be safe, for the time being.
I hug myself. So, Jessa did it, in a way. She stopped the execution of the Mediocres. Of course, we didn’t know the world would be ending. We didn’t know the people will blink out of existence, anyway, a short time from now. But she accomplished her mission, the mission I set her on.
There’s satisfaction in that. There has to be.
“The chairwoman and the rest of the International Council are so busy with preparations for the window, they won’t even notice,” he continues. “The deterioration has accelerated. Even the formula’s not doing its job anymore, and people are fading away, fast. Callie, Jessa, everyone. The pain comes and goes. One minute we’re fine, and the next, we’re gasping at the air. It’s a good thing Logan already won his gold star. He’s so weak now I doubt he’d be able to swim the length of a pool. You need muscles for that, and lungs, and his are…faded.”
He stops. Swallows. For the first time, I notice he’s not quite as solid as he used to be. If I stare, really stare, I can almost see through him to the other side. “We’re scheduled to walk through the window tomorrow,” he says.
“Good,” I say softly. “I’m glad. You need to get out of here before you disappear altogether.”
Silence descends between us, for seconds, maybe even minutes. What do you say to someone when you’re about to die? When the world is crumbling around you? Nothing I can think of feels appropriate. Nothing feels sufficiently weighty.
“What was the other message?” I ask finally.
“That one’s from me.” He rubs the back of his neck, the one that’s beginning to turn transparent. I half expect his fingers to dip inside his skin and disappear. “I never had a family, you know. Just my parents, and they were taken from me when I was a kid. You…you were the only constant in my life.” He licks his lips. “Sure, we bickered. Sometimes, I wasn’t even sure if you liked me. But you looked out for me, too. Over and over again, when I made a mess in the lab or was late for a meal, you’d make an excuse for me or take the blame yourself.
“When the scientists tortured me, and I was so broken afterward I couldn’t do anything but lie in bed, you would read me your ridiculous chipmunk stories for hours.”
I stare. “You hated those stories.”
“Nah,” he says. “I pretended to hate them. Secretly, I couldn’t believe anyone cared enough to try to make me feel better.” He walks across the cell, his feet getting tangled with the blanket on the floor. For a moment, he stares at the lone blanket and pillow, and his face crumples. And then, he takes a deep breath and irons out his features once again. “I tried to look out for you, too. When you went to isolation, I sent you those care packages, the ones filled with all the things you liked to eat. And the foods I thought you might like to try, as you grew older and your taste changed.”
My mouth drops. “That was you?”’
“Who did you think it was?”
“I wasn’t sure,” I admit. “My mom, maybe MK. A kind tech who serviced the Meal
Assemblers. I think I considered everyone except for you. I mean, those few moments aside, I was a total brat to you.”
“Sisters are supposed to be bratty; it doesn’t mean we love them any less.”
I can’t speak. Not because my mind is numb, but because of the opposite. I have too many thoughts, too many feelings. They crowd together, pushing and jostling, and I can’t grasp ahold of any particular one.
“We’re the same, you know,” he continues haltingly. “We don’t have family the way other people do. We had only each other. And I always thought…” He stops, glances down at his fingers. Swallows. Turns his fingers over. Swallows again. “I always thought if I had anything close to resembling a family, you were it. And…” He breaks off. “If I had the choice, if I could go back to the beginning of my life and choose a different pathway, I wouldn’t want to. I would choose you as my sister. Every time.”
He looks straight at me. “That’s my message. I just wanted to let you know.”
The tears fall down his cheeks, and they gather in my own eyes. I…I can’t believe this. In all the pathways I ever yearned for, on all the stars I ever wished, I never imagined I would have a brother, after all. And that it would turn out to be Tanner.
Awkwardly, we embrace, and he drops a kiss on my forehead. And then, we back up shyly.
“I’m so proud of you,” he says. “I’ve watched you over the years, and I’m so proud of the way you grew up.”
“Thank you.” The words feel like rocks in my mouth, dry and clunky. “I always wondered what it would be like to have a sibling.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. The tears shine on his cheeks, but he doesn’t bother wiping them away. He doesn’t need to. He’s already given me his heart, and he has nothing else to hide. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I’m sorry I’m letting you down now. Jessa and I traveled to the past to do what we thought was impossible. We saved her sister. I’m so very, very sorry that we can’t save mine.”
He breaks down then, his hands covering his face, sobs racking his entire body.
“What are you talking about?” I pull him into a hard, fierce hug, no longer shy. No longer awkward. “You have saved me. You’ve given me the only thing I’ve always wanted: love.”
I pull back and look into his face, the one that’s been so familiar to me my entire life. And I speak the full and utter truth. “Now that I have that, I can leave this life with peace in my heart. That’s all I can ask for. That’s all any of us can ask for.”
52
Two hours later, I’m not so sure. My heart’s trying to hammer its way out of my chest, and the back of my shirt is drenched with sweat. Cold air blasts into the room, mixing the smells of lemony air freshener and leftover blood.
I’m chained to a throne-like chair, one made with cold silver metal and hollow glass legs. An arena of seats surrounds me, although the spots are only partially filled. My mother, front and center, as the Chairwoman of the Future Memory Agency. Two officials from the International Council. And Callie. That’s it.
They all look…insubstantial. As if they’re made up of a ray of light and a wish. As though they might evaporate in a matter of hours. And they very well might. One of the officials flickers in and out of this world, and my mother looks like a hologram. A particularly realistic one, but a hologram nonetheless. Callie appears to be solid, but under her shirt, her formerly round belly seems…deflated.
For a moment, I’m seized with fear. What if time makes her fetus vanish before she can walk through that window? What if Callie travels to the new world no longer pregnant?
I take a steadying breath. Worrying won’t do either of us any good. Why is Callie here, anyhow? Was I allowed to have one person present for my death? If so, they never asked me. Maybe they assumed I wouldn’t have an opinion on this, either.
Still, I’m glad it’s not Tanner. We already said our good-byes, and I’m thankful to spare him the sight of my execution. But why Callie? I just met her. I’ve known Jessa longer. In fact, I even thought she was beginning to care about me.
A surge of disappointment rises in me, and I push it down. I can’t waste my final moments feeling hurt. Tanner told me Jessa fought him for the final visit. He told me he loves me like a sister. That has to be enough.
My mother’s wrist com beeps, and they all rise. It’s time to start.
The side door opens, and Ryder enters the room. He’s dressed entirely in black. Not the light gray jumpsuits of the detainees, but not the uniforms of the FuMA employees, either. This must be the official garb of the assassin.
He stands, his spine perfectly rigid, his hands clasped behind his back. He, too, appears transparent, like I might be able to pass my fingers right through his body.
He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t grimace or flinch. In fact, he gives no indication whatsoever that this is personal.
As I watch him, my last, secret hope that I’ll make it through this hour alive melts away. He’s no longer Ryder Russell, the boy who kissed me and made me feel like I was the heroine in my own story. He’s no longer the person who saw me as an active force, rather than a passive observer. Now, he’s simply a soldier, waiting for his next orders. Ensuring his safe passage through the window.
Callie steps around him and approaches me. Her nose, her mouth, her eyes look so much like Jessa’s that my heart wrenches. She stops in front of me, placing her cool, soft hand on my cheeks.
“Be brave,” she says simply.
The tears I’ve kept dammed up spring to my eyes. But I don’t let them fall out. Callie’s been here, too. She marched right up to Death’s face, and she didn’t waver, she didn’t crack. She did what she had to do. She did what she believed was right.
“How?” I whisper. “I’m not like you, Callie. I’m not brave.”
“Oh, but you are, Olivia. You’ve always been brave, but no one’s given you credit for it, least of all yourself.”
With one last smile, one last touch, she steps aside.
My mother clears her throat. Her eyes are wet and glossy, but she doesn’t budge from her spot in the stands. “On this fourth day of May, do you have any final words?” she intones.
So this is what they’ve decided to give me. No final night in a comfy bed. No last meal. But a ceremonial execution with a final speech, instead of being marched through a slaughter room like the others. I’ll take it.
I exhale shakily. These are among the last words I’ll ever say, and the light blinking in the dome above lets me know they’re recording this, so that they can stream my execution onto the wall screens for all of North Amerie to see. I hope this moment counts.
Straightening my shoulders, I look right at the officials and say the words I rehearsed in my cell. “I stand before you today about to die for the crime of being mediocre. In your eyes, I have no place in the new world. You don’t even think I should be spared to find my own pathway in this crumbling time stream. And that’s not right. I stand by my memory.”
I swallow, gathering my thoughts. “Do you want to know the truly superlative thing about humanity? It’s not selfishness and greed. It’s not self-interest. Those drives have been ingrained in us since the beginning of time. There’s something much more important than the instinct for survival, and that’s love. Love is what defines human life and makes it special. Love is the only emotion powerful enough to make people decide against self-interest, against survival.”
I take a deep breath, feeling my stomach expand with air. “The men and women you’ve chosen as superlative truly are remarkable in their talents. But I hope, for your sakes, that they have love in their hearts, as well. Because you’re never going to thrive without it.”
I stop. Both the officials are blinking. I can’t tell if they’ve heard my words. I don’t know if they’ll have any capacity to make decisions in the new world. But at least there’s the chance the right people will hear what I said. And maybe, just maybe, some small part of me will make it through the wi
ndow.
I look at my mother. Pain as well as regret line her face. She never wears her emotions so openly, but she’s dropped her shields now. Maybe, so that I can see, in the last moments of my life, how she really feels. The choices she’s made today are consistent with the way she’s always lived her life. She’s doing what she has to do for the greatest good of her people. I don’t agree with her decisions. But…I can understand them. Maybe.
Ryder steps forward. As much as he refused to look at me before, his eyes are devouring me now. Deep. Dark. Unfathomable.
Once upon a time, I thought I was beginning to know him. I thought I could look into his face and see his past, present, and future all rolled into one. But now, unlike my mother, his mask is firmly in place, and he’s as unreadable to me as he was the first time I saw him, twenty days ago.
Callie holds up a clear rectangular case, which contains a single syringe. Ryder removes the needle and lifts it to the light, so that the officials can see the clear liquid inside.
This is it. The final moments of my life.
My pulse races, and the breath exits my body in quick, hard pants. My peripheral vision blurs, and the only thing that remains in focus is Ryder’s face. His square jaw, his full lips. His eyes. For a moment, the mask slips, and what I see is so unbearably sad that my heart breaks. But that’s okay, because my heart’s about to crumble into a million pieces anyhow.
“Forgive me,” Ryder whispers. And then he stabs the syringe right into the middle of my chest.
The formula enters my bloodstream, and then it flows through my veins, touching every cell and converting it.
Oh Fates. My limbs begin to convulse, my arms, my legs, my knees, my elbows—all with a life of their own. I didn’t know death was supposed to hurt this much. My blood is fire, and my nerves explode like popcorn held too close to the flame. The poison attacks every cell in my body, jabbing each one with increasingly sharp barbs.