Disruption

by Shirvington, Jessica

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered. I couldn’t stop the words. They had to be said.

  ‘For what?’ He still wasn’t looking at me.

  I swallowed. I wanted to be good enough, to fess up, but I wasn’t. ‘For … making you come here in the middle of the night. I’m sure you had something better to do or, you know, sleep.’

  ‘I don’t sleep,’ he said bluntly, looking back to me briefly before turning to my chest of drawers. Without asking, he started to rummage through my stuff, pulling out a few items before returning to me. I saw he had a pair of sweats and a large T-shirt in his hands.

  He sat gingerly at the end of the bed and, wordlessly, began to untie my boots before gently sliding them off. Each action seemed to take away a little of his anger. When he was finished, he glanced up at me, gently lifting the blanket to my waist. ‘I’m going to take off your jeans, okay?’

  Things were already beyond humiliating, what would a little more hurt? And God knows they had to come off, I could smell the blood drying on them already. I unbuttoned my fly and zip and pushed them down, but when I winced he put his hands on mine, stopping me.

  ‘Hold this,’ he said, giving me the edge of the blanket.

  Quentin put his hands underneath and gripped the waistband of my jeans, slowly moving them down, as I remained covered beneath the blanket. It was all very chaste. But I felt his knuckles on the inside of my pants as they moved down my legs. I received a repeat performance when he pulled on my sweats and though I wanted to look at him, to see if it was affecting him at all, I didn’t dare.

  When he was done, I could feel my breathing quicken and I had to concentrate to avoid a beep-off. Hell, if I wasn’t getting the mute upgrade next chance I got.

  Quentin gestured to my top. ‘You’re covered in blood. Maggie … I want to help, but I don’t want to –’ He swallowed. ‘If you can manage alone, I’ll turn around.’

  But we both knew I couldn’t even reach for the blanket. I nodded rigidly and bristled a little too. ‘I’m not afraid of you, Quentin,’ I said, falling back into my reliable bravado.

  He smiled weakly. ‘I’m well aware of that, Maggie. I’m a neg,’ he said, causing a crack at the edge of my resolve.

  I’ve done this.

  I thought back to the testing day – if only I’d known him. If only I’d known that never before had a more dangerous person crossed my path. And never would again.

  He swiped at the tear that slipped down my cheek.

  ‘Are you in pain?’ he whispered.

  I shook my head. The painkillers were really doing their stuff and I was starting to feel increasingly groggy. No doubt that was also the reason for my runaway thoughts.

  ‘Will you let me do this?’ he asked.

  I nodded, and when he pulled my body up, instead of just taking off my top, he pulled me to his chest and held me while – for the first time in two years – I cried.

  ‘They killed her,’ I sobbed into his chest.

  ‘What’s that? I can’t hear you,’ he soothed.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Quentin,’ I whispered. ‘I’m so sorry I brought you into this.’

  ‘Shh,’ he comforted, brushing down my hair. ‘I don’t want to be anywhere else, Maggie. For the first time in my life, I’m right where I’m supposed to be.’

  His words made it worse.

  Eventually he eased back from me, lifting my arms above my head. Then, not taking his eyes from mine, he lifted my top, leaving me in nothing but a see-through white bra. But he didn’t look down. Not once. He kept his gaze locked on mine, even as he lowered the T-shirt over my arms and head.

  And God help me if I didn’t wonder what it might be like to kiss him.

  Dad and I were in our booth. Weeks had gone by and Dad had been perfecting the small concoction that he slipped into the waitress’s drink each Thursday night.

  So far nothing had happened, but Dad’s interest never waned and, as a result, nor did mine. Our meals had arrived and we ate silently as we observed Beth drinking her iced tea.

  It happened almost instantly, with the next customer she passed. You could see Beth’s surprise as she stared at her M-Band. I glanced back at Dad to see a small grin forming on his face. Beth was moving around the room slowly, eyes fixed to her wrist.

  A rosy flush made its way into her cheeks and one of the customers approached her up at the counter. Dad and I listened on as he asked Beth if she might be interested in getting a coffee after her shift. Beth, still seeming to be in a state of shock, nodded shyly.

  ‘Dad, oh my God, did you … Did you do that? Did you change her ratings?’ I couldn’t even believe I was asking the question.

  ‘It’s not so different to treating insects, Maggie.’

  I shook my head. ‘But I don’t understand. Aren’t the lower ratings supposed to be the dominant signatures? How can you make her take higher readings?’

  Dad’s eyes glittered with excitement and he leaned in. ‘I’m not. That’s the beauty of it. I’ve simply altered her signal output, just enough to create positive results when her signature is received by others. Like insects, alter the output signal for positive results. Alter the inward receptors for a negative.’ Dad gave a humble smile.

  I stared, open-mouthed. I didn’t fully understand what he was saying, but I knew it was huge.

  Dad gave me one of his signature winks and pulled out his wallet, dropping a few bills on the table before leaning towards me and speaking softly. ‘Imagine all the good we could do.’

  That was the day he became my hero.

  When I opened my eyes, I was still in bed. It was barely dawn and there was a quiet murmuring nearby. I looked towards the sound to see Gus and Quentin talking in hushed tones.

  ‘I’m awake,’ I slurred, the night’s events coming back to me.

  ‘Oh, joy,’ Gus retorted.

  I smiled.

  I glanced at Quentin. ‘Did I pass out?’

  He looked like he was biting back a grin. ‘After you started slurring about some … things you were wondering about.’

  The smile slipped from my face. The last thing I remembered thinking about was kissing him. No … no way. Please don’t let me have said that out loud.

  He chuckled. ‘It was all very sweet, but entirely incoherent.’

  Was he saving me? Either way, I took it.

  ‘Hmm,’ I said. ‘I can’t remember any of it.’

  ‘Understandably,’ he said, his own smile fading.

  Gus chose that moment to sit on the bed beside me, reminding me of the pain down the right-hand side of my body. I pulled the blanket down and lifted my shirt to see the blood had soaked through the bandage.

  ‘Awesome,’ I groaned.

  Gus, still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, pulled a tube out of the brown bag he was carrying. I raised my eyebrows when he started to deftly undo my bandages.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Just let me concentrate for a minute, Mags,’ he answered.

  I waited, watching as he passed the bandages to Quentin, instructing him there were fresh ones in the bag by the door. Once he’d cleaned the wound for a second time, he pressed the tip of the pressurised tube at the opening of the wound and a towel at the opening in my back.

  ‘This might hurt,’ he said.

  ‘Guess it’s your lucky day,’ I slurred.

  ‘Damn straight,’ he replied, pressing down the top of the tube like it was a syringe. The contents moved through my insides, at first cold and then just uncomfortable.

  ‘Glutaraldehyde?’ I asked.

  He nodded, not looking at me.

  ‘Who?’ I asked.

  Gus didn’t answer.

  When Gus finished, he motioned for Quentin to pass him the bag by the door. He pulled out what looked suspiciously like a staple gun.

  ‘Tell me you didn’t get that from the hardware store.’

  He gave me a toothy grin. ‘I’d recommend looking away.’ Then without another word, he
pinched together the skin of the wound, causing me to cry out. I stopped when Quentin grabbed my hand tightly in his. He crouched down beside me, his other hand bracing my shoulder, his eyes holding mine.

  Gus stapled me together three times on the front and four on the back before bandaging me back up and leaving with barely a ‘See you later’.

  ‘Was that strange?’ Quentin asked after Gus had disappeared.

  ‘No. I get stapled all the time.’ I made him laugh, which was a good thing. Especially since I didn’t want to give him the real answer.

  Gus had just used the last of whatever money we had stashed plus, I was sure, a large chunk of his personal loot to buy black-market medi-supplies. Glutaraldehyde was what they used to patch up soldiers in the field. It was top of the line, expensive and damn hard to come by without having to answer a lot of unwanted questions.

  Gus, who wanted to see the back of me more than anything else in this world, had just saved my ass. No wonder he wasn’t in a chatty mood.

  Seventeen

  Quentin roused me and made it safely into the bathroom just before Mom let herself into my room.

  ‘Maggie, are you okay? Why aren’t you up?’

  I fiddled with the blankets, still groggy from all of the drugs. ‘Not feeling the best,’ I rasped. Understatement of the century.

  Mom moved forwards to put a hand to my forehead. ‘You don’t feel hot, but you’re white as a ghost and all clammy.’

  While she leaned over me I glanced around the room nervously, looking for bloody clothes or telltale signs of what had gone on last night. Quentin had taken care of everything.

  ‘I think it’s a stomach bug. There’s been one going around at school.’

  Mom smoothed the hair back from my forehead. ‘Maybe you should come in and get checked out?’

  I relaxed my facial muscles and did my best to make my smile convincing. It’s not easy when your body is screaming in pain and your mind is freaking out. ‘Mom, I’m fine. I’ll call you if I need anything. I just need a day or two of rest.’

  She pursed her lips. ‘I told you you’ve been pushing things too hard.’

  I nodded. ‘Guess you were right.’

  Her expression softened. ‘Okay, darling. You rest. We need to get you right by the weekend. Last thing you want is to be looking green at the ball!’ she said with a giggle. ‘Oh, you know I saw a picture of him in the social pages yesterday. He’s …’ She shook her head, smiling. ‘I mean Maggie, even you have to admit he’s –’

  ‘I get it, Mom,’ I cut her off quickly, knowing Quentin was listening in the bathroom. ‘I really just want to go back to sleep.’

  Her face softened. ‘Okay, okay. Call me if you need me.’

  I waited until she had gone downstairs and I’d heard the door close behind her. ‘You can come out,’ I said.

  He strolled out of the bathroom, his expression blank.

  ‘Thanks for tidying up.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘And for staying all night.’

  ‘You should get some sleep.’

  I nodded and closed my eyes, only to reopen them an instant later. ‘Aren’t you going to gloat?’ He hadn’t said anything about my mother’s comments.

  Quentin put his hands in his pockets and looked out the window with his back to me. ‘I told you before, Maggie. People see an ideal. It’s nothing to gloat about.’

  I didn’t go to school for the rest of the week. But by Thursday afternoon I was starting to move around a little more, much to Quentin’s frustration. He insisted I shouldn’t move for at least a few more days. I explained that he wasn’t a doctor and that not only did I need to get moving to get strong again, but that I still had every intention of going with him to the ball on Saturday.

  Sarah had recognised Dad. She’d known enough to point me in the right direction. Then I’d gone and let her die before I’d even discovered what she knew. I’d failed them both.

  I had to believe Dad was still alive. Had to believe this was all worth it. Maybe, just maybe, when I got him out of there and back to us, it would all be okay.

  Images of Sarah were with me constantly, every little sound causing me to spin around. And every time, for just a moment, I was there again, watching as the bullet … I knew that until I did something good, something worthwhile, I had no chance of stopping them from haunting me.

  On Friday I tried to get ready for work so I could at least earn some money, only to end in a pathetic fail, calling in sick yet again. But since I’d at least managed to get a pair of shoes on, an hour later, I decided to attempt a walk around the block.

  At about the halfway point, Quentin rolled up in his BMW and pulled to the kerb.

  In trademark alpha fashion, he jumped out of the car, slamming the door. ‘What are you doing?’ he growled, stalking towards me. He grabbed my arm, halting me in my tracks. ‘Don’t be stupid, Maggie. You need to rest.’

  But the concern in his eyes didn’t help. I yanked my arm free of his, angry at the world. ‘You don’t tell me what to do! You don’t get to act like you care! That we’re something! I have a job to do and no one is going to get in the way. Do you hear me! Not Gus, not that stupid girl, and most certainly not you!’

  He blinked, watching me like I’d just sprouted horns. ‘What girl?’

  I shook my head, losing my fight and feeling increasingly faint. ‘It doesn’t matter. She’s dead. Your father’s army killed her,’ I bit out. ‘And I helped them.’

  He flinched.

  I walked to his car and slid in.

  He joined me and we drove back in silence.

  Quentin sat at my desk in front of a white paper bag, looking over at me as I resettled into bed. At least I could sit up now. He was in grey pants and a white shirt. His sleeves were rolled up and his tie hung around his neck, undone. As if that weren’t enough of a distraction, he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. At least I’d finally applied a mute zip to my M-Band. It was worth enduring Gus’s laughing fit when he delivered it to know I didn’t have to muster the energy right now to control my pulse rate.

  ‘The company. My father. That’s what they do. Kill negs,’ Quentin said. Each sentence broken and heavy. Each conclusion a step away from the world as he knew it.

  This is what I’d wanted him to see and understand. But now, listening to him say those words, how with each one his head hung a little lower, I wanted to take it all back.

  ‘That’s what I thought too. The first time I saw a clean-up I thought they were all dead, but then I really thought about it and it didn’t add up.’

  He nodded. ‘Why feed them and keep them alive for years at a time to just kill them? It has to be some kind of investment. My father wouldn’t … He’s astute.’

  I preferred the word ‘cold-blooded’, but was impressed he’d deduced so much.

  His head shot up. ‘So why do they keep them alive?’

  I took a deep breath and let it out. ‘What’s in the bag?’ I asked, stalling for thinking time.

  He picked up the paper bag and rolled on the chair towards me. When I looked inside, my mouth began to water.

  ‘I thought I could smell something delicious and bad.’ I pulled out the hotdog, covered in sauce, and took a huge bite, savouring the flavour hit. ‘I think this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,’ I said around my full mouth.

  When I looked up, he was smiling proudly.

  ‘Want a bite?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Liar.’ I held it out to him.

  After a moment’s hesitation, he took the hotdog and bit into it.

  His face lit up when he started chewing. I burst out laughing, which hurt, but not enough to stop.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘You groaned!’ I spluttered, still laughing.

  He laughed too. ‘Okay, they’re good.’

  I raised my eyebrows.

  ‘Very good,’ he corrected, taking another large bite.

  ‘Hey!
’ I said, reaching out and yanking back my hotdog. ‘Next time bring two.’

  He smiled as he chewed. It was a nice view.

  I held onto the hotdog and took another deep breath. It was time to tell him. ‘They strip them of everything – family, friends, independence, a future – then they train them. Some are used for factory work, some of the skilled are relocated into research facilities and most of the physically able are assigned to the military. Haven’t you noticed how the need to recruit army personnel is no longer an issue, and yet we have more armed forces than ever? And it’s not just the government forces, it’s privately funded armies as well. Soldiers who know beyond a doubt that they serve or they will be killed. It’s their one chance at survival. And let’s face it, as far as they are concerned, they’re negs with nothing else waiting for them, so many of them gladly take up the positions.’

  I handed him the last bite of the hotdog. I knew he was using the time it took to finish it to absorb this new information. When he looked up, there was a kind of hope in his eyes.

  ‘Maybe it’s a step towards rehabilitation, like they say. Negs aren’t designed to be a part of society, but maybe giving them something to fight for – a country to honour – maybe that is a good thing.’

  ‘Is that what you believe you need? Is that the future you deserve?’ Even as I said the words I knew it wasn’t a solid argument since Quentin wasn’t technically a neg. But I was sure he wasn’t the only one being led to believe he was something he was not.

  ‘Maybe it is,’ he replied, his words a whisper.

  ‘You’re really willing to accept that? That your life should be defined by some rating?’

  He ran a hand over his scalp. ‘It’s what I’ve been raised to believe. A technology that can provide society with acceptable and peaceful boundaries.’

  ‘That is such bullshit!’

  His sad eyes met mine. ‘I’m a neg, Maggie. There is something in me that makes me that way. On some level … I’m wrong. Maybe I should just accept that …’ He swallowed roughly. ‘Come clean.’