by M. A. Phipps
When we make it there, I almost trip over an unconscious body in the hallway. Stepping around the figure’s unmoving legs, I peer into the face of the young man I encountered earlier. His gun lay on the floor beside him, the blood from my head wound still visible on the metal.
I glance up at Ezra, but he doesn’t look back at me.
Our pace through the corridors is quick and urgent, growing more hurried as my legs regain their strength. I never ask him where we’re going. Maybe I don’t want to think about the future for once, or maybe I don’t really care. As I learned at the DSD, anything is better than being chained up like a dog.
After a few more twists and turns, we come to a flight of stairs in a decrepit part of what I’m now certain must be an underground compound. Ezra moves to pull me forward, but my body becomes leaden, holding me in place.
“Wait.” I step away from him, shrinking back against the wall. “I’m not going any farther until you tell me what’s going on.”
His face is half-cast in shadows, but through them, I see the way he stares back at me. I swallow, waiting for him to speak until I realize that he’s the one who’s waiting. At first, I’m not sure what for, but it doesn’t take long for me to grasp what he’s after.
Biting my lower lip, I ask the one question standing between us. “Why do I keep seeing you?”
The moments spent waiting for him to answer are agonizing. He doesn’t blink once, and goosebumps rise across my skin in response to his piercing gaze. It’s as if he can see straight into my soul.
Assuming I have one.
The words rush from his lips in a steady breath. They pin me in place, knocking the air from my lungs.
“Because you love me.”
A flush of heat tears across my skin in a violent wave. My heart pounds, feeling as if it’s about to explode from my chest. Dropping my eyes, I run a hand across my forehead—desperate to understand this.
“Nothing makes sense,” I mutter.
He shifts toward me, closing the already limited distance between us. “I know you’re confused,” he says in a gentle voice, “but I’ll help you through it.”
Peeking up at him, I focus on his face. The expression I find there is overwhelming but genuine.
Still, it seems like an impossible task—a secret my brain is intent on keeping locked away. Not only from me but from everyone else. I shake my head as confusion floods my body, overpowering me more than ever.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice his hand reach out to me. At the last second, he pulls it back.
Instead, he whispers, “It’s okay to be afraid.”
“Afraid?” I scoff. “I don’t even know what fear is anymore.”
Everything I’ve seen.
Everything I’ve done.
I don’t have the right to feel fear.
Ezra looks away, but he’s unable to hide the pain casting a shadow across his face. It resonates with me in a way nothing else ever has. Or ever could.
“I do,” he admits. His tone is soft, muted by the emotion building in his throat.
When he glances back up at me, the sadness I find in his eyes reminds me of my father.
“I’ve known nothing but fear since the day you left me.”
His words frighten me, igniting a powerful urge to run away in the darkest depths of my heart. I try to take a step back, but the wall behind me prevents any hope of escape.
There’s nowhere to go.
Shaking my head, I choke out a weak rejection. “I’m not who you think I am.”
He smiles, and lifting his hand again, he plucks up the courage to place it against my cheek. The space between us is no longer existent, and my heart rate increases further from the unexpected contact.
“You are,” he breathes. “You just need to be reminded of it.”
The intensity of his stare sets every hair on my body on end, and for a split second, I wonder if he’s going to kiss me. My emotions are uncertain. Less than forty-eight hours ago, I was ready to kill him. But now?
Now, I’m not so sure.
Clearing his throat, he takes an abrupt step away from me and lowers his hand so that we’re no longer touching. I gape at him in bewilderment. His eyes avoid mine as he turns to face the door at the top of the stairs.
“I have something I want to show you. Will you come with me?” he asks.
He offers me his hand, and as I peer down at it, I take notice of the peculiar and sudden change in his body language. It’s as if he’s aware of me in a way he wasn’t only seconds earlier. Shrugging it off, I accept his awaiting grasp.
Our footsteps echo off the concrete in dull thuds, although the sound seems much louder in the otherwise still silence. I follow him to the top of the stairway, curious as to where he’s leading me. His fingers only release mine for the brief instant it takes to push open the door.
The metal screeches across the floor as light streams through the entryway. In a reflexive move, my hand darts to my eyes, but when I peek through my fingers, I find that the glare isn’t as bright as I thought it would be.
Lowering my arm, my jaw drops as I take in the late afternoon sun. It dances across the room, seeping through the moth-eaten curtains in streaks. Everything the light touches is aged and wooden—remnants of the old world that I never thought I would see. Dust covers every surface and floats through the air like a thick, timeless fog, making this moment feel even more surreal than it already is.
The floor creaks when I take a step, and a breath catches in my lungs when I feel a body press up beside me. Peering over my shoulder, I see Ezra standing there. His eyes are turned toward the window, but something about his expression is distant.
“It’s an old farmhouse,” he explains, answering my unvoiced question. “It hasn’t been used since the State erected the walls, so it’s the perfect hiding place. They wouldn’t think to look for anyone here.”
I can feel his eyes watching me as I drag my hand across the top of a floral fabric sofa standing in the middle of the room. I rub the dust that comes off it between my fingertips.
“Where are we?” I ask him.
He moves toward a door positioned in the corner of the far wall, just next to an adjoining hallway. The floor groans as he walks, and I find myself tensing, worrying that we’ll be overheard. We’re too exposed. Someone’s bound to find us here.
The State will find us here.
Ezra doesn’t seem to share these concerns. Placing his hand on the doorknob, he looks over his shoulder at me. Jerking his head, he beckons me to join him.
My eyes narrow. Everything about this puts me on edge, but as the distance between us shrinks, I can’t escape the stronger emotion that eclipses my fleeting doubt.
A small voice scratches at the back of my brain, telling me to trust him.
Once I’m at his side, he pulls open the door, letting in a deluge of fresh light. As he does, he utters the one answer I wasn’t expecting.
“Outside.”
I stumble onto the large porch in shock. My eyes graze across the beams and panels hanging overhead, following the wood as it wraps around the house, embracing the foundation.
I can feel Ezra beside me, but I don’t look up at him. Instead, I turn my gaze toward the overgrown fields. The land stretches on for miles, covered in wild plant life reclaiming the earth. The landscape of neglect is in tune with the abandoned house looming over us.
Lifting my hand, I shield my eyes from the sun. Its rays are beginning to set over the horizon, and standing just in front of it, I notice the outline of a city. But not just any city—the one where I grew up.
My home.
The Heart of the State.
“This isn’t possible,” I gasp.
“When you left, we were forced to relocate away from Zone 7 in case the Enforcers learned of the compound.”
I blink, trying to remember the events from a life that doesn’t even feel like my own.
“I know you wouldn’t have told anyone
,” he adds, “but the others weren’t as confident about that. We couldn’t take the risk. So, we hooked up with another sect who helped move us out here.”
His words swirl through my thoughts like an unsolvable puzzle. I can’t make sense of them, no matter how hard I try to.
Shaking my head, I regurgitate my confusion. “How?” I stammer. “No one leaves . . .”
“The tunnels. There’s an entire network that goes on for miles, even beyond the Heart’s walls. It was already set up for us.”
I swallow the lump growing in my throat, feeling the extreme toll this information is taking on my brain. Why won’t it add up?
Why can’t I comprehend what I’m hearing?
“I don’t understand how they wouldn’t know about it,” I whisper. “Certainly, they would’ve figured it out.”
A small laugh parts Ezra’s lips, but the sound lacks humor. I peer up at him, surprised by the conflicted expression on his face.
“You probably don’t remember this, but back before you left, my brother told us that PHOENIX was never a real threat. According to him, we had actually made ourselves useful to the State.” He winces as if the words are painful to speak. “Looking at it now, I think he was telling the truth. I think the reason we’re still alive . . . the reason they never checked the tunnels . . . I think it’s because they never felt the need to.”
My eyes widen.
Brother . . . .
Richter’s face darts like a bullet through my brain.
Taking a deep breath, I watch the sunset in an attempt to discard my overpowering confusion. When I first heard Ezra’s voice in my dream all those weeks ago, I wasn’t sure what to think. I thought I was going mad, and truth be told, I’m still not fully convinced that I’m not. The only thing I know for certain is that I need answers. The most logical solution would be to look back, but I don’t want to see my memories.
I want to remember them.
Spinning on my heel, I turn to face him, meeting his hazel gaze head on.
“Why did I leave?”
He looks at me, and his eyes are warm but also full of an unmistakable remorse. “To protect us. You were afraid of what your power might do to us if you stayed.”
Reaching up, I grab hold of my collar. My fingers glide across the metal surface.
My breath hitches as I turn away from him, and the familiar distance I’ve become so acquainted with rises up between us like air. The inhuman façade I’ve developed over the years returns, taking hold of me once again.
At least this much makes sense. If I really do love him like he claims, then, of course, I would want to leave him. No one is safe around someone like me, especially the people I care about.
Swallowing my discomfort, I mutter the only words I can think of. “You know what I can do.”
He nods his head once but says nothing.
For some unexplained reason, I become angry with him. It seems like an odd reaction to have, but of all the things I’ve heard over the past two days, this one unspoken admission confounds me the most.
I grit my teeth together as my hands ball into fists. “Then why rescue me?” I ask in a strained voice. Turning the full force of my gaze on him, my expression demands the truth about why this is happening.
The reality is that I’m dangerous, and he knows it. So, why?
I don’t understand.
“Why bring me back if you know what I’m capable of?” Tears linger behind my words.
In spite of my outburst, his expression is calm, and I swear I can see a hint of a smile on his lips. My own lips tremble with unfamiliar emotions. Or maybe they’re so devastating because they are familiar, and I’m simply refusing to accept that fact.
He takes a step toward me, and the heat from his body rolls off him in a wave, making me aware of the proximity between us.
It’s strange. Considering what I’m capable of, right now I feel powerless.
“For the same reason you keep seeing me in your head,” he answers.
My mouth shapes a number of syllables but no sound exits my throat. I struggle to find the right words, but my brain can’t comprehend what I want to say.
I stare at Ezra. A heavy weight sits in my stomach as my heart pounds in savage bursts. Goosebumps prickle my skin as a hard lump lodges in my throat, choking me into silence.
I jerk my head when he moves closer to me.
Closer.
“I don’t remember—”
The feel of his hand against my cheek interrupts my weak objection.
“It’s okay,” he whispers.
The air flows from my lungs in short, shallow gasps, making me feel like I can’t breathe. My eyes widen as mere inches separate our faces, and although I try to back away, an invisible force holds me in place.
His breath is warm against my lips as he croons, “I’ll remember for both of us.”
The emotions I’ve lost over the past two years seem to resurface all at once. I can’t explain it, and I certainly don’t understand it, but I know one thing for sure.
It’s happening because of Ezra.
Everything I’ve done. Every step that I’ve taken. It all keeps pointing me back in one single direction. Although my memories remain distorted, it’s clear that whatever humanity I possessed prior to becoming this abomination revolved around my feelings for him.
His lips are warm as they press against mine, and a familiar saltiness lingers on his tongue, causing an unusual stirring in the pit of my stomach. I may not remember the events that led me here, but I can’t ignore the tiny ember that sparks back to life in the depths of my soul. Perhaps it’s the small degree of humanity that still exists beneath the monster.
All the same, I feel unsure about the foreign emotions flooding my body. A strange urge jolts through my veins like an electric current, but I can’t tear myself away from the detached persona I’ve grown so used to wearing. It’s been my shield—my way of dealing with what I’ve done.
In many ways, it’s as much a part of me now as the lost memories were before.
Releasing a soft breath, I step back from Ezra. A pained expression crosses his face, but I try my best to ignore it.
His lips glisten as they whisper my name. “Wynter—”
I hold up my hand to interrupt him. His words cut off as mine take their place.
“You have to understand how confusing this is for me.”
We’ve come a long way in a very short space of time. Only a few days ago, I was ready to kill him, and now we find ourselves on the opposite end of the spectrum. That progression was based on two factors. First, the uncertainty instilled within me because of my dream, and second, my decision to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Unfortunately, even combined, they aren’t enough. There’s so much to process, and I can’t do that if he’s pushing me. He needs to be patient. He needs to understand that this may not happen overnight because, no matter how much he reminisces or how much he says he’ll remember for both of us, we’re still talking about memories that once belonged to me too.
I deserve the opportunity to try to revive them for myself.
Shaking my head, I let out an exasperated breath. “People keep telling me all this stuff I’m supposed to remember . . .” I avoid his gaze, not quite sure I want to witness the disappointment I’m bound to find there. “But I just don’t,” I whimper.
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, perhaps out of discomfort or maybe because he’s trying to think of something to say. It’s a long moment before he breaks the awkward silence between us.
“You know we’re telling you the truth, though. That I’m telling you the truth.”
A trace of reluctance behind his words makes it seem as if he’s afraid of my answer. Still, I consider him for a moment, aware of the lack of a question in his voice.
In a careful tone, I ask, “What makes you say that?”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Would you have let me get this close to you if
you thought I was lying?” As if to prove his point, he grasps a lock of my hair. His hand trails along the length of the strands until the ends slip between his fingertips.
His knuckles graze against my hip bone when he drops his arm, sending a shudder up my spine and forcing me to realize how right he is. Of course, I know he’s telling the truth. I would’ve never given him the chance to say otherwise if I didn’t. The trouble is, I’m still not sure what that means to me.
Or for my situation.
Shaking my head, I lower my eyes to the ground. “No,” I admit. “I don’t suppose I would’ve.”
Glancing up, I look out toward the horizon as my hands run across the wooden banister separating the porch from the earth below. The wind nips at my cheeks as I focus on the silhouette of the city in the distance. It’s surreal to look at it now—to know I’m free of the State. Free from the DSD.
Free from Dr. Richter.
Perhaps it’s because I feel even more trapped than I did before, despite my liberation. My inability to remember certain events of my life is part of the reason. Then there’s the other, larger facet of this feeling. The part that lies with the collar secured around my throat.
It presses against my skin when I swallow, making its presence known with even the slightest movement. Reaching up, my fingers touch the metal, dancing along its surface as they have so many times before. As they’ve done since the very moment Richter locked me in this permanent shackle.
No, I tell myself. So long as I have this, I will never be free of him.
Dropping my hand, I recall what Ezra said to me concerning why I left.
If I did so of my own volition, I must’ve had a good reason, and if what he says about our feelings for one another is true, then it’s easy enough to guess the cause. Is that why I feel so uneasy about being here? Is it the subconscious fear that I’ll hurt him?
Or is it something more?
A loud gasp bursts from my lips as a feeling of dread turns my stomach. A faint hum carries on the wind, reaching my ears at the same instant the image of its source explodes inside my brain.