My home for the night is a cushy guest room, complete with thick carpet, a four-poster bed, and a plush couch. I rush over to the bed and jump onto the piles of blankets and pillows. It’s even softer than the bed in the Mexican capital. I lay back and sink into layers of fluff, not bothering to kick off my filthy shoes.
I let myself enjoy the comfort for a few minutes then roll off the bed and refocus on the task at hand. Looking around the room, there’s a door off to the side. I open it and almost giggle at the ornate bathroom waiting on the other side. A quick look in the mirror confirms that the rain has soaked me completely. I turn on the faucet and let the water heat up until steam floats up from the basin. I kick off my shoes and wring out my socks, coat, and scarf as best I can. A scarlet towel soaks up much of the moisture from my hair.
As dry as I can get, I splash the hot water on my face and hold my hands under the scalding water. By the time I pull back and dry off the rest of the way, I feel almost normal. Normal enough to break into the Cardinal’s office, anyway.
I put back on my still damp clothes and wrap the blanket from the couch around my shoulders to speed up the process of warming back up.
Daniel has to be going crazy wondering about me. The location chip on my necklace can tell him I’m in the capital building. I press the sensor on my pearl broach and wait for a count of three.
“Daniel, I hope you can hear me. I wish I could hear you. I’m here in the Cardinal’s building, and I’m okay. The guards have me locked in a guest room, which is actually really nice. Now I just have to sit and wait for Danforth to come let me out.”
I plop down on the couch and check out more of the room. The walls are covered in a thick, red wallpaper that has tiny embossed cardinals all over it. I didn’t notice it before, but the duvet cover is cream with red branches and birds embroidered around the edges. The theme continues to tiny statues and art pieces strategically placed around the room. Each of them depicts cardinals in varying activities. It’s tastefully done, but the message is clear. Any guest would have no question about where all the power rests. With any luck, I’ll be the first guest of this room to shift that power in a different direction.
Thirty-One
The minutes tick by, and Danforth is nowhere to be seen. The panic I fought off earlier threatens to bubble up again. The longer I sit wrapped in this red blanket, the more I doubt the intelligence of this plan. What if Danforth really can’t be trusted? Daniel thought he was on our side, but he has no idea what Danforth has been up to in the years since his Rejection. What if Danforth told the Cardinal all about our plan, and he was waiting for me to show up? I don’t have any other way of getting out of here, and Daniel has already made it clear that he’ll do whatever it takes to keep me safe.
I swallow back bile rising up my throat at the thought of Daniel charging in here trying to save me. The Cardinal wanted him captured, too, but with me here, I doubt he hangs on to both of us. Daniel would be dead before the sun even thought about rising.
I press against my chest and work to steady my breathing. Daniel can still hear me, and I can’t let him know about the fear slowly eating away all the optimism I had when I let the guards throw me in here. Rushing back to the bathroom, I search the grand room for any other exit, but there isn’t anywhere to go except back in the room. Leaving the blanket on the couch, I check the walls for secret passages or hidden panels like the ones in Mexico. Not that I expect to find one in a guest room, but searching is better than waiting and imagining worse case scenarios.
The door beeps. I throw my back up against the wall and grab a porcelain cardinal statue from the nightstand. It’s a paltry defense against a cadre of guards, but better than nothing.
The handle turns and the door swings open in slow motion. I lift my arm, ready to let this bird fly at the first sign of trouble. A muted thump sounds from the door, and Danforth pokes his head around the side.
“Rebecca?” He takes another step in, and another thump sounds as his cane comes down on the thick carpet. “Are you ready?”
I set the statue back on the nightstand and smooth my hands down the front of my sweater. “Let’s go.”
Danforth turns back out the door, and I follow him into the hall, holding my breath each time his cane comes down on the floor. Daniel will see us together and know that I’m one step closer to being out of here.
We stop in front of an elevator and wait for the doors to open. Danforth smiles at me, but neither of us dares say a word. I never asked him what kind of security there is inside the building, but I’m willing to bet it’s in our best interest to stay quiet.
The elevator opens, and Danforth presses the button for the top floor of the building. Of course the Cardinal’s office would be at the top. We ride in silence, staring at the mirrored walls of the elevator box. My reflection stares back at me, still looking like a drowned rat. I refuse to enter the lion’s den looking like I’ve already been eaten. I smooth my hair down with shaky fingers, pull my shoulders back, and tilt up my chin. The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to a world of grandeur.
Every inch of the hallway we step into is covered in varying shades of red, from bright candy apple to almost black, blood red. Everything is coated in the color including the floral arrangements sitting atop red pedestals.
The effect is nauseating, and I imagine that’s exactly the way the Cardinal intended it. Ensuring anyone who came to visit him entered his office already unsettled.
Danforth steps down the short hallway, seemingly immune to the visual onslaught. Though I imagine he’s probably used to it after all these years. There’s only one door at the end of the hall, barn red against the slightly lighter woodwork.
“This is it.” Danforth turns and faces me. “You’re on your own from here on out. My advice is to be quick. Get the files you need and get out of here.”
I turn away and reach for the handle, but Danforth stops me with a hand to my wrist. He opens his mouth, but closes it again without saying a word. I wait for something more, but instead he takes a deep breath and gives my arm a quick squeeze. I feel like maybe I should say something, but before I can think of what might be appropriate, he’s turned around and halfway back to the elevator.
Grabbing the handle, I suck in and hold a big breath that is only released when the handle turns and the door swings open.
Inside I expect more of the overwhelming red of the hallway, but I get the opposite. The walls, floor, and ceiling are a pure, pristine white. Not even a piece of lint mars the continuity. On the far wall, a giant white laurel wreath is embossed on the smooth surface. The only strip of color comes in the desk that takes up the majority of the room. It’s the same blood red of the hallway carpet. It floats like a single drop of blood on a crisp white sheet.
My eye is drawn to it no matter how much I try to concentrate on the other items in the room. I’d be willing to bet that the laurel wreath frames his head perfectly when he’s sitting there. Another calculated move on the Cardinal’s part. There isn’t a single aspect of this man’s existence that isn’t calculated down to the tiniest detail.
I check the placement of my camera broach and get to work. I need to find documents that prove how the Cardinal is misusing his power. The drawers to the desk are unlocked, and I pull them all out as if what I need will jump out at me.
The drawers are a world of wonder on their own. One holds nothing but red pocket squares and ties, as if some emergency would necessitate the Cardinal changing his tie ten times in a row. Another drawer is full of cloth napkins, red of course. The top drawer is lined with pens, each of them the exact same, red porcelain with a black cap and silver clip. Ten of them fill the drawer like soldiers all facing the same way and the exact same distance apart. The other drawers are empty as if this office is nothing more than a place to eat lunch or change ties. It’s bizarre and leaves me with more questions than answers.
But there isn’t any time to find those kind of answers. I push back in t
he drawers and turn my attention to the floor to ceiling cabinets that line the north wall of the room. I don’t know where to start, so I grab the drawer in front of me and start there.
File folders line up in precise order. I open the first one and stare at a page of numbers. Columns of order numbers, quantities, and prices run down page after page. None of it makes sense at first glance, and I don’t have time to try to figure it out. I hold the paper up to face the broach and whisper, “I guess these are budgets. Moving on.”
I put the folder back and close the drawer. There has to be a better method to find what I’m looking for. With this many drawers, I could search all night and not come up with anything useful. This is the Cardinal, with a dozen backup ties and a drawer of precision mounted pens. There has to be a rhyme and reason behind how all of this is filed.
If this is the budget folder, then maybe there’s a folder for the Machine or the Acceptance ceremony. I run through the alphabet in my head and open random drawers down the wall until I find the M’s.
Math curriculum for boys and an approved music list, but nothing on the Machine. My hope sinks a bit. I rush back to the beginning of the wall and search the A’s. Acceptance should be at the beginning, but there’s nothing there. What if he only keeps mundane paperwork in his office? It’s not as if the Cardinal would tell anyone if he had another hidden location for the most important documents. But there’s nothing I can do about that.
I open more drawers until I get to R. Too much time has passed, so I quit worrying about keeping everything the same and just pull out folders at random. I almost drop the thick folder when I read the label “Rejection.”
I lean down to the camera. “This has got to be it, Daniel. Get ready to broadcast.” Carrying the folder in both hands like a precious artifact, I set it on the desk and sit down in the Cardinal’s chair. I’m certain that he never lets anyone else sit in his chair and can’t help but giggle knowing how much this defiance would infuriate him. The more I see of the man behind the podium, the more I understand the twisted mind that drives his actions. And the stronger my drive to take him down.
The first few pages of the file are general plans for the next Acceptance ceremony. It’s telling that they are in the folder labeled Rejection and not Acceptance. For the Cardinal, the ceremony isn’t a chance to welcome new members of society. It’s his opportunity to weed out anyone he wants. The rest is just the pageantry he puts up with.
I set aside the initial paperwork and suck in a breath. Sheet after sheet of individual dossiers. Dozens of teens, all of them turning sixteen before the next ceremony. All of them slated for Rejection. I scan the pages and choke out the crimes that will doom the very real people attached to each of these pages.
“Kimberly Swanson, NorthEast, incurable kidney disease. Adam Blakely, AtlanticCoast, sexual deviance. Roger Humphries, SouthWest, questions authority. Daniel, there are so many of them and not a one that I can see is in here because they’re destined to become a murderer. These are real people, and come this spring, the Cardinal plans to parade them out on the stage and pretend the Machine is judging them. But the Machine has nothing to do with it.”
Applause sounds from behind my chair. I spin around, pages flying around me, and stare into the hardened eyes of the Cardinal.
Thirty-Two
The room swirls in a cyclone of movement, sucking out all the sound until I can’t even hear my own breath. All that remains is me and the man who wants to kill me.
I grip the arms of the Cardinal’s expensive leather chair until my knuckles turn white. My mouth opens, but I’ve lost the ability to form words. All my brain can focus on is how to extricate myself from the eye of the storm.
The Cardinal’s hands come together in a final clap and drape loosely at his sides. “Rebecca Collins, we meet at last. Of course, I’ve poured over your file so many times, I feel as if we are already old friends. I know all about your parents back in MidWest and your sweet best friend…Cheryl, is it?”
“If you’re here to kill me, can we get it over with?”
The Cardinal shakes his finger at me like a mother reprimanding a child. “Now, Rebecca, no need to be vulgar. Guards are stationed outside the room and will be here to tend to you soon. But first I’d like to chat. I find you to be endlessly fascinating.”
He takes a few steps toward the desk, and the room stops spinning around us. I try to stand, but my legs are wet noodles that refuse to support me.
“No, please sit. It’s a very comfortable chair.” The Cardinal walks to the end of his desk and sits on the edge like this is all completely normal. “I see you’ve been very busy, Ms. Collins.”
“It’s Whedon.” Stupid to argue with him, but being this close bring out every sliver of defiance in me.
“My apologies. I don’t believe that wedding was reported to the proper offices. I’ll make a note to have that taken care of. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but you’ve married into a bit of a troublesome family, dear. Not that you’re unfamiliar with trouble.”
“I never wanted to cause trouble.” I turn to face him so my camera broach can watch along. “I was perfectly content to go along with the false world you’ve created until you tagged me in one of your files for Rejection.”
The Cardinal grabs one of the pages and scans the file of a life he’s about to ruin as if it’s a weather report. “Is that why you’ve come here tonight? For answers? Trying to learn why the Machine singled you out as a future criminal. Since you’re sitting in the middle of my office holding a very sensitive file, it stands to reason the Machine was right.”
“You can’t possibly believe that.”
“Oh, dear, I do. Shall we list your crimes? Attempted escape from the Permanent Isolation Territory, intercepting a government broadcast, corruption of a guard, hindering an official investigation, illegal exit from the country, and attempted treason.”
I gasp before I can stop myself.
“Yes, I know all about your little visit to Mexico. I have eyes and ears everywhere. Deny it if you want, but the truth is you’ve committed more crimes than the Machine could ever have predicted.”
“And these people here?” I hold up more sheets of sixteen-year-olds who will be Rejected in just a few months. “They haven’t seen the Machine yet, but you’ve already decided. Does the Machine even work, or is it all just a smoke screen?”
“Of course the Machine works.” The Cardinal stands and wipes an imaginary swipe of dust from his desk. “I have an excellent system for filtering out undesirable individuals from our society, but I’m only one man. The Machine sees all. It’s carefully calibrated to identify the internal chemistry and bioelectric currents in those with the potential to commit heinous crimes. The Machine is the sole reason our great nation hasn’t experienced a murder in almost a century.”
“So we aren’t counting the people you’ve murdered?”
“How dare you?” His easy tone disappears, and he marches back to me, his face scrunched with rage. “I would never murder a member of the Territories.”
I suck in a deep breath and hope that Daniel isn’t watching right now. “So Phillip Whedon is safe and sound inside the PIT?”
The Cardinal turns his back to me, but his words ring out crystal clear. “From time to time, certain individuals leave me no choice but to remove them from society for the protection of everyone.”
“Is that secret Cardinal code for murder?”
He spins back around to me, his face full of rage, but his words come out saccharine sweet. “Have you ever tended a garden?”
I nod, but sit silently for him to continue.
“A garden is a delicate ecosystem that requires constant monitoring. If a plant grows too large, it can take up too many of the resources from other plants. It might sink roots down and steal water from other plants or grow too high and block out their sunlight. A gardener has to prune these plants to maintain the order. And sometimes, the gardener will realize that constant p
runing of an individual plant is counterproductive, taking up too much of his time and disrupting his ability to care for the other plants. So that plant is removed.”
He paces a few steps away, turns, and walks back to me. “But the people walking by have no idea how much work the gardener has put into the garden. They don’t know the hours spent pulling up weeds and cultivating the perfect environment. They’ve no idea of the time it took to plan out where each plant would thrive and create the ideal aesthetic. They see only the beautiful result of a perfect garden. Do you see why what I do is so important?”
“I’ve always been more of a fan of wildflowers. No one there to dictate where each bloom has to blossom. And yet, the mixture of so many different flowers creates a scene so perfect that a human touch couldn’t possibly have anything to do with it.”
“You think you’re quite clever, don’t you, Ms. Whedon. Coming in here and pulling up files. Do you think that anyone out there will care? Why? Why would they concern themselves with the lives of a few individuals when they know that my actions are what provide them with their safety?”
“I think the families of these teens right here should be concerned.” I grab the stack of papers and pull one out at random. “Matilda Braithwrite of MidWest. Her parents, Ken and Amanda, will concern themselves that their daughter’s life will be forfeit because she…” I glance at the paper and my voice lifts an octave, “suffers from chronic anxiety and OCD.” I wave the paper in his face until he grabs it out of my hand. “This girl needs help and compassion, not a lifetime in the PIT.”
Rite of Redemption (Acceptance Book 3) Page 20