Breaking Order: Book 1 (Breaking Order Series)

by Catherine Kopf

  I crept across the hardwood floor, my shoes squeaking as I passed the hallway. Laws and regulations nailed to the walls were framed for all to see. I pressed my hand against the doorknob and turned it clockwise.

  My hands trembled, sweat drenching them. I glanced to make sure my father’s car wasn’t there. It was long gone if the burning smell of gasoline in the area was any indication. No neighbors were out to see me leave. Relief.

  Snow crunched beneath my feet, protecting me from holes or crevices in the road. The wind brushed up against my face, nipping at my cheeks and nose like a small dog. Shivering, I pulled my coat closer to my chest. A raven could be heard nearby; its crowing a grim omen cautioning what could happen if I wasn’t careful.

  Keeping my head down, I avoided any conversation. Speaking to the wrong person could get me into trouble. People strode along the streets, their demeanors similar to mine. I already spotted some people shoveling the snow away. The rule was: if The Regime’s Education office couldn’t operate, the military students were given a day off of studies to help out. I was helping myself.

  I needed Wes to know I was grateful for what he did with the bullies.

  I needed him to answer my questions on the warehouse.

  I needed answers to ease my mind and curiosity.

  Curiosity consumed my thoughts.

  If anyone knew...

  I’d be dead.

  Crap.

  Guess my curiosity consumed more of me than I thought. If I hadn’t known any better, I was borderline of being radical. Maybe I was in over my head. Was it too late to turn back?

  I finally arrived at the warehouse. There was no time to leave now.

  Eight:

  I took a deep breath. ‘Here goes nothing…’

  Fresh blood stains remained preserved under a layer of ice in front of the building. It hadn't been disturbed since the day before. My heart pounded as I approached the door and windows, still blocked by pieces of wood to board up their secrets... secrets I was about to uncover.

  I tore off a piece of the wood, creating a hole wide enough to get inside the building from the side. Holding my flashlight, I crawled in, expecting the building to be dark inside.

  But it wasn’t.

  Inside were several candles, each made from different colored waxes. Pieces of the boards on the windows had worn down from the weather and sunlight peeked through their crevices. Everything around me, even the wind, dimmed their noises to a small hushed tone when the boards fell back into their place.

  That’s when I saw him — and all of his renderings. They were lifelike pictures of everyday things from town and other things I hadn’t seen before. There was a man under a tree, and another showed a map of the stars, or at least that’s what I thought based off of the dots I saw against the background.

  All of these pictures were all beautiful, with different colors in intense shades. My jaw dropped, and I looked away, eyes burning from the colors.

  ‘He couldn't be dreaming, could he?’

  I shuddered at the thought of Wes being a radical. I didn’t want to have to report him after seeing Sam and the old man killed the day before. I wouldn’t lose my rescuer when he had a chance of being my friend.

  Wes worked on another piece at a stand. He picked up some sort of pencil with hairs at the end and dipped it into a green container. He splashed the object onto a huge sheet of paper.

  Looking over his shoulder, his work looked like a tree covered in tiny icicles that reflected off of the sun behind it. Wes poured out the contents of two containers, one red and the other yellow, onto a nearby plate and smeared them together.

  Taking his device, he dipped it into the substance. He continued to lash at the paper, drawing two men underneath the tree. Hesitantly, I tried to back away, but my intrigue pulled at me.

  Thump!

  My foot hit an old soda can, and it bounced across the floor. The sound echoed through the warehouse, an alarm giving away my location. Breaking the silence, the can tapped Wes’ foot from behind. I gulped.

  Wes snapped around and faced me. An apron was wrapped around his body, stained in places.

  ‘Is that blood!? No, no it can’t be. It doesn’t smell right.’

  The crimson substance stained bits of his fingers and splotched his face. Wes' jaw dropped for a second before he regained his composure with deep breaths. I could still see his hands shaking in fear, clinging to the objects in his hands like his life depended on it… whatever they were. Were they weapons? I couldn’t tell.

  “Great,” I mumbled, wide-eyed. Struggling to figure out what I would say, Wes stood there like a statue in an earthquake.

  He held his bristly pencil like a weapon to threaten me. "Go away!”

  “Wait! D-Don’t worry! I like your, er, papers!” I waved my arms in front of me.

  He raised his eyebrow and lowered his contraption. “You do?”

  “Yeah… um... they’re cool,” I stepped closer.

  Wes narrowed his eyes. “Thanks… I guess.”

  “Calista,” I supplied, smiling as I offered my right hand.

  “My friends call me Wes.” He scanned me and shook my hand.

  “Thanks for yesterday.”

  “You were the bullied in the cafeteria, weren't you?” he asked, “They called you scrawny thighs.”

  I nodded. “I wanted to thank you. Why did you do that? You didn’t have to.”

  “Everyone’s just like one of my drawings: unique and irreplaceable. Except for government officials. They can’t tell the difference between art and trash.” Wes buried his hands in his pockets.

  “These are wonderful, " I shifted my weight before turning to my colorful surroundings. They were just bright colors, but they peaked my interest, "How did you come up with all these amazing… um… colors?”

  His smile faded as he turned back to me, "You'll get me in trouble."

  "Um… I promise I won't," I vowed.

  Wes raised an eyebrow, "You swear not to tell?"

  "I'd be killed as an accomplice if I did," I said with a wry smile.

  “Guess I have no choice now, accomplice,” he said, chuckling to himself.

  “So, how d’you do this?” I asked.

  “I dream something up and use my creativity to make it a reality,” he said.

  My eyebrows shot up. “But that’s illegal. You should know that."

  “Shouldn’t be.”

  I stared at him as confusion clouded my features. “Laws aren’t optional.”

  “It shouldn’t even be a law. After all, every dream reveals a person’s true nature. A lot of these visions are forgotten, waiting to be unlocked with the right thought. It’s natural,” he said.

  I felt like a child confronted with algebra for the first time, "I don't understand."

  Wes let out a sigh of frustration. “Dreams speak from the soul and show people who they’re meant to be. They’re powered by ambition, but your dreams can also be true callings.”

  “That makes them sound important,” I paused, “But what are ‘ambitions’?”

  The word rolled off my tongue like I spoke a foreign language.

  Wes pinched his nose and shook his head in disapproval. “You’ve got to be kidding me! It’s something you’ve always wanted to do. You understand that, don’t you?”

  “Well, I have nothing I’ve always wanted to do,” I said.

  “Happiness comes from finding your passion, doing what you love to do. Ambitions like that, the ones you make for yourself, are so... satisfying.”

  Wes gazed at his drawings as if he was in a hallucination. I looked, feeling the pull to stare even longer than before. The pictures weren’t just renderings.

  Several had streaks of different colors that made them contrast from the others. The intense reds and blues seemed to shade together to create scenes and pictures. The man under the tree wrote in his notebook and watched as birds flew by him. The painting was so real, I could feel my nose numb in the cold weat
her. The map of the stars now blended in shades of blue to show the scene of bubbles floating just below the surface of the water.

  Even if these were forbidden, it was hard to look away. From the way they could make you feel, you could escape reality.

  ‘He’s just trying to brainwash me from the truth.’

  “Just because it satisfies you doesn’t make it right,” I countered to keep myself in check.

  “‘Right’ is subjective. I want to keep dreaming — rules don’t matter.” His eyes shone, matching the bright smile on his face.

  “It’s safer to just do what The Regime says. It’s a safe way to live. What are you thinking?” I scanned him up and down.

  His behaviour wasn’t abnormal, criminal activity aside. He could feel emotion like a human being. Wes argued like one too.

  He placed his hands in his pockets and let his shoulders relax. His orphic eyes locked on mine, and I tried to ward off his poetry with my logic. He shook his head, letting a chuckle escape his lips.

  “The Regime’s my set of cafeteria bullies—just on a bigger scale.”

  “You’d throw your life away to stop bullies?”

  “As I said,” Wes crossed his arms, “Dreams are worth the risk, worth more than my life without them. It's a good thing, Charlotte.”

  I groaned. “It's Calista.”

  “Doesn't change my point.”

  I still had my doubts. “How have you been able to dream and skip your medication?”

  His face was grim. “I’d rather not talk about it…”

  My eyes widened, and my jaw dropped. “You’re in a little deep already, don’t you think?”

  “It’s complicated.” Wes turned away from me, his shoulders stiff.

  “You can tell me. I’ve… um… never dreamed before...” I assured him, placing my hand on his shoulder.

  “It’s... well…” He gulped, his lip quivering. His eyes watered, and he swallowed a lump in the back of his throat.

  “Come on! You’re freaking me out!” I took a step back.

  “Go back to your father,” Wes' voice rose a little louder than a whisper.

  “You can’t open up and turn away,” I said.

  He sighed, letting a deep puff of air escape his lungs. “It’s easy to dream when you’ve got no parents around, isn’t it? If The Regime doesn’t know you exist, it’s easy to skip medication.”

  “Good gracious...” I placed a hand over my mouth. “I… I didn’t know...”

  Wes sighed. “How could you have known?” He glanced towards the entrance of the warehouse, his eyes glazed over like it was all playing again in his head.

  “Hey? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I guess so…” Wes sighed and slumped over. “I can still remember. It’s… seared into my memory… the blood on the street, the screams, the man dressed in a government coat… the gunshots...”

  “How uh… how old were you?” I asked, swallowing a lump in my throat.

  “Too young. The Regime didn’t know I was there. I doubt I would have escaped if...” He bowed his head.

  My eyes filled with tears. “I-I’m so sorry... Do you… Do you know who killed them?”

  “Yes,” Wes said with a stiff tone. “Hugo Knight.”

  My heart clenched. Swallowing, I forced myself to exhale. “You're... certain about that?”

  “That monster took them into the street and slaughtered them.” He clenched his fists and grit his teeth, but something in his eyes made me feel a little hesitant about his story.

  “Maybe they deserved it…” I mumbled. It sounded callous, even to me; but for my sanity, it needed to be considered.

  His gaze hardened, turning his sea blue eyes to ice. It made me eager to take back what I said. “A poet? A painter? Aurelia was just a baby! You’re saying my sister deserved to be taken away?”

  “That poor girl...” My face grew hot as if I was responsible for her death. But maybe that was the point. “I saw you look at me yesterday. Did you lead me to the warehouse?”

  “Your family has government connections, so what better way to get Aurelia back, right?”

  I gulped. “My father would never stand for that!”

  “I’m resisting the anti-dreaming tyrants, searching for her, hoping that she might be alive. I don’t care what your father thinks.”

  ‘He looks older than fourteen. Is he mixing up the lies he’s told me?’

  At the numbers, I raised an eyebrow. “You’re in my class; That makes you fourteen.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sixteen.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “I... lied about my age. For my sister. My caretaker, Henry, manipulated the paperwork and the ID I presented to the guards at the school gates. Simple. Besides, I need to know what happened to her, to know she’s okay.”

  “But why military school?”

  “When she was taken, I have a feeling that The Commander gave her to a wealthy, respected family. It’s the only way he could keep tabs on her,” Wes said.

  “You’re doing all of this for your sister?” I asked.

  A pause filled the room, awkward and long. Shallow breaths could be heard in the silence, but Wes’ face tingled with determination and passion in his eyes. You could tell he was dedicated to his mission.

  Wes was a radical. Associating with him was enough to get me killed, especially since I didn’t tell the authorities. Conformity and kindness clashed in my head, and the words of Father and Wes raced through my mind.

  It was everything I understood and knew against my curiosity and any independent thinking my brain absorbed from Wes' sentences. If anything had happened to my brother, I would want to know he was safe too.

  “Hey, since we’re here... want to try painting?” Wes handed me a piece of canvas paper and his painting device. A rebellious glint lingered in his eyes.

  He asked me to commit treason.

  Nine:

  I looked at the tools in my hands and thrust them back to Wes.

  “If my father found out...”

  Wes placed his hand on my shoulder. I jumped. “Don’t be afraid to create, Calista. It’s a part of us.”

  “But, the Antiserum…” my face flustered as I turned to face him, “It prevents dreaming and creativity.”

  Wes smiled. “There’s nothing holding you back from being creative when you let yourself be inspired… even if it’s painful.”

  He had rescued me in the cafeteria, and I thought we could become friends. I wasn’t expecting him to be a loon!

  I swallowed hard. “It’s dangerous! Using dreaming and creativity might overthrow the system, and The Regime will hunt and kill you. No one will see your grave.”

  “What?” Wes blew a raspberry, “That’s ridiculous.”

  “My father calls it a dangerous mental illness. Is there another reason it’s banned?” I asked.

  “First, use my paintbrush to make something. Maybe you’ll find the answer yourself.” Wes handed the tool back.

  I took it from him and thought hard, feeling like a preschooler in their first class. My hand shook as I took in shallow breaths.

  ‘This is wrong.’

  “Go on. Don’t be afraid to create something, Calista.” He motioned to two jars next to him.

  I dipped my brush into a jar of indigo paint and jabbed it onto the paper. Paint splattered my clothes, giving them stains.

  “I knew this was a bad idea!” My voice croaked. I was getting flustered.

  “Gently! Have fun with the brush, but don’t hurt it! These are hard to find!” Wes' eyes widened, and his voice quivered.

  “Sorry…” I bowed my head.

  “My bad. You need an apron,” Wes sighed, “You don’t want to paint yourself."

  ‘There’s no way Father won’t know!’

  Although I could be killed, I had a feeling of curiosity course through my veins, begging me to continue. The paint already gave away my guilt. There was no turning back now, despite my head telling m
e to run.

  My inner thoughts echoed in my head, yet my heart wanted to defy them and try something new. Even if Father got to me, I was already gone. My thoughts were tearing me away from the inside.

  ‘It’s just one picture. Just try it…’