I approach Marcus apprehensively. He’s so angry; I should be frightened, but he’s never hurt me before. I have to take a chance. Maybe if I explain what happened he’d understand, eventually. It’s a long shot, but I have to try.
“Marcus?” I murmur. I don’t know if he heard me or if he’s just ignoring me, since he continues to strike the wall fervently. His knuckles are bloody, black and violet and the skin is peeling off. His face has turned a shade of red I didn’t know could exist in human skin.
I reach out to touch his arm before he throws it forward again, but he swings around, yanking it away from me, propelling me into the floor. Agonizing pain fills my insides—not from the fall, but from the torturous heartbreak. He really, truly hates me.
“Don’t touch me,” Marcus growls.
“Marcus, please just listen. It’s not what you think.” I lift myself up off the floor, but remain distanced.
“What I think? What I think is that you slept with your ex, got pregnant, and allowed me to believe it was my child! Tell me, am I wrong?” His eyes are clouded with tangled webs of torment. All because of me.
“I didn’t mean to,” I cry.
“Didn’t mean to what? Bed him or lie to me?”
“Neither. I mean . . . I didn’t know what I was doing. And I couldn’t tell you because I knew how much it would hurt you.”
A sardonic chuckle escapes from him before he glowers at me again.
“Didn’t know what you were doing? So, what, you have no control over yourself now?”
“Marcus, we were drunk,” I say.
“Oh, well, that makes it all okay,” he shouts sarcastically. Then he turns and strikes the wall three more times.
“It was a mistake. I never meant to hurt you.”
He stops and turns back to me, shooting bolts of lightening into me. I cower in his fury.
“Mistake? You knew what that would do to me, Pollen. And you did it anyway. Drunk or not. It’s your problem now.” He looks into my eyes, then down at my belly, as if he just fell into a cesspool of vomit and feces. “I’m done with you. Stay away from me.”
I collapse onto the floor as he tromps away, without even a glance back. I bury my face in my arms and what little semblance of an emotional shield I had put up ruptures. Tears spew out of me from every orifice. I could drown in my own salty tears if I lie here long enough. I don’t care. The powerful bond that Marcus and I shared has been eternally severed. How could I ever expect him to forgive me? I can’t even forgive myself.
I hear voices around me but I pay them no heed. I just want to be left alone. Alone with my suffering. Left alone to die on this cold, unrelenting floor. I’m lying in a dark and lonely abyss at the precipice of a black hole, ready to be sucked in to nonexistence. Just leave me alone.
The floor falls out from beneath me and soon I feel the warmth of somebody carrying me. I don’t bother to open my eyes to see who it is; I couldn’t see through the veil of tears anyway. From the smell, citrus and cedar, I’d guess it was Granby. I lean my head into his chest and allow my tears to soak into the fabric. I am once again a child in my father’s arms. Only I’m not crying over a skinned knee, but my shattered heart, my irreparably broken dreams.
* * *
I don’t remember being brought back to my apartment. I drift in and out of consciousness, seeing the alternating faces of Jansen and General Granby who seem to be afraid to leave me alone. Perhaps they view me as suicidal now. I can’t say for sure that I’m not.
In those moments when I sleep long enough to dream, my head is filled with nightmares. But they’re not the fantastic nightmares of my youth. No, these are reality. I relive the moment Glenn burst through the door. Marcus attacking him. I feel the pain of Marcus’s scorching eyes. And the worst memory of all—that moment when he ripped the ring off my finger. I wish he’d just taken my finger with it.
At some point I fall into a deep slumber. But it is anything but restful.
The scorching heat threatens to devour every ounce of moisture from my body. I stand in a dark room engulfed in vivid yellow-orange flames that dance around me like glowing ribbons rising from the floor. My tattered ivory wedding gown disintegrates into rags on my body.
In the distance a scream rattles me. But I cannot move. My feet have been nailed to the floor—literally. I look down at the enormous nail heads at the apexes of my feet. I try to pull and twist them out, but they won’t budge.
Marcus appears before me, his tuxedo in rags. His eyes are no longer the oceanic blue I come to love. Now they are almost pure black, reflecting only the scarlet flames that surround us. The hatred in his eyes burns a hole into my chest. The stinging is almost unbearable. I open my mouth but before I can say anything his hair turns to flames then his body disappears in a pile of black ash.
My heartbeat drums louder as it strives to pump the thickened blood throughout my veins. Suddenly I can’t breathe. Paralyzed and suffocating, I try to lie down, to surrender to my imminent death. A voice rings out, awakening me.
“Auntie Pollen!” Evie?
“Auntie Pollen, help me!” Evie’s screams are the bloodcurdling push I need to rise up and face my fate. I can’t lie here and wave the white flag yet. She needs me.
“Evie, I’m coming!”
I jolt up in my bed, surrounded by stark darkness. Sweat seeps from every crevice of my body as if the fiery torment of my nightmare had actually happened. It takes me a moment to catch my racing breath. Then I fall back on to my pillow and cry myself back to sleep.
Chapter 19
I stare at the little peanut on the ultrasound printout, remembering how just yesterday Marcus and I shared a moment of utter bliss, listening to the pattering of our little boy’s heartbeat. The flimsy photo paper has become creased and wrinkled from over handling, and smudged on the bottom edge where my tears seeped into it. In the course of only a few hours I experienced the happiest moment of my life, and the darkest moment.
I’ve been bedridden since they brought me back here yesterday. I’m still wearing my wedding dress, though now it is wrinkled and soiled. Marcus’s wedding band is still tied to my waist. I slip in on to my index finger and twist it around, trying to find some source of comfort. But there is none to be found.
A knock at the door forces me to abandon my cozy nest of blankets and pillows that still smell of Marcus. It’s probably Timber, bringing Evie back. In all the hoopla, I vaguely remember Timber saying she’d keep Evie for the night, to give me some rest. I suppose that’s why Granby and Jansen were here instead of her. She knew I’d never let Evie stay with anyone else.
I drag myself to the door, stopping to glance wistfully at the mirror on the way. I could pass for a pretty decent zombie right now. My skin is a ghostly shade of white and the makeup I wore yesterday is smeared with gray mascara lines drawn down my cheeks. My hair is still pinned up, but it’s barely hanging on. I quickly pull out the pins and comb my fingers through the braids to give it that wavy ‘just got back from the beach’ look. It’ll have to do for now.
By the time the knock sounds again I am already opening the door. Glenn stands outside with his fist still raised. His left cheek is swollen, painted with varying shades of violet, and his bottom lip has crusted over where it was split yesterday. The look in his eye could make even a heartless shrew swoon.
“Don’t,” I mumble, looking down at the floor, anywhere but his face.
“Don’t what?”
“Pity me.”
“Can I come in Pollen? I just want to talk.” His voice is soft and gentle, like velvet.
“Why not? I don’t think there’s any more damage you can do,” I grumble, opening the door and slithering back to my bed.
Glenn steps aside into the kitchen nook and I hear the water running for a few seconds. Then he kneels down by the bed, and gently washes the smudges from my cheeks with a damp cloth.
“I’m sorry, Pollen. I don’t know what came over me yesterday. I swear to you, I didn’t mean to crash
your wedding like that. That wasn’t my intention at all. I want you to be happy. I really do, even if it is with someone else. But after what they told me, I had to see for myself.”
“After who told you what?”
“One of the Watchers. He told me you were pregnant. I remembered what you’d said about Marcus—how he can’t have kids, and I knew it had to be mine. I’m so sorry for what I did—it just took me by surprise and, I don’t know, something just came over me, like I was possessed or something. I grossly overreacted.”
A sharp, acerbic half laugh escapes my mouth.
“I think you took everyone by surprise.” I shake my head while exhaling sharply. “Marcus left me. He won’t see me anymore.” I’m sure Glenn’s happy to hear that. After all, he must have had some selfish intentions for crashing the wedding. But his expression isn’t exactly one of triumph. It’s more concerned.
“Give him some time Pollen. Maybe he’ll come around.” Glenn’s attempt to cheer me up falls flat. He doesn’t know Marcus like I do.
“No, Glenn. He won’t. You didn’t see how happy he was when we heard the baby’s heartbeat. He was crying. The doctor told him he could still be the father. He really believed that.”
Glenn slides over onto the bed and lies behind me propped up by his elbow. Before I can protest that he is overstepping his boundaries, he leans over and wipes my tears with a handkerchief. Then he places one of the blankets over my shoulder and gently strokes my arm. I don’t know what his intentions are, but I relax and allow him to console me.
“How far along are you?” he asks quietly.
I have to think for a minute before I can respond. “Ten weeks. I think.”
“Are you still having morning sickness?”
I almost ask him how he knows, but then I remember—we’ve been through this before. The first time, when I was pregnant with Lex, he was the only person I confided in during the first trimester. I was so young and scared; I couldn’t tell my parents until it was impossible to hide the bump even under baggy clothes and an armful of books. Glenn eased me through the nausea and fatigue of those first few weeks, not like a panicking teenage boy, but as a warm-hearted father-to-be.
“Yes. No. I was, but I think it’s just my emotions making me sick now.”
“You should eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Pollen, when was the last time you ate?”
I didn’t eat anything yesterday because of the wedding. My dress was already tight around my belly and I didn’t want to add any more inches. I figured I’d eat at the reception. And of course I couldn’t even think of food without reflexively gagging after Marcus renounced me.
“It’s been a couple days,” I murmur.
“Damn Polly, you’ve got to eat something. It’s not just about you anymore. Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll take you down to the food court,” Glenn commands, standing back up.
“No!” I sit up and grab his arm. “I don’t want to see anyone right now. And if Marcus sees us together—”
“Okay. I understand. Look I’ll go get you something and bring it up, okay?”
I nod just to get him to leave. I probably won’t eat whatever he brings up anyway.
* * *
Glenn returns about half an hour later and slinks into the bed at my feet where I hadn’t budged since he left. The savory scent of teriyaki fills my nostrils and awakens me from my trance. My first instinct is to rummage the kitchenette for a bowl to vomit into.
“I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I got this,” Glenn says hooking his fingers under the flap of one of the two takeout boxes he brought and handing it to me. I peek under the lid. Fragrant peppers, mushrooms, and peas sail through swirls of wispy rice noodles. I can’t believe he remembered. When I was pregnant with Lex, I used to call Glenn at all hours of the night and beg him to bring me this dish. It was all I craved for nine months.
I peer up at Glenn through my lashes. I don’t have to say anything. He deciphers the look on my face as one could only do through an unspoken connection.
“You think I’d forget the noodles? You pestered me for months about that.” He laughs.
A sad smile stretches my lips.
“Sometimes I imagine how different things might have been if Lex hadn’t died,” Glenn sighs. “He probably would’ve survived the virus too. We’d have been a family. A real family.”
My smile diminishes. “If I hadn’t killed him.”
“Polly, stop that.” Glenn snaps. “It wasn’t your fault. Stop blaming yourself.”
I fumble with the lid, attempting to close it, but Glenn stops me. “Eat,” he commands.
“But Glenn, I really can’t—”
“Please, eat,” he pleads in a gentler tone.
I really don’t want to. My mouth sours and my throat tightens as I imagine the taste and texture of the noodles in my mouth. I can’t really handle anything stronger than water right now. Perhaps my past craving has turned into a pregnancy aversion. But to appease him I pinch the fork he offers me and twirl it around in noodles, taking birdlike nips.
Glenn studies me as I attempt to keep the sparse food from regurgitating. I can feel the warmth of his gaze burn into me, making me squirm with discomfort.
“Do you have to watch me?” I blurt out.
He laughs. “I’m sorry. I just want to make sure you actually eat something. Plus I like watching you. It brings me comfort after the past month.”
After a few more nibbles, the nausea fades and with regretful awareness, I have to admit to myself that Glenn was right about eating. I actually feel better—physically anyway.
“Glenn, how did you get back here?”
Glenn shifts on the bed so that he is leaning against the bars of the footboard, facing me, with one folded leg on the bed. He jabs his fork into his takeout box, and swirls it around.
“I was wandering the Web and found my way back. I knew it was risky, but I hoped that after all this time they’d realized I wasn’t the culprit and let me back in.”
“So they just let you in?”
“No.” Glenn spears a large hunk of chicken and brings it to his mouth, chewing thoroughly before speaking again. “The guys at the south entrance held me at gunpoint for a while. Then Granby came. He escorted me inside and explained what happened—with Lynx. When I asked to see you, he told me about the wedding.
“That’s when that one Watcher said you were pregnant. I just snapped. They refused to take me to the hall, so we got into a scuffle, and, well, you know the rest.”
My tears well up again at the memories of the wedding. I need to stay off that subject, keep the attention on Glenn for now.
“How did you even get into the Web?”
“It was about a week after they banished me. At first I didn’t know where I was. They dropped me off in some remote wooded area and I wandered around for a day or two. I found a cave to shelter in—turns out they dropped me by a mountain. Initially, I thought it was Mount Baerstynn, but it wasn’t. I guess that would have been too close to Crimson.
“Anyway, the heat was rising exponentially every day, but the cave seemed to remain cool so I was preparing to stay there for a while. I needed food. I found a road and followed it. That led me to an abandoned a general store. Lucky for me, because it was so remote it hadn’t been looted. But instead of transporting the food back to the cave, I thought I’d check the bunker. I stayed there for a few weeks, then when I thought enough time had passed I used a key I found to unlock the padlock to the Web. It took about three weeks for me to find my way back.”
“I’m sorry . . . about what happened to you,” I whisper, although I’m more sorry he came back.
“Pollen, it wasn’t your fault. You know that. And it’s not your fault what happened between us. But it happened and now we have to deal with the fallout.”
I sigh. I hate it when he’s right. I wish I could turn back the clock and undo the last couple of months.
Sittin
g in silence, poking at my noodles, a memory creeps into my head. My head shoots up at Glenn.
“Glenn. Before you were banished you said something about Drake; that he was alive.”
Glenn tenses and scratches his neck while he speaks as if he wants desperately to avoid the question. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?”
“Well?” I prod.
Glenn exhales softly and rubs his eyes. I can see he’s anticipating my reaction. “He’s at Crimson. In solitary. D321.”
My heartbeat races and my lungs deflate. How can that be? They told us he was killed by a landmine. Why would they take him to Crimson and tell us he’s dead? My mind whirls in confusion.
“How do you know?”
Glenn hesitates, then reluctantly continues, “They brought him to the interrogation room. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I didn’t want you to do anything rash. He asked about you.”
The interrogation room. Thanks to Marcus, I know what they do there. I look up at Glenn’s eye patch and shudder at the thought of what they might have done to my brother—what Glenn might have done to him.
“Did you torture him?”
Glenn stands up and turns his back to me, cupping his hand over his forehead, giving me my answer. But I have to hear it for myself.
“Glenn. Answer me!” I demand.
“Yes,” he breathes. I gasp, trying to control my breath but my body is going into full panic mode.
“Get out,” I growl through gritted teeth.
Glenn turns back to me, begging with his lonely eye. “Pollen, that’s not me anymore I—”
“Get out!” I scream and hurl my box of noodles at him. They slither down his shirt like elongated worms. Glenn hangs his head and traipses to the door.
“I really am sorry,” he says as he closes the door and the room is quiet once again with only the sound of my heaving breath to keep me company.
All the painful memories of my shattered wedding are superficial scratches compared to this. My brother is alive. Imprisoned and tortured, but alive. How can I lie here and wallow in depression when I know he’s suffering there all alone. Evie needs him. She needs her real father. I never thought I’d say this again.
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