Blind the Stars (Rose of the Dawn Series Book 3)

by Maguire, Ily

  Dory shakes her head. “No no no no no.”

  Ezekiel walks her over to the couch and sits her down. She keeps shaking her head. “Here, lie down.” He puts a pillow on the arm of the couch and guides Dory to it. She is exhausted. She stops shaking her head, but tremors still travel throughout her body.

  “We need to find my sister,” I state. Pike is still in the kitchen with me.

  “We should start by regrouping at the safe house. It’s not safe here and we’ve got to be on someone’s watch list by now. The Hollow has to know you’re back here. We can’t stay here much longer.”

  “If Evie escaped by herself, where could she go? How far could she get from the Imperial Hospital on her own?” My mind races, but I’ve got no real concept of how far a child could get on her own.

  “If your sister got out of the hospital alone, she could probably go anywhere. It wouldn’t be possible for anyone to get out unless they had a little help. Or-”

  I can’t look at him. She’s not dead. That’s not what he meant.

  Pike continues, “Once she was out of the hospital, she would be in the heart of the microcity. As long as someone took her in, she would be hidden. Until someone started to look for her and then they would just have to turn on the mandatory cameras in each of the rooms in every building. It would take some time, but the Beadledom would find her.” I can’t tell if he thinks that’s what’s happened or not. “When we have a plan together, once we’re in the safe house, we’ll worry about where she could’ve gone.”

  I watch as his eyes shift to the screens projecting outside. It’s dusk and there is less light. The lawn is littered with those crows again. I see another shadow and then it’s gone.

  “We should leave in the morning. We’ll have a better chance. We’ll have to be extra careful to keep you and Dory out of site, but we’ll have a better chance of knowing if we’re being followed in the daylight.” Pike walks to the edge of the kitchen.

  In my head I can hear the madness that has terrorized my sister. I can’t think straight. I’m melting down, but no one seems to notice.

  “They’re always watching, Rose.” Dory is sitting up on the couch. Everything other than her is blurry in my vision. She is clear. I can see her clearly and her grin is thin. Her eyes are wide.

  “The Imperial Bead,” I state. I’m hyperventilating.

  “Or worse,” Ezekiel mutters.

  8

  Pike and I don’t say much. I’ve pulled anything and everything out of the kitchen for him to eat and have placed it on the counter. Marinated vegetables, preserved fruit and vacuum sealed crackers litter the table. I should call people in to eat, but Dory lies on the couch beside Ezekiel. He reads to her from a book. It is almost eleven in the evening and I’m tired.

  “I think I might get some rest,” I say, yawning. Dory looks at me over the pages.

  “The bedrooms are back there,” Pike says. I know. I smile gratitude. He’s tired, too. His eyes are bloodshot and red. “I know you don’t want to think the worst,” he says moving closer to me. He puts his hand on mine and then helps me move the food back into the fridge.

  “But?” I ask, not knowing what’s next.

  “But, just be prepared.”

  “Prepared,” I state. “You don’t think we’re going to find her? Or you don’t think we’re going to find her alive? Which is it?”

  I’ve made Pike uncomfortable. He closes the fridge and runs his hands over his head.

  “Both,” he says. “Neither. Let’s just stay positive, and –”

  “Hope for the best, expect the worst. I know.” What could be worse? I should’ve known Evie. She’s my sister.

  I look over at Pike. His face is twisted and he’s in pain. He winces.

  “Listen Rose, I wanted to –” he takes the last jar from my hands and puts it on the counter. He rubs his hands on his pants and then takes mine.

  “What?” I ask.

  “About what happened out in the woods,” again he pauses.

  “You mean the –”

  “The kiss,” he finishes.

  “That was a week ago.”

  “Yes,” he pauses and I think back to the most blissful, exciting moment I’ve ever experienced. He kissed me like that was the only thing he was put on this earth to do. He let me kiss him back and I loved every minute of it. “I don’t want you to think I was using you, Rose.”

  “Using me for what?” I laugh. I never thought he was using me. Not like JJ or The Hollow tried to. Though he could if he wanted.

  “I wanted to tell you that I liked our kiss. In the woods. I hope that isn’t too weird to say.” Pike looks away. I can’t figure him out from one minute to the next so I’m trying to track his emotions and follow them as best I can.

  “I liked it, too.” I smile. I don’t just like him. I love him. I move closer.

  “And there’s something between us. Something you can feel.” He searches for the right words.

  “Something electric,” I say.

  “Yes. That’s it.” He waits before continuing, “I wanted to tell you, well, about me and Hara.” His hand runs back over his head. My heart starts pounding. I take a step back in panic for what he’s about to tell me. “There’s nothing going on between us. We’re just good friends.”

  “Oh,” I exhale. I can’t help but grin. I’m beaming inside.

  “And-”

  And I think he might ask me to be his girlfriend or something - whatever people that like each other do. I hope he asks me to be his girlfriend. I want him to kiss me again. If I were his girlfriend, I could kiss him whenever I wanted.

  “And when all is said and done and we get everything back to normal, if that’s possible, I hope we can –”

  “We can what?” I interrupt, still anxious. Emotional ups and downs are so new to me. I step closer to be ready if he tries to kiss me. It would be our second, no third. I take in a deep breath.

  “We can stay friends.”

  “Friends?” It comes up like vomit and I choke it down. The butterflies in my stomach make me sick. I feel a spurt of acid, thick in my throat.

  “I think we’re pretty good together and I wouldn’t want to ruin any of that with some complicated relationship. I like you too much. When things get figured out with your family, it will all be complicated enough.” Pike walks over to a chair.

  I like you too much. I don’t want to ruin that. I don’t want to be friends. I want to be more. If he’s not with Hara, then why can’t he be with me? I wonder if I kiss him. Would that make him love me instead of like me?

  “Are you okay, Rose?” he asks.

  “I’m fine.” I’m not. The muscles of my chest are tight and I can’t swallow. The taste of throw-up is thick in my mouth.

  I glance over at Dory and Ezekiel. Dory’s face moves down to the book Ezekiel reads. She’s heard every word Pike and I have said. She frowns.

  My crazy sister pities me.

  “So friends it is.” Pike looks over at me. He smiles and then moves out of the kitchen to a chair. He slouches down and his legs are outstretched, crossed at the ankles. His arms are also crossed, over his chest. He closes his eyes.

  “Yeah, friends,” I state louder than expected and storm out of the kitchen. Pike doesn’t look up. I go into one of the bedrooms and slam the door. I don’t know what to do. Why am I angry? Who am I angry with?

  I’m angry with my parents who kept me home from school and at Jenny for not telling me what I was missing. I’m angry with Dory for having Ezekiel the way I want Pike. Even in her state, she is infinitely happier than I may ever be. And I’m angry with Pike. For liking me, but not wanting to take the chance on liking me more. Is this how that works?

  I flop down on the twin-sized mattress. It’s like Aegis and The Hollow in my own home. Disgusting. I stare up at the ceiling before sitting up to look around the room. An identical bed beside this one is separated only by a nightstand. This would be where Dory and I sleep if we had to sta
y down here. The space is small, but with most of the amenities of a regular bedroom, minus the attached bathroom. There are two beds, a chair and a footstool, a desk with a wooden chair, and two dressers – one short and long, the other tall and narrow.

  I get up and walk over to them. I open one of the drawers and see clothes that would fit either Dory or me. All black and white. All clean. I peel off the black utility wear of Aegis. I turn to my right. There is a full-length mirror mounted on the wall. Hesitant, I step over to it. Naked, all I can see is my arm.

  The light grey of the plastic is a compliment to the pale-whiteness of my skin. The wires that course in and out of the bionic arm at the wrist and elbow are all of the colors of the rainbow. I run my real hand up the plastic from my wrist to my shoulder. Smooth. Almost warm, but much cooler where silver bolts hold the plastic in place. The skin around my shoulder is dimpled and folds over the top of the prosthetic. It isn’t fat, but just excess skin. Is the arm too small? I gently tug at the arm. It doesn’t budge. My skin begins to sweat. Clammy and cold. Why am I so nervous? Then I twist it. A bit to the right and then to the left. It wiggles a bit more each time until I’m able to slide my arm right off my shoulder.

  All sensation is lost and in a moment of panic, I jam the arm back onto my shoulder. I hold it there, squeezing it in case it wants to fall off. What have I done? I should’ve left it alone. Please don’t fall off. I uncurl the fingers of my real arm from around my bionic upper arm. I stop squeezing and let go. I exhale a deep sigh of relief. It doesn’t go anywhere. And I can move it again. I wiggle my fake fingers and flap my arm at the elbow.

  I look at the clothes on the dresser. Folded in perfect squares, stacked in a perfect pile.

  I’m going to try again. I want to see what’s left. I need to see what’s left.

  Again, gently, but with greater purpose, I pull the bionic arm off of my shoulder. I don’t need to wiggle it back and forth. I stand in front of the mirror in shock. In awe. I take another deep breath. This time it isn’t relief I feel, but amazement. It’s amazing.

  From my neck down to my shoulders, I am symmetrical. The slight curve of my shoulder on one side leads to an arm where if it flexes and relaxes, I can see a bicep and triceps. Muscles in my forearm contract when I squeeze my hands into a fist. My nails are lighter, but the same color as my skin. Lines on the palm of my hand are mine. Fingerprints are no others’.

  On the other side, my shoulder leads to my upper arm. There is no bicep that I can see. The end of my arm has been rounded off to a dull point that seems to have been folded in on itself. It is the same color as my skin, but a shade lighter. I touch the top of what’s left of my arm with a shaky hand and run my fingers over dimples in the skin. Soft. Brighter pink closer to the stump. This is the part of my arm that would be hidden by the bionic one. The part of my arm that is in the process of regrowing. I stare at my arm in the mirror. There are target points and wires all over the stump where they connect to sensors within the prosthetic. I run my fingers over the wires. They don’t penetrate my skin, which surprises me. I can feel every flutter of my fingers, every pause over the wiring on my arm. Every gentle tug. This is how they are able to pick up motor signals from my shoulder. This is how I am able to think something and have my arm do it. This is how I can feel.

  “I can do this,” I tell my mirrored self, turning to the left and then the right. Lifting my arms above my head, then bringing them back down and twisting them around my body. “I can live with this,” I smile at myself. This is me now.

  I don’t know how long I spend in front of the mirror, but a knock at the door shakes me from my exploration. Pike. My heart sinks again.

  “It’s me, Rose,” Dory says through the door.

  “Be out in a minute,” I call. More embarrassed at the thought of someone seeing my naked body, than my missing arm, I get stuck in the white tank top I pull over my head. I pick the prosthetic up from a dresser and place it back onto my shoulder. Within a moment, it is reattached, the nerve signals reconnected to my body. I pull on a pair of black leggings and another black shirt.

  The door opens and Dory steps into the room. She smiles and walks over to stand beside me. Her reflection in the mirror is harsh. The lines on her face are deep and cracked. Discolored spots appear on her neck and chest.

  I look from the mirror to Dory.

  The skin on her face is grey. I remember at one time her eyes had the sparkle of stars. Like the ones outside Aegis. Now, they look like dull stones in a gaunt, empty face. I stare at the lines beside her eyes, around her mouth. The creases on her brow. There are slight discolored spots on her cheeks and across her nose.

  “I wish I could say it was an illusion, Rose.”

  “What do you mean?” I exhale. The air must be filtered because it’s making me lightheaded. I rub my forehead. I don’t have any lines like Dory.

  “When we were growing up, Mom always lamented the aging process. She said she would never get old.” Dory doesn’t answer my question.

  “She never really had to worry about looking old. I always remember her as beautiful.” I think of my mother’s beauty fondly.

  “Mom was stunning, but she didn’t think so,” she says. “I don’t know how she’ll survive.”

  “She’s been surviving for over a year,” I counter.

  “Her ARd parts won’t hold up without rejuvenation. Some of her parts may disintegrate without the general maintenance and upkeep.”

  “Why did she do it?” I ask as if I don’t know. I didn’t know my mother. I admit it.

  “Because it made her happy,” Dory answers.

  I stare at our reflections. I don’t look as tired as my sister.

  “What will happen to her?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. She’ll probably lose more and more of herself until she’s all chipped away. Until there’s nothing left.”

  “But there’s nothing left anyway. She’s completely ARd,” I state. What more is there to chip away?

  “Her soul, I guess,” Dory says and I have nothing to say. She picks at a blemish on the side of her cheek. She touches it with her index finger, rubs with all four, and then her thumb. She picks again. It starts to bleed. She wipes her hand over it.

  “It doesn’t matter about Mom,” I begin. I touch Dory’s hand and she lets it fall from her face. I walk back to the bed and she follows me.

  “What does matter then?” she asks, lying on the bed beside me.

  “What matters right now is finding Evie.”

  9

  I doze off and wake up when Dory gets up from the bed. She doesn’t even make a dent in the mattress. She leaves the room. It’s another airtight seal. Shutting the door behind her I can’t hear a sound from the living space beyond the door. The room is cool and dark. I get up from the bed, kicking my legs over the side and walk over to open the door to the rest of the quarantine cellar. My eyes don’t have to adjust because it is the same low light as my room.

  Pike is sitting in the same chair, but with Dory’s blanket over his chest and arms. He sleeps.

  Ezekiel is on the couch. He’s sleeping, too.

  A door behind me opens.

  I turn.

  “Hello? Anyone there?”

  No one is there, no one answers.

  I go over to the open door, closing the one to the living space behind me. The light gradually brightens as I enter and heat rises, sensing motion. Warm air blows around me. It’s the master suite with a king-sized bed, chaise lounge, and drawers built into the length of one entire wall. I walk over to the closet. My heart pounds so loud, I can feel it in my ears. I tense my muscles and squeeze my fists. Even my bionic one.

  “If someone’s in there -” I begin and then throw open the door. A fully-stocked walk-in closet, filled with dresses and skirts hanging neatly in rows, shoes stacked from floor to ceiling each with their own little pocket or cubby. My father’s suits take up half of the closet. No one is inside.

  I walk past anot
her mirror without bothering to look at myself. I leave the room the same way I came in. The lights dim. I close the door behind me. Across my room there is yet another door. I cross the room and open it. I step inside. It brightens immediately.

  “Dory, you in here?” Evie’s room. It’s decorated with a lot of pink. Pink walls, pink furniture including a pink beanbag chair, pink bedspread and ruffle. Pink curtains hide outside-viewing screens. There are all of Evie’s favorite stuffed toys in a pink hammock on the wall beside the bed. Mesh mosquito netting is around it, but pulled back and tied to grommets on the wall. I don’t understand why they all didn’t just hide down here, or what Dory was doing upstairs.

  There is a note on the bed addressed to me. I unfold it.

  rose,

  I think i know where Evie is. Must find her. Not too late. I’m better to do it on my own. Finding evie. i love you, Rose. please tell Ezekiel i’m sorry. i love him, too. love, dory

  I take one last look around the room. Dory isn’t here and there is no way out.

  I leave.

  Ezekiel is on his feet, rubbing his temples. Pike is sitting with his head in his hands.

  “She’s gone!” I say. “But she couldn’t have gone far. She must’ve just left. Didn’t she?” I look at Ezekiel. “Did you see her go? I fell asleep for a few minutes, and she was gone.”

  Ezekiel looks at his arm and taps it once, twice, then a third time. “I don’t think she left a few minutes ago.”

  “I was just talking to her,” I counter.

  “My head is killing me,” Pike states and I look at him rubbing it. Has he heard what Ezekiel said? Come to think of it, my head is a bit fuzzy, too.

  “It’s been at least two days,” Ezekiel says.

  “Two days since what?” I question. My skin crawls and my artificial arm is tight.

  “I think we may have been drugged.” Ezekiel holds up an empty container that was placed on the side table by his head. “It had enough sleeping solution to put us out for at least twenty-four hours, maybe more.”