Folsom (The End of Men Book 1)

by Tarryn Fisher

  “What was that about?” Gwen asks.

  “We don’t need the paparazzi following us, or them getting too many shots of you out there. I should’ve waited until later to take you out.”

  “I don’t want to be holed up like a prisoner. You should be able to live your life without always looking over your shoulder. So we went somewhere together, big deal.”

  I bite my tongue; I can try to explain it to her, but she won’t understand.

  “Are you always this difficult?” I ask her, legitimately wanting to know.

  “If difficult means telling the truth, then yes.”

  It’s dark but not too dark to see the storm flash across her face, and I know what she’s thinking. Tonight was a step away from reality, hers and mine, but there will be tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, and we can’t keep playing house like this without repercussions.

  “What are you thinking?” she asks softly.

  I shake my head, unwilling to share my thoughts with her. Not yet.

  She curls her hands in my shirt and tugs me toward her. We’re kissing with me leaning over her body, her back suspended above the seat, held up only by my elbow. With my free hand I press the button that raises the barrier between Sera and us, and then Gwen lowers her body onto the backseat, stretching out beneath me. I settle between her legs and she hooks them around me. Her hands are in my hair, damp with sweat; her chest rises and falls against mine, our breathing labored. I feel the kiss in my center, at the place where I keep my most private feelings. She’s rustling around in my weakness and it’s painful to let her do it. She reaches down between us and takes my dick in her hand, and as she does, she breaks free of our kiss and rolls her head from side to side, moaning, her eyes closed. I should be in on the moaning, I think. When she strokes, I throw my head back, my eyes rolling with pleasure, my dick thick in her hand. I’m pressed between her legs and when she lets me go, my dick drops and rubs against her wet panties; wet from before, wet from now—I don’t know. I let her feel the full length of me as I pump back and forth across her clit. I let her know I want inside. She reaches down and yanks her panties to the side and now I’m rubbing against wet, bare skin as she shakes and cries out. Her noises are throaty, she doesn’t try to muffle them as she calls, “I’m going to come,” over and over. I want to sink inside of her, bury myself all the way to the hilt. My hand presses against the window above our heads, the glass cold against my sweaty palm. I can see the rosy glare of the streetlights as we drive.

  “Please, please put it in…”

  I glance out the window and lean my forehead against hers, still pumping against her. “We’re almost there.”

  “Please…just once…”

  I slide into her all the way and her legs stretch wide to take me. And then abruptly I pull out. Shuddering, I come on her stomach, sticky white against her olive skin. I clean her up and we kiss until we feel the car stop. I pull myself off of her and try to straighten our clothes, knocking heads and elbows as we do. When the door opens we fall out of the car laughing, and that’s when the lights start flashing.

  We run for the restaurant, her hand in mine. The buzz of excitement I felt in the car is gone, replaced with dread. I’d made reservations and the owner had assured me I’d receive the privacy I requested, but somehow things like this always leak. We are ushered through the doors while the press is forced to stay outside. We’re shaken, but we have to gather ourselves quickly as we’re being ushered to the table.

  “Apologies,” the owner says. He’s a stocky man with stains underneath his armpits, no doubt from the stress of arranging five reporters outside. I stare at him but say nothing. I have no doubt he told them we’d be here. Good publicity.

  “Where would you like to eat tonight?” he asks quickly, catching my look. He shifts nervously and I have the urge to send my fist straight into his face. “We have a lovely Riviera, and there’s a charming bayou setting…”

  Gwen gently places a hand on my arm and I’m jarred back to reality. We’re here, and she is hungry. I shake off my anger and smile down at her.

  “I sent it ahead,” I tell him. A moment of confusion clouds his face and then he runs off to check. In the meantime, we are seated in the center of a white room, much like the SIMS room we just left. Seated across from each other I am given a view of Gwen’s face, her messier than usual hair. I smile lopsidedly; she catches me and I squeeze my eyes shut because I know what she’s going to ask.

  “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You’re very pretty, Gwen. And your hair is crazy like you’ve been rolling around in the backseat of a car. And we smell like sex.”

  She opens her mouth to say something, but the lights dim and flicker, and for a few seconds we’re left in darkness, and then we’re not.

  When they turn back on we’re in a garden. The air is crisp and scented with the smell of cut grass and wet dirt. When I look up, wisteria hangs overhead and the scent of jasmine is cloying in the air. To our right is a white colonial with a wraparound porch and a bright blue door. It’s sunset and crickets are singing from somewhere nearby. Gwen’s head is straining around to see everything.

  “Where is this?” Gwen asks, turning to me.

  “It’s my childhood home.”

  Her mouth makes a little “O” and she looks back toward the house, studying with a different set of eyes. Through the back window I can see the silhouette of a woman washing dishes at the sink: my mother.

  “Is she—?

  I nod.

  “You wanted to show me…”

  “I did.”

  “I didn’t want to ask, but I wanted to know.” She looks down at her stomach even though there’s nothing to see. “For later…to tell him.”

  “Her name was Greer. She was named after her mother who had lavender hair…” I point to the wisteria above us. “She loved wisteria because it reminded her of my grandmother.”

  Loved. The odd thing of referring to your mother in past tense. I can still hear her laugh, feel the powdery softness of the skin on her arms. The wind blows and even though it’s a simulation it feels real. The leaves of a nearby tree rattle, and Gwen’s hair moves around her face like it has a life of its own. A server appears with two glasses of purple lemonade and a basket of rolls, placing it down between us.

  “Your mother used to make these?” she asks, taking one from the basket.

  “Yes. And this is Marionberry lemonade.” I nod at the drinks. “She was a good cook. But the day my father and brother died she stopped. It was just the two of us then.”

  “What was she like?”

  I don’t have to pause here because I know what my mother was like; I’ve turned her over in my mind so often that even my memories looked frayed and worn. “She was simple. Good. She didn’t ask for much. She put jam on everything: pizza crust, cereal, eggs…she salted her apples and wore socks to bed, even in the summer. We made fun of her for that. Sometimes my brother and I would sneak into their room in the middle of the night and pull her socks off while she slept.”

  Gwen laughs.

  “Did she know it was you doing that?”

  “She figured it out. She didn’t say anything, but on the mornings she found herself without socks, she’d make liver and onions for breakfast. We hated liver and onions. We got the message loud and clear.”

  “She sounds fun. Tell me something else.”

  I search my memories for something else to tell Gwen. It feels good to talk about her.

  “When she cleaned the house, she played Janis Joplin as loud as she could. If we didn’t help, she’d chase us with a spray bottle of cleaning solution and squirt us with it. When my brother and father died, all of that stopped. She withered away like it was her fault.”

  “When did she die?” Gwen asks, and then she immediately places a hand over her mouth, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.”

  “It’s okay. She died about a year before
I joined the End Men. Thank God for that.”

  “She’d be proud of you,” Gwen says, shaking her head. “You’re doing something for the good of everyone. You’re a good man, Folsom.”

  I doubt my soft-spoken mother would be proud of her son being a prostitute for the government, but I smile gratefully at the woman who thinks so.

  The secret to survival is to stay hard and focused, hard enough that the vastness of emptiness cannot live inside you. My life is a straightjacket, and if you don’t want anything to hold power over you, including the straightjacket, you pretend you aren’t wearing one. But, as I sit across from this woman, I feel it: every constraint, the painful tug of my conscience both toward her and the Regions. Before Gwen I did what I needed to do, I survived. But now I’m not so sure what that means. Our server returns with the main courses. The smells fill me with nostalgia, and for the time being I’m too distracted to think more about my mother. Gwen tries each dish, remarking about the tastes with enthusiasm. I’m happy in a way I’ve never been. Content to share this with her. That’s how I know it won’t last.

  TWENTY-SIX

  GWEN

  I’m ready to get back to work. The days waiting for Folsom to get back from fucking everyone in town are too long and heartbreaking. It’s best if I stay busy. God, the way he makes me feel. I can’t stop thinking about last night. My hand flies to my neck, the heat alive in my cheeks.

  Hamari is looking out the window when I arrive and does a little hop when she sees me. I hope she’s just excited I’m back. I never know what her exuberance is going to mean for my day; it can be anything from the latest Genome Y gossip or that she has an extra stack of work that she wants me to delegate to someone else.

  She claps her hands when I step inside and nearly barrels me over with a hug.

  “I’m so glad you’re back,” she says. “Why do you hate me so much?” The words rush out, her laugh contradicting what she’s saying. “You didn’t tell me you were in a relationship with Folsom. That picture of you kissing…” She fans her face. “Oh my God. The two of you are so hot together—I can’t even be mad at you for stealing him right out from under me. I can see now why you were saying all of those things on the Silverbook…I wouldn’t want to sha—”

  I hold up my hand. “There’s a picture of us kissing?”

  “Your hair looked so good,” she gushes. “Out of control, but in a good way…how do you do that?”

  I hold onto the counter and breathe. This won’t go over well. “Thanks for letting me know. I need to get to work.”

  I head to my office quickly, glad that I got here earlier than most. I open the Silverbook and there we are, front and center. It’s a picture of us through the back window of the car lost in a kiss that looks as passionate as it felt. The theories are swarming in rapid-fire. We’re in love. We’re conspiring against the Society together. I’m trying to steal Folsom from the End Men. I’m a man disguised as a woman and working for the Society myself...

  I have to swipe it off before I lose a day reading it all. I work on some of the lab reports that have piled up and don’t leave my desk until well into the afternoon. Hamari pokes her head in and hurries to the desk, setting down a thick file.

  “Don’t ask me where I got this. I knew you’d want to see it.” She leaves the room quickly.

  I flip through it, my outrage building with each document. I’m shaking by the time I make my way to dome five.

  Laticus isn’t in his room; Corinne, however, is outside his door when I come out, and she stalks toward me.

  “We need to talk,” she says, backing me into Laticus’ room. She shuts the door behind us and folds her arms across her chest. “You wanna tell me what’s going on with you and Donahue?”

  “Not really,” I respond.

  “Well, here’s the problem with that…we have a reputation to uphold at Genome Y and you have always exemplified the highest standards we require. But this…this is unacceptable. We work hand-in-hand with the Red Regional office and the Society. If they see our most trusted employee canoodling with an End Man—is it true you’re living together?” She shakes her head. “You know what, don’t answer that. You have to end it. Today. If you don’t, the next conversation between you and me won’t be this civilized.”

  I nod and move closer to her. “There’s quite the pile of labs on my desk, as well as all the reports you weren’t able to finish without me here…I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone else with my qualifications who will be willing to put in the same kind of time I have, though. Right?” It takes everything in me to keep my tone low and balanced.

  She purses her lips. “Are you being insolent with me, Gwen? What is this?”

  I shake my head. “I’m all about telling the truth these days. Don’t let Folsom hear you calling me insolent. He’ll start trying it out on me.” I walk toward the door. “Where is Laticus? I see that he’s been tripling up on the sperm samples, some days even more than that? All under your advisement.” I wave the file. “And did you notice that his sperm count has been lower the past two days?” I narrow my eyes at her. “You know you’ve gone against all kinds of protocol, Corinne.”

  She looks flustered. I’ve never loved my boss—we get along well enough, and until now I’ve always respected her, but the second I realized she didn’t protect Laticus while I was gone, it was over.

  “Give the boy a break.” I leave all the threats unsaid. She knows the damage I can do. I open the office and leave her standing in Laticus’ room.

  I walk around the entire complex and even the places I’ve taken him outside—he’s nowhere to be found. I start to get alarmed but quickly rationalize that I would know by now if something had happened. Hamari would tell me even if no one else did…if she was aware of it. I do another loop around and message Folsom, not bothering to worry if I’m interrupting an appointment or not. I tuck the files I can work on later under my arm to take with me, something I do at least once a week. I back my car out of the sparse parking lot. I haven’t seen it this empty in months. Something must be going on in the city. There are picketers outside the gate this time, most of them threatening to shut down the lab, and a handful of posters with the picture from last night.

  I speed to the compound, realizing halfway there that I’m being followed. I take a handful of wrong turns and go faster, losing them before I reach the gate. I’m out of breath when I walk in the door, the stress of the day catching up with me.

  “Hello?” I call out.

  Complete silence.

  I take a shower and when Folsom still hasn’t gotten back after I’m out and still no word from him, I venture into the other parts of the compound. Folsom needs to know what they’ve been doing to Laticus. Tears are just under the surface. I’ve got to pull it together before I talk to him...

  Krystal is the only one I find. She’s working on a red dress, hands around the mannequin’s neck and sewing a small stitch to the neckline.

  “Have you seen Folsom?” I ask.

  “There you are! I’m just finishing your dress,” she says, eyes focused on her stitches. She makes a knot with the thread and pulls it off. “There.” She backs up. “What do you think?”

  “It’s beautiful on her.”

  She smiles. “Try it on and let’s see if it works. You’re already late for the party.”

  “I hadn’t planned on any parties tonight,” I tell her.

  “Oh, but you have to.” All humor leaves her face and she looks at me, eyes hard. “Don’t fuck this up, Gwen. Folsom was just fine before you entered the picture, and he will forget you the minute we’re in the next Region. Tonight you’re going to the party and you’re going to pretend Folsom doesn’t exist. Be seen alone, like the pathetic excuse for a person you’ve always been.”

  Her features smooth out and she smiles again like she didn’t just say the awful things she said. “That was a message from the Society. Sera will be here for you in fifteen minutes.”

  I t
ake the dress she’s now holding out and back away, turning around when I stumble. I get ready in a daze, Krystal’s words on replay in my mind. I don’t really know if I look decent or like the chaos in my chest, but I numbly walk outside when I see Sera pull up. We’re at the venue in minutes, the historic concert hall decorated with twinkle lights for the party.

  Very little fuss is made when I arrive. Most are inside. I realize why as soon as I enter the room. Women are swarming the center of the room, humming like a live wire. I walk toward the crowd and at the first opening I see him standing still, like a specimen under the glass…Laticus.

  I push my way in, and when I’m finally in front of him, I reach out to touch his arm and other hands reach out to grab him, shoving me out of the way. He looks terrified.

  “Laticus,” I call out. His eyes search for me in the crowd. I press forward. “Laticus, over here.”

  A strong grip pulls me back and I turn around, ready to fight. My mother stands there, a strange smile fixed on her face. “Hi, sweetheart. You look flustered. Have you eaten anything?” She puts an arm around me and walks me away from Laticus.

  “Let me go, Mother. I need to check on him. Do you see how scared he looks?”

  “You’re entirely too close to the situation, Gwen,” she says in my ear. “Step away and have a bite to eat. You don’t need to stress the baby.”

  I stare at her, trying to figure out why she looks so different tonight. I blink and look around the room. “Where is Folsom? He’s here, right?”