The Broken Peace

by Martha Adele

  “Do you like it?” Ms. Page asks me.

  “Like what?”

  “The dress.” She points at the burgundy one. “You haven’t pulled your eyes away from it since we stopped.”

  “Oh.”

  “So?” she reiterated. “Do you like it?”

  “Does it matter?” I ask her. “It’s way out of my price range.”

  Ms. Page looks back at the dress and stares. I give her a little pull at the elbow, and we continue walking as an odd smile rises on her face.

  Sam

  I never thought that I would go straight from lunch with two of my favorite people, straight into an alley, waiting on my client. When I arrive, my eyes immediately fall on a spray-painted portion of the brick walls.

  “Respect Existence or Expect Resistance,” it says.

  The longer I allow those words to run through my brain, the more I realize how masterfully crafted the statement is. What made the artist say this? What has forced them into this sort of passion for respect? I stare at it for a few moments, admiring the skill it took to perfectly paint these words, just before I shake it off and look around. There’s nowhere to hide the case, so I don’t. I just hold it in my hand and watch my six-foot-something buyer come around the corner of the building, followed by another man taller than me too.

  I was only expecting one.

  “You got the vials?”

  I shrug. “Do you have the money?”

  He and his friend look down to the case I hold by my side and back up to me.

  Yes, I have the vials. You know this. They know this. They see the vials.

  I really should have hid them.

  “I have five hundred,” he tells me.

  I can’t help but scoff. “This case is twelve hundred.”

  “Come on, can’t you help a guy out?” He takes a few steps toward me.

  “No. You know Bram’s rules. All or nothing.”

  He and his friend take another step forward. I reach for my pocket to type into the messenger our panic code, but as I move my hand, the two jump me. The friend of the buyer lunges forward and stabs me in the leg with a vial while the buyer shoves me as hard as he can and takes the case.

  My body falls back, and I hit my hip on the ground, followed by my elbow. I tense up, trying not to let the medicine kick in before I can type in the panic code, but it’s too late. I feel the relaxation flood over my anger and cause me to have that feeling of floating on a cloud that I so much enjoy. That feeling of lying on the ground comfortably, but at the same time, sinking into it, brings me peace.

  I slowly, but surely, force myself to grab the messenger and type in our panic code, along with sending him my location. Within what feels like minutes, Bram shows up and helps me to sit upright.

  “What happened?”

  I look at him and try to figure out what to say that will not make me sound like the horrible dealer I am. “They hit me with a vial and stole the case.”

  “What? You let them steal the case?” Bram stands back up and paces. Back and forth, with his hands folded behind his head. “Did you not hide it like you usually do?”

  I shake my head. “No. I got here too late.”

  “So you got here late, got yourself hurt, and lost me twelve hundred dollars’ worth of vials.” Bram looks me in the eyes and scoffs. “Tell me, did I make the wrong decision hiring you?”

  I shake my head again, this time noticing blood on my elbow. “No, you didn’t. I’ll pay you back.”

  “Yeah. You will.” After a moment of staring at me, he rolls his eyes and helps me to a standing position. “Come on.”

  Bram takes me out of the alley and we go to a tea shop right down the road. I head to the restroom to rinse off my elbow and find myself the center of attention. Everyone watches me as I walk past. When I make it to the restroom, I hold a paper towel onto my cut until it stops bleeding, then come out and take a seat with Bram at one of the tables. “Until you sober up enough to walk on your own without toppling, you’re staying right here.” Bram orders himself some earl gray tea and puts in a splash of milk. He takes his little teaspoon and stirs, staring at me. “Are you sure you don’t want to order anything?”

  I nod. “I’ve got to save up my money, remember?”

  “I didn’t mean you weren’t allowed to buy anything until I’m paid. I’ll just take it out of your cut every deal until your debt is gone.” He takes a sip and smiles at me. “Try not to look like you just took a vial. Try to look a little more normal.”

  I roll my eyes as the thought comes back to me. “A functioning member of society.” That’s what I have to act like. I straighten my posture and nod. “So why’d you order that?”

  “The earl gray?”

  I nod again.

  “Well, I’ve always been a fan of earl gray.”

  “And the milk?”

  “No. I just recently tried it. One of the waitresses suggested it when she found out that this was Chancellor Oswald’s favorite tea.”

  “Ah, sounds nice,” I answer, trying to enjoy the rest of the medicine as it finishes wearing off.

  We sit for a few more minutes in silence. I listen to the conversations around us, ranging from politics, to what “Margaret” told “Julie.”

  After regaining my sober self, I clear my throat. “Well, thank you very much, Bram.” I rise to my feet and wipe off the dust from my pants. “I think I am good now. I am going to head home. Let me know when you have any other jobs for me.”

  “Oh, I will. They won’t be as high paying as the last one, but I will definitely give you a call.” He gives me a little smile and sips his tea. I nod back to him and leave the building, flagging down a cab in the process.

  The driver takes me to Mr. Gohaki’s house, and I walk home from there, which is about a two-mile trek. I walk and I walk, no longer enjoying the calm the medicine gave me. I walk and I walk, looking around in the dark to see if I am truly alone.

  When I enter the house, I feel another sense of calm run over me. The darkness no longer surrounds me. I am no longer prey to whatever I was scared of outside. I am no longer the darkness’s toy to fool around with.

  The smell of a delicious meal of sorts sitting out on our counter hits my nose and further comforts me. I turn to see what looks like a casserole sitting on our counter with a few scoops taken out of it.

  “Sam!” Mom comes around the corner and runs over to me, giving me a large hug. “Where were you? I was just about to start calling people to ask them if they had seen you.”

  “I’m fine, thank you for worrying though.” I pull away and look her up and down. “That dress looks amazing on you. Where’d you get it?” I ask sarcastically, trying to shift her attention.

  “Oh, this old thing? Just from the greatest son ever.” She hits me in the arm with her good hand. “Except for when he leaves without telling me.”

  “Mom, I’m sorry. I’m back now though, and wondering what is that.” I point to the pan on the counter, still releasing steam from its contents.

  “That? Oh, that was just a little something that Carrol and Aspen brought over.”

  “They came over?”

  “Yes, and they actually just left. See? See what you miss when you don’t call?”

  “Yeah yeah, I’m sorry. I will let you know before I leave from now on, okay?”

  She narrows her eyes at me with a smile. “Okay. Now, go get you some food. It’s late. I am going to go take a shower and head to bed. Good night.”

  “I love you,” I tell her.

  “I love you too.”

  I watch her leave and make my way over to the food. It smells delicious. I pick up the spoon that sits in the pan and grab a plate from the counter. I take a big scoop of it and watch the steam float off. Just before I plop the scoop onto my plate, I set the spoon back into the
dish.

  I’m not hungry.

  I put my plate back into the cabinet and head back to my room. I sit on my messy bed with the pillows unaligned and my blankets laid out in disorder, and I stare at the corner of my vial case peeking out from behind my nightstand.

  I have been good.

  I haven’t really needed them in a while, so I haven’t really taken any other than the few times I’ve gotten angry and felt the need to calm myself.

  Right now, I need to calm myself. I can feel myself getting shaky and spazzy. I need a vial to be able to go to sleep tonight.

  I grab my case, punch in the code, and open it up. My case, lined with the clear tubes with the blue jell inside of it almost causes a euphoric feeling to rise up in me just by looking at them. I pull one out and close my case, sliding it back into its corner.

  One more for today, and I will get to sleep.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Logan

  My alarm goes off, waking me for another day of work. I go through the morning routines of taking a shower, brushing my teeth, getting dressed, and doing whatever else I need to do, ignoring the slightly uneasy feeling of the house this early in the morning. As I make my way through the house and into the kitchen, something stops me in my tracks.

  I look over to the couch to find Eric sitting there in silence. The hologram is off, the radio is off, and the chessboard is still set for a new game. Eric never wakes up this early. I never see him before early afternoon.

  “Hey,” I say to him.

  He says nothing back.

  “Are you okay?” I make my way around the couch to look at his face and find that his prosthetic leg is on, and he is just staring at it.

  Eric slowly turns his head and looks at my feet. Silence fills the air between us as I wait for his response, which comes out slurred, as if he has been drinking. “Do you know what it’s like to have an itch that you can’t scratch?” He scrunches his face up and nods, still staring at my legs. “I’m sure you do.” Bringing his hand up, he forms a motion with his fingers as if he is pinching the air and scrunches his shoulders up. “Take that little bit of discomfort you’ve felt, and multiply it by a million. Take that million, and multiply it even further. It’s hard when you have a cast on the spot you want to scratch or something because the itch is covered. But having an itch in a place that is nonexistent?”

  He looks up to me, then back down to his prosthetic. “It’s not just itching. It’s shooting pains. It’s cramps. It’s horrid feelings in limbs that aren’t even there. How am I supposed to fix it?” Eric sniffles and chokes back tears, “How am I supposed to handle pain that isn’t real? But trust me, Logan, it is real, I can feel it. I’m not crazy, it’s there!”

  “Hey, Eric,” I interrupt his rant, “no one ever called you crazy.”

  He whimpers, trying to keep his tears in. “There’s no peace. Just when I think I’m okay, something else happens.”

  I take a deep breath and head into the kitchen, pulling a knife out of its block. The sound of it unsheathing grabs Eric’s attention, startling him somewhat.

  “What are you doing?” he asks me as I take a seat beside him.

  “Look.” I lift the lower half of his prosthetic up and feel the silicone-like jell covering around the metal bones. I plunge the knife into the silicone, causing Eric to panic.

  “Stop!” He tries to pull away, but I pull away first. We both watch as the thick substance that surrounds the metal heals itself, causing it to look as if there was no cut in the first place.

  I hand Eric the knife. “One of the women at the physical therapists told me that she knows what it feels like. She showed me a similar prosthetic to the one you have, but it’s for her hand. She told me that the phantom pains for her would get so bad that she wanted to kill herself.”

  Eric runs his hand down the mold of his calf.

  “She told me that one of the ways her therapist helped her deal with her phantom pains was by sticking a knife into the area where it hurt. It shows the brain that the body part isn’t there, that this is a fake, and that the pains are all in your subconscious.” I take the knife back and slide it down the mold, putting one long cut into it, and watch as it fixes itself and returns to its original position. “This was made to be able to take the damage. It was made to be cut so that you can deal with phantom pains.”

  Eric takes the knife, adjusts his grip, and looks at his foot. He slowly slides the knife in between the toe gears and plunges the knife all the way through. He lifts his leg and stares at the knife as it sits inside his metal foot. He pulls it out and sets the knife down on the table with tears in his eyes.

  I get up and head out of the house, knowing that Eric doesn’t want me to see him like this.

  Mavis

  I slide in our tray over the fire and place the pan on top. As the meat slowly cooks, I stir it, flip it, and move it around to make sure all the sides are cooked evenly. This is the first night this week that I’ve gotten to make dinner for Derek, Ms. Page, and myself.

  Derek should be coming home from work soon. He got the three of us messengers a day or two ago so that we can keep in contact in case something were to happen or if plans change. He messaged us just a few minutes ago saying he is on his way home from work, which let me know it was time to start dinner.

  Derek and I haven’t really spoken since the fight last night. That message was the first thing he has technically said to me since. We passed by each other this morning, but all we exchanged was a glance. He left as soon as Caitlyn came in.

  She entered the house, set her backpack down on the table, and gave me a quick smile and a “good morning.”

  I told her good morning back, and she began a happy little babble. “I am so happy that we were introduced yesterday. Wouldn’t it have been awkward if you were to wake up and I was just sitting in your living room?”

  Caitlyn continued for a while with what I assume was nervous babbling. She isn’t too bad. Actually, I kind of like her. After I left for work, she and Ms. Page hung out all day, and when I got home, Caitlyn left immediately, not wanting to intrude.

  Derek made a good choice hiring her. Ms. Page likes her too, though she doesn’t know she is her senior sitter; she just thinks that Caitlyn is a house cleaner.

  When Derek enters the house, his eyes fall upon me at the fire, just as my eyes fall upon him. After a moment, he hangs up his jacket, pulling out a little box. “So what’s for dinner?”

  “Pheasant.” I continue stirring and throw in some diced parsle, a superfood from Bergland.

  He nods and sits by the dining room table. “Sounds good.”

  What feels like minutes of silence pass before he speaks up again. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

  I turn back to him. “Me too.”

  “Okay.” He spins the little box around and looks at all of its sides. “I just didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t want you to pay for care or anything either.”

  “Derek.” I turn to him, leaving the pan unattended for a moment as the meat soaks in the juice. Before I can continue, Ms. Page comes out of her room with a halfway-finished gown that looks eerily similar to the one we saw last night.

  “Look at this, Mavis!” She holds it up to herself then looks over to Derek. “Hi, Derek. Look at this. I’m happy to see that I haven’t completely lost my touch.”

  “Is … is that the—” I look from her to Derek then back to her. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s that dress! The one from last night! Caitlyn took me out to town today and I got some fabrics and tools to make this.”

  “What’s the dress for?” Derek asks us.

  “Mavis was invited to the inauguration ball next week!” Ms. Page tells him. “Isn’t it great?”

  He looks from his mom to me. “You were invited?”

  I nod. Before I can say anything,
Ms. Page interrupts again, “By her friend Lucas.”

  “Logan,” I correct her.

  “Right. Logan.” She chuckles.

  Derek rises from the table. “Got it.” He leaves with the little box and heads to his room.

  Sam

  All over the news.

  Nonstop.

  “People are arriving from all over the country just to wait outside of the capitol building!”

  “They’ve pulled out all the stops.”

  “This is the biggest event of the year, possibly of the century!”

  Everything is about the inauguration ball. It has been for the past week, but now that the day has come, it is getting really annoying. Even the bank has the news up on the holograms.

  I come in and make my way up to the woman to pay my bills in cash. Now that I have paid Bram back, I am able to return my focus to our debt. Though I only have two hundred in cash at the moment, every bit counts.

  “Well, Mr. Beckman, are you sure that you are wanting to pay this toward your mother’s bills and not your own?”

  “My own?” I ask her. “What are you talking about?”

  “It says here that you purchased a new case of vials two days ago.”

  “Yeah, but I thought that medicine was free because, you know, I need it.”

  “Well, back in Bergland it was, but there are some new guidelines.”

  “How much is one case of vials?”

  She prints off a sheet of paper that outlines the prices and lists everything I have to pay. My stomach drops as I read it and realize how much I owe. I’m going to have to talk to Bram and get some more deals.

  The money my mother and I make on the farm is just enough to buy us food, pay our utilities, and pay for cab rides. The small amount I have left over from that I spend paying off the bills.