Antitype

by M. D. Waters

  I decide against the usual lies. I’m tired of them, to be honest, and she’s smart enough to know better. Dad hasn’t been to visit her in well over a year despite the monthly visit policy.

  We sit on opposite sides of the table. Names, shapes, and numbers are carved into the lined gray metal I’ve seen a million times. The etchings are familiar, and I don’t think anything new has been added since the last time we sat at this particular table.

  I trace a finger over a pair of entwined hearts etched on the table. “Where are the girls? I asked—” I look over to find her smiling upward. Just how thin she is seems more pronounced now. Her neck stretched upward like that of a baby bird in search of food. Her bony shoulders could be her flightless wings. I follow her gaze to the leaves fluttering in the treetops.

  “What girls?” she asks.

  I don’t know what should concern me more at the moment. Her devoted attention to foliage, or forgetting she has three younger sisters. I rest my elbows on the table and lean forward, make my voice small and calm. “Hannah?”

  Her gaze lowers to meet mine, but detachment lingers in the depths of her eyes. It takes longer than it should for her attention to untether from wherever her mind went so suddenly. “Sorry,” she finally says. “Did you say something?”

  “The girls. Where are they?”

  She blinks rapidly; then her eyes widen. “Oh. Um. Paige got into a fight with some other girls at breakfast. She won’t be here.” She drags her windblown hair over one shoulder and twists the black mane into submission. “Violet and Andrea have a new room mother who doesn’t pay much attention to the time. I’m sure they’ll be along soon.”

  I practically sag in relief at her coherent response. She’s fine. Everything’s fine. I decide to keep the topic of conversation on the girls. “Don’t tell me; Paige started it.”

  Hannah grins, deepening her dimple, and rolls her eyes. “Nothing changes.”

  “How’s Violet?” I worry about the youngest, who has been having nightmares since Dad dropped her off three months ago. She’d been five years old all of two days and is too innocent to understand all this.

  “Better. I check on her when I can. We’re becoming good friends, her and I.”

  I smile. It eases my mind knowing that I have nothing to worry about with her watching out for the younger girls.

  “Andrea’s been looking out for her, too. It helps that they’re so close in age, but I swear she’s like a little mother hen. Kisses Vi’s bruises and makes sure her shoes are on the right feet. They’re both so sweet, Noah. Breaks my heart.”

  I would mend it by assuring her that it’s almost over if I could. Only a couple more months, and I’ll get them safely across the border into the west. Give them all the opportunity to be the women they were meant to be. But Updike warned me a long time ago to keep quiet. I can’t trust that the flow of information won’t get to the wrong person. The raid on this WTC has to happen without a single hitch.

  “Anyway,” she says. “It’s show week. Are you and James arguing yet?”

  I’ve come to loathe the term “show week.” Girls staged on the other side of a mirror for potential husbands. It’s ridiculous. “Actually, I’m avoiding Dad for the next week. Just in case.”

  She chuckles. “You sure you want to skip your appointment this month?”

  “There’s no appointment. Dad and I have finally come to an agreement. If and when I’m ready to get married, I’m adult enough to handle it on my own.”

  She turns her shoulders in a coy way and bats her eyelashes. “You sure you want to wait? I happen to know a couple girls who would be perfect for you.”

  “And you happen to know what’s perfect for me, do you?”

  “Sure. Attractive, of course. Someone who will appreciate your kind heart. Your fierce protectiveness. Someone compassionate and strong and funny.” She preens. “I’d be a great matchmaker if you’d let me.”

  I roll my eyes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear Dad put you up to this.”

  “As if he has your best interest at heart.”

  “Well, in any case, I’m not ready yet.”

  She rests on the table and props her chin in a fist. “Gabriel isn’t ready. Neither is Aaron. But you? I haven’t gotten that sense in a long time.”

  I look away and rub the sudden tension seizing the back of my neck.

  “What is it you really want?” she asks.

  I can’t tell her what I want, because what I want is to look at a woman from across a room and know she’s the one. And ten seconds later I don’t want to have to key in the dollar amount I believe she’s worth. What I want is for the woman to look back and give me a sign that I’m not alone in our connection, then let me kiss her until neither of us can breathe. That is what I want. And I’d rather be alone with this fairy tale than give in to what’s expected.

  I straighten and shake my head. “Nothing. I don’t want anything.”

  A fine line forms between her eyes. “Aren’t you lonely?”

  “There are always ways to take care of that.” My standard answer exits my mouth on automatic.

  “Eww,” she says, then shifts her gaze to my left. Her eyes dart up and down, up and down, as if watching someone, but when I look, there’s nothing there. That same distance returns, clouding her eyes.

  Shavings of ice collect under my skin, chilling my blood. I reach out and take her hand. “Hannah, are you feeling all right?”

  An incredible smile snaps to her face. “Great. You? How’s Gabe?”

  I walk Hannah back to the main building a few minutes later, where I ask the nearest dorm mother to escort her to a doctor.

  I then ask to see the head administrator, a man named Jerome Zimmerman. He’s a rotund man, average in height, and heavily lined and gray from years of stress. He looks less than thrilled being pulled away to speak to me, but I don’t care about what’s convenient for him when something’s clearly wrong with my sister.

  “Mr.—”

  “I’ve just sent my sister Hannah to the infirmary,” I cut in.

  Well, at least he has the decency to look stunned. “Is she hurt?”

  I blink. “She’s clearly malnourished, and she literally forgot we’d been talking for five minutes. You mean to tell me nobody on your staff has noticed how off she is?”

  He holds up his hands, palms toward me. “Mr.—”

  “Don’t you dare try placating me, Mr. Zimmerman. Yes or no?”

  “No, but—”

  My finger squares rigidly with his nose, forcing his eyes to cross. “You’ll get the best doctors here to care for her, and you’ll do it today.”

  The man unearths the remains of his backbone and looks me in the eye. “You are not her legal guardian. Therefore, you are in no position to make such a request. Second, the young woman in question is evaluated on a monthly basis, as they all are. Her reports have come back favorable.”

  “When was she last evaluated?”

  “Last week.”

  I’m stunned. Hannah was fine last month, but what I saw today was far from “favorable.”

  “Our doctors believe Hannah is perfectly suitable for marriage,” he adds.

  My fist connects with his jaw, powered by the rage ripping my sanity up by the roots. Guards have me by the arms and are dragging me away from the bleeding man before I get another shot off.

  “That’s all you care about, isn’t it?” I yell, vainly jerking my arms to get free of the multiple bruising grips. “You’re only paid to make sure they get out the door in one piece, so why bother with anything else, right?”

  “Get him out of here,” Zimmerman tells the men holding me.

  I jerk my arms again. One of the men grunts. “I’m not leaving until I see that Hannah is treated appropriately, and I see that my other sisters are all right.”
>
  His eyes narrow. “I assure you, they’re fine. Get him out. Now.”

  The men wrestle me another two steps before I grab a doorframe and lock us in place. “I want to see my sisters.”

  Zimmerman gives me his back and I’m yanked into the main hall. I try shaking loose of the men, but they don’t trust me to leave quietly. Not that I plan to. I drag my feet and jerk at random, hoping to trick one of them into letting me go.

  We pass the corridor leading to where I’d been with Hannah. Violet and Andrea are walking inside with a slender, aged woman in a shapeless black-and-white dress. They’re desperately innocent at five and seven. They have the same blond mother but so closely resemble our father it’s scary. They have long, straight brown hair and Dad’s slender, pointed nose. They even share the same amber-colored eyes, the only feature Gabe and I took away from that half of our bloodline.

  Andrea runs forward, calling my name, but Violet stops altogether and plops a thumb in her mouth. Her free hand clings to the long skirt of the woman beside her.

  I glare at the man to my right, then left. “Let me just say good-bye to them and I’ll leave.”

  I’m freed in time to kneel and catch Andrea, whose smile puts a shine in her eyes. “You came! I told her you’d be here.”

  I smile, forcing back every negative emotion marching through my head. They don’t need to see how worried I am. “I can’t stay. Something came up, but I’ll be back next month.” To Violet, I say, “Come here, baby girl. Brother wants to see how much you’ve grown.”

  She hesitates but strolls forward, her gaze darting to the men hovering behind me.

  When both girls are in my arms, I kiss their cheeks and hold them to me in a tight hug. Violet begins crying seconds after.

  “Don’t cry,” I whisper. “Everything will be okay. Promise.”

  • • •

  Paintings hang on the wood walls of Dad’s personal study. More than half of the canvases depict very erect gods or voluptuous fertility goddesses. His mantels hold more of the same in the form of stone and bronze statues.

  But not all of his paintings are borderline pornographic, and the work of one particular artist happens to draw my attention every time. I’ve always loved his vision behind certain constellations and how he managed to show the stars while incorporating the story behind the constellation into the rendering.

  Dad looks up from where he sits angled in the corner of a dark leather couch, propped by striped pillows. He lays a tablet on the cushion beside him, and the way the letters are arranged on the screen, I deduce he’s reading today’s Richmond Times.

  “Noah. I thought you were at the office.”

  I can usually blow by his automatic assumptions without a look back, but not today. He knows it’s visiting day at the WTC. I’d bet my company shares on it. “We need to talk about Hannah.”

  He pulls in a breath and bunches his lips, gaze falling to where his feet are propped on the coffee table. “If this is about Marco—”

  “This has nothing to do with that unbelievably shortsighted decision and everything to do with her overall health.”

  His feet land with a muffled thump on the thick green carpet. “I’ve read her monthly evaluations. They say she’s perfectly suitable.”

  Why am I surprised he hears “health” as a synonym for “suitable”? A laugh bursts from my chest. “What the hell do you all believe is ‘suitable’? Is it the fact that she can still spread her thighs? This is your daughter, and she’s showing signs of a mental break.”

  His eyes widen in a way that tells me the lights have turned on. He leans forward. “Is this about her memory lapses?”

  I blink. “You knew?”

  He waves a hand. “It’s in her evaluations.”

  “And”—I shrug—“you aren’t concerned at all?”

  “She’s just tired. I’m told a lot of the girls get nervous around this time, and she goes to show next month. Ridiculous that I have to put her through it, but the law is the law. She’s lucky Marco is willing to pay—”

  “You really are a bastard.”

  Dad jumps to his feet. “You can’t begin to understand what it’s like to be a father. You—”

  I take the nearest statue and slam it down, erection first, on his preposterously large desk. Large chunks of stone shatter and fly off the sides and plop on the floor. The wood splinters at the impact site.

  “You aren’t a father,” I yell. “A father would make sure his girls are taken care of, and I’m not talking about marriage. You have no idea how much money I pay to make sure they have everything they need when they need it. Toiletries. Uniforms. Shoes. Socks. Undergarments. Did you know Hannah didn’t get her first bra until she was fifteen? And I bought it for her. I have two guards on payroll to make sure they aren’t abused. I shouldn’t have to do things like that, Dad. You should.”

  His face turns a fiery shade of crimson, and a visible shiver moves his otherwise frozen state. “How dare you. You’re not too old for me to—”

  “To what?” I throw up my arms. “Disown me? Take away my trust fund? Kick me out of the company?” I laugh. “That threat died in April the second I turned twenty-five. I’m in full control of my trust, and I own shares you can’t take without buying me out first. As for disowning me? Do it. See if I care anymore.”

  I storm from the room before he can argue. There’s only one person who will hear me out and understand my plight. I have to talk to Nathan Updike.

  On my way to the teleporter, I cross paths with Gabe, who still lives at home. His hair hangs loose over his forehead and is practically in his eyes. He has an apple clamped between his teeth and a tablet computer in one hand and is juggling an open textbook on engine propulsion in the other.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I ask.

  Gabe flips the book shut and takes the apple from his mouth. “Studying.”

  That single word in conjunction with the book he carries has the power to blow me over. Since when did Gabe take a serious interest in the engineering area of our business? And by the looks of it, he’s halfway through the text. Maybe I’ve been wrong about him. Maybe he’ll be just the man to take over the business. Maybe I don’t have to worry so much about leaving him to handle things in my place. Maybe . . . I have more options than I once believed.

  “Where’ve you been?” he asks, scanning my T-shirt and jeans. “Clearly not the office.”

  Maybe not. He’s becoming more and more like Dad every day. “It’s visiting day.” I don’t have the heart, nor do I have the strength, to get into what’s going on with Hannah. Not with people who can’t help me anyway. I’ll just save my breath until I find Nate.

  Gabe bends back with a groan. “Fuck. Me. Damn it. I meant to go with you today, too. Why didn’t you remind me?”

  “Because I’m not your personal assistant, or your parent.”

  “Did you tell Hannah about Marco?”

  “No, and you won’t, either. Listen, I have to go.” I nod at the heavy tome he balances. “Keep that up and I just might change my opinion about you.” I grin as I head for the teleporter.

  “As if you want to,” he calls after me. “You know you love me.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  • • •

  Nate meets me at Nagshead Park outside downtown Richmond. It’s one of my favorite places to go when I need to clear my head. A public teleporter opens to the park’s center, where a pond sparkles under a footbridge. At least three acres of green hillocks surround the pond and walking trails.

  I lean on the railing over the water, listening to the clomp of boots heading toward me. I stare at my linked hands, and past that, the ripples of water.

  He sidles up beside me and mirrors my stance. “Got your message.”

  I suck in a thin breath. “Does the raid have to happen in September? Can we
go earlier?”

  “Something wrong?”

  Twisting to face him, I tell him what went down with Hannah. How thin she looked. How tired. I finish with the short bursts of memory loss. “If something happens to Hannah . . . Paige is thirteen, but I can’t ask her to look after the younger two. I need them out.”

  Updike’s head lowers, chin nearly to his chest. “I wish I could help, Noah.”

  I knew he was going to say that. “Is this because I’m still on the fence?”

  He straightens and faces me. “No. I’m giving you the same answer I’d give any other man in my unit.” His lips purse. “And since we’re on the subject . . . have you decided?”

  “You promised me time.”

  “And if you’re playing me to get you through September’s raid—”

  “I’m not. I swear, I’m not.” I rake my hands through my hair.

  I’ve lain awake many a night in the last month wondering why I stay. Am I not passively accepting the status quo by supporting my father, preparing almost daily to head his company? I’m killing myself to keep my sisters safe, but what about the girls without a family? Who’s helping them?

  “I’m reluctant to leave my life here, but I’m no longer so sure I want it.”

  AUGUST

  Declan

  I stare at the afternoon traffic passing on the projected window in Dad’s office. Stare past it, really. The day started off like they all do and in just a few short hours has turned into a nightmare.

  “I’m seconds from ending this right now and handing everything over to Jacob,” Dad says behind me.

  I’m completely out of fuel at this point, unable to argue the matter any longer. I’m weighed down by guilt, anger, and frustration. I didn’t do anything wrong. And more important, neither did Giovanni.

  I fist my hands at my sides. “Did you have to take his restaurant, Dad?”

  “It wasn’t the plan, but he refused to see things my way.”

  I turn from the projected cityscape. Dad faces me without an ounce of uncertainty. Without an ounce of remorse. I wish I knew what it would take to change that. I would strike, and strike hard. “He refused to fire me, so you stole his business. How is that fair?”