The Brand of Anem

by Kaitlyn Deann

  Finally, Judge James spoke, a sigh on the edge of his words, “You’ve indeed grown into a mischievous man, Carson Owens.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Carson wouldn’t remove his eyes from the ground, and he swore to not speak one word more. He knew every question here on out would be geared towards finding his bed companion, and he couldn’t risk any slip up of information that could lead them to Margaret.

  “Get the camera and document the brand,” the judge ordered, motioning to the officer closest to the door. “William,” he then addressed, “how is it that he’s been in your custody for several hours and you didn’t know about that brand?” He jabbed his index finger at Carson’s left shoulder, at the abominable tell-all curving up his shoulder blade and over onto the head of his shoulder, continuing an inch down his arm.

  William cleared his throat. Carson wondered if the judge made the officer nervous. Perhaps—Carson hoped—he would be reprimanded quite sternly. “I apologize for the oversight, sir. Officer Derek had already handcuffed him when we arrived this morning, and using my judgement, I had assumed it wasn’t necessary to strip-search him. I see now that was a mistake.”

  Carson swallowed hard. His eyes never wandered from the tiled floor. He pinched the skin on his bare thigh, channeling away his anxiety.

  “Yes, it was a mistake to assume,” the judge stated. Carson noted the annoyance that coated his voice. He exhaled in a frustrated puff of air. “Postpone the whipping for tomorrow morning. Eight a.m. sharp. There’s much more paperwork that has to get done.” Under his breath, he repeated, “So much more bloody paperwork.”

  William then ordered another officer on standby to officially postpone the whipping, which he promptly left the room to do.

  “What a shame,” sighed Judge James. “I was hoping you’d be the one that broke the curse of the Owens family.” Carson swallowed hard. Curse? The judge shook his head, disappointed. “I suppose you can’t completely fix innate behavior.” He stood up straighter, placing his hands on his hips. “But we can most definitely modify it. Like we did with your father and with his father before him.” Carson’s stomach pitched uneasily.

  So he was right after all. Derek was referring to himself earlier. And, all those years of Derek adamantly shoving the rules down Carson’s throat, teaching him day in and day out what was right and wrong, punishing him strictly no matter the tiniest sin—so much more punishment than necessary—were all in an attempt to break the so-called “curse” of the Owens family.

  The officer that had gone to retrieve the camera returned seconds later, and he didn’t waste any time. “Turn your head to the right,” he commanded as he switched the camera on. Carson obeyed, but kept his eyes downcast and jaw clenched. He would not again say a word and wouldn’t allow his eyes to give away anything either. He was sealed tighter than the star scrolls of Anem.

  Judge James strode around his desk, arms clasped behind his back. The slow, rhythmic clomping of his boots echoed in Carson’s head louder and louder. As the judge closed the gap between them, his heart banged against his ribcage harder and faster, and he wondered if anyone could hear it like he could. It was like thunder in his ears. Carson clenched his fists, skin stretched white over his knuckles, nails digging into his palms. His lips pursed and his mouth dried up. Judge James studied Carson’s brand as the officer continued taking pictures from different angles. After the officer’s job was complete, he left the room to print them according to the judge’s directive. The judge scratched his clean-shaven chin, perplexed, as if he thought he could read the writing of the goddess herself.

  “Sir,” addressed William after a moment, “would you have me return Owens to his cell?”

  “Not yet,” he answered quickly, still studying the scars that made up the unique, mystifying symbols. Carson focused on keeping his breathing even. “Set him up in the interrogation room. I have a few questions regarding the brand of Anem.”

  William nodded curtly. “Yes, sir.” He grabbed Carson’s elbow firmly and twisted him around so roughly that he nearly tripped over his own bare feet.

  Carson wondered if they weren’t going to allow him to at least put his clothes back on in the meantime. They have to feel some sort of discomfort as well, Carson had thought. I’m ninety-eight percent naked!

  Much to Carson’s relief, Officer William gave him another set of clothes to change into, but this time, he didn’t leave Carson alone to change. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited on him. Carson changed as quickly as he could, and relief flooded him once he was completely clothed again.

  “Sit,” commanded William, gesturing to one of the two metal chairs in a much, much smaller room than the one before. A matching metal table sat in between the two chairs, empty of contents. A camera was installed in the corner of the room on the same wall that had one-way glass installed. Carson sat in the chair facing his reflection. In it, he noted the soft curls of his shaggy jet black hair were disheveled. They hadn’t provided him with a comb for grooming while in the cell. He guessed it didn’t matter though. What did they care if he looked presentable?

  William left the room the moment Carson sat down on the ice-cold chair. The door locked with a distinctive click when it swung shut. There were no windows. Only three white walls plus the the fourth that had the mirrored glass. Carson was sure there were officers on the other side of his reflection watching him, but there was no way for him to be sure, really.

  Carson twiddled his thumbs for the better part of half an hour, clinking the handcuffs William had slapped back on him after changing again. He exhaled in a puff, impatient. He just wanted all of it to be over.

  Carson glanced up at the mirror only a few times during those long moments, but he always quickly looked back down at his hands laying in his lap. He didn’t know if they could tell anything from the look in his eyes, but he sure as hell didn’t want to risk it. Besides, mirrors represented vanity, and he wasn’t all that used to staring at himself in the mirror—if you didn’t count shaving, that was.

  Most homes didn’t have but one mirror. It was meant to simply check oneself quickly to ensure decency prior to leaving the home. If a home had more than one mirror, it was questionable whether the occupants were vain or not, and that was not a label anyone in or outside of Deneb wanted attached to them. His family’s house had only one, and it hung by the front door. Carson found this annoying, though, once he started growing facial hair and was forced to shave daily by the school’s dress code policy. Since graduating, he’d been able to get away with going a few days without shaving before his father would make a comment about how he shouldn’t try to grow a beard until he could actually grow one. Carson only lacked a few patches of hair here and there. Otherwise, the hair on his face was quite thick and course already.

  Carson scratched the stubble on his chin. He had shaved yesterday morning, which meant his face matched the unkempt hair on his head. He glanced at himself in the glass again. He was really unpresentable, and he kind of liked it. Part of him hoped it would annoy the officers looking at him as he sat there waiting.

  Waiting, waiting, waiting .

  He startled lightly when the door clicked open and the judge stepped inside. The door closed behind him, locking itself again. Carson’s heart raced, and he fought the urge to rub his hands on his white cotton pants. Judge James carried a folder under his arm and a glass of water in his hand, which he set in front of Carson, motioning him to take it.

  Though Carson felt a twinge of thirst, he refused to take the water. Not because he thought it was tampered with, but simply because he was expected to drink it.

  But the judge couldn’t care less if Carson drank the water. “Jerry Carson Owens,” the judge addressed as he set the folder down on the table and took the seat across from Carson. “What’s home life been like for you?”

  Carson stared at his hands.

  The judge sighed. “Look, we don’t want any trouble, Carson. It’s unfortunate, but I have to d
o my job. I know you understand that, what with your father being an officer. You know very well how the system works.”

  Carson picked at his fingernails. The judge gave him more than enough time to consider replying. When he didn’t, he huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair. “Fine, then. Don’t talk. Gives me a chance to play with my some of my toys.” Judge James glanced over his shoulder and made a motion with his hand at the glass.

  So someone is watching.

  The door opened a few moments later. Carson dared to glance up when he heard more than just footsteps. The officer who took the pictures of Carson’s brand wheeled in a machine and parked it next to him. Carson’s heart felt like it was going to pound its way out of his chest.

  “What is that?” escaped Carson’s lips without thought. He clenched his jaw tight, grinding his teeth. He accidentally caught his tongue between two molars and tasted blood.

  “So he can speak.” The judge sported a victory grin. The officer began wrapping sensors around Carson’s fingers and slapping sticky electrodes to his face while Judge James answered the question, “This, here, is a very special machine that we don’t really get to use all that often. It’s my favorite toy.” The officer strapped what reminded Carson of a harness to his torso, and he plugged it into the machine before turning it on. The machine’s screen blinked at Carson. “You see,” Judge James said then, “most people cooperate once they’ve been caught. You, for whatever reason, won’t. Why, Carson? We already know your bedding habits. What are you hiding?”

  Carson stared at the machine. It was still booting.

  “Carson,” the judge said to get his attention. Carson didn’t look at him. He clenched his jaw tighter. The judge continued speaking anyway. “The machine will tell us whatever you don’t. It doesn’t matter if you talk or not.”

  Carson’s heart leapt, and suddenly the machine made a semi-quiet warning noise and an image of a line with a spike in it was exhibited. Judge James snorted gleefully at the evidence. “Don’t like that, do you? If it makes you too uncomfortable, you could just talk to us.”

  Carson thought for a moment before responding through a strained voice as he tried not to give away anything more than his words. “If I agree to talk, will you take this off of me?”

  Judge James was quiet for a couple of moments. Finally, he answered, “I will turn it off, but if you start to avoid questions—or if I think you’re lying to me—it goes back on and it will not be turned off again.”

  Carson closed his eyes. He really had no choice. The machine could tell when he was lying. That was what it was designed to do. Even if he doesn’t talk at all, the questions alone will get a physiological reaction out of him which it can then report to the judge.

  “Okay,” Carson whispered, looking directly at Judge James for the first time since the brand of Anem had been revealed. “Deal.”

  The judge nodded once and reached over to the machine, unplugging the wires that connected Carson. The lines and spikes disappeared, and an error message popped up on the screen of the machine. “Are you ready to cooperate then?”

  Carson inhaled deeply and nodded his agreement, though he wanted to kill himself for such a horrible betrayal—to not only Margaret but to himself as well.

  I deserve to burn.

  As he placed the round spectacles back on his face, Judge James said, “Let’s start with an easy one.” He flipped open the folder and took a pen out of his shirt pocket. “How is your home life?”

  Carson shrugged. “Um, okay, I suppose. I don’t really understand what you’re asking of me, though.”

  The judge started jotting down a few notes on a blank piece of paper. “Your family unit. Start with your parents. Do they fight? Are they attentive to you and your needs?”

  Carson’s eyebrows pulled down over his eyes. “My parents?” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen them fight with each other. They don’t ever seemed bothered by the other.”

  “And they’ve always treated you well?”

  “As every parent does their child.”

  “You have a younger sister, correct?”

  Carson’s stomach flipped. Quietly, he responded, “Yes.”

  “What’s her name again?”

  “Cassandra. We call her Casey.” His voice wavered. He cleared his throat in an attempt to even it back out.

  Judge James pulled some papers out of the folder that had information typed on it. He glanced over it for a moment. “She’s eleven?”

  “Yes.” Carson wondered what any of that had to do with the brand. His family was not a factor, as far as he was concerned.

  “And does she seem to be a bit…” the judge paused, searching for the most appropriate word to describe his little sister, “...mischievous as well?”

  “No,” Carson answered quickly. “She’s a good kid.”

  The judge glanced up at him from over his spectacles for a few moments before returning to the papers. “So it’s just you?”

  Carson wouldn’t reply. He didn’t want to mention what he suspected of Derek, that he had also broken the rules once upon a time. But, the judge knew that, didn’t he? He had said as much earlier. Carson couldn’t believe no one had ever told him about Derek’s disobedient past. Although, he shouldn’t have been surprised. The rules insisted that what happened in the past always remained in the past, never to be dredged up again.

  “All right, let’s move on.” The judge shuffled through the stack of papers until he found what he was searching for. He laid out images in front of Carson that had just been taken a little over half an hour before of his brand. It was the first time Carson had ever had a good look at his own brand, but the design itself wasn’t foreign to him at all since he’d spent quite a bit of time over the last year admiring its match on Margaret’s body. “Start here,” he demanded of Carson. “Tell me about the brand of Anem.”

  Carson swallowed. He stared at the pictures. “Well,” he whispered, mouth suddenly drier than the Red Desert east of them. He glanced at the water but thought he’d better wait until he finished answering before taking a sip of it. “It’s the divine marking of the goddess of souls, Bandia an Anem . She grants the mark to those who are sexually intimate.” His nails dug into his palms painfully.

  “And you have one.” It wasn’t a question.

  Carson reached for the glass of water. The judge promptly moved it away. “Don’t avoid my questions by any means.” It was a warning that he’d hook Carson back up to the machine.

  “Yes,” Carson complied, placing his hands back in his lap, handcuffs rattling. He licked his lips, looking back down at the pictures.

  “You aren’t wedded to anyone.” That statement was not a question either.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “When were you branded?”

  Carson considered the question for a moment. But a moment was too long for the judge to wait. Judge James reached over to the machine to plug the wires back in.

  Carson’s heart raced. He blurted, “One!”

  The judge was frozen for a moment. He looked over Carson slowly, his thoughts not easily decipherable on his blank face. “One what?” His hand moved away from the wires gradually, and he clasped both of them in front of him, resting them on the table. “Day? Week? Month?”

  Carson hesitated, but answered in a timely manner. “Year.”

  The judge’s face crinkled then, nose turned up. “A whole year? You were able to keep a secret like that for a year?” He exhaled, disappointed. “For the record, state your age at the time you received the brand.”

  Carson removed his eyes from the judge. Whispering, he simply said, “Sixteen.”

  “Practically a baby,” the judge mumbled under breath, shaking his head in disapproval as he jotted notes down on Carson’s record.

  He’s disgusted with me. He can’t possibly imagine such a thing? Surely I’m not the only one.

  The judge asked another question after he finished writi
ng a paragraph of dialogue, and Carson wondered if he would ever run out of questions. “Who is it, then? The one that has the matching brand?”

  Carson’s heart pounded hard. His palms began sweating. He was glad the machine was not on for that question.

  “Girl? Boy?”

  Carson found it difficult to swallow. He felt like his throat was collapsing.

  “You have two seconds to give me an answer, Carson,” the judge stated. Carson thought he saw his fingers twitch, ready. “Girl or boy?”

  “Girl,” Carson choked out. Did he give too much information away? He should’ve lied. He should’ve let the judge think it was a guy, though Carson wasn’t sure that he’d been able to lie that well.

  “I need a name.”

  No, Carson would never say her name. Even if he was about to die, it would not even be the last thing he ever said. He’d take her name to his grave, if it came down to it. Judge James could plug the wires back into the machine if he wanted, but not even the machine could tell the judge the name of his lover.

  “Her name, Owens. Two seconds.”

  Carson stared harder at the pictures and didn’t flinch when the judge’s twitchy fingers snatched the wires back up and jammed them into the lie detector. Immediately, it began beeping and spiking, showing how nervous he truly was.

  Anem, I only ask that you spare her from the hell of our world…

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Obviously, Judge James was not impressed with the lie detector results. “For Anem’s sake…” he cursed. “You are really on edge about this girl.” He paused for a moment to mute the beeping of the machine. “You only have the one brand, so I know there’s only one name floating around in that head of yours.”

  Carson squeezed his eyes shut for half a second and focused on his breathing. He had to try his hardest to control his nerves.

  “Carson,” Judge James addressed. “Don’t think I don’t get it. You love her, so you want to protect her. Is that right?”

  He didn’t respond in any way. His breathing evened out, yet his heart still bounded in his chest. He thought it would explode if it continued to hammer so roughly against his sternum.