Traitor

by Alyson Santos

  “Maybe it’s not.” I take a deep breath and risk, “But there are other secrets, aren’t there?”

  His stare collides with mine before it darts away, and I shiver at the brief, powerful connection.

  “Some secrets are secrets for a reason, Andie.”

  His response only draws me in further. “I heard what the sergeant said. Over a month in captivity?”

  “Thirty-four days.”

  My veins burn. “I’m so sorry.”

  He shrugs. “Right. Well, isn’t that life for all of us? I could say the same to you. What about your story?”

  “Mine is nothing like that.”

  “That doesn’t make it hurt less. Pain isn’t relative. Losing your father, being separated from your mother, the constant fear of soldiers, going hungry, those things are still allowed to hurt even though I lost a leg.”

  He’s right, and I settle beside him. “Is that how it happened?”

  He follows my gaze down to his boot and tugs his uniform to reveal a prosthetic.

  “They couldn’t save it. Almost every bone in my foot was shattered. The tibia was broken in so many places, they couldn’t even tell what was supposed to go where. And the tendons…” He shakes his head. “Anyway, there was no point. They said it had to come off at the knee. This part is all real though. One hundred percent human.” He pats his thigh with mock praise.

  “The rebels did that to you?”

  He leans forward with an earnestness that glues me to the cushion.

  “I know how confusing this has to be for you. It seems like one side has kidnapped you and brought you to a prison, that they’re your enemies. But I swear to you, Andie, as long as you follow the guidelines and obey your schedule, you will be safe here. You need to understand that those forces out there, those people claiming they’re fighting oppression? They aren’t. They’re fighting for the same thing we are: control. There are no good guys in this war. The best thing you can do is stay anonymous and keep your head down so neither side has any reason to notice you.”

  I don’t like his tone, the way his eyes refuse to meet mine like this conversation is just the beginning. Like part of it wasn’t even for me.

  “So how do you know everyone you’ve brought here actually wants your protection? How do you know some of the civilians you collect aren’t sympathetic to the rebels?”

  “We don’t.”

  It’s then that it hits me. “Wait, the inventories, RP-7s, TAs, all that stuff?”

  He shoves a palm over his face. “Yeah, they’re a pain-in-the-ass.”

  “But they aren’t blind bureaucracy.”

  His hand drops as his gaze locks on me. “No. The system is designed to flush out risks by identifying anomalies.”

  I know I should let the conversation end. A warning fires through my brain to return to my files, the safety of monotony, but I can’t stop staring at his uniform. The disguise hides a different story on his body, and only one sentence rests on my tongue. I hold it there for as long as I can, but when he absently tugs at the fabric of his collar, it explodes out.

  “Did the rebels really give you all those scars?”

  He stiffens. “You heard a lot.”

  There’s no anger in his sigh, and I stare at his hands again. I have a sudden need to connect with them, to find out if they’re always as strong and warm as his greeting that first day. I don’t want to imagine them bound, bloody. I don’t want to imagine anyone ever hurting this person. I’ve finally asked a question I don’t want the answer to.

  “Forty-seven.” He avoids my pained reaction. “It’s a pretty famous story at this point and not as interesting as you’d think.”

  “I still want to hear it.”

  His attention returns with a hint of amusement. “You and your facts, Sorenson.” I shrug, and he shakes his head. “Fine. I wasn’t a very valuable prisoner. I didn’t even reach the rank of Lance Corporal until after my return, and that was mostly to acknowledge what I went through. Wrong place, wrong time, I guess. I didn’t have the information they wanted.”

  “They didn’t believe you?”

  I shouldn’t be surprised he seems uncomfortable with this topic. That he hesitates before each answer. His eyes make rapid patterns while responses form in his head. Honestly, I wouldn’t be if I didn’t suspect more than discomfort in those silences. “They believed what I wanted them to believe.”

  I feel the chill of my wide eyes. “So you let them torture you for weeks?”

  “Basically.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “It worked, didn’t it? I’m alive to tell the tale.”

  “Alive with a body of scars, no leg, and enough trauma that your CO is threatening to court-martial you if you don’t go to therapy.”

  “Therapy?”

  “That’s what you were arguing about, right?”

  “Right.” His lips curve then fall.

  “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. Just, we hear rumors about some of the rebel techniques. And some of yours.”

  He grunts. “Yeah. Well, they’re similar.”

  “Really?”

  I’m struck again by the depth in his gaze when he glances over at me. Alarmed at how I’m suddenly obsessed with details I have no right to know. But I need them. Anything that will help me understand the pain hounding this stranger who never seemed like one. Maybe it’s the same as mine. Maybe there’s a connection that could heal us if we grasped it. At least, I think it’s pain. I have no way of interpreting what’s hidden behind the soldier mask. And yet, the mask does nothing to stop the beauty flowing from Kaleb, the man.

  His sudden acknowledgment of the clock assures me I won’t be solving that contradiction today. “I think it’s time to get to work now, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, of course.” My gaze follows him back to his desk, and I stifle regret at not touching him when I had the chance. None of this is good, this disturbing attachment. I don’t want to admit I’m captivated by a captor. But it’s hard to ignore that I’m the world’s worst filer for the rest of the shortened day.

  Damn, Vi can hold a grudge. Days later the frost still coats the walls of our room, and it’s getting old.

  “Come on, Vi. How long is this going to last?”

  I’m less important than her drawer as she triples the length of time it takes to choose one of two night shirts. “How long are you going to befriend the vipers?”

  “Vipers? Are you serious? It’s my assignment. What do you want me to do?”

  “That’s not it. A job is a job. It’s the fact that you seem happy about it.”

  “Happy that I get to work in a comfortable office instead of sorting through other people’s dirty underwear? Yeah, I’m happy about it.”

  “Then I don’t see why you need my approval. Who cares what I think?”

  I block her path to the bathroom and force her to look at me.

  “True, I don’t need your approval. It’s my assignment, and I’m enjoying it. But I do care what you think. You’re my roommate and I hope one day, my friend. What I don’t understand is why you’re so angry about a situation that doesn’t even concern you. How can you hate someone you don’t know simply because of the uniform he wears?”

  “Get out of my way, Andie.”

  I step aside. “He lost his leg, you know.”

  “So what? He’s a soldier. It probably happened while blowing up some poor family’s house.”

  “Has he done something to you? Do you know him or something?”

  My blood pounds until she finally shakes her head. “No, I don’t, but I know these drones and they’ll do anything to accomplish their missions. They round us up like cattle and dump us in here to disappear. Is that what you want?”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  Vi’s nostr
ils flare. “Yeah, right. So how long are we going to be here. The rest of our lives? Wake up, Andie. They own us.”

  I soften as I realize how much hurt she’s hiding. “I don’t know how long we’ll be here, but listen to yourself. You’re blaming all the ills of our society on a building supervisor who’s done nothing but treat me with kindness and respect.”

  “No doubt for a reason.”

  “Yeah, maybe because he has a heart and cares. I’ve seen a glimpse into his world, and you wouldn’t believe what he faces to take care of us.”

  My argument only makes her cool into a bored stare, and I throw my hand up. “Fine, whatever. Hate all you want.”

  “Can I shower now?”

  Vi is in bed when I take over the bathroom for my own evening rituals. I squeeze toothpaste onto my brush with gentle pressure. Not too much. Our toilet paper stock looks good. I smooth out my long hair with a careful hand to avoid any damage to the comb. It’s freeing in a way. This concern for mundane conservation. Fragments of control in an iron cage. I can appreciate the appeal of inventories. The relief doesn’t last though. Not when Kaleb’s story punctures the comfort of routine.

  It’s tempting to blame the sudden pressure in my chest on the continued feud with Vi. Bad food, harsh lighting, cold detachment. Old memories tiptoeing back to haunt the present. But none of that is the reason I stand frozen before my reflection. It’s an enigmatic soldier who consumes my thoughts, who’s turned survival into a crusade. I’m scarred with purpose as my imagination runs into nightmares at the thought of what it would take to destroy such a strong, resilient soldier. Replays of the sergeant’s demands smack me with images of Kaleb strung up at the mercy of creative enemies. Forty-seven scars. Reconstructed face. Lost leg. Those vibrant eyes dim with agony.

  Even worse is the fear that there’s more. That his argument with his CO wasn’t about a skipped therapy session. That his explanations were meant as soothing balm for me, not him. I cringe at the thought of confronting him, and yet it’s difficult to resist compassion for the only person who’s demonstrated it since my abduction. Confusing too, but…

  Fact: Kaleb Novelli made a friend with his casual kindness whether he wants one or not.

  “How was therapy last night?”

  Kaleb looks up from a folder. “Good morning to you too.”

  “You seem much improved. Good thing they made you go.” I’m hoping for the glimmer in his eyes when he laughs but he resists any humor today.

  “Yes, much improved, thanks.”

  My mood fades as his expression darkens.

  “Andie, about yesterday.”

  “I shouldn’t have listened—”

  “No, it’s not your fault. It’s mine for elaborating.”

  “But you didn’t say much.” I hate the sudden wall between us and take a step toward it. “Kaleb, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, I just needed to clarify that. Now, we should get to work. There’s a lot to do today. You need to forget what you heard yesterday, especially what we discussed. What happened is in the past and not relevant to our work.”

  So why does he peek at the door?

  My pulse pounds.

  “Wait. Are you afraid of something?”

  He shakes his head. “Only that I’ve been unclear about our relationship here. My job is to protect you and take care of you, but I am not your friend. You are my assistant, that’s all.”

  “But I—”

  “Just do your job and let me do mine. If that’s not possible, I’ll have you reassigned.”

  “You’d reassign me? For overhearing one little conversation?”

  “Can you do your job or not?” The bite in his tone doesn’t match the person I knew yesterday. When I check his eyes, there’s no harmony there either.

  “Yes, of course. I’m an excellent filer.” I can hear the hurt in my own voice as I shuffle toward my piles.

  “Thank you for understanding.”

  I don’t. At all. Lines move in his jaw as he takes his place behind his desk.

  Fact: He didn’t like that conversation any more than I did.

  The rest of the day is excruciating, and I’m not sure how to act the following morning either. It only takes my entrance to learn that we have a new script. Cold and indifferent is the theme now, I guess. The musty smell starts to sting my nostrils again.

  “Morning,” I mutter.

  “Morning.”

  I feel his gaze from across the room, but he avoids contact when I try to meet it. I get through one whole folder before bursting out, “Is it because you don’t trust me?” and his face hardens.

  “It has nothing to do with you, Andie. It’s policy.”

  “It’s policy that we have to spend eight hours a day in total silence?”

  “It’s policy that we can’t be friends.”

  “You can talk to people without being friends.”

  “You and I can’t.”

  I suck in my breath. “Kaleb…”

  “Andie, let it go. I need you to do that for me.”

  “Because you’ll get in trouble?”

  There it is. That anxious flicker again. Irrefutable evidence that there’s a reason not to.

  “Yes. I’ll get in trouble. So will you.”

  “How much trouble?”

  “A lot.”

  “Like, prison level or laundry duty level?”

  “Um...”

  “You don’t even know, do you.”

  “Andie.”

  “Is this office bugged?”

  He releases the slightest curve of the lips. “No, probably not.”

  “Oh, okay. So how else would they know we talk and might be criminal friends?”

  He shakes his head, his mouth spreading into a deeper smile that slices through me now that I’m not allowed to enjoy them. “They just would.”

  “Really? That’s the best you’ve got? And you survived rebel interrogations for thirty-four days?”

  I now know what pure exasperation looks like.

  “You’re asking a lot of questions for someone who’s supposed to be filing.”

  “And you’re doing a semi-decent job at not answering them.”

  “Andie.”

  “One more. Do you care whether I sort the formal reprimands by date or subject?”

  He rubs a hand over his head. “No, I’ll leave that to your discretion.”

  “Oh, okay. So you trust me with file folders at least.”

  “Andie, come on.”

  “What? It’s just, I’m holding a half-inch stack of memos proving you don’t give a crap about the rules. All except this one, apparently.”

  “I do care about the rules. I’m a soldier.”

  I jerk open a folder. Loud wrinkle of cardboard, hard stare, all drama.

  “Investigation has disclosed that on June 12 Lance Corporal Novelli was derelict in the performance of his duties in that he willfully failed to discipline a resident of Building 9B for being in violation of resident conduct code 17.42a.iii-6c.

  “June 26. Lance Corporal Novelli was derelict in the performance of his duties in that he willfully failed to discipline residents of Building 9B for being in violation of codes 17.42a.iii-6c, 17.42a.iii-6e, and 17.42a.iii-4b.

  “July 18. Lance Corporal Novelli has refused orders to discipline residents for being in violation of resident conduct code 17.42a.iii-6c and will be subject to a nonjudicial hearing. He shall report at 0900 on Thursday, July 23 to account for his lack of actions.”

  I catch my remaining critique at the look on his face.

  “You shouldn’t be reading those.” There’s that hand again, scrubbing hair and features in agitation.

  “This is my job. I have to read them to know how to file them properly. Who’s this resident?
”

  “It doesn’t matter. Someone on Floor 1 who was late to dinner a few times because her Supervisor wasn’t dismissing her from work detail on time. I let her eat anyway.”

  “And you also refused to discipline her for it?”

  “Of course I did. It wasn’t her fault.”

  I swallow my pain at his.

  “What happened at your hearing?”

  “I lost privileges.”

  “What kind of privileges?”

  “Important ones. Why are you so nosy?”

  “Why would you sacrifice yourself for some random refugee?”

  He returns to his screen. “We should get back to work.”

  “Why can’t we talk anymore? That can’t be a rule.”

  “Andie, I told you to drop it!”

  “I can’t.” I care about you. There it is. I care.

  “You don’t know a thing about me or this place! You just need to stay in the shadows and follow the rules until this war is over and you can go home, okay? Put your energy into not asking questions.”

  “But the facts—”

  “Facts will get you hurt, Andie.”

  We both quiet as his plea settles around us. It was a plea.

  I have to force my hands steady. “Okay, but what about you?”

  “You can’t concern yourself with me. My situation is different.”

  “Yeah, because you’re a soldier sworn to obey your superiors. They could execute you for not following the rules. How are you not in prison already?”

  He stiffens and my blood goes cold. After a long, agonizing stare, he leans toward his phone.

  “What are you doing?” Panic replaces my frustration.

  “You’re giving me no choice but to reassign you.”

  “No! Please, Kaleb, don’t. Just…” I cringe at the desperation oozing out of me, but I’m in no position to stop it. Our impasse is wrong, and it kills me that he can’t see it. Or won’t. I don’t know which is worse.

  I drop the file on his desk. “I want to obey you, but how am I supposed to let this go when I’m holding a folder proving the person you are? How do I ignore this?” My fingers press into the pile of documents, his eyes on mine. The hard silence is painful, but neither of us knows where to go from here.