I toy with the envelope, curious about what's inside. I tempt fate, wondering if I'm talented enough to crack the digital lock that's still intact, even after being submerged underwater. Digital electronics nowadays are tough and can withstand almost anything. They are even waterproof. With the modern technology, they kind of have to be. Imagine what a bit of rain would do to SDPs if the emitters couldn't resist water?
I'm about to try my luck with the cipher when a door out in the hallway creaks open slowly. Then, I hear my father's weak voice calling out my name. "Charlotte?"
I jump, the sudden noise startling me. I'm on edge, as I stuff the envelope beneath my pillow, my heart thundering like a terrible storm is taking place inside my chest. I climb to my feet and shuffle out of my room to answer my father's summons.
My father's bedroom door is ajar now. I push it all the way open to find that my father has returned to bed. Today is one of his weaker days, where it hurts for him to be out of bed much. I'm surprised that he was able to make it all the way to the door and back. On his worse days, he barely has enough energy to lift a finger, let alone speak.
He smiles when I enter, a feeble smile but a smile nonetheless. I return his smile, which is forced because considering how my day has gone so far, I really have no reason to smile.
He coughs then, a dry hack that almost sounds as though he's about to throw up a lung— another effect of the chronic disease he has.
The doctors call it the Black Death, like the plague that struck Europe during the Middle Ages. This form of cancer is like nothing ever encountered before twenty or thirty years ago. The disease has evolved somehow so that cells divide at an increased rate and a lot more uncontrollably. The survival rate for this new cancer, which can attack any and multiple parts of the body simultaneously, is two months. My father was diagnosed two years ago. Whether by a blessing or a curse, he has entered the record books as the person to ever live the longest with the disease.
Two years ago was also around the same time my father stopped taking the Purge. That's why I blame the Purge for my father's disease. Once I figured out a way for him to stop inhaling the gas, he's gotten steadily better. He's still really sick and frail though, which dampens my optimism that he can ever make a full recovery. Cancer is hard to beat and I feel like all hope is lost on those days when he's completely bedridden.
Since he's sick, it's easier for him to conceal his emotions whenever his physician and a group of nurses call to check on him every couple of days or so. On his healthier days, he has to be a lot more careful around visitors.
I always hate it when I'm not home in the mornings when the Purge is administered. Abigail is not strong enough to help my father outside, so I always have to make arrangements for his doctor to stop by and have him drink the liquid Purge. The liquid version is bad enough in its own right, even if it's not as strong as the gas form. I also worry that someone will see Abigail with her gas mask on if I'm not here to watch over her. But she's a resourceful girl who has learned a lot from me, so I know she can take care of herself. Nevertheless, I worry about her. I've lost my mother. I've lost Scarlett. Abigail and my father are all I have left.
My father's bedroom is a lot tidier than mine and resembles a hospital room more so than the mating clinic at BioLife. His room smells sterile and I can hear the steady beeping noise of the EKG machine, monitoring his vitals from behind his bed. Whenever his doctor makes a house visit, breathing tubes usually protrude from his nostrils, as well as long IV needles jammed into one of his arms, which always causes me to cringe at the sight.
His room is minimally decorated to accommodate all of the medical equipment. White, boring paint coats the walls and a single painting of a Golden Phoenix hangs aslant by the exit. Two chairs stand to the left of his bed, facing the viewscreen affixed to the opposite wall. A solitary window looks outside upon a sunny evening to my right of the monitoring machines.
I sit on the edge of his bed and wait for his coughing to subside. He looks gaunt and pale, his dark brown skin ashen. It pains me to see him in this state and I forget about everything but him. Emerson's dead body and my flight from the cops are no longer on my mind. Neither is the envelope with the digital cipher. I reach for his hand, always afraid to lose him to death like my mother. I was too young to remember her but memories of my father are present inside of my head now and forever.
If he dies, Abigail and I will go into the system until I turn eighteen. If Abigail is not adopted by then, I can receive full custody over her as long as I can prove that I have a steady source of income from a legitimate job. I'll probably be forced to join the agency or the police force because of my intelligence and skills. Then, I will become a pawn again for the government, unless I fully go underground and pledge my allegiance to SAFE or face the death penalty for murder.
"How was your day?" My father asks me in a hoarse voice. "How was school?"
Education is important to my father for some reason, so he always asks me about school.
I swallow hard. I'm a good liar, but I've never been good at lying when it comes to my father. So far though, I've managed somehow to not reveal my ties to SAFE to him.
"It was okay," I respond.
"You're home early," he notices, glancing at the clock hanging on the adjacent wall.
"I'm not feeling too well, so I blew out of there after fifth period," I lie, this one coming a lot more naturally than the first.
His eyes narrow in concern and the parent in him shines through his aggrieved face. "What's wrong?"
"A stomach bug, I think," I reply, thinking back to Saturday morning when I pretended to throw up to get out of inhaling the Purge. Once before, I pulled off the same trick at school last year when I had an early morning detention for leaving my essay for literature at home. That time, I had to actually puke out all of my breakfast to convince my teacher. It's an easy feat if you drink some syrup of ipecac before class. "I've been feeling nauseated all day."
"There's some Pepto Bismol in my medicine cabinet," he tells me, trying to help.
"No thanks," I say at once, reminded of how nasty the liquid Purge tastes. "I'm just going to wait it out. I should feel better soon." I stare at him and he seems to buy my words. I swallow again, finding it difficult to do so with a dry throat.
"Do you have any courier duties today?" My father wants to know. He needs to stop asking questions that serve as reminders of what happened to me today.
I shake my head. "No, none at all."
He goes into a coughing fit again and I wait, worried that he won't stop. Scarlett used to be a very repetitive sneezer. We would have to wait for more than a dozen sneezes before we could say, "bless you". It became somewhat of an inside family joke. Eventually, my father's fit ends and he speaks in a croaking whisper. "I may have some good news."
I cock an eyebrow, trying to remain in good spirits. But it's just so darn hard when I look at my father and see a man who can take his last breath at any moment now. "And what pray tell would that be?"
"Dr. Prescott remains astounded that I've survived for two years," my father tells me. Dr. Prescott is my father's primary physician and I agree with him—we're all astounded that my father lived for two years post diagnosis. I'm mostly thankful.
"And?" I inquire when he pauses. He hesitates.
"You probably won't like this—" he starts but then falters.
"Then why is it good news?" I don't follow him. If I won't like something, then it can't be good.
"He wants to transfer me to BioLife, to run some tests."
My eyes widen at once, first at the mention of BioLife, a place of nightmares for me now, and second when my father reveals Dr. Prescott's intentions. He's right. I don't like it one bit.
"No," I say, rising to my feet. "No, you can't—why would you want to do that? They just want to turn you into a lab monkey!"
"I'm aware of what might happen to me if I allow myself to be taken to the research facility; however, I'm curious t
o find out the truth as to why I have lived this long—"
"It's because you're off the Purge."
"—and Dr. Prescott seems like he might be able to find out how I'm a medical miracle. He mentioned a program started by the famous Dr. Emilia Cato. You remember that woman who was on the cover of every digital magazine and newspaper when she perfected the Purge formula? Well, she's got something good going now. She's trying to find a cure to this mutated cancer. If there's any way I can help her and Dr. Prescott achieve this, then I need to try. I can't live with myself knowing that there's a possibility that I can help others."
"Or help yourself," I speak quietly. It might be selfish of me but right now, I don't care about anyone out there going through the same thing as my father. I only care about him. I want him to get better. I want him to be cured.
"He's requested that I think about it and let him know whenever I'm ready to. I know it's a huge decision but if it's any incentive, I will receive tons of money for volunteering. Money isn't everything but we can use a bit more. My medical bills are not getting any cheaper. Besides, when I'm gone at least I know that you and Abby will be well off financially."
"We don't need government charity," I say stubbornly.
To my surprise, my father chuckles suddenly and sputters out a few coughs. "All money we receive is government charity in one shape or another."
He's right so I can't argue with him. But I really don't want him to turn himself over to science. Can't the government find a cure to cancer without him? We have all of this wonderful technology but no cure to the one disease ravaging the island's population. It doesn't make any sense to me.
"I know this is your decision," I say softly, returning to my perch on his bed. "But I just don't know if this is a good idea. I understand you're thinking about your children's future but I don't want you to do anything reckless that you might regret."
Easy for me to say when I'm the world's biggest hypocrite. I'm always reckless, performing jobs as a Messenger. I've never regretted what I've done though, at least not until now.
And why does Dr. Prescott want to send my father to BioLife? I know they have a large research facility but I definitely don't want my father going there.
My father nods, coughs, and promptly changes the subject. He asks me about how my remedial history class is going. I tell him how boring it is and he lectures me about the importance of learning about and from history. I listen to him, just to hear him talk. I'm glad he's hanging in there. I'm glad he's still alive.
Like always, I cherish this moment with my father because it could be our last. He's knocking on death's door and I might be joining Scarlett in prison, the second of our family to be a criminal.
Eventually, my father drifts off to sleep. I listen for his steady breathing before I rise from the bed. I exit his room, planning to get in touch with one of the Entity's contacts before Abigail comes home.
Chapter Six
Liam
After I answered all of Olivia Cruz's questions so that she could get this breaking news story out to the public, the cops took Dr. Cato away in the back of a patrol car.
Sophia and I faced more questions from the other media sources gathered in the area. Most of the inquiries were directed towards me, since my mother was the criminal involved. I responded to whatever was thrown my way coolly, never losing my head as the Purge medicated my mind, body, and soul. I fed the journalists and reporters what they needed to hear, all of the facts and evidence we have gathered so far. A couple of them tossed questions my way that could produce a incriminating reactions. Whether by intent or accident on their parts, I replied with exceptional thought and passivity.
Afterwards, the cops ushered the media away so that Sophia and I could leave the crime scene. The cops continued to scour the entire house for any evidence that might've been missed, while Sophia and I returned to headquarters to process necessary paperwork. While there, Sophia made a discovery that those who are unfaithful to the Purge would call interesting.
"Look at this," she handed me a digital reader containing a file she just downloaded from our superiors. "Our informant concerning Dr. Cato has been identified, though not in a typical way."
Earlier, I asked Sophia to stop referring to Dr. Cato as "your mother". She obliged at once.
I accepted the reader from her and my eyes scanned over the digital letters on the screen. Informants are typically identified to agents working relevant cases for multiple reasons. Matters like ensuring the informant's safety from retaliating forces, as well as providing a suitable financial reward, stand at the top of the priority list. Usually the informant's name and other important information are contained in the file but not that time. The file was different, containing no data whatsoever except that—
"The informant is an agent of the Secret Police?" I asked rhetorically. "It says here that she's undercover, working out of the office of the Entity. Isn't that—"
"The information broker?" Sophia finished for me, nodding. "Yes, it is." Then, she proceeded to list off facts about the Entity. "One of the leaders of SAFE, sells information for a hefty sum of money, knows somehow what's happening inside the Core around the clock, and opposes a secret government program taking place near the colonies out in the northern ruins. The Entity is a powerful individual and no one knows his or her true identity. Some speculate that the Entity is the same person donning the Wanderer costume years ago, but guessing is for minds independent of the Purge."
"Now we have an agent working for him." I stated placidly. "It's unlikely that she answers to him directly though. The Entity is obviously very secretive and doesn't allow just anyone within his inner circle. Maybe the agent can uncover a way to bring him down no matter how close she is to him."
I required learning the name of the agent but most of the data was classified, even to agents like Sophia and me.
But Sophia's discovery of that data revealed how Dr. Cato now faced criminal charges. The uncover agent was trailing an underling of the Entity who was in contact with Dr. Cato. The two of them met in that bar and afterwards, the agent decided to investigate Dr. Cato, which led to the findings inside her home. That also confirmed that Dr. Cato has indeed secured valuable information if she was willing to share it with the Entity.
After Sophia and I were done at the office, I headed home to the penthouse apartment provided to me by the agency.
My apartment is on one of the upper floors of the Paradise Grand Hotel and it overlooks downtown with a view of the city I could never find impressive. Standing at a post before the glass windows that circle the entire place; however, I can make out important landmarks, such as BioLife and the HQ of the Secret Police, as well as the heavily fortified enclosed area reserved for the Core. From my apartment, the Core resembles a giant electrical cocoon, an engineering flaw if you ask me. Butterflies emerge from cocoons after undergoing the necessary transformation from a caterpillar. Considering the butterfly is the emblem of the rebellion, it doesn't seem logical for the Core to be shaped like a cocoon.
But the Core was constructed long before SAFE was founded. SAFE leaders probably thought it was funny to somehow pervert the chosen structural shape of the Core by making the butterfly their symbol. It could symbolize the desire of the rebels to one day penetrate the Core's defenses. Or I could be mistaken. Even if I was a lawbreaker myself, I would never comprehend humor. Deciphering the true meaning behind jokes seems tougher than interpreting the mind map of a genius.
After arriving home, I shower and change into civilian clothes. Dr. Cato's arrest doesn't trouble me but my mind drifts back to the earlier scene occasionally. I realize that I never really gotten to know Dr. Cato or my father. If I had known Dr. Cato better, then I would have spotted all of the telltale signs that she was off the Purge.
But getting to know people better can sometimes create complications like attachment or affection. Even inside the embrace of the Purge, a law-abiding citizen has to be careful. Temptation is ever
ywhere and can arise inadvertently or purposely. The closest comparison I can think of is the daily struggles of a devout religious person. He or she walks by faith and tries to lead a virtuous life; however, sin is always present to attempt to lead that person astray.
Emotions are the greatest sins for those of us who depend upon the Purge. Even though the drug helps to keep us impassive, that still doesn't mean that we don't think about or consider our concealed emotions. The Purge only suppresses our feelings but they are always there, buried deep inside of us all, waiting to leap out of us if we're not vigilant.
I entered the agency program when I was only six years old, so it would have been difficult for me to study my parents. I spent the next few years attending military school, where I obtained essential knowledge about mathematics, science, and history, as well as acquired skills necessary to become an agent. Ten and a half months out of a year, I was away from home and away from my parents. Then, at age nine, I started basic training inside the confines of the agency, and I left home for good. I was a prodigy, excelling at intelligence, stealth and reconnaissance, combat tactics, weapons proficiency, so that by the time I was twelve, I was already a junior agent. The following year, I was promoted to a full-fledged agent. Most don't enter the field as an agent until sixteen. I accomplished that feat three years early, the youngest to ever do so. I broke the previous record established by Sophia, who was promoted when she was fourteen.
My parents would have been proud of me if such an emotion was allowed. Dr. Cato's father—my grandfather, I suppose—was a Secret Police agent. And my father served briefly in the Amber Army, the private armed forces stationed inside the Core. Faithfully serving the government and upholding the precious laws of society runs in my family. Who I am is inside of my genes and it strengthens me, protecting me from the threat of unleashing sentiments.
A few months after I was elevated to field agent, my father became stricken with the mutated cancer that's devastating Paradise. He died less than a year later. At his funeral, we laid to rest a decorated hero, who did his part during the uprising in the northern ruins and contributed greatly to the electrical progress of the island. Neither Dr. Cato nor I grieved his loss, although I now suspect that she secretly did.
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