"Why?" I repeated quietly, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I realized what was happening.
"I didn't tell you because I'm . . . I'm ashamed."
"Scarlett, I'm your sister. You shouldn't feel that way. I could have helped you. Going through your withdrawal must have been difficult to fight alone."
She smiled weakly. It was bizarre to see a smile on a face that had never soften from a rigid, vacant expression. Either Scarlett was a natural (I was unsure if humans possessed the basic ability to smile anymore) or she had a lot a practice over the course of the last few months. "I learned to make it through my withdrawal from you."
My bulging eyes finally narrowed. "What do you mean?" I questioned curiously, temporarily forgetting about the two agents prowling downstairs in the living room. I also didn't notice that the running water inside of the bathroom was silenced suddenly. Abigail's shower had reached its end and she would be emerging shortly to say good night before going to bed. She should have been in bed hours ago but when my father wasn't home, Scarlett and I tended to be poor substitutes as parents.
"Music," she responded simply. "I don't have music constantly playing inside of my head like you do. But listening to it whenever I could helped me get through all the pain and everything, you know?"
I nodded. I knew perfectly what she meant. We were alike in many ways because we were not only sisters, but also twins. Scarlett was the oldest by seven minutes. She was named for the peculiar red streak in her hair that she was born with. No one knew why several locks of her hair were red. Modern day science showed it flaws quite often, so something must have occurred during the genetic processing after my parents had conceived us inside of a mating clinic at BioLife. Instead of prenatal vitamins and other measures used in the old days to ensure that a baby developed healthily inside of the womb, doctors now provide fetuses with all kinds of genetic enhancing drugs. The government sought, and continues to seek, the perfect society and they would go through any means necessary to achieve their lofty goal, as evident by the deployment of the Purge on a daily basis.
I stared at Scarlett. Even though we were twins, we weren't identical. In fact, she looked less like me than Abigail. Her hair lacked my annoying frizz and was cut into a layered bob. Her red streak stained several strands of her bangs as they fell down to a stop right above her thin eyebrows. Her eyes were hazel as well, but a little more brown tinted. She was considerably shorter than I, so that Abigail stood at almost the same height, coming up only a few inches short. My father once said that Scarlett favored him, while Abigail and I favored our dead mother. I didn't know what he meant by that and I never asked him for clarification. It was one of the many things I needed to discuss with him before he passed away. There was a lot of stuff about my mother in particularly that I wanted him to finally talk about.
"Why were you crying?" I questioned Scarlett suddenly. With those words, everything I forgot about briefly returned to my mind in full force. The agents downstairs! How long had we kept them waiting while we talked? Abigail's shower was over. When would she come out of the bathroom? I needed to warn her somehow before she did anything unintentionally stupid in front of Agents Ramos and Bailey.
"I—I—" Scarlett's voice faltered.
"Go on," I encouraged her. "You know that you can tell me anything."
She climbed to her feet suddenly and walked across the bedroom to peer out the window at the falling rain. Thunder rumbled suddenly and its aftershock shook the entire house. A lightning bolt streaked across the sky soon thereafter, flashing across Scarlett's suddenly very somber features as she spun around to face me again.
"I've screwed up, Charlotte," she told me, her voice unsteady. "Bad. I thought I could control all of my emotions. I knew I was an amateur but I have observed you for almost two years now. You're so talented at concealing your emotions and I thought I could be just as great. But I was wrong."
"What did you do?" I wanted to know, although a part of me tried to convince me otherwise. I stood up slowly, as unsteady on my feet suddenly as Scarlett's voice was. "What happened?"
Chapter Nine, Part Two
Charlotte
"I'm not sure but I think . . . I think I've fallen in love."
That revelation stunned me to the very core. Love? I didn't even know what love was exactly and I read books about people romancing others all the time. I liked to imagine how love would feel like but I never thought it would make me cry.
"Love?"
Scarlett sniffled. "Crazy, right?"
I nodded but was unable to say anything more.
"There's a boy who used to be in my training squad when he was a junior agent like me," Scarlett continued, almost reflectively. "Now that he has been promoted, I only see him when he returns to speak to the class about his endeavors out in the field. His black hair is simply . . . beautiful. It's dark like the heavens but alight with a sheen that reminds me of twinkling stars. And his eyes . . . they're so precious, even though they have lost some of their brightness because of the Purge. They look like those turquoise colored shoes you used to wear all the time when we were younger, before your favorite color switched to purple."
"And you . . . love this boy?" I wondered, my mind bewildered beyond repair.
Scarlett nodded once. "I think so."
"Well, that's certainly not a bad thing. You should feel happy, even though he could never reciprocate your feelings."
Scarlett shook her head then, twice. "It is bad. Love is the most outlawed emotion in our society, remember? And I think they've found out, my superiors I mean. I think they know, or at least suspect, that I'm not myself anymore."
"Surely you didn't tell this boy how you—"
"No, never!" Scarlett exclaimed, appalled by proposed statement. "I'm not stupid."
"Well, how do they know, or might know?"
Scarlett hesitated again. She was clearly embarrassed. She turned back towards the window again.
"The way I act whenever he's around. I'm just . . . different. I let my guard down. I almost lose control of emotions. It's difficult to not explode with affection whenever I glance at him. Sometimes I slip. I don't do anything that would cause anyone to arrest me on the spot but I'm not necessarily a drone either. Agent Ramos, my superior officer, called me into his office to question me yesterday. He's suspicious of my behavior. Well, as suspicious as he can be while on the Purge."
"Agent Ramos?" I echoed. "Is he a big guy who looks like he could crush a car in his bare hands?"
"Yeah," Scarlett replied with a tiny, bitter laugh. "How did you know that?"
"Because he's downstairs right now," I revealed to her, my heart racing and my mind going into overload. "He's here with Agent Bailey to speak with you."
Scarlett turned away from the window and gaped at me through the obscurity separating us from one another. "They know. They're here for me."
I tried not to panic when I said, "I checked outside. There weren't any cops accompanying them. I don't think they're here to arrest you or anything." At least, I hoped they weren't there to arrest her.
"They're there," Scarlett told me. "You just didn't see them. They expect me to attempt to run but they will have the entire area blocked off."
I panicked then. I rushed towards her. She stood there, paralyzed not in fear, but rather in acceptance.
"You have to get out of here!" I urged her, trying to stay strong. "I can help you escape. I can create a diversion or something. I can—"
"It's no use, Charlotte. They'll have the entire neighborhood secured as well as surrounding areas. And if they can't find me, they will silence the Grid until they can." She started walking towards the door, bravely or foolishly, I couldn't decide. My mind was numb with the thought of losing Scarlett. Like my mother.
I ran in front of her and blocked the door, my body operating on instinct and the desire to stop Scarlett from making the wrong decision. I tried to convince myself that she didn't need to walk out of that door and
down the stairs to meet her doom. I tried to convince myself that she could get away, that she could find a place to hide for the rest of her days. But I wasn't convinced, so that just made me stubborn.
"Step aside, Charlotte," Scarlett said calmly.
"No," I retorted firmly.
"You can't help me now."
"Like hell I can."
"No, you can't."
"I can and you know it. I know this city well because I've explored it so much as a Messenger. I can take you a hiding place, my hiding place. They'll never find you there and I can convince SAFE to protect you."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Scarlett, please."
"No!" And faster than the streak of lightning that just flashed outside, Scarlett withdrew a Rain Discharger from her waist and directed it at me. Her own sister.
"What are you—"
"Get out of the way, Charlotte."
I shake my head. "You're not going to shoot me. You wouldn't." My entire body trembled upon legs offering weak support, but I held my ground. We stood in a showdown, squaring off like the cowboys of the western novels I read before. We glared at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. Scarlett had me at an advantage by training a pistol at me. I swallowed, as sweat beads popped up along my forehead like spontaneous pimples.
Scarlett lowered her gun suddenly and tossed it onto her bed. "You're right," she admitted. "I can't shoot you but I need you to let me go. It's the only way to protect our family. Have you considered what they could do to you or Abigail or Dad if I escape? Stop and think about the consequences and tell me if you think I should still flee then."
I didn't even consider what could happen when I told her, "We could come too, go into hiding like you."
"Dad needs medical attention to stay alive. SAFE can't provide that, if that's what you're thinking."
She knew me too well. I was thinking about that and as much as I hated to admit it, she was correct. SAFE had limited medical supplies, technology, and staff. There was no way they could provide the treatments that my father needed on a daily basis. I could try and rally up a few revolutionaries to help me raid hospitals for medicine and equipment but I doubted a lot of them would be willing to risk his or her neck for one family.
"Let me go," Scarlett requested. "Besides, we don't even know if they're here to arrest me. They could be here for an assignment. Perhaps today is the day I receive commendations for field duty."
Her attempt at optimism was crap.
So, I did the only thing I could do then. I let her go. Scarlett walked out of the room with her head held high and I followed her.
Everything that occurred after that passed in a blur. I remembered Scarlett descending the stairs into the living room, her uniform as pristinely white as her counterparts, only it lacked lapel pins and was damp around the collar with tears. I watched in horror, trying to keep my face as stiff as possible, as the two agents exchanged words with my sister. I heard what was said but my brain never processed the information. I was there but my mind was somewhere far away, in a special place where this wasn't happening.
Before I knew it, they slapped a pair of handcuffs on Scarlett's wrists and Agent Bailey read the rights of criminals who commit crimes of emotions. I wanted to lash out at Ramos and Bailey, take up one of their guns, and shoot them down right where they stood. But I didn't. I couldn't. It was either save Scarlett or Abigail and my father. I felt stretched between both sides, torn between the two. Scarlett needed me but so did Abigail and my father. Should I trade one of them to save two, or two to save one? Could I save all three?
Too late. The decision was made for me. The agents escorted Scarlett out of the house and the last I saw of her was her retreating back as they stepped out into the deluge. I didn't even get the chance to say goodbye. I heard movement behind me after Agent Ramos closed the door in their wake. I collapsed to the floor, unable to hold back the tears anymore. I looked up to find Abigail's face staring down at me somberly from the top of the stairs. She had emerged from the bathroom and she had witnessed Scarlett being hauled off to prison. She sat down on the topmost step and buried her face into her arms.
The most painful thing I ever had to do was inform my father of Scarlett's fate. We never saw my twin sister again. She had a trial but it was against the law for us to attend. We received the news via email that she had been sentenced to twenty years behind bars simply because she loved a boy. We would be adults, Abigail included, and my father would probably be dead before we ever saw her again.
Scarlett never told me the name of the boy she loved. I'm glad she didn't because I would have hunted him down by now and forced him to realize that he ruined my family. It was all his fault. Or was it? I don't know.
All I know is that I'm about twenty seconds away from joining Scarlett in prison. Maybe we will be reunited soon, perhaps to share a cell together like we shared a room once before.
With my hands in the air, I turn around to face my doom bravely. Like Scarlett did.
Chapter Ten
Liam
With the Amber Army overseeing everything, I review the vid of the earlier interrogation of the concierge.
I'm alone with a BioLife tech inside of the same security room where I saw the broken footage of the killer entering Emerson's suite and her subsequent escape from security. An important piece of the puzzle stands missing thanks to the power outage—the actual murder—but the cameras picked up enough evidence that would stand up in court. If she hadn't produced a pistol right before the glitch, then it would be a different story.
Sophia is not with me because Ramos sent her downstairs to check the logs concerning Emerson's visitors while he stayed at mating clinic. Ramos requested that I watch the interrogation he conducted because of my knack for reading the hidden emotions of others. He's aware that he could have missed something—a look behind the concierge's dull eyes or the certain way he shifts his body in his seat.
This digivid has audio, unlike the ones of Dr. Cato's secret meeting and Emerson's murder. The footage is in black and white like most visual evidence. It's for the purpose of the jury, who's not allowed to view the color red during a trial. To simplify matters, all color is removed from recordings.
I observe the solitary camera closely as Ramos enters a small room, carrying a digital notepad to record audio. The concierge sits at a rectangular table, his face cleansed of any emotion. His apathetic eyes stare at Ramos' approaching figure and I can tell he's not the least bit intimidated by seeing a man with arms the size of cannons—those outlandish, but effective contraptions soldiers employed to obliterate enemies before the advent of rockets and missiles. Most people are a little frightened of Ramos, even if their faces don't outright betray their fear.
"My name is Agent Jackson Ramos," Ramos introduces himself to the concierge, a thin man with stringy blond hair and watery eyes. His uniform is a pale gray, almost like the getups of patrolmen. He regards Ramos with an indifferent expression.
"Ethan Carmichael. As you should know already, I'm one of the concierges of the mating clinic here at BioLife."
Ramos pulls out the chair across from Ethan and takes a seat. He places the digital recorder upon the tabletop gently. "I will record this interview for official records," he informs Ethan, acting upon protocol. "Before we begin the actual interrogation, I need to ask you a couple of mandatory questions. You are to answer these questions, as well as subsequent questions, truthfully. Falsifying any answers may result in disciplinary action."
"Okay," Ethan says with a steady voice.
"Can repeat your name?"
Ethan does as he's told and Ramos proceeds to ask him a few more customary inquiries. Ethan gives up his personal information willingly. He's calm as he's supposed to be and I can't detect anything behind the responses he provides. Once Ramos start proposing queries pertaining to Emerson's murder, I'm certain that I will be able to find something beneath the surface of
Ethan's visage.
When the initial questioning period comes to an end, Ramos looks Ethan square in the eyes and pauses briefly. Ethan returns his gaze and for a moment it appears that the two of them are playing that stupid game kids played a long time ago. Something called a "staring contest" I think.
"You were on duty during the time that Emerson's murder took place today, correct?"
Ethan nods, his eyes never leaving Ramos' face when he replies, "Yes, sir. Yes, I was."
"At around seven-twenty this morning, you returned to your post after taking the Purge?"
Ethan nods again. I get the impression that he's either unsure of how to respond to Ramos's questions or tilting his head forward is an involuntary action. "I returned to the clinic lobby a few minutes prior, as soon as I had inhaled the Purge."
"A woman with blond hair arrived shortly thereafter. Could you describe her in greater detail?"
Another nod. "She was tall for a woman, a little taller than an average man. Her hair was blond like you said and her eyes could have been brown. I couldn't really tell because I saw her from across the lobby. She headed straight for Emerson's suite without asking for directions. She knew exactly where she was going."
I notice that Ethan's beginning to get slightly nervous. His body is tensing up way too much. He's starting to look away repeatedly, unable to focus his eyes on Ramos for more than a few brief seconds at a time. His glances aren't fleeting, so I don't suspect that he's lying.
"How long was she inside of the suite?"
"Five, six minutes tops."
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