The second thing that troubles me about both places is the lack of security. They are familiar with what I can do—after all, I did sneak into BioLife once already with false credentials—so I expected to find dozens of armed guards patrolling both venues. But what I anticipated was not the case. The small number of security personnel protecting BioLife and World State baffles me to the point of madness. I know that it's a trap and that more guards are hidden in places that my scouting eyes can't see, but I don't care. My family has been snatched away from me by the people I hate the most and I'm getting to them if it's the last thing I do. I will see my father and sister again and it will be much better than seeing them on a digital screen.
It breaks my heart to know that my father and Abigail are back on the Purge when I've spent the last two years of my life keeping them sober. The Purge will end my father's life sooner than it should and I can't even imagine the pain that Abigail is going through right now. The government starts everyone off on the Purge about a week after birth. Pre-birth injections into the mother prepare the newborn for the Purge and make the transition easier and painless. Those who are introduced to the Purge, or reintroduced as my father and Abigail, later in life are not as fortunate. An unbearable pain, agonizing more so than anything imaginable, welcomes these poor souls back to the Purge. The pain forces a person's brain to submit to the Purge's influence. The pain is triggered by an inkling of emotion that threatens to surface inside of a person. Over time, the pain conditions the mind to understand that emotions are bad and if they are allowed to fester then the consequence will be intense anguish.
On a few of the vids that shows Abigail's new life, I've spotted her clutching her temples from time to time. Her movements were always subtle enough that other viewers would think she was only pushing her hair out of her face. But I knew better. Brave kid. She's hanging in there. I would be proud of her for remaining strong if I wasn't too busy trying to figure out a way to visit her. Or break her out of the prison of an orphanage.
I never see my father's face much on his visual feeds. I can't imagine the horrible things that Dr. Prescott and his cronies are doing to him off camera. What sort of tests are they running on him? I shudder at the thought, not because it's chilly but because I'm very much upset. I hate myself for getting my family into this mess.
I think about Scarlett. I wonder if she has caught wind that I'm in deep trouble with the law. I don't know if she's allowed to watch television behind bars. I'm sure that the cops who look after the prisoners discuss high-profile criminals like myself in front of their charges, so I believe that Scarlett knows everything. What does she think of my blunder? She knew that I was a Messenger for SAFE but that doesn't make it any easier to accept that her twin sister had failed to keep her promise. Because I had promised Scarlett, if not directly, that I would always be there to watch over Abigail and my father since she was gone.
I want to cry but I'm too enraged to do that. Plus, I'm out in public right now and even though I'm in disguise, crying is not a good idea at the moment. There will be plenty of opportunities to show weakness later.
I shake thoughts of Scarlett from my head although it's difficult. I return my focus to the two members of my family who I can still protect, who I can still save from the fate of Scarlett and me. I have to choose but it's one of the hardest decisions I will probably have to ever make. BioLife or World State? My father or Abigail?
I quietly make my decision, hoping I don't regret it later and knowing that I'm going to change it a million times throughout the rest of the day. I then return to Lilly's, sticking to the shadows and underground passages to avoid the Zeppelins that zip past overhead occasionally. I've been splitting my time between my hidey-hole and Lilly's place, whenever I need to disappear or whenever I need some company to help me through this difficult time. I'm grateful that I have Lilly as a friend. I'm also grateful that her house is located on the eastern coast of Paradise in a very secluded area. Thick trees as far as the eye can see and jagged cliffs pelted every seconds by rough waves form a perimeter around Lilly's home that makes navigation difficult. Her nearest neighbor is well over a mile away. With not much traffic to and from the area, Lilly's place is an ideal hiding spot for a wanted criminal like me.
I return just in time for dinner. I can smell an aroma of smoked salmon as I enter through the rear entrance of the house, which is entirely made of glass supported by a metal framework. The house is spacious and I can't see how Lilly could live there alone. Even though there's not much crime in Paradise, I would feel very isolated here by myself.
Lilly stands over the stove with her back turned towards me. She's stirring something bubbling inside of a large pot and she glances over at me when I back.
"Charlotte, you're back," she greets me with a warm, sympathetic smile. "How did it go?"
"Same old, same old," is all I say. I'm not up to talking much lately.
"I'm sure you're hungry then," Lilly says gently, knowing she's treading upon a bed of needle. Nowadays, all it takes is the wrong combination of words to set me off. I can't help it. I'm a walking time bomb. I get really angry really fast or so sad that tears that start to pour, all in an instant.
I nod but I don't say anything. I stand there in the kitchen with its gleaming tiled floor, watching Lilly prepared what smells like a great meal. It's been a while since I've eaten a meal like this. My family could never afford salmon or any other high quality meat with my father's government funds and even with the money I received as a Messenger. We mostly ate ground beef and sometimes chicken, but never any fish or steak or lamb or veal.
"You can set the table if you like," Lilly tells me, noticing that I'm standing there awkwardly with my hands clasped. "I'm almost done here and we can eat in the dining room."
I nod again and exit through a doorway opposite of the one that I used to enter the house. Like every room of Lilly's house, the dining room is enormous. There's a high vaulted ceiling overhead complete with a crystal chandelier that reflects the lights in a crisscross of color. A digital painting covers nearly one wall, flashing a different image every minute or so, almost like a billboard sign. I recognize several of the paintings, including one of the Wanderer, a woman who was a hero to the members of SAFE. I don't know much about her except that she terrorized the government and caused all kinds of wonderful problems for them a couple of decades ago. I silently admire her glorious costume whenever it flashes on the screen as I go to work on clearing off Lilly's cluttered table. Her masquerade mask is beautiful. For a second, I wish I had the courage to take up the mantle of the Wanderer and continue her brilliant work. To me, the Wanderer is a symbol and anyone can become her at any time. I wonder if she'll ever return one day.
Stacks of papers and half-sewn costumes litter the dining room table. Lilly has an office in her home but for some reason she likes to bring a lot of her work in here. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that one wall is all glass, providing a breathtakingly spectacular view of the rushing surf outside. I peer outside for a moment and watch the sun setting in a rainbow sky. Everything seems so peaceful and definitely doesn't reflect my inner turmoil. When anger starts to pulsate rapidly inside of me when I think about how nature can look so at peace when there's so much wrong with the world, I turn away and continue to clear off the table.
I find several scripts for Lilly's movies among the stacks of documents, as well as folders bearing a symbol that catches my attention. The insignia displays a distorted map of the world with a cross that's shaped almost like a swastika behind it. The almost swastika is what caught my eye. I stare at the peculiar emblem and read the words The Coalition beneath it. I've never heard of The Coalition before so I assume it's some kind of made of faction for one of Lilly's upcoming movies. Curious though, I pick up one of the folders. I'm about to open it when Lilly walks in bearing a plate of fish. I drop the folder back onto the pile the moment I hear her voice.
"Have you cleared the table yet becaus
e here comes the food?" She says happily, entering the dining room. I remove the folders and place them neatly on the floor along with the other documents.
Lilly didn't notice anything as she balanced the plate in her hands. With the table now empty of crap, Lilly sets down the hot plate in the middle of the round table. She then returns to the kitchen to retrieve the rest of the meal. I settle into one of the seats and even though I don't really feel like eating, I can't deny my hunger.
A few minutes later, we're eating in silence. My eyes dart constantly towards Lilly's unfinished costumes and something cross my mind, something that I need to get off my chest. Now is as good of a time as any because who knows when I'm going to be willing to talk much again.
I spill it without thinking. "Lilly, I'm so sorry but I totally ruined the outfit you let me borrow for the BioLife job."
Silence. Then, a clink of Lilly's fork against her plate, before she says, "I assumed something had happened to my clothes since you have yet to return them to me." And to my surprise, a smile appears on her face when she looks up at me.
I don't smile back but I feel relieved that Lilly took the news well. Or maybe she's just being nice to me. I don't know. I was never good at reading people's faces. That's the job of a White Agent.
The rest of dinner mostly passes in silence as well. Lilly makes small talk about her latest movie roles and I pretty much only listen. It isn't until we're done eating that Lilly asks, "Have you made a decision about which place you're going to sneak into?"
Her question catches me off guard and I frown reflexively. I really don't want to talk about it but Lilly's my friend and she's only concerned for me. I sigh and nod.
"I can help," Lilly tells me. "You don't have to do it alone."
I appreciate her concern but she's wrong. I shake my head. "No," I speak for the first time in at least a half an hour. "I have to do this by myself."
Lilly hesitates. She wants to contradict me or perhaps even argue with me. But she lets it go and I'm grateful that she did. I don't want to wear out my welcome here yet.
"Okay," she tries to understand, even though I know she doesn't. No one can understand my foolishness, my sudden reckless ambition to see a member of my family again. I can blame on it a bunch of emotions but I don't even understand it myself.
The only thing I understand is that tomorrow morning I will make my move, before the authorities have the opportunity to fortify BioLife or World State Orphanage.
So which place is it going to be? Again, I change my mind. Eventually I will have to make a choice but for right now, I find a little comfort in my indecision.
Chapter Twenty
Liam
The trap for Charlotte Tatum is all set and I don't know how I feel about it. Technically, I'm not supposed to feel anything and I don't. Since the Purge suppresses my emotions, I "feel" with my mind in a sense. Thoughts of feelings always pop up constantly in my brain and nearly all of them right now pertain to Charlotte's mystifying case.
I've spent almost every second of my waking hours the last couple of days trying to find something that suggests that Charlotte is innocent. But I haven't been able to find anything. I've spoken to Ramos once about the evidence that was withheld from me, but he still won't tell me anything. I don't want to ask again because that might cause unnecessary trouble for me. Senior Agents are not supposed to question Superior Agents multiple times, as it shows that the Senior Agent disagrees with an individual of higher rank. And in today's society, you don't want to do something like that.
So, I've been digging into all kinds of files alone, reviewing previous cases that might be similar and glancing over notes from the current investigation. This would be a lot easier if I didn't have to spend so much time at the orphanage, where it was hard to study documents when you constantly have to give orders or when your team is on high alert, expecting Charlotte Tatum to arrive at any moment. It also would be a lot easier if I had Sophia helping me.
Sophia is another thought of emotions plaguing my mind right now. I haven't seen her in a long time now. I've called her a few times but she never answers her phone. I know that something bad hasn't happened to her because the agency would have informed me, as I am still officially her partner; nevertheless, I can't stop the thoughts that tell me something's wrong from entering my head. These thoughts temporarily distract me from thoughts about Charlotte but they are definitely not more welcomed.
Like right now. I'm sitting inside of my temporary abode within the World State Orphanage complex thinking about Sophia when I need to focus on Charlotte's case. I shake the thoughts from my mind and massage my temples gently. The hour is late and my room is mostly dark, except for the golden glow radiating from a single desk lamp. I sit behind a gleaming metal desk with open folders and binders scattered everywhere. More files are displayed on the viewscreen straight ahead on the opposite wall. The computer here doesn't have as many web browsing privileges as mine at home but it's sufficient enough.
I pull up Charlotte's file that Ramos sent on the night I visited her home to arrest her. Admittedly, I am obsessed with it, although I shouldn't be. If the White Agency condemned people for their thoughts, then I would be guilty of a heinous crime for the first time in my life. I am obsessed with Charlotte, especially her picture. I find myself fixated upon it before I realize what I'm doing. Those eyes reel me in every time and leave me with an indescribable sensation in the pit of my stomach.
I peel my gaze from Charlotte's image, but it's like pulling off a sticker that has been attached to an object for a very long time. When I'm finally able to do so, I dig deeper into her family history. I'm stuck as far as proving her innocence is concerned, so I'm curious to learn more about her parents in particular. I always wondered how two people outside of an arranged marriage were able to produce more than one offspring.
Her father's name is Richard Tatum and of course he has the Black Death. I immerse myself temporarily into the life of Richard Tatum, searching files that the Core has on him. Unlike his daughters, Mr. Tatum never found himself in trouble with the law. He was always a typical citizen, except for two things. He has exceptional genetic makeup and mental capacity. Those two traits made him an ideal candidate for the White Agency. I learn that he was recruited at a young age but turned down the offer. Instead, he chose a scholarly path and worked in the field of cybernetics. He was employed by BioLife, specializing in fusing the human body with state of the art synthetic parts, such as prosthetic legs. He was actively advancing cybernetic technology up until he fell ill a couple of years ago.
Charlotte's mother, Jane, also had extraordinary genes but instead of having above average intelligence, her physical prowess was her greatest asset. She was strong, agile, and swift and she also passed up an opportunity to become a White Agent. She was a sparkfighter, the modern day equivalent of a firefighter. When SDPs burn out or overheat, sparkfighters are sent in to contain the electrical fires. She was one of the top sparkfighters until her untimely death from cancer.
What I can't fathom is how two people with great genes ended up with a ravaging disease? Because now I know why the government allowed the two of them to create three children. All three Tatum kids also have exceptional genes that the three girls inherited from their parents. Richard and Jane Tatum's genetic code may have also factored into the production of twins, a rare feat in today's controlled birthing society. Scarlett Tatum, who I know well from the agency's training program, had a lot of her father's traits passed down to her. She was a straight A student in school, which led to her being recruited by the agency around the same time that I was recruited myself. Charlotte, on the other hand, seems to be more like her mother. She excels at physical prowess, which was evident by her thrilling escape from BioLife. She is also an excellent swimmer, which is again evident by her flight. And there's something else about her that I didn't know about . . . .
I tap the keyboard and the viewscreen zooms in on a portion of the file I had pulled up
on the computer concerning Mr. Tatum. Apparently, Charlotte participated in an experiment when she was five years old at the permission of her father. What the experiment was—I may never know. As I try to find out more, a classified algorithm that I can't break with my White Agency credentials quickly blocks me. Another wall standing in my way that I can't get around, but perhaps the experiment is irrelevant to the case. Maybe. But it had to be something very important if someone went through the trouble to hide it. It's also strange that the same experiment wasn't performed upon Scarlett or Abigail, with the latter being a child prodigy.
I continue my research for hours, unsure if any of this information will help me or not. I discover that Abigail is a lot like Dr. Cato as well as her parents. Even at a young age, she was deemed less likely to be completely controlled by the Purge. She might even be immune to it altogether. That's why she was never recruited by the White Agency like Scarlett. Abigail was supposed to be the troublemaker of the family. Ironically enough, it was Scarlett who brought shame upon the family. And now Charlotte. I almost feel sorry for the Tatum family. Almost. But no, I can't feel sorry. I'm a White Agent. I don't feel anything.
Then why do I care about Charlotte enough to devote most of my time to proving her innocence?
I yawn and strain my eyes to read words displayed on the viewscreen, as the minutes slip past. I start to drift off to sleep but I force myself to stay awake for a little while longer. I'm waiting for some tech reports from BioLife. I'm trying to figure out how Charlotte, or Emerson's killer, was able to sneak into the facility undetected. A vector scanner should have made this feat impossible.
As I nod off yet again, a knock on the door jolts me awake like a shot of Alacrity. I climb to my feet, standing upon legs that are stiff with fatigue, and answer the door. A female cop disguised as a matron of the orphanage stands out in the dimly lit hallway. She hands me a digital reader.
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