Fast forward to another memory from a few years ago. It was the first time I met Scarlett Tatum. She was recruited much later than I was. To this day, I still don't know how the White Agency seeks out potential candidates. I know that test scores from school have something to do with it but there's no measure of other talents, such as physical prowess, before joining the agency. It was Scarlett's first day and I remember seeing her dark hair splashed with red and hazel eyes that are like Charlotte's but vastly different as well. I was so much influenced by the Purge that she didn't send the same . . . whatevers . . . my way whenever I see Charlotte. Or maybe I didn't connect with Scarlett like I do with her twin sister.
I walk up to her in a large room of new recruits, ranging from ages six to around twelve. I introduce myself with the most vacant of stares. "I'm William Cato and I will be your mentor as you journey through your training."
Now, there's sound.
"Liam," she says in response.
It didn't cross my mind at the time that she was the person who would give me the nickname that everyone would call me later, nor did I register how weird her response was. I simply stare at her like aquatic animals inside of a tank at an aquarium and I echo, "Liam?"
She nods. "That's what I will call you."
"If it's necessary," is my reply to the unexpected exchange between the two of us. Then, she steps forward and brushes strand of my hair out of my face. I wore it a little longer then.
"There. Some of your hair was out of place."
I stare blankly at her. I should have heard the affection behind her words. I should have seen the way she felt about me right then and there. Scarlett Tatum had liked me from the start. Later, she fell in love with me and now she's behind bars because of it.
The memories start to pick up the pace now, moving so fast that I can barely keep up anymore. I'm making my first arrest again. Some rebel lowlife who thought it would be a good idea to pay a few kids to start a spark fire. I got to cuff him myself and it felt good, although the Purge destroyed that joy within seconds.
Next, I'm a five year old again visiting the facility in the north where my father and his colleagues tested the Catalyst. The castle-like projection that awed me.
The guards with armored vests. My father's colleague who introduced the concept of Project Lightning to me. I remember now that his name badge read "Richardson". He was also a tall black male with a full beard and thick, curly hair.
Next, I see Charlotte's alluring eyes and I'm on the monorail with her again. In fact, I return to the monorail multiple times during all of this.
Then—
Dr. Cato's arrest and my disappointment that she has tainted the Cato name. She ruined her life and as much as I don't want to believe it, she might have done so for a good reason.
Then—
Charlotte. Those eyes. Her face. Before—
Dr. Cato's message to Noah Emerson. Love? What a silly notion. Love's the worst emotion ever. How can someone feel something that no one has ever been able to describe accurately?
And then—
Sophia's farewell before she joined the Amber Army . . . Meeting Abigail Tatum after already familiarizing myself with her older sisters, in particularly Charlotte . . . Dr. Prescott accepting Charlotte's father into BioLife. His jerking walk makes me feel uneasy . . . My father's funeral, a silent honor of a model citizen . . . Ramos withholding information from me . . . Noah Emerson's dead body . . . World State . . . Caleb Donovan . . . .
I scream and I don't know if it's aloud or inside my head. My mind is about to explode and I long to wake up from this nightmare of my past.
Have I been living a lie my entire life? Has every interaction, every conversation, every thought, every reaction led me to this moment of realization? Is this my awakening, metaphorically and physically?
For I believe that when I do wake up, I will be a very different William Cato.
Or Liam Cato.
Chapter Thirty-One
Charlotte
Currently Listening To: "The Resistance" by Anberlin
Once again people are risking their necks for me and I hate it. That's how Aidan ended up in his bad situation.
They're all eager to help me, which makes me feel worse. Some of them are excited even.
"I'm going back with you," I argue with the trio planning to venture outside before the Zeppelins fly over and retrieve Liam from the hillside. "I know exactly where he is. We can find him faster that way."
The trio consists of Emma, the old man, and the black-haired boy. Everyone else ogles me as though I'm the first meal after days of intense hunger. The attention annoys me, especially right now. I appreciate the Free Spirits and their admiration, but boy they should paint a picture that will last longer than their gawking.
"It's too risky, Charlotte," Emma tells me reasonably. But I don't want to hear reason at the moment, especially from Emma who's the most eager of all. She thinks of this as some grand adventure and she's blind to the potential consequences, except the ones involving me leaving the restaurant. "If you stay here, my grandmother can make sure that the Zeppelins won't pick up your vector at all."
I open my mouth to argue some more, while glancing at the old woman. She has abandoned the knife and dish towel and now holds an ornate key in her hands. She eyes me with concern. She's the only one not thrilled about this besides me. However, her reasons I'm sure are much different than mine.
I fall silent and watch as the three of them head for the exit. It's dark in the restaurant but sunlight from outside keeps the place lit enough to see. I follow them all the way to the door. Emma pauses and tells me, "Everything will be okay, Charlotte. We'll take care of it for you." She smiles warmly. "He's next to a patch of purple wildflowers right?"
I nod, trying to calm myself. I'm grateful for Emma and everyone else but I'm still on edge. The thundering grows louder and louder by the second.
"Come along, Emmalie," the old man says gruffly, opening the door. I assume he's Emma's grandfather and he seems nice but also possesses a curmudgeon demeanor. Curmudgeon is a word I once learned in a book I've read.
Emma steps past him and outside. The black-haired boy also smiles at me, his eyes lingering on mine for an extra second before he departs. His hair is similar to Liam's but that's where all similarities between the two end. This boy is good-looking, I suppose, but he doesn't make me feel uncomfortable whenever I'm around him. He doesn't make me want to stare at him all day. He doesn't make me feel something inside of me.
The three of them disappear outside. As soon as they're gone, Emma's grandmother rushes forward and seizes one of my arms. "Come, Charlotte, let's get you to your hiding place."
I allow her to guide me with a surprisingly tight grasp. I feel awkward, as well as super anxiety, so I try to ease my own tension by speaking. "So, you're Emma's grandmother?"
She nods. "That's correct," she tells me in a very kind voice. Staring at her facial features, I can tell that Emma inherited a lot from her. Both have strawberry blond hair, although my escort's hair is coated with graying strands. She also has Emma's pale green eyes. "All the kids call me Granny Rosie since my last name's Rosenthal. My husband and I own this restaurant. Our apartment is upstairs."
Granny Rosie leads me behind the counter and into a kitchen area. She releases my hand and I look around curiously. Some of the Free Spirits are following us, still gaping at me. I ignore them and focus my own gaze on the giant stoves and metal counters that surround me. The floor is green tile, or at least I think it's green. It's fairly dark in here, much darker than the restaurant.
"Are you French?" I ask her since I am standing inside of a French restaurant.
"My family originates from there," Granny Rosie tells me. "I've never visited myself, although I would like to go one day."
"I'm sure you're not missing much," I say before I can stop myself. "I'm sure France is just like Paradise—full of people with blank stares and no personality."
&
nbsp; To this, Granny Rosie shakes her head. She leads me through the kitchen and into a tiny storeroom lined with boxes on either side. She picks up an old oil lantern from a shelf nearby and proceeds to light it in the dark. "No, it's not like here. Nowhere is like here."
I frown, taken aback. "What do you mean?" I ask her. Obviously, she knows something I don't. "Everywhere is like Paradise. That's what they teach us—"
"In school?" She cuts me off and dim yellow light suddenly fills the storeroom now that the lantern is lit. She scoffs. "I hate to break it you, but most of what you've learned in school are lies fabricated by those residing within the Core. That's what those in power do. They twist the truth as they see fit. Look at any point in history, any war or battles fought. You always hear the victor's side or the side of those who have forced rule upon others. You never hear the alternate version of the truth from the losers. Paradise follows that formula."
"Like the battle in the north?" I say quietly.
She nods. "You only heard what the Core wanted to tell you about that fateful day. You've heard that the north lay in ruins. That's mostly true. You've also heard that the place is inhabitable, with red-tipped field lilies the only source of life there. That is a ball-faced lie."
Red-tipped lilies remind me suddenly of my mother, as well as Scarlett. But I repel the thoughts that pop up in my head.
"I've never paid much attention in school anyways," I tell Granny Rosie, as she holds the lantern aloft in her hands. She's feeling along the wall by the door as if searching for something. I remain standing in the kitchen, watching her with interest. "I wonder why the government would lie about something like that though. Why won't they tell people that Paradise is one of a kind?"
"Think about it," Granny Rosie says almost absently, as she continues her search. I've never found a wall interesting but whatever floats her boat. And speaking of the walls, they suddenly shake slightly as though a minor earthquake is happening. The Zeppelins are really close now. "What do you think most of the people who are off the Purge would do if they found out that other places around the world contained citizens with the freedom to actively display emotions?"
It doesn't take me long to come up with a response and for her to make me feel stupid. "They would try to leave."
"Right you are," Granny Rosie says brightly. "And we can't have people fleeing, can we?"
I shake my head.
"Some of us SAFE members know the truth of course but we can't leave, at least not right now."
"Why not?"
"Because we have to stay and fight," Granny Rosie tells me. "A war is coming soon and we have to stay and liberate this island. Everyone needs us. We have to figure out a way for people to find out all about the horrible truths of Paradise."
I normally don't trust people enough to reveal any of my secrets. After all, Aidan warned me about whom to trust before he escaped the monorail. But I feel so lost right now, so helpless that anyone who stands against the Core is always welcomed and a friend to me. Besides, Granny Rosie seems all right so I tell her: "I might be on to something that will hopefully reveal all of the truths about Paradise. That's why Liam, the boy I sent your husband and granddaughter after, is important. His mother was the one who discovered something the Core doesn't want anyone knowing."
Granny Rosie doesn't say anything for a long time and when she does, it's something totally unexpected. "Aha! There it is. It's much harder to find by lantern light."
Something happens then before my confusion can nestle inside my mind. I step into the storeroom after Granny Rosie moves away from the door. The stockroom floor appears to be nothing but concrete at first. But then, I watch as a rectangular panel in the center flips upside down. There's also a rumbling noise and I instinctively duck as though a Zeppelin is hovering right above my head. However, the vibrations come from below, not above.
Suddenly, the rumbling stops and I stare down a wooden trap door that was revealed when the concrete block flipped.
"I was a young girl when I came to this island with my parents," Granny Rosie tells me nostalgically. I've noticed that elderly people who aren't taking the Purge tended to reflect fondly on the past. I don't know why since most of their pasts are bleak. "My parents were into the wine business, so they brought a stash with them. The cellar below started out as just that—a cellar. But over the years, it has been expanded to something more."
She stoops low, unlocks the trapdoor with the ornate key, and opens the hatch. I peer down into nothing but darkness until she brushes the lantern light over the entrance. A twisting flight of steps appear out of the darkness, leading down to the cellar Granny Rosie spoke of.
"Swiftly now, Child," Granny Rosie ushers me through the trapdoor. "The Zeppelins will be here before long."
I drop into the hole without hesitation. Before she follows me, Granny Rosie tells the Free Spirits to alert her of anything out of the ordinary. Then, we go down and down, moving quickly down the stairs, guided by nothing but the flickering flames inside the lantern. I notice that the walls are wooden and not stone as expected. So are the stairs. And when we exit at the bottom, I find that the cellar resembles an old mineshaft. There are cases of wine bottles and wooden barrels stacked near the stairs, but beyond that I see a track far smaller than a monorail's disappearing off into the distance somewhere. We're standing in a tunnel, much like the sewers I typically navigate. I wonder how far this place stretches.
"My husband and I accidentally discovered this a decade ago when he fell through one of the cellar walls." She chuckles. "For over ten years now, we have used the tunnels to meet with fellow SAFE members and transport items. We provide food for a lot of the homeless this way. The tunnels run all the through that hillside you mentioned. They go on for miles."
"Impressive," I tell her.
"My husband and I are more than restaurant owners," she says with pride. "For a long time now, we have done our part, using clandestine tactics, to defy those liars inside the Core. Jacques is more than the name of our restaurant. We are the Jacques. We are the Jacobins. 'I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising from the abyss, and, in their struggles to be truly free, in their triumphs and defeats, through long years to come, I see the evil of this time and of the previous time of which this is the natural birth, gradually making expiation for itself and wearing out'."
I spot her reference immediately. "A Tale of Two Cities," I state quietly, impressed that she remembered that rather lengthy quote. "A fabulous novel."
"You've read it?" It's her turn to be impressed.
I nod. "Three times actually. I have a hidden stash of books that I enjoy reading."
"How did you find these books?"
"A lot of exploring," I say with a laugh. "I've explored the northern ruins a lot." A question comes to me suddenly. "What did you mean earlier when you said the northern ruins are habitable despite what the politicians say? I've been there several times before but I've never seen any . . . houses or other buildings. I've never seen any animals or even people."
"They're in the process of reestablishing colonies in the north. But apparently, there's already a secret facility there that has been there for quite some time. Some spies for SAFE that have penetrated the police force and even the White Agency are trying to find out more about this facility. All we know so far is that there's research going on there and it involves the Catalyst, which of course powers the Grid."
I'm amazed that she's rich with information I've never known. Then again, now that she's mentioned it, I recall seeing advertisements for colonies in the north. I wonder why the government wants to suddenly settle people in the north after all these years.
Talking to Granny Rosie helps to ease my anxiety. Emma and the others have been gone for a while now. How long it has been exactly? I don't know. But why haven't they returned yet with Liam? It seems like ages ago when they left.
"You and your husband—"
"You can call him Papa Rosenthal. That's what Em
ma's friends call him."
"Okay then. You and Papa Rosenthal are like the Defarges." I make my own allusion to the novel written by Charles Dickens. "Only not evil."
Granny Rosie laughs heartily. "I'll take that as a compliment," she says. "Your disguise is flawless. You really do look like Olivia Cruz."
"Thanks," I tell her. "It was all my best friend, Lilly's, handiwork. She's an actress and she works wonders with makeup."
Suddenly—
The entire tunnel shakes as though it's about to cave in. Dust and tiny splinters of wood tumble from the ceiling.
"They're here," Granny Rosie says quietly and I cringe.
I know it's the Zeppelins this time. They're finally flying over this street and still no signs of Emma, Papa Rosenthal, the black-haired boy, or Liam.
"They're too late," I say quietly, stunned to the very depths of my soul.
At the same time—
"Granny Rosie!" A voice calls from the top of the stairs. "The Zeppelins are here and a bunch of squad cars. There are officers patrolling the area, going from door to door. A few of them are headed this way."
Granny Rosie looks at me and I can barely make out her thin, partly-lined face in the glow of the lantern light. The dread I currently feel can't compare to anything I've ever experienced before. "They'll make it," she tells me soothingly. I want to believe her but unless she can provide proof that they'll make it, then I can't believe her.
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