The Collector

by Luna, David

  With their roles reversed from the landfill, Inna can barely keep up as she follows Neil between the increasing number of thick, wiry bald cypress trunks desperate for a drink, soon stumbling upon a lively backwoods bayou – the Bayou Sector – where dozens of shacks are built side by side, each decorated with rocking chairs, crates, and barrels outside on their porches. Up above, a web of wooden bridges suspended in the air link multiple tiers of forts and wood housing within the upper levels of the treetops, while crisscrossing dead vines form a net in the top canopy of the forest. This, combined with dense patches of hanging moss, helps keep the community secluded.

  A fire burns in an open clearing in the middle of the sector where dozens of residents convene around the blaze, dancing to a three-piece band on makeshift instruments – a banjo, drum, and even a wailing harmonica – their arms interlocked while line dancing in unison.

  Those not participating contribute from the sidelines. Residents stomp their bare feet to the beat of the drum, others sway on the suspension bridges up above, while even more cheer from their windows high in the trees, not a sour face to be had. It’s a true bayou hoedown, only without the swamp water, the lively celebration a harsh contrast to the parched dead forest.

  Neil tenses as he and Inna infiltrate the party, used to those participating in unauthorized activities fleeing at the sight of his uniform, similar to insects scurrying when a light is turned on. Except here nobody flees. Instead, one man wraps his arm around Neil and rocks back and forth to the music, while another grabs Inna and twirls her in circles.

  “Neil!” she squeals.

  Their eyes find each other as they are separated, each at a loss of what this place could possibly be.

  The man passes Inna off to another dancer, then another, each one dipping and twirling her, a choreographed routine in sync with the music. Her squeals become more childlike and playful as all inhibitions are tossed to the wayside.

  Neil meanwhile is handed one, two, three drinks in succession. “No…I can’t…,” he claims. But the residents force the liquid down his throat. To his surprise, it’s clear and pure. His eyes search for Inna again. “It’s water!” he exclaims.

  Neil’s interrupted as the women take their turn with him, dragging him into the circle and bouncing him back and forth between their bosoms like a pinball. One woman drapes a handmade pendant around his neck before passing him off to the next in line.

  The repeated dance routine continues to unfold. Before either Neil or Inna can gain their bearings, they find themselves cycled through partners and paired back with each other, face to face in front of the fire. They do their best to remain in sync with the others, picking up the moves as they go along, all laughs and smiles as the harmonica wails at its peak.

  The crowd cheers and clinks mugs as the harmonica transitions into another tune. Neil pulls Inna away for a breather.

  “You ever do that before?” she asks.

  “It’s a standard at Agency parties.”

  Inna furrows her brow. “Really?” she thinks, though his smirk gives away the joke. She hits him. “I liked it better when you didn’t mess with me.”

  They stare at the Bayou Sector in wonderment as they continue to catch their breath. So much happiness. So much joy.

  “This is crazy,” Inna says. She notices the pendant around Neil’s neck. “What’s that?”

  Neil examines the intricate design – a small circled hoop decorated in the center with webbing – unsure, until a voice interrupts from behind.

  “It’s a Dream Catcher,” says the voice.

  Neil and Inna whirl around to see Abby, in her twenties, cool, calm, and collect in the hyper party environment. She is also very pregnant.

  “There’s an old legend about a Spider Woman who took care of the people. The children, the adults, everyone. But as the people began to spread out, the Spider Woman couldn’t reach them all at once, so dream catchers were used in her place. They’re believed to filter out the bad and leave only the good – like we try to do here.” She refers to the communal celebration, the participants living life and dancing without care.

  Neil thumbs the webbing before smelling his fingers. The moss, carefully braided together to form the delicate cordage that makes up the inner web, carries a distinct musty smell. It’s an odd dichotomy as the moss feels alive while the smell is reminiscent of the past.

  “I hear the Black Market sells them, but they’re knock-offs,” Abby says, then points to the bayou. “This is the only place to find these materials.”

  “Why give me a gift?” Neil asks. “Why not—”

  “Run?” Abby finishes his question with a question. “Why, because you’re a Collector?”

  Neil nods. That’s pretty much what he’s used to.

  “We haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “You should brush up on the codes,” Neil says.

  Abby stares out at the twirling and stomping crowd. The dance picks up its tempo. “Have you ever snapped your fingers? Or walked with a skip in your step? Or had a melody in your head and hummed it out loud?”

  Neil and Inna exchange glances, both guilty on the last part.

  “There are just some things that are inherently part of who we are. Loving. Caring. Self-preserving,” Abby explains. “Everything we do is aimed to remind us of this and connect us to our roots. The trees for our huts, its fibers for our rope, the moss to kindle our fire. All you see is made by hand, made from what we have. We’re not forced to rely on anyone but ourselves. Beneath the trappings of civilization we are creatures of the Earth, and this lifestyle connects us to the generations who lived before us.”

  “Reclaiming lost heritage,” Inna chimes in. She completely understands this ideology considering her preservation and restoration activities in the landfill.

  “Exactly,” Abby confirms.

  Just then Elijah, also in his twenties, stumbles into them with three mugs of water and passes them out.

  “No empties allowed!” he commands.

  “Who would give away so much water?” Neil asks.

  Elijah places his arm around Abby. “Consider it a celebration of life,” he smiles proudly.

  “Congratulations on your baby,” Inna says.

  Elijah hesitates. That’s not quite what he meant. Neil gets it.

  “The Agency thanks you for your sacrifice,” he says grimly.

  “Oh please, don’t be so serious,” Elijah counters. “You should be off the clock by now.”

  Neil raises his mug and drinks to acknowledge the sacrifice.

  Just then, a Dancing Resident places her arms around both Elijah and Neil. “C’mon you scoundrels,” she shouts. Elijah kisses Abby before he’s dragged back out into the dancing circle. Neil eyes Inna as he’s also whisked away.

  “Wait, he’s selling himself?” Inna asks Abby. “He’s abandoning you while pregnant?”

  “We’re going together. The three of us, as a family,” Abby clarifies.

  “You and your partner must really love each other,” Inna says.

  Abby smiles as she watches Elijah enjoy his last night alive. “He’s not my partner.” She points to a different man dancing with another woman. “That’s my assigned partner – with his wife.” Her finger moves to another couple, “And Elijah’s partner, with her husband.” She turns back to Inna. “Everyone here loves who they want.”

  Inna’s taken aback, completely speechless.

  “Make no mistake, none of us are against the Agency or what they do,” Abby says. “Well…most of us,” she corrects herself before continuing. “This just allows us all to be together in the type of life we choose.” She caresses her pregnant stomach. “Our forest is dead. The trees aren’t coming back. It’s only a matter of time before we all wither away. But this way we’ll be together forever. None of us will ever be alone.”

  Inna’s brow scrunches like she’s fighting off an upset stomach, unsure how to react to
all of this.

  Meanwhile over in the dance circle, Neil focuses on the stomping feet around him, attempting to move in unison to a new routine. He’s considerably less stiff and more relaxed the second time around. He catches a glimpse of Inna and Abby in deep conversation, but is forced to pick up the pace as the circle rotates about the fire.

  “Pretty girl you got there,” Elijah says as he dances next to Neil.

  “Collectors aren’t assigned partners,” Neil responds.

  Elijah eyes Neil knowingly. “No offense to the Agency,” he says, “but not everything can be controlled.”

  Just then a group of men bombard Elijah with grunts and cheers with their free drinks in hand before continuing on, eliciting hoots and hollers from the circle of dancers all together. Elijah keeps his focus on Neil throughout the rowdiness. “Why are you with her tonight?” he asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  “And you’ve been with her before?” Elijah asks. He reassures Neil, “It’s okay, I’m not the Collector.”

  Neil nods yes.

  “Why?”

  Neil hesitates. “I don’t know.”

  “Exactly,” Elijah says. “With these kinds of things, we never know. And that’s how you do know.”

  Elijah and Abby glance to one another from afar. He extends his thumb, index, and pinky finger in a hand signal. She returns it.

  “What was that?” Neil asks.

  “It means love.”

  Neil furrows his brow. His already terrible dance moves fall even more out of step as he scans for Inna, but she’s gone.

  Abby glimpses Neil’s search while conversing with another group of residents. Her eyes direct him towards a pathway leading to the outskirts of the bayou.

  “It’s okay to feel,” Elijah assures him, his nod encouraging Neil to go after Inna. Neil steps out of the circle and dashes towards the path.

  Neil finds Inna at the end of a dock where a swamp marshland once was. Three-inch cracks slice throughout the parched terrain, having been thirsty for years. The echoing music slows as the party takes a break, the harmonica capturing an essence of heartache and longing with its distinct sound.

  As Inna notices Neil approaching, she does her best to contain her muffled sobs.

  “Inna…”

  “Do you ever think about doing it?” Inna asks. “Selling yourself to escape to another world?”

  “What’s wrong with this one?” Neil responds, for once sounding like the naïve one.

  She breaks down even more, this time failing to contain it. “Remember what you called me when we first met? Guess I’m not so cheery now.”

  “I have that effect on people.”

  Inna musters out a laugh. Neil touches her. He places the Dream Catcher around her neck, then wipes her cheek with his thumb. “You need this more than me,” he says.

  They gaze at one another until Neil leans in and kisses her. Inna returns it, soft and innocent. The dead forest, the weathered terrain, the rotted wooden dock – it’s not the epitome of romance, but to Neil and Inna, this is their world, all that they have. It’s almost as if they float above the cracked earth and through a hazy fog as their lips become one, two souls soaring above the wasteland. The harmonica adds to the dreamlike moment.

  Neil’s hands lock around her waist, then move to her shoulders, his fingers feeling the tension in her body slip away as she allows herself to get lost in the moment.

  Their lips continue to touch until Neil accidentally brushes against the bruise on the backside of her neck. She pulls away, the reminder of her life with Damian snapping her back to reality.

  “Neil, no…,” she says as the dreamlike fog suddenly dissipates and the two of them are back on the battered dock.

  “I’m sorry. It just happened,” Neil responds. His words are no accident. He knows he is quoting Wade, but he’s starting to understand what Wade meant by it.

  “If only things were different. If only this were a different life,” Inna says. She removes the Dream Catcher from her neck and places it in Neil’s hand, then closes his fingers over the webbing. “But this can never be.”

  Later that night, beyond a reasonable hour when anybody should be awake, Inna tiptoes in and closes the door to her antique shop. Turning, she spots Damian pretending to work on the broken AM/FM radio by candlelight at the counter.

  “Infidelity is against penal code,” he ominously warns.

  “You’re only reassigned once. If I go they won’t issue you another.”

  “Unless you take your own life,” Damian reminds her of the technicality.

  “If only you could be so lucky,” she snaps back.

  Though morbid, they are both right. Per code, if something happens to a citizen’s partner, such as terminal disease, sickness, or an accidental death, they are reassigned to another partner. This is what happened to Damian after Tess was caught in the flood at the base of the Strasburg Dam. However, this can only happen once. The exception to this code is suicide, which doesn’t happen often anymore considering one can legally sell their life to the Agency in exchange for rations, thus it is no longer an appealing way out. If a person does choose to commit suicide, then no matter which number their partner is on they will be reassigned to another. The fine print in the Agency contract makes it explicitly clear that voluntarily selling one’s life does not fall under the definition of suicide, and therefore a new partner will not be assigned. Not many volunteers take the time to read through all the rules and technicalities since they are desperate to immediately provide their families with rations, so loved ones are often left alone with no possibility of ever being reassigned.

  Not having the energy to deal with Damian and his bitter attitude right now, Inna storms towards the stairs.

  But Damian breaks after her.

  At the same time Inna and Damian are having their argument in the slums, Leslie straddles Neil in bed high up in his apartment in the Downtown Sector. In their second session together, Leslie is dressed in a French Maid costume, sexy and in full character, though Neil’s mind is clearly someplace else.

  “Don’t get mad. It happens to a lot of Collectors,” she encourages him with a fake accent, gyrating her hips and rubbing her hands across his chest. “Just relax. Think of something nice.”

  Neil closes his eyes as she massages between his legs. “That’s it,” she says with a smile. Her eyes close too as she begins to hum. Neil’s face turns sour as it doesn’t compare to Inna’s sweet melody.

  “That’s not it,” he says.

  “Mmmmm-hmmm.”

  “No, it’s not. Stop,” he demands.

  “Believe me, Neil, it’s not hard to find,” she says, her mind remaining on the task at hand. She kisses Neil’s neck. “Don’t be so tense. I’ll do whatever you want. I was assigned to you.”

  But Neil doesn’t want this. “Just stop singing!”

  Inna and Damian’s spat continues up the stairs. She ascends them two at a time, with Damian close behind.

  “Did you watch him Collect someone?” he sneers. “Did he show you where he takes the bodies? Did he touch you?” Damian yanks her by the arm. “Answer me. Did he touch you?”

  “Not like you do,” Inna replies, cutting him with her words.

  Damian smacks her out of habit, his face turning sour. Inna recoils from the surprise attack holding her cheek, then sprints towards the bedroom.

  Damian limps after her. “You’re assigned to me. Not him.” He catches up and grabs her.

  “Get off me,” Inna shouts.

  Damian shoves her to the bed and pins her down. “I can do whatever I want,” he claims as he overpowers her. He kisses her neck and chest before tearing off her pants, though Inna won’t hold still. As she continues to claw and flail, Damian hits her once, then again before ripping at her shirt.

  “Stop. Please stop. Oh God...,” she cries out, breaking into tears.

  “God? Your God is punis
hing me,” Damian says in defeat as he suddenly stops and takes it all in – his outburst, Inna crying, her ripped clothes. While he has issues, he doesn’t sit in the same place on the spectrum as someone like Slayter. His thoughts and words might be similar, but he’s too much of a coward to follow through on them. He becomes disgusted with himself. “I had Tess and He took her from me.” Damian pushes her away before heading back towards the stairs. “I want her, not you.”

  Inna clinches the sheets with her fists, her body tense as her eyes find the window. For a brief moment, the sky clears as the moon reflects off her tears.

  Back in Neil’s apartment, Leslie continues in character as she crawls over and goes down on him. “I’ll do whatever you want,” she offers with her faux French accent.

  “I want you to go.”

  “Our session’s not over,” she reminds him.

  “I don’t want you!” he says as he shoves her away.

  Leslie tries to straddle him once more, but he overpowers her. She drops the act. “Non-participation is a clear sign of emotional distress,” she warns. “The Agency will be hearing about this in my report.” She gathers her things and storms out, leaving Neil alone on the side of the bed, the moon reflecting off his face.

  At that exact moment, both Neil and Inna face towards the moon – sharing a connection through the white orb that gloriously fills the sky even when things remain dire down below. Maybe that’s what makes it comforting. They’re both torn, both distraught, both conflicted about the choices they’ve made, yet the moon remains steadfast in its ability to shine through the chaos and soothe their souls. All they have to do is look up.

  But what they don’t know is that they have each started down a path they can’t turn back from. That no matter how hard they try, they are both trapped within the confines of the horseshoe-shaped Wall, trapped by the strict codes of the Agency, trapped by the often unfair web of basic emotions that seems to keep drawing them together. For once one strokes the fire of a human connection on a deeper level, there is no extinguishing it. For some that can be a blessing, a goal in life that one can only hope to achieve and make this journey all worthwhile, but for a Collector and a slum girl, in a city surrounded by death, there can be no greater curse if each wishes to remain alive.