by C. M. Adams
As they stepped into the apartment, a realization dawned on Birdie. “Oh hell,” she shook her head.
“What?” Brian turned in question.
“Reesy and Emmett. I'm supposed to shop with them tomorrow. God, what if they were hurt today? How can I find out? Are there phones?” she looked worriedly around the room for signs of such a device.
“Alright, first of all,” Brian said in a calming tone, “Civilians aren't really allowed, nor do they have reason to be around the landing strip. They're probably fine.” He watched as Birdie swallowed and nodded. “Secondly, no phones. Too easy to slip up and call the outside world. But we do have a communication device for anywhere on our part of the island.” He walked over to the couch and moved a few things off of the coffee table, revealing an embedded console that Birdie wouldn't have noticed otherwise.
The coffee table was a rectangular box made of the same type of material she'd seen on the buildings. The top's surface was so smooth it almost looked like glass. But when Brian pressed a brass button, and a panel opened up, it was clear to her that it wasn't.
“PICS, it's Brian Farran,” he said. Birdie glanced around the room for a moment, in slight confusion.
“Good evening, Brian Farran. How can I connect you?” a child's voice sounded from the console.
“Teresa Jane, please,” he said.
“Contacting. Please hold.” Brian motioned for Birdie to come sit beside him, as they waited.
“PICS?” she questioned.
“Pritchard's Island Comm System,” he explained. “Anyone you wanna contact, you can ask for through voice command. It'll call the recipient and ask them if they're available to take a call. If they accept, it'll patch us through. If they don't wanna take it, or they're not home, it'll give us an option to leave a video message.”
“Ah,” she nodded in understanding. “So we've gotta be presentable in order to make a call.”
“Well, not necessarily. There's an audio-only option, as well. Just have to specify it to PICS.”
“Connecting now,” the voice said, finally, and a hologram screen like the one Birdie had seen at the precinct popped up over the table.
Reesy's face came into view and Birdie suddenly felt a flush of relief. “Oh good! You're okay,” she told her.
“Hey there, Birdie,” she waved. “Hey, Brian. Glad to see you two are okay. Crazy first day top-side, huh?”
“Definitely not dull. Have you heard from Emmett?”
“He was called in to O.S as part of a research team.”
“With Maverick,” Birdie surmised, and Reesy nodded. “Have they made any progress?”
“I'm honestly not sure. You'd probably hear about it before I would. Speaking of, how'd your first day on the job go?”
Birdie grimaced for a split second. “Considering I'm training as I go? I guess it wasn't too bad.”
“There's like four Observers that aren't in regeneration,” Brian chimed in. “Birdie totally got promoted.”
“Promotion on your first day? You go, girl,” she smiled.
“I'd hardly call for congratulations,” Birdie half-grinned. “But thanks. Anyway, sorry to bug you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Well I'm glad you bugged me, sweetie. And I'm glad you two are okay, too. I'm gonna have to go help out at R.R tomorrow, so I have to rain-check our shopping trip again. Sorry.” she grimaced, hating to cancel on her.
“That's okay,” Birdie replied. “I have a feeling I'm gonna be wearing a uniform for a while, anyway.”
“And I can take her to get a few things, in the meantime,” Brian offered.
“He's actually not half bad at picking out nice clothes,” she smiled, brows raised.
“Oh honey, I know,” she told her. “We dragged him shopping his first day up, and he barely needed any help once we got him to the store.” Birdie shared a small laugh. “Alright, sugar. I've gotta go. Get some sleep. I'll see you later.”
“Bye Reesy,” Birdie waved.
“Bye, Reese,” Brian waved as well. “Tell Jodie I said hey.”
“Will do,” she smiled, and Birdie saw as she reached for something in front of the screen, and the call ended.
Birdie let out a sigh, then turned to Brian. “Please tell me we get better beds than what they had in debriefing.”
“Oh of course,” he said, scrunching up his face for a moment as if that should've been obvious. “Come on,” he stood and made his way around the couch. “I have something you can sleep in for tonight, too.” He led Birdie down a narrow hallway to the bedroom on the far end. The light flickered on as they entered it. “I hate how the lighting looks when we're underground,” he commented as he walked to his dresser.
Birdie looked around his bedroom and noted how much, even with the completely different style of furniture available to them on the island, it looked like Brian's room, sans the trash. There were clothes strewn about on the floor, empty coffee cups from the shop on his end table, and general disarray. It didn't smell bad. It smelled like him, though. Like Brian before the drugs. Something inside of her felt as though it burst. Something like the little glass tube filled with hydrogen peroxide that lays within the casing of a glow stick. Only, instead of glowing as it mixed with everything else, it ignited underlying emotion that she'd been able to re-shelve a little of, since finding him that morning.
Brian found a pair of drawstring pajama pants and a tee shirt amongst the disaster that was his second drawer. “These should do,” he said before turning to hand them to her. But he froze in the action when he saw that there were tears streaming down her face. “I-I'm sorry it's a mess,” he said. “I wasn't expecting anyone, and usually don't have people over...” Birdie's breath picked up and her face skewed with something Brian rarely ever saw her outwardly express. There was panic and sadness in her eyes. “Birdie?” he dropped the clothes as his heart clenched in his chest, and he took the few steps to reach her. “Birdie, what's wrong?” he put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to meet his eyes.
“I don't know,” she replied, her eyes darting everywhere but at his. “I...I think I'm...having trouble believing this is real. That this is really you...” she breathed in shakily, at the same time hating that she was crying in front of him.
Brian pulled her into a hug, squeezing her so tight that it had to hurt on some level. “Honestly, I've felt the same way all day,” he replied, softly. “Seeing you in the coffee shop, and every insane moment after, I kept having to pinch myself to see if I was really awake. I'm actually kinda scared I'll wake up tomorrow and you won't be here.” He blinked back his own sudden onset of tears.
Birdie's arms snaked around Brian's back and squeezed back, taking comfort in the solidity of it. “As long as we're on the same page, here,” she let out a small laugh, and felt the slight shaking in Brian's chest as he did the same. She pulled away after a few moments. “I feel like I need a shower, after today.”
“Oh,” he shook his head as if to clear it. Birdie was a pro at putting things back on the shelf, even after they'd just toppled off of it, and he'd never met another woman able to do the same. He watched as she quickly dried the wetness from her face and squared her shoulders. “I'll show you your room. It's been a guest room, up until now. Even has it's own bathroom,” he explained as he led her back out to the hallway, stooping to grab the fallen pajamas before they left his room.
The lights flickered on in the same fashion once they entered Birdie's room. This room was clearly different than Brian's. It seemed cold; not in temperature, as that was perfectly controlled, but cold in personality. It was like a motel room; neutral and uncharacteristic. Clean, but unused. The bed was an adequate size and dressed in the same robin's egg blue as her debriefing clothes. The window was hidden by copper-colored metallic blinds, and the dresser was the same as Brian's; hand-crafted wood with brass pulls.
“You've got a big closet over there,” he pointed to a closed set of pocket doors on the wall beside
the bed. “Anything you need before we can get to the store, just ask me. I refuse to share underwear, however.”
“I'm fine going commando, thank you very much,” she glared.
“Ew,” he scrunched his face for a moment.
“You expect me to wear the same ones I have, until then?”
“No. But I don't wanna know when you're going commando.”
“Easily obliged,” she replied.
“Here's the bathroom,” he pointed out, quickly changing the subject. The lights flickered on as he entered. “There are towels in here in the cabinet, and stuff to wash with already in the shower. Everything here is hand-made by people on the island, so whatever you used before, get used to doing without. This stuff is good, though. And there are different scents and stuff at the store, so if you don't like those, you can get something else.”
“Where's the washer and dryer?”
“We don't have them,” he told her. “There's a launderer downtown. We take everything there. They hand-wash everything.” Birdie looked a bit uncomfortable with that thought. “I wash some of my own things here. Like underwear, because I'll be damned if anyone is touching my underwear besides me.”
“And I'm sure they appreciate that,” she raised her brows, amused.
“Hey, those people wash everyone's underwear,” he retorted. “I just like some of my business to be my own.”
“Yeah, I think I'll go ahead and do my own, as well... Wait, everyone's? No one has a washer or dryer?”
“It's inefficient to have them,” he told her. “There's one area where everything is contained and done. Everyone needs a job on the island. It's how we pay for everything else. There are people that rotate in and out of that place day and night.”
“A twenty-four hour Laundromat? That sounds very convenient.”
“Considering there are over two hundred and fifty people's clothes to wash, it's kinda necessary.”
“How does money work here?” she asked, intrigued, as she walked to the shower and began inspecting the soaps.
“It's not really money, so much as credits,” he explained, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms. “Whatever job you work, and however many hours, goes into a credit system. So it's kinda like bartering, in a way. Your I.D is also your credit card, so to speak. Whatever profits I make off my books goes onto my credit. The actual money goes to the government sector that funds the island. My credits are worth as much, though. Pretty much everything I need or want is covered, and then some.”
“Guess you're books do well then,” she raised a brow.
“Not too bad,” he smirked, revealing the dimple on his left cheek. “Plus, anything I want that's not on the island, I can bribe and transfer credits to a hunting Observer.”
“Hunting?” she questioned. “You mean when we go to fetch a Proprietor?”
“That, or when they've located a Defector,” he told her. “It's rare, but sometimes they find them on the grid. They've gotta go pick them up and try not to cause a scene in the meantime.”
Birdie nodded in understanding. “So what kind of stuff do you usually ask them to get?”
“Eh,” he let out a breath as he thought. “Books, magazines, games, movies...or stuff they don't quite make the way I like, here. Wish I could convince them to let me have a car.”
“Where would you drive it?” she looked at him incredulously. “There's no where to drive and nothing to drive on. Not to mention gasoline.”
“I just miss driving, I guess,” he got a reminiscent look on his face.
“Maybe you can bribe one of us to take you on a hunt with us,” she smirked. “I'm guessing we have to drive when we're out there.”
“I'd have to do some serious bribing. Even at the right price, they've gotta clear it with the big boss. Or risk losing their job by sneaking me along. Though, it would be easier for me, since I don't report to an outside job, and I spend most of my time at home. I'd have to bribe to barista not to mention they haven't seen me at the shop,” he laughed.
“I'm thinking this is totally doable,” she said, seriously.
“Yeah?” he got a bit of an excited look on his face. “Well, that'd be awesome. But I'd hold off a while, at least. You're new on the job, and I can't imagine you having to serve coffee for a living if you get canned.” They shared a laugh at that.
..
After they each had a shower, Birdie convinced Brian to let her stay in his room for the night. She told him it was because her bedroom creeped her out a bit. But in reality, she just wanted to be near him. She wanted to be able to just look over, if she woke up in the night, and be reassured that he was still there. He didn't even fight her about it, since he felt the same way.
They laid there on their separate sides of the king-sized bed, Brian staring up at the ceiling, and Birdie on her side facing him. The lights were out, but the blue glowing numbers on the alarm clock beside the bed illuminated the room enough to see each other.
“Do you remember dying?” Birdie asked, quietly, after several minutes of silence.
Brian turned his head to glance at her for a moment, before looking up at the ceiling. “Do you?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she replied, thinking back. “I remember it was cold. It was raining and I was lying in the street.”
“How did you die?” he looked at her again.
“I was shot,” she told him. “Chasing a suspect,” she elaborated. “He was scared. I don't think he'd ever shot anyone before. I remember his face just before he ran away again. I felt sorry for him.”
“He'd just shot you, and you felt sorry for him?”
“I knew I was gonna die, but I felt sorry that he'd just basically ended his whole life with a split-second decision,” she explained. “He was so young.” She watched as Brian looked back up at the ceiling.
“I remember talking to Mom,” he said.
“She called you to check in, she said.”
“Yeah,” he let out a small, breathy laugh. “She wanted to know if I was any closer to finishing my book. I told her I didn't have time for it, with work. I'd already had a hit in my system and was too far gone to continue the conversation. I told her I'd call her the next day.”
“Then you ordered a pizza,” she added.
“I did,” he looked over at her for a moment, then back to the ceiling. “And as soon as I hung up with them, I took another hit. It made me so floaty and tired, I laid my head back on the arm of the couch and passed out. That's the last thing I remember, before waking up in debriefing.”
There were a few moments of silence as they both thought. “Why did you do it?” she asked. “Was it because we saw Dad?”
“Kind of,” he let out a breath. “I was so...pissed at myself for doing anything at all, that night. Seeing Dad hurt, and I didn't wanna feel it. That, and what I made you promise me,” he looked over at her again. “I felt like I'd given you a burden you didn't deserve to have to carry. Those things, coupled with the guilt of screwing up sobriety, made me do even more.” Birdie heard him swallow. “I am sorry, Birdie. I didn't mean to die. I swear that much. And I'm sorry I screwed up. And I'm really sorry that you had to find me like that. If it'd been the other way around... Hell, Birdie, I wouldn't have been able to keep going like you can.”
“Brian...”
“I'm serious. Hell, Dad isn't even dead, and look how I handled that. I wasn't even as close to him as I am to you. You're... You're stronger than me.”
There was a silent moment between them as she let that absorb. “It doesn't matter anymore,” she told him. “Everything's different, now. Not just this place, or what we are. But you... You're you, Brian. Not drugs. I can honestly say that I'm glad. I'm happy, even. I'm happy we're here.” Even in the dim light, Brian could see her genuine smile. He returned it, in silent agreement.
Five
Birdie awoke to the false sunlight flowing around the edges of the blinds in Brian's room. It lit up her brother's silhouette, makin
g him look angelic, and she laughed at the thought.
She pushed herself up, being careful not to shake the bed and wake him, and made her way out into the kitchen to start coffee. The kitchen was clean, most likely because he never used it. The stainless steel coffee pot had a thin layer of dust on it, reminding her that his morning routine likely consisted of going to the coffee shop instead of actually brewing it himself.
Brian awoke to the smell of coffee, maybe twenty minutes later. For a moment, he forgot where he was. But as soon as he came to his senses, he rushed out of bed and out into the hall, searching for proof that yesterday hadn't just been a dream. There stood Birdie, stirring sugar into her cup of coffee. She glanced over at him.