by Tessa Clare
APRIL
Earlier that day…
I ’m sitting in the therapist’s office, and my stomach is in knots. I was fifteen minutes late to my appointment – which Dr. Darcy Gray brazenly reminded me.
“I was stuck in traffic!” I say defensively.
Dr. Gray, a brunette woman who typically reeks of cigarette smoke, raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Are you positive about that?”
Of course, I’m positive about that! Practically everywhere we go is surrounded by traffic!
But of course, I know that that’s not the full truth. I’m late because I don’t want to be here. The only reason why I’m sitting in this office is that the district judicial court – and, of course, my mother – will hear all about it if I don’t show up.
My weekly sessions with Dr. Gray began a year ago. Shortly after my arrest at the protest for my father’s election, the judge forced me to choose between three months in jail or a year of probation. I, of course, took probation without a second thought. Part of my probationary terms was that I was required to undergo a year of therapy. Seeing Dr. Gray – and her condescending, know-it-all attitude – makes me wish I chose jail time instead.
“Of course,” I affirm. “It’s not like I didn’t just spend the last hour sitting in it.”
I catch a glimpse of a red light blinking in the corner of my vision, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to break the plastic device that’s sitting on Dr. Gray’s end table.
The device is the primary reason why I hate my sessions with Dr. Gray. Sure, she’s blunt and pompous; but to be honest, I am as well. It’s not even the fact that she’s my mother’s best friend, even though that detail can get annoying at times. No, the reason why I dread every single Monday morning is the plastic device that Dr. Gray keeps a few feet away from me. It uses motion sensors to blink a red light whenever it detects a lie-indicating micro-expression. I can’t get away with anything, no matter what I do.
Still, Dr. Gray chooses not to comment on my fib – which is probably smart on her part, because I’d raise hell if she did. She unlocks her tablet and meets my gaze. “So, tell me – how are things going for you?”
“Still working at the coffee shop.”
Dr. Gray nods. “How’s that working out for you?”
This is what she does: she asks the same questions every single week in hopes that the answers will be different. They’re usually not.
“Well, my mother hasn’t granted me access to my trust fund. I’m assuming I’m doing something wrong.”
“What do you feel your mother wants you to do?”
I don’t know, lady. You’re the one who grabs drinks with her every Friday.
“Work hard,” I seethe through gritted teeth.
The blinking light goes off. Dr. Gray’s maroon-colored lips tilt upwards as she gives me a knowing look.
“Okay,” I say, trying again. “My mother is trying to teach me a lesson.” The blinking light goes off again, distracting me from my train of thought. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Let’s try something else,” Dr. Gray offers. “Do you feel that you’ve learned the value of hard work?”
“Yeah, most definitely!” I say immediately. It sounds like I’m saying it with sarcasm, but I’m as genuine as I can be. I’ve learned the value of hard fucking work. I’ve got the coffee stains and broken nails to prove it.
The blinking light goes off again.
“I’m done,” I groan, standing up and moving towards the door. “I think that plastic thing is broken.”
Dr. Gray shakes her head. “It’s not broken. The device is programmed to catch all forms of lies – even the ones that we tell ourselves.”
“I’m not telling myself anything!”
Other than how much these sessions fucking suck.
“Please take a seat, April.”
Under Dr. Gray’s firm gaze, I don’t have a choice other than to resume my place on her coach. I eye the plastic device conspicuously, still not too certain that it isn’t broken.
Dr. Gray’s voice softens. “Have you taken your medicine?”
I shoot a glare in the doctor’s direction. I can’t answer because the device will give me away – and the thing I hate more than anything in the world is being accused of being a liar. As the daughter of an infamous politician, I’ve got enough of that in my blood. Still, my silence is all Dr. Gray needs.
“April, we’ve gone over this several times.”
I let out a laugh, but it sounds hollow in my ears. I’ve given Dr. Gray the same explanation, time and time again, and she still refuses to listen to me. “Listen, doc – let’s get one thing straight: I’m not crazy.” I shoot a glance at the plastic device. It’s not blinking. Good. “See, even your toy agrees with me. You can ask my friends. You can ask my sister. Ask anyone except for my mother!”
No, my mom is the one that held me back one year in elementary school because I wasn’t as physically developed as the rest of the students in my grade. Rather than being the smallest, I was the tallest – and the oldest. She’s the first person to look for a quick fix at any sign of trouble.
“April, please calm down,” Dr. Gray says, even though I think it’s bullshit.
“I’m totally calm!” I insist, causing another red light to go off. That’s it. I walk over to the shelf and take the device into my hand. I should throw it out the window. No, I should throw it on the floor and crush it underneath the heels of my black leather boots! Or maybe –
My thoughts are interrupted by the sight of Dr. Gray in my peripheral vision. She’s the one that taught me to take deep breaths whenever I’m upset, which is something I need to do right now. Breathe in, breathe out. I glance at Dr. Gray and set the device back down on the shelf. This time, it’s facing away from me so that its sensors can’t detect my micro-expressions. I fold my arms in front of my chest, still standing in front of the shelf. I’m not willing to sit down any longer.
Dr. Gray presses her lips together before she turns her attention back to her tablet. I can’t see the screen, but the way the doctor’s eyebrows scrunched together indicates that the notes about me aren’t favorable.
“What are you writing about me?” I ask.
Dr. Gray peeks at me through black-rimmed glasses that I’m sure are fake. “Denial is merely a symptom of delusional disorder – as is paranoia.”
“Denial? Hang on…”
“When you opt into immortality,” Dr. Gray interjects, ignoring my protests. “The final dose of BIONs, which are designed to trigger neurogenesis, should be enough to cure any chemical imbalances in your brain. Until then…”
“I don’t have any chemical imbalances!”
Dr. Gray shakes her head. “I understand that it is normal not to think that anything is wrong with them, but no one is perfect. Sometimes, we all just need a little bit of help.”
I stare at her, utterly dumbfounded. I’m a perfectly functional young adult! I have good grades in school and a part-time job that I perform relatively well at! I don’t need any more help than the average person.
Dr. Gray hits a button before turning her attention back to me. “I’m sending a record of your prescription to the pharmacy in District 220.” A smile – so subtle that I barely even notice that it’s there – crosses her face. “Try to use it this time.”
Once the prescription is sent off, Dr. Gray escorts me out the door.
I put on my face mask and storm to my vehicle. Several passersby give me side glances as they watch me march to the parking garage with clenched fists, but I’m too irritated to care. When I finally unlock the car and climb inside, I slam the button to turn it on.
“Hello, Miss McIntyre. Please enter your destination.”
I move my finger to the computer screen on my dashboard; but then I realize that I don’t know where I want to go. The logical answer would be to my house in District 220, but I don’t feel like dealing with my mom and Autumn just yet. I’m still sal
ty that my mom’s been forcing me to go through these weekly therapy sessions that don’t seem to have an end in sight. I can also head to school, as I have a biology class later this afternoon; or I can make a stop at the coffee shop.
And yet, I don’t have any place I want to be other than in the depths of my thoughts. I don’t get enough opportunities to feel sorry for myself. Sometimes, I wish I had more time to think about how much it sucks to be the daughter of Henrik McIntyre, how I wish I wasn’t an idiot that got arrested last year, and how I want both Dr. Gray and my mother to stop trying to change me. I decide to sit in the parking garage with nothing more than my thoughts.
Maybe Dr. Gray is right. Maybe I am delusional. But does it make a difference if I am? My thoughts create my reality, and it doesn’t give me the closure that I’ve been seeking. The only thing I can do is speculate and let my imagination run its course. There’s only one cure, and that’s answers – reliable ones, not the half-ass excuses that my mother’s been giving me for the last year. Unfortunately, everything at the Divinity Bureau is top secret. The only way anyone would be able to give me answers is if they had access, and that would take –
Wait.
A realization hits me. Images of curly black hair and a coffee shop float through my mind. Hadn’t the boy mentioned that he worked in IT? If anyone can give me solid answers, it’s him.
That is if he’ll talk to me again.
I won’t blame him if he doesn’t. I did burn that bridge pretty quickly. Hell, I burnt that bridge before it was built. I hadn’t even given him a chance to explain himself. The job market is tight in our current economy. I’m fortunate to grow up in a well-to-do family, so it hardly affects me, but the world is difficult for most people out there. And I can’t even picture him to be the cold-hearted killer that I had implied him to be in front of the Divinity Bureau. To be honest, I only said that because I was angry and felt like I had been betrayed.
Not that he owes me an explanation in the first place.
God, I’m an idiot!
After the way I had treated him, I won’t be surprised if he never wants to speak to me again. As good looking as he is, it won’t be a surprise if he’s already dating someone else and has forgotten all about me. But I don’t see any harm in trying. I move my wrist in front of me and sift through the prompts to find the text message that he had sent me last week:
ROMAN: Hey. Just wanted to let you know that I'm sorry about the other day. I want to make it up to you and explain the situation. Please, can we talk about it?
I’m an idiot. I want to tell him that I’m sorry. I had jumped to conclusions, and that’s my fault. But everything I say over text sounds ridiculous. ‘Hey, sorry that I was a bitch to you – can you use your Divinity Bureau connections to dig up information about my old man?’ That’s not going to cut it.
Without a second thought, I sift through more prompts on my wrist and hit the “call” button. The call is transferred to my earpiece. Five rings in, and I start to hope that it goes to voicemail. I don’t know what I’d say to him; yet on the seventh ring, I realize that I’m never lucky enough to get what I want.
“Hello?”
I inhale a sharp breath. “Hi, is this Roman?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Hey, Roman,” I say, feeling a bit silly. “It’s April. I’m, uh, the girl from the coffee shop.”
Roman’s voice suddenly gets squeaky high. “April! Hi! How are you doing?”
I can sense the nervousness in his voice, which makes me giggle. “Not bad. I’m…” I glance around the empty parking garage, unable to ignore Dr. Gray’s office building looming around the corner. “Just waiting to start class. How about you?”
“Nothing much! Just trying to write an IRL command that’s compatible with the TX3000 operating system so that I can execute it and run some diagnostics and pull the browser’s history from the system’s database before my boss’s boss gets out of his meeting.”
I stopped listening halfway through all of that. “That’s…. interesting.”
Roman lets out a nervous laugh. “Long story short: I’m trying to find a virus. Not that you can actually ‘find’ a virus; but I guess…” He pauses. “Never mind. Yes, I’m trying to find a virus.”
“Oh, that’s cool!” I say, realization dawning on me. “An actual computer virus?”
“Yeah,” says Roman. “Gideon said he needed help. I’m not sure if you know who he is. He’s the Regional Chairman of the –”
“I know who Gideon is,” I reply, sharper than I had intended. When my father had won an appeal through the district chair, he was required to go through the regional chairman to ensure immunity. Gideon had outright rejected his request and sentenced him to die. I shake the memory away and clear my throat. “Is that who has the computer virus?”
“Yeah. For some reason, Gideon keeps getting hit with advertisements for BION treatment of erectile dysfunction.”
I giggle. Despite the disturbing mental image and my adversity to the Regional Chairman, I can’t help but laugh.
“It sounds like you’re busy,” I finally determine. “I can call you back later.”
“No, it’s okay!” Roman insists. “I…” There’s a pause. “Okay, I can talk for three more minutes. It’s great to hear from you, though. I thought for sure that I had struck out.”
I shuffle my feet. “Yeah – look, I just really wanted to apologize. What I said to you was uncalled for.”
There’s a long pause, which makes my heart rate pick up.
“I have my issues, which might be a huge turn-off,” I ramble on, determined to fill the silence. “But I swear that I’m working on them. I…” I stop as I peer over the parking garage ledge to watch Dr. Gray walk out of her office, unaware that I’m still there.
The doctor’s words come back to haunt me. “I understand that it is normal not to think that anything is wrong with them, but no one is perfect. Sometimes, we all just need a little bit of help.”
I sigh. “I want to make it up to you, though. Let me take you out for dinner – on me. We can go somewhere really awesome, and we can talk more about –”
I hear a gasp on the other end.
“April, I’m sorry. But I have to go.”
I take a deep breath as the sting of rejection washes over me. “Okay, I understand.” I close my eyes. “I totally understand. I really…”
“No, it’s not that,” Roman interjects quickly. “I just found something on Gideon’s computer that I need to investigate.”
I’m not sure how to react. “Oh.”
Roman laughs at my dumbfounded tone of voice. “Dinner sounds nice, though. Are you busy on Thursday night?”
I can’t help the broad smile that’s beginning to grow on my face. I look like a blushing schoolgirl. “I suppose I am now.”
“Cool,” Roman says breathlessly. I can picture the grin spreading across his face. “I’ll see you on Thursday at seven. How about if you message me your address, and I’ll pick you up?”
“That sounds good,” I agree. “I’ll see you then. I, uh…” I pause, unsure if my next words even make sense. “Good luck on your virus hunting.”
Roman laughs. “Thanks.”
CHAPTER FIVE
ROMAN
A s soon as I got off the Mobiroid with April, I dove straight back into work. My assumptions are correct. Gideon’s virus stemmed from downloading something that he shouldn’t have. But I was completely wrong about the content that the download contained. I prepared for a few videos that may not be safe for work, and I had my speakers muted in anticipation. Instead, I found a batched hack job on a personal computer.
I don’t have a name on the would-be victim. All I can see is an IP Address. Still, it’s obvious that Gideon didn’t know what he was doing. I have years of specialized training, and it’d take me weeks to do what Gideon had attempted to do. Based on the timestamps on his computer’s log history, he tried to do it in a few hours. I assume his
knowledge of network security came from the internet.
The biggest giveaway is that Gideon used a program that’s incompatible with his computer – not a huge surprise since his computer uses a highly-specialized operating system. All programs need to be specially coded for it to work. Another giveaway is that he attempted to bypass the security on a computer that had yet to be compromised. He must have sent a link or document to a person’s email, and the person had yet to open it. When Gideon attempted to hack into the unknown person’s computer, the link or document went to Gideon’s computer – thus, compromising his security.
It won’t be hard to reverse. All I need to do is uninstall any programs that appear to be suspicious, including the software Gideon was using. I’ll also need to do a scan on his computer to look for anything with an odd extension. The process should take less than an hour.
But I can’t ignore my newly sparked curiosity. Who can be important enough that Gideon would risk compromising his own security?
With no one around, I open Gideon’s email processor and do a quick scan. Most of Gideon’s emails are to high-ranking government officials and the chairmen within the Midwest state. I notice several emails to Nolan Fitz, the Minister of Population Regulation. I resist the urge to nose around. At last, I come across an email that contains a link to compromise the owner’s security.
Henrik McIntyre.
Why am I not surprised?
I’m starting to question whether April’s name showing up on the election report was an accident. Finn’s reaction to hearing her name earlier comes to mind. Coupled with Gideon’s apparent interest in her late father, April’s near-election can’t be a coincidence. But I don’t understand why the Bureau would be interested in killing off a nineteen-year-old girl. It doesn’t make any sense. Even if it’s still confusing to me, my instincts tell me that April’s name – and possibly her mother and sister – are going to show up again. It’s only a matter of time.
I glance at the time. My two hours are nearly over, and Gideon is going to need his computer back soon. Panic swells in my chest. I’m so close to having answers, and they’re about to be ripped away from me. I need to do something – fast.