Rehabilitation: Romantic Dystopian (Unbelief Series Book 1)

by C. B. Stone

  Shaking my head, I try to dislodge my crazy musings and fervently hope Jacob comes to his senses before I lose him forever.

  The gates aren’t locked, though at one point they must have been. These days, anyone can walk right through them. Most people don’t, though. They say it’s because it’s out of the way and no one comes over here, but secretly I think it’s some of that lingering superstition, and no one wants to admit it.

  Either way, I slip between the gates easily and enter the Gravestones, trying hard not to feel creeped out.

  I move as quick as I can between the rows of marble stones, keeping my eyes resolutely focused on the snow beneath my feet. I hate looking at their blank slates, knowing there are dead bodies buried beneath them. There used to be inscriptions written on them I think, but whatever may have been there has long since worn away. Yet another reminder that nothing lasts forever and hallowed things are only myths.

  When I reach the large tree rising up in the middle of the Gravestones, I pause, eyes probing into the darkness around me. If Jacob’s going to meet me here, this is where he would be. The tree marks the exact middle of this place and has been here even longer than the Gravestones.

  Moving to stand right beneath the tree, I wait, staring off into the dark night. I fold my arms across my chest, both to hold in as much warmth as I can and because, if I admit it, I’m actually a little scared of being here by myself.

  Suppressing yet another shiver, I remind myself there’s nothing to be afraid of and that Jacob will be here soon.

  I wait anxiously for several more minutes, glancing around and jumping every time I hear something move or wriggle in the brush. It’s never Jacob though, just the rustle of some animal. After a while, I check my watch, my heart sinking lower and lower as seconds and minutes tick by. It’s already fifteen after and I begin to realize he isn’t coming.

  Frowning, my stomach feels like it’s in knots as I start getting nervous. Why isn’t he here? How come he didn’t make it? Did something happen to him? Did he get caught trying to get out or did he just fall asleep and forget he asked me to meet him here?

  Impatient, I curb my wayward thoughts. I highly doubt that last one. If Jacob isn’t here, it’s because something has happened. He would never just not show up unless he literally can’t show up.

  Wary now of my surroundings, I come to a decision and start making my way back toward the front gate of the Gravestones again, unconsciously chewing my bottom lip as I trudge through the darkness, trying my best to keep my imagination under control. Every shadow suddenly looks like a patrol guard about to nab me for being out past curfew.

  No one stops me, though.

  I make it to the courtyard before I see it. A white van that marks the Elite idles outside a small shack all but falling apart, not unlike its neighbors. In fact, it looks just like every other building in the area. This one is important to me though. I suck in a breath, eyes widening.

  Instantly, I duck behind the wall of a nearby building. Cautiously, I peek around the corner to look at the van. Gasping, I bring a hand up, covering my mouth. I see two men dragging a tall male figure out of the house. Squeezing my eyes shut, I shake my head hard and then open them again, certain I’m seeing things.

  “No,” I whisper.

  I hope I’m wrong. It’s a different house, it’s along the wrong street, it’s... but I know I’m not wrong. Leaping into action before I can reconsider, I dart out from behind the corner of the building and start running toward the van, snow flying out beneath my feet with every step.

  They’ve got Jacob. I know they’ve got Jacob!

  By the time I reach the house, skidding and sliding to a stop in the street, the van is already gone, nothing but tail lights getting smaller and smaller in the dark. I watch until they disappear into nothing, breathing hard, eyes wet with unshed tears. I rush toward the house and burst through the door, a sob caught in my throat as all my worst fears for Jacob crystallize in my mind.

  “Jacob!” I call out, as loud as I dare. “Samantha?”

  But the small house is empty, the silence palpable.

  IV

  After finding the house empty, there’s little choice but to go home. I manage to sneak back in and make it to my bed without being discovered. Miriam is sound asleep in her bed by now, but I don’t sleep well tonight. I don’t sleep at all. Instead, my mind keeps churning, unable to stop dispel images of a white van and empty house.

  Where is Jacob? And where is his sister, little Sammy?

  I hope I’m wrong about what happened. I keep trying to tell myself I was wrong about what I saw, and keep thinking up alternate scenarios. Like maybe they left the house before the Elite got there—because I know it was the Elite in that white van—and were just hiding out somewhere. But then the image of that man being dragged out and shoved in the van flashes...

  No. It was Jacob. I’m positive. I think. I continue tossing, feeling restless, my heart heavy with worry, eyes dry from lack of sleep.

  When the sun finally comes up, I get up and dress as quickly as I can. I’m not sure who I’ll ask about last night—I guess I can’t ask anyone—but at least I can check the house again. Maybe it was a dream, and instead of getting up in the night to go meet Jacob, I never got up at all. Maybe I was asleep the whole time.

  I know that’s not true, though, despite my hopes. I can feel the tiredness of a night without sleep making my movements heavy and clumsy, and when I look up from lacing my boots, I catch Miriam’s gray, bleary gaze. As the other girls go down for breakfast—what little there is—she lingers behind until I pass by her bed.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asks as she follows me out the door.

  It takes everything I have not to freeze up right there. Worse, to round on her and demand to know what she knows. Instead, I turn to face her and answer simply, “No.”

  She studies my face and looks sympathetic, though that’s uncharacteristic of the Gates. After a moment she shakes her head, something almost sad flickering in her eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Then she continues on down the hall and stairs toward the dining room on the lower levels. All the girls eat there, from all the different dormitories. The babies who are too young for solid food and still breastfeed stay with the nurses, but the rest of us eat in the dining room. I stare after Miriam a moment, trying to steady my suddenly uneven breath. When I think I’ve composed myself enough to pass muster, I make myself march down the stairs for breakfast.

  All I want to do is run and see if Jacob is alright, and Samantha, too, but I force myself to take the small bowl of grits and scrap of bread. I sit down to eat, barely managing to choke it down. But I know if I leave without eating, everyone will be suspicious. There’s so little food that goes around that to step out on a free meal is a red flag for something big going on. I sit next to a couple of girls from the first floor, listen to them chat away about nothing, and go through the motions of meal time. I don’t even taste what I’m eating, not that there’s a lot to taste to begin with, and when I’ve finished I stand, taking my plates with me. I’m just dropping them off at the kitchen when I freeze.

  Being escorted in with the Matron is Samantha. My fists clench reflexively down by my sides.

  “Sammy?” I say aloud as I watch the small girl take hesitant steps, clearly frightened of her new surroundings.

  This is bad. This is frighteningly bad. If Samantha is here, then it’s because she no longer has family to take care of her—or family no longer willing to take care of her. Her parents have been dead for years and her only sibling is her older brother. I know if Jacob was around, he would never let her end up here and that’s what convinces me he’s gone. My stomach knots again and my shoulders slump as truth hits me. I’m right about what happened last night.

  The Matron leans down and whispers a few things in Samantha’s ears, to which the frightened little girl only nods. Then the older woman leaves. Samantha just stands in th
e middle of the dining room, the other girls ignoring her—it’s not uncommon to get new additions. She looks around, probably trying to find a safe place to hide.

  My stomach turns and tries to send my breakfast back up. With effort I keep it down. As calmly as I can, I walk over to Samantha. I don’t want to draw a lot of attention to her, or me, so I try to appear casual.

  It’s pointless because as soon as she sees me and realizes who I am, she runs toward me as fast as she can. She launches herself at me, wrapping her thin arms around my waist and burying her head into my shirt. My arms wrap around her tiny frame automatically, my lips brushing against the top of her hair.

  She starts sobbing.

  I hug her back, shushing her to try to get her to quiet down. “Shh,” I say, glancing around at the other girls who have now begun to glance over at us curiously. It’s not unusual for a new girl to break down, but it’s rare one of us offers any kind of comfort for that.

  “Jacob’s gone,” she sobs into my shirt.

  I freeze again. Something heavy hits my heart and drags it down into my stomach. I feel sick and cold and somewhat panicked.

  It’s not that this surprises me. I’ve been dreading it since I saw that van. Before that, even. Since Jacob didn’t show up at the Gravestones last night. And I knew it the second I saw Sammy walk into the room. But hearing Samantha confirm it aloud... it’s more awful than I thought it would be.

  I swallow with effort. “Samantha, it’s okay,” I tell her, even though I don’t believe that myself. It’s definitely not okay if Jacob is gone. “Everything’s going to be okay. Let’s go upstairs.”

  It’s with great effort I manage to pry Samantha off me enough we can walk up the stairs toward my dorm. I’m sure she’s been assigned some bed in one of the other wings, the one for younger girls, but for now we’ll be able to talk privately in the dorm I sleep in. Now’s the best time for it, while all the other girls remain eating.

  As we leave the dining hall, I catch the gray gaze of Miriam following us out. She’s still watching as the door closes behind us.

  When we make it up the stairs and into my dorm, I close the door behind us, making sure it’s shut tight. I take a moment to check and make sure no one is in the room who might listen in. It looks all clear.

  Spinning around to face Samantha, I kneel in front of her and grab her small shoulders. “What happened?” I ask with urgency, keeping my voice low.

  She wipes at her eyes with her tiny fists, sniffling. “Jacob’s gone.”

  I nod, feeling impatient now that I know something’s definitely wrong. “Last night, right? They came for him last night?”

  She pulls her hands away from her face and looks up at me. Her hair is darker than Jacob’s, though lighter than mine, and her eyes are dark brown instead of the bright blue of her brother’s. She takes after her mother, instead of her father, and it makes her look much too soft sometimes.

  Definitely too soft for this world at any rate.

  “Yes,” she finally says. “They knocked and knocked and then they kicked in the door. Jacob argued with them, yelled at them, but they hit him and dragged him away.”

  I feel sick. They hit Jacob? Is he alright? If the Elite had taken him—and who else would have—then why did they attack him? Why did they take him in the middle of the night? Selection is always the easiest way to make troublemakers disappear. No one is exempt from Selection and Jacob is still within the age range it wouldn’t be abnormal for them to Select him in.

  “Then they came to me and said that Jacob was filled with bad ideas.” She’s sobbing again now, her body trembling in my grip. “They said they were going to fix him.”

  Fix him. The dread I’ve been feeling since last night boils to a head. I know exactly what ‘fixing’ means. It’s the same thing they told me and my mother the day my father went missing and never came back. It’s what they tell people who fail their Trials. I feel an involuntary shudder wrack my body.

  Rehabilitation.

  V

  Rehabilitation.

  The word has played over and over again in my head for the last two months. According to the Elite, Rehabilitation is a program designed to help maladjusted individuals reintegrate into society as productive, wholesome citizens. That’s the official line, but no one buys it. When someone says Rehabilitation, they mean a camp where people get sent for failing their Trials. It’s not a fun camp either. People go there and when they come back—if they come back—they’re different. Haunted, is the term usually used to describe them. The haunted gray eyes of young Miriam flash in my mind.

  I’ve never been to Rehabilitation. I’ve never failed any of my Trials, because I’ve had enough evidence thrown in my face over the years that I’ve never questioned the existence of God. I know He’s not real.

  But Jacob? It’s been a wonder he hasn’t failed before now. Jacob’s been a... Believer his whole life. Since before we even met. When he was a kid and his parents were still alive, they used to tell him stories about God and how He is good and all-knowing and a lot of other stuff that just filled his head with stupid ideas.

  Dangerous ideas. Now he’s paying for them. I sigh. Even though his parents died long ago and he hasn’t done anything harmful to the Elite, other than not liking them, which he’s not alone in... he is in Rehabilitation. I’m left driving myself crazy every day wondering what is happening to him.

  Trials happen regularly and most everyone passes without too much trouble. They test people from pretty early on, kids primarily. Especially those who are from two parent households or who appear to have an overly chipper personality. Too much joy in the After World is a red flag to the Elite. Anyone who appears likely to believe there’s something more out there in the universe that reaches beyond our logical, reasonable ‘real-world’ is tested.

  That’s why I haven’t gone to that many Trials. I got tested just like everyone else, taken in for Selection the standard two or three times a year, but no one ever thought I would become a Believer. It’s because my dad went missing when I was just a kid and my mom went crazy before she died in a nuthouse. Then I got put in the Girl’s Home and when things were all said and done, there wasn’t enough good going on in my life for anyone to think I could believe in a higher power. If I did, I’m sure I would just hate Him.

  Jacob being sent to Rehabilitation only reaffirms there’s no all-good, all-knowing deity watching over us, like I’ve always known. Because how could a supreme being just sit around while the one guy who is truly decent and truly Believes gets sent to a camp that breaks people?

  Things have only gotten worse since he’s been gone. Maybe no one else has noticed, maybe he just didn’t touch that many lives, but I’ve noticed. His sister Samantha wound up here in the Girls’ Home with me and I made a promise to myself I would keep her safe. Then about a month ago she was ‘adopted.’

  It wasn’t a real adoption, though. Adoptions happen when people go through the girls and pick out the ones they think are the best, but no one came and looked at Samantha. No one came at all in fact, because adoptions are rare. The Elite came though.

  They knocked at the door of the Girls’ Home and the Matron answered. When they asked for Samantha Moore, I knew it was bad. They said they selected a family for her. A nice, normal, law-abiding family that would teach her the appropriate values of our culture.

  I know what they really meant was the family would try undoing everything Jacob filled her head with over the years.

  The thing is, I don’t necessarily disagree with that. I don’t think teaching someone to value logic and reason over some big guy sitting in the clouds is a bad thing. It’s a lot easier to deal with bad stuff that happens when you know it’s coming. And when you’re not waiting for someone or something to wave a magic wand and make everything all better again.

  My problem isn’t with what they’re going to teach her as far as the rules and reasoning and things like that. What I’m worried about is they’ll teach
her to forget Jacob. My gut twists at the thought.

  Whether he’s crazy or not, or believes in something that doesn’t exist or not, he’s still the best thing in my life. I’m not about to let them just erase him because he broke the rules. No way.

  So here I am, standing outside the door of Carol and Mark Cales, the ‘pleasant’ couple that adopted Samantha. I knock on their door—again—and wait. This isn’t the first time I’ve waited knee-deep in snow on their doorstep asking to see Samantha.

  It’s Mark Cales that answers the door today. He’s tall and lanky, with spindly arms that are too long for his body and a gaunt face with a pointed nose. There’s only a sprinkling of gray hair on his head and a pair of crooked glasses sit perched too low to be effective. He spends all his time pushing them back up toward his eyes.

  “Hello, Mr. Cales,” I say in as formal and polite a voice I can muster. I keep thinking if I can just appear old enough and wise enough somehow, maybe they’ll change their mind. “Is Samantha home?” I can’t hide the spark of hope I know is written all over my face.

  Mr. Cales narrows his dull brown eyes at me, his shrewd gaze frosty. “Ms. Reardon.” He always says my name with an exasperated sigh and puts a period at the end after he says it, like it’s a sentence all on its own. “Go home. I’m sure the Matron has already explained to you that—”

  “I know Samantha’s adopted now,” I rush in hastily, unable to stop myself from interrupting him. I’ve already heard this and it makes me impatient. “I was just hoping that I could see her and maybe talk to her for a minute. I’ve known her my whole life and—”

  The stern look on his face tells me my efforts are a lost cause. It was a lost cause the moment I knocked, maybe I even knew it then, too, and I know it’ll be a lost cause every other time I stand on his doorstep asking to see his new ‘daughter’.

  “Samantha isn’t seeing anyone right now,” he tells me in that cool, stiff voice of his. It’s the same tone Mrs. Cales has when she speaks to me. “She’s adjusting to her new life right now, and the last thing she needs is a reminder of her old one.”