Evalene's Number

by Bethany Atazadeh

  Sol spoke for the first time since they’d entered the room. “You should do it.” Evalene squinted at Sol in confusion. He knew from their capture that she was a low Number. But he just shrugged, as if to say, what could it hurt?

  “You don’t have to say much,” Luc continued to petition her. “It doesn’t even have to be good. I just need everyone in Eden to recognize this is real, get off their soft couches, and join us!”

  Nervous, Evalene considered it. This was what Jeremiah had asked her to do only a few days ago, though it felt like years. And she reminded herself that this was why she had come, though now she definitely felt afraid. Finally, she whispered, “Okay.”

  “Wonderful.” Luc vacated his seat as soon as she agreed, not giving her a chance to change her mind. He made his way to the video team, bending to speak in their ears.

  Evalene’s pulse sped up, pounding in her ears, making it impossible to hear Olive now. She had no idea what she was going to say. Her palms felt sweaty. She wiped them on her pantsuit, which just reminded her of the horrible rip along the bottom of the pant leg where she’d torn off the bandage for Olive. How embarrassing to go on live TV in such a state. She touched her hair, trying to comb out tangles with her fingers.

  But she didn’t have a chance to do anything else – Olive was finishing. Luc ran up from the back and hopped onto the short platform.

  “Thank you, Olive,” he said, resting a hand on her shoulder like he had with Talc. But unlike Talc, Olive beamed at the gesture. As usual, Luc was oblivious.

  “Our next guest, will be Miss Evie – er –” he faltered at her last name, realizing he didn’t know it. Evalene ignored him, still sitting in the plastic chair. She was shaking. She tried to swallow, but her throat was closing. Why had she agreed to this?

  Was it too late to back down?

  Luc waved a hand in her direction, his eyes bugging out at her in silent communication that said, “Get up here right now!” But to the camera, he stalled. “A young lady who grew up here in Eden, who managed to escape,” he paused for dramatic effect, knowing this would shock the audience, “and even more amazing, chose to come back and fight with us. With all of you. For justice!”

  As he spoke, his hand waved more and more wildly in her direction, motioning for her to move. But she couldn’t. Her feet felt glued to the floor. Luc clapped his hands loudly. The rest of the room joined in belatedly, and people were staring at her now, wondering why she wasn’t getting up.

  “But enough from me! I’ll let her tell you all about it!” Now Luc’s look said if he had to drag her to the stage himself, he would.

  Sol nudged Evalene, startling her.

  Standing, she took one small step, then another. Forcing herself to breathe, she reached the stage just as Luc helped Olive step off the other side. Evalene’s face felt flaming hot. She was certain it was bright red.

  Mounting the couple inches onto the platform felt like climbing a mountain.

  Her hands shook visibly.

  The room was silent.

  Evalene scanned the room. Olive stood to her right with Luc where they’d dismounted while Luc signaled with his hands to hurry up. But Talc’s presence behind them erased all thought as he scowled at her, especially when she saw his hands clamped around a huge gun.

  The silence stretched unbearably long. Ten seconds turned into fifteen, then twenty. She didn’t know what to say to the watching world. Overwhelmed.

  Finally, Luc broke all television protocol and called a reminder to her from where he stood off camera, “Just tell your story, Evie!” The urgency in his voice was unmistakable. Her mind cleared a little at the nickname – technically the false name – and a starting place finally came to mind. She gathered up her courage, wringing her hands together, and began.

  “First of all,” Evalene said, not looking at the camera, but at Olive and Luc, “it’s time I told you the truth.” She bit her lip, wishing this were an intimate conversation instead of one that involved the entire country.

  Averting her eyes from their faces to focus on the camera, she continued. “My name isn’t Evie... It’s Evalene Vandereth, daughter of Byron Vandereth, Number 4, and Pearl Vandereth, Number 6. I was born in Eden, right here in Delmare.”

  She swallowed. Hard.

  The room had fallen so silent everyone could hear her gulp. Taking a shaky breath, she paused, not sure what to say next. She looked around the room, at all their anxious faces. So much brown clothing. She needed to help them understand what she’d learned, what she was still learning.

  “I knew the way Numbers worked even before I knew the words freedom or human rights.” She licked her lips. Her mouth felt dry.

  “When I was nine years old, my mother was killed in the Bloom Rebellion. Her crime? Being in the wrong place. Possibly, being in the wrong place on purpose, standing up for those who couldn’t stand up for themselves.”

  She felt tears forming at the back of her eyes, not at the memory of her mother, but at the idea of Pearl seeing her now. “I will never know for sure. But one thing I do know, my father was never the same.” Evalene paused, imagining him watching on the television at home. Was he still ashamed of her? Probably.

  But she had to tell the truth.

  “Despite my mother’s choices, we never expected my Numbering Day to turn out the way it did.” Evalene looked down at her purple pantsuit which gave nothing away. But then she touched the scarf she’d retied around her neck, hiding her tattoo. It was blue, misleading those watching now into thinking she was a high Number. She started to slowly untie it.

  “Someone wanted to silence my family.” The pretty bow over the knots came undone. “Someone wanted to punish us.” The first knot gave her some trouble. “So someone decided that I should be given a low Number.” The connotation that someone other than God doled out the Numbers didn’t escape those in the room. She hoped those watching on television caught the innuendo as well.

  With a yank, the first knot came loose, and she set into the second. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to make sure the scarf wouldn’t come off on its own. “And not just any low Number.”

  The last knot came loose and she ripped the scarf off her neck.

  Against all her instincts, she pulled her hair back and the collar of her shirt down, so the left side of her neck was clearly visible. So that her tattoo was visible. She held still, allowing the cameraman to zoom in on it as they had with Olive.

  She forced herself to say it aloud. “A Number 29.”

  The entire room stared at the image, at her tattoo. Having viewed her first as a high Number, they were confused. The only people who had known her true Number were Olive, and of course Sol who’d seen it during their capture. But as she met their eyes, she saw tears streaming down Olive’s face, and even Sol’s were suspiciously moist. She was afraid to look in Talc’s direction, so she turned back to the camera.

  Her voice shook. “For a long time, I thought, maybe... maybe this really is who I am.” She swallowed, hard. Her chest felt tight.

  “But a friend told me something that I think, if we admit it, we already know... That it’s not God who gives us our Numbers. It’s selfish, cruel men.” Her hands tightened into fists at her sides.

  “I am not a 29. But what I didn’t understand,” she stepped closer to the camera, right up to the edge of the stage, “what I have struggled to understand, is that I am not a Number 10 or higher either.” The cameramen adjusted, zooming in on her face. No one moved. Evalene lifted her chin, looking directly into the camera, wanting to make her next words exceptionally clear.

  “I am not a Number,” she enunciated every word, carefully, “at all.”

  She pointed a finger at the camera.

  “Neither are you.”

  Stepping back, Evalene gazed around the room now, pointing at those around her. “Neither are you.” She pointed at another man, and another. “Or you.” The cameramen were happy enough to oblige her, panning the faces of those crowded in
to the newsroom, revealing the captivated audience, before returning to Evalene.

  Her finger stopped on Talc, whose weapon was lowered now. She choked out the words, in a strangled voice. “Or you.” And she nodded to him. He no longer appeared angry, just confused, dropping his gun to his side and leaving the room.

  Evalene watched him leave, and felt confident that she wouldn’t have to deal with him again. That relief mixed with the joy of finally letting go of her Number threatened to overwhelm her and make her cry on stage. Her chest hurt at the sobs held back.

  “If a high Numbers daughter could be treated so poorly, so could anyone’s children. No one in Eden is safe. We need change. Please, fight with us.” A couple tears leaked out, despite her efforts not to cry. “Thank you for listening to my story,” she sniffed, swallowing once, then twice to clear the lump out of her throat. “Thank you for caring.” She hoped she’d said enough, that she’d helped motivate the people the way Luc said they needed to. She struggled to get the words out. “Please, for me, and for the people you love... Help us. You know what you need to do.”

  She took two steps to the edge of the short little stage, and stepped down.

  The room was silent.

  37

  Jeremiah’s Decision

  JEREMIAH WATCHED EVIE ON the little screen in front of him as the entire room collectively took a breath and then broke out into applause at the end of her speech. He felt so proud of her. He’d been right to think her story was important. It might have even sealed the revolution’s success.

  He was back in the side room where they’d placed him before, out of the way. No one else was with him.

  His muscles weren’t responding, and he was fading in and out of alertness, but he struggled to get up. His efforts just made the room spin. He was too weak.

  But he needed to get up. Just an hour before, Luc had arrived at the station and entered Jeremiah’s room, giving orders as he went. “Keep an eye on the broadcast and don’t let the line get too short. Make sure the men outside take shifts; they need to stay fresh.” Through the doorway, Larimar had nodded and disappeared to do Luc’s bidding.

  “Hey man,” Luc said when he saw Jeremiah’s eyes were open. “You look awful.”

  A weak chuckle escaped Jeremiah’s lips. “Where’ve you been? What time is it?”

  “It’s after noon. We tried to get here as soon as we could, but we were barely a half hour out of the harbor before the Regs found us,” Luc said, dropping to sit by Jeremiah on the floor. Resting his arms on his knees, he continued. “Nobody was getting anywhere, and we didn’t know if we would get here at all. But then the people showed up. Big swarms! They just came running!”

  “Same here,” Jeremiah said in awe as the scene right before he’d blacked out returned to him. “I didn’t know if it would work...”

  “What? You’re telling me that now?” Luc joked, smacking him on the arm right below the bandage. Jeremiah winced.

  “I figured I wouldn’t see you if it didn’t,” Jeremiah teased back, wheezing. He tried to hit Luc back, but his aim was off, and he only slapped at air. He was so tired. Maybe he would close his eyes and rest a minute...

  “I sent a team with those camera guys to get the Number One’s home on film,” Luc said.

  That made Jeremiah blink awake. “Who’s running the cameras here?”

  “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.” Luc rolled his eyes. “I had them teach our guys how to run things here while they’re gone. The basics at least. We’ll be fine.”

  Jeremiah frowned, but Luc did seem to have things under control. “I even got them to set up a live feed on the screens in the news room so everyone can watch,” Luc added when Jeremiah still seemed worried. Luc turned towards a tiny television screen in the small room where Jeremiah lay. “You know what, they’re probably all connected. Let’s see if we can’t get it in here too.”

  The screen winked on, and sure enough, it showed the small stage, with the desk, chairs, and green screen background. Luc had everything taken care of. Jeremiah felt himself starting to relax.

  “Rest up,” Luc said, patting him on the shoulder before he stood. “We’re finally winning. Regulators are surrendering. We have Delmare and most other large cities. It’s just a few outliers now. That and getting the high Numbers on board.” He turned at the door. “Everyone agrees it’s just a matter of time before we’re crowning the new Number One.” He winked at Jeremiah. And as the door swung shut behind him, Jeremiah realized that despite all his arguing with Luc, his friend had never let go of the idea of Jeremiah as the new leader. He might never.

  As Jeremiah watched each testimony on the little screen, he grew more and more convinced. Luc would argue and persuade, get the council on his side, convince the people, until finally Jeremiah would find himself giving in. Temporarily, Luc would say. Just temporarily. And instead of forming a council and system of voting that Jeremiah had studied for years and worked so hard to create, they would fall right back into the Number system he detested.

  He watched all the way up to Evie’s speech, but as soon as she finished, he knew what he had to do. If he stayed, he would be tempted to do exactly what Luc asked. It would be so much easier to enforce changes with sole leadership of the country.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  It was the easiest and hardest decision he’d ever made.

  He had to leave.

  It took him forever to stand and get dressed. After many breaks to rest, he opened the door, panting. They’d given him something for the pain, but it wasn’t enough. Little needles were stabbing him in each of the locations he’d been shot. The needles sticking him in the nastiest wound on his back shoulder felt more like six-inch knives.

  Once in the hallway, he turned reluctantly away from the newsroom, where they were still broadcasting. He wished he could see Evie again. He knew she was right on the other side of those double doors. But so was Luc.

  Jeremiah walked towards the front door. Every step hurt. But he continued outside, down the concrete steps.

  His men posted on guard duty outside nodded to him in respect. They assumed he was on a mission. In a way, he was.

  He doubted they knew the extent of his injuries, and he tried to stand tall to avoid looking weak. They watched him pass but didn’t say a word.

  The classic cars were riddled with bullet holes. At the back, where the fighting had been the worst, they were shredded into unrecognizable piles of metal, as if the Regulators had tried to drive their vehicles over them, smashing them into pieces.

  Striding towards the car he’d initially driven up to the building, Jeremiah climbed in through the gaping hole where the passenger door used to be, clumsily sliding over to the driver’s side. He knew his men were still watching, but he moved agonizingly slow, unable to put on a show, thankful that his back was turned as he winced in pain. His stitches ripped open again in his back and shoulder. His foot and hand throbbed, but the pain in his back was so intense he had to pause a moment before continuing.

  His men frowned in concern, but watched without comment. Jeremiah turned the key in the ignition, but nothing happened. The car wouldn’t start. The fighting must’ve damaged the engine.

  Outside the half circle of cars, multiple Regulator vehicles stood, abandoned. If their owners had all been gunned down during the fight, he supposed it was worth a shot. Holding back a groan, he climbed out of the driver’s side of the car, and made his way to the closest Regulator jeep.

  The keys were dangling from the ignition, never removed. He dragged his hurting body inside and once settled, turned the keys. The engine roared to life. Jeremiah sighed in relief.

  It took some maneuvering with his hurt shoulder to turn the jeep around, but finally he managed to pull away from the blockade.

  Blinking back white spots in his vision, he refused to lose consciousness again. He put the vehicle in drive and floored it. Beryl’s summer home was a full day’s drive from here. Could
he drive that far in his condition? He didn’t know.

  He watched the news station and his men in the rearview mirror until he rounded a corner, and they disappeared.

  38

  The Necklace

  APPLAUSE. ROARING APPLAUSE, CHEERS, and shouts of her name. The camera panned to follow Evalene into the crowd, and she shied away. Her face pleaded with Luc to save her. She wasn’t used to being in the spotlight this long. Or at all.

  He directed the next person in line onto the stage, guiding the camera-crew’s focus away from Evalene, but not before she’d grown bright red and embarrassed. She’d just cried on television. How awful.

  But no one seemed to mind. Instead, as she tried to escape the cameras, some people in the camera room followed her out into the larger newsroom with all the computer screens. Those sitting or standing throughout the newsroom began to clap as well. Evalene hurried to close the door behind her to block out the noise.

  A woman approached her and gave her an unexpected hug. A man nearby reached out to shake her hand. Their kindness made her uncomfortable but she thanked them until the crowd dispersed.

  Evalene sank into one of the desk chairs in front of a computer. Watching the screens as the next speaker finished, she blinked in surprise when her face appeared on the screen again. They were replaying it? Watching her revelation of the tattoo felt like watching someone else.

  As she watched, a weight lifted off her shoulders. She’d denied her Number in front of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands. And she’d survived. Not only that, but people had listened. Each time she said the words, they felt a little more real. She had value. She was worthwhile. The speech had changed her forever. But had it made any difference in the fighting?

  The broadcasts continued to go on in the tiny camera room, and Evalene watched with bated breath along with the rest of the room as they filmed walking into the Number One’s private chambers on live television, where the Number One sat, tied and gagged, to a chair, stripped of his fine clothes, wearing only his pajamas. He was just a shriveled, weak old man. His power and hold over people suddenly seemed foolish.