by JM Butcher
“I need to sit,” I say. Lexa grabs me a chair. Her hand moves the hair out of my face, and she kisses the cheekbone under my vibrating eye.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean—”
“Give us a damn answer!” Seth yells from the back of the crowd.
“Chill, bro,” Olivia replies. “Give her a freakin’ minute.
Would it be good to think? Would it be good to have night thoughts? I’m not like any of the people in here, except for Ronnie. My thoughts will be monitored, for the exact reason Jack wants me. Because of Mother. My night thoughts would only bring trouble. For me. For my family. For my friends. And for everyone in here.
Melli bends down next to Lexa and looks into my eyes. “I’m sorry, Maggie. Like I said, I didn’t want to bring you into this. But that’s the truth. Do it for us. Do it for me. Do it for you.”
Would doing this bring me closer to Melli? Could we be best friends again?
“Okay, okay, okay,” I whisper.
“What?” Melli asks.
I take a deep breath, as I look at the smeared makeup on her face. I look at her quivering lips. I look at her Bic-bun. I say, “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll stop the medication. At least I’ll try.”
Melli wraps her arms around my body and lifts me up. She pulls me close to her. I melt into her. I feel safe, like when she came over after my first White Coat visit and told me I was her best friend. I hope it can be true again.
A bell sounds and my second moment with Melli is interrupted.
“Jack,” Makayla says, “we need to go. We’ve been here too long.” Jack nods.
“A customer is here, guys. I gotta get back to work,” Seth says, “What are we going to do about him?” Seth points at Ronnie. “His brain will begin to process all of this tonight. Then, boom, White Coats and Gray Coats and whatever other Coats know what’s up. He’s in jail or sent to the South, and we’re goners.”
“I said I’d take care of it.” Melli reaches into her purse and takes out a syringe.
Makayla says, “A secret silenced is a secret safe.” She nods at Melli.
Melli sticks the syringe into Ronnie’s neck. As the pink liquid is pushed into his bloodstream, Ronnie’s head jerks back involuntarily and he begins to fall backward. Grant and Seth catch him, lowering him to the ground slowly.
“What did you do to him?!” Lexa cries, shoving Melli into a shelf. Several boxes of shoes fall to the ground.
“T-Blox,” Melli mutters. “It’s for his own good.”
I surprise myself when I step in front of Melli and glare at her. “What gives you the right to play God?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret it. This might be the first time I’ve ever yelled at her.
I shouldn’t have yelled. Melli must have her reasons. She’s always been right. Always.
“Come on, Maggie,” Makayla says with a wily smile. “The shot only lasts two weeks. It will keep this meeting out of his night thoughts. Because he won’t have any.” Her smile widens. “With your help, we’ll be done by then.”
Jack glances at Makayla. “We will be done in two weeks?” he asks. “Do not lie to her.”
“Who’s lying?” she responds and exits through the back door.
Chapter 4
This is J.A.K. coming to you. It is roughly 10:00pm. Important info about U-F’s. Tune to our feed.
FEED 15:
Hi to all you U-F’s and sympathizers. A lot of action tonight.
First, three U-F’s detained from Crosswoods Mall. One a non-I.
The Coat operations will not be ending any time soon. Those in metropolitan areas, keep a watch out. Tell who you can. Protect who you can. Report all you know.
Bigger news. Operation GWNT was a success. Spread the word. Operation GWNT was a success. The target is in.
To the base: begin necessary preparations.
J.A.K. out.
-Anonymous, 10 October, 2040
It’s half past ten when I get home. Dad’s waiting up. He’s sitting on the couch cross-legged with a u-tablet in his hand. I know it’s turned off because no light shines onto his face. He’s acting as if he hasn’t been staring at the door for the last thirty minutes.
“You’re late,” he says, setting the tablet on the coffee table.
I’ve gotten used to Dad being overprotective—laying out precise curfews, making me check in regularly when I’m not home, vetting every single person I talk to. He’s easier on Tyler. I used to think it’s because I’m a girl, but that’s not the case. It’s that I’m chipped, and Dad, rightfully so, worries. Dad in no way looks at me as fragile, but he’s been around long enough to understand that Unfavorables have it hard. He repeatedly reminds me that I’m the strongest person he knows for making it through the challenges I’ve faced.
In truth, Dad is the strongest person I know. His daughter is an Unfavorable and his wife is a Transgressor. Not once has he complained; he’s only loved and supported me and Tyler. Maybe if I listened to Lexa and quit the meds, I could love him back the same.
“I’m sorry, Dad. We kinda got lost on the way home.” Dad knows I’m lying. My twitching eye is the easiest tell in the world.
He crosses his arms, expecting the truth. But I don’t tell him that instead of coming straight home, I had to walk around and try to process what just happened. I’m not ready to let him in on the whole secret meeting. He’ll worry too much.
He spots Melli’s mascara on my shirt. “What’s on your shoulder?”
I look at the stain. “Melli…” I stop myself. “I don’t know. I’ll wash it.”
I try to cover my eye before he sees it twitching, but I’m too late. He knows I’m lying again.
“Dad,” I say before he starts to ask questions, “do you ever think about Mom?” I cover my mouth with my hand. I said Mom, not Mother.
Dad uncrosses his arms and legs and leans forward. “Where is this coming from?”
He’s taken off guard. We haven’t had a conversation about Mother in years. The last time I remember talking about her, like really talking about her, was the night before I began the T-Blox. Dad’s face instantly turned pale when I asked if I would forget about Mother.
“I don’t know,” I answer. “What did she do that was so bad?”
I have memories of Mother and fleeting emotional responses, but they never last. I can’t even relive the night that she was taken. I see it. But I can’t feel it.
“Baby girl,” Dad answers, “you know the government doesn’t give up that sort of information.”
“She’s your wife!” I shout. “…Was your wife. You work for the government. You don’t know anything? Or you just don’t want to tell me?”
“Maggie, I’m trying to prot—”
“No!” I interrupt. “No! I’m sick of everyone protecting me.” I stomp my foot. “Everyone else knows. Why won’t anyone tell me? Am I that broken?”
“Don’t say that.” Dad stands and walks toward me. “You’re not broken.”
I recoil when he tries to hug me. “Why can’t I know? What is so bad? They dragged her out. On my birthday! She screamed for me.”
“You can’t possibly remember that,” Dad says.
“Why? Because of the drugs? Is that why you put me on them? So I don’t remember Mother?”
Dad sighs, wipes his hand across his face. “Yes, baby girl. It’s probably the drugs.” He manages to hold back his sob. “It’s my fault. I never should have…” He chokes up. “…Never should have made you take them. I was worried, though. They…they…would be watching your every thought. I had to, right?” Dad pauses and gazes at the ceiling. Resuming eye contact with me, he says, “It’s my fault your mother is gone.”
Now I feel bad for distressing him. I take his hands in mine. “The Gray Coats took her, not you.”
“I mean gone. Gone from you, from your memory. I’m so sorry.” As I stare at my dad, I wonder how long this guilt has been eating him up. He’s too broken to cry.
&n
bsp; I wrap my arms around him. “It’s not your fault.”
He hugs me back and quietly says, “But it is my fault that you can’t love me and your brother like a family should.”
“I love both of you.” I should have added as much as I can to the end.
“But why can’t you love me like you love Mel—” Releasing himself from my arms, Dad clears his throat. “Your mother loved you very much, baby girl.”
That’s the cliché dad answer, but I want to want it to be true.
“Your mom was a good mother. She was. She just got mixed up with the wrong people. She loved you…”
I interrupt, “But she hated the Union more than she loved me.”
“I guess that’s a good way to look at it. She had good reasons, though. I truly believe that. What she did, no matter how bad, I know it was for us. For me. For Tyler. For you.”
I decide not to ask for an explanation. “Do you ever think about her?”
“Every day.” I believe him. “I think about us. I think about what our family would be like with her. I think about you.”
“What about me?”
“Nothing,” he replied. He doesn’t want to blame her for the chip. He never blames anyone other than himself. That’s just how Dad is.
I take his hand again. “It’s not your fault that I am a girl with no thoughts.” I try to hide my grin, taking pride in my new name. I take pride in the fact that I’m wanted. That Melli wants me.
“What did you say?” Dad frowns, obviously concerned. “A girl with no thoughts?”
“Nothing.” That response doesn’t seem to satisfy him.
“I love you, Maggie. You’re my baby girl.”
“I know you do, Daddy. And I love you too. I do.”
“I know you do. And that is everything to me. I will never leave you. I’ll protect you. I’ll take on the world for you.” Every word he says is true.
I kiss him on the cheek, signaling that I’m finished with the conversation. “I’m sorry I was late. You can ground me. Can you do it tomorrow, though?”
He grins. “I’ll let it slide this time.”
“Thanks.” He can’t resist my puppy eyes. “Good night, Dad.”
“Wait, I set your pill on the counter.” He walks to the kitchen to grab it for me.
“It’s fine,” I say. He stops. “Melli thinks I should quit.”
Part of me hopes he continues to the kitchen. A big part of me. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t ask for an explanation. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t move. His silence tells me he understands.
I consider going to get the pill myself, but Dad’s silent approval provides me with another level of support, one that only a dad could give his daughter.
Instead, I head to my room, slow enough for him to have time to stop me. I swear I feel him smiling behind me as I walk up the stairs. I think he hopes our emotional connection will strengthen without the pill.
I walk into my room and wonder how long it will take for the meds to stop working. I can’t imagine I’ll have night thoughts tonight. I assume it will be at least three days, more or less. A feeling of excitement comes over me. Is it anticipation or fear?
I can’t tell.
***
I have to drag myself out of bed in the morning. My legs are heavy and sore, like I ran a marathon. Whenever I toss and turn at night, I wake up with what feels like two pulled quads and shin splints.
Breakfast has already been prepared by the time I’m downstairs. The scent reminds me of the local diner where we used to go with Mother, one of the few good memories I have of us all together.
Normally, Dad sets out yogurt mixed with granola and leaves us to pour our own drink of choice. He only makes a full meal when he feels guilty about something. It’s his way of making a truce. He shouldn’t have to apologize for last night’s conversation.
“You look like hell, Margie,” says my brother. Tyler’s probably right. The circles under my eyes probably look like shiners, and my hair is strewn every which way.
“Tyler, language!” Dad scolds, while he cleans dishes.
“Just saying.” Tyler shoves two pieces of bacon in his mouth and washes it down with grape juice before he finishes chewing.
“Scrambled or over-easy? Bacon or sausage? Home fries or hash browns?” Dad looks so proud of his accomplishment that I answer out of daughterly obligation even though I’m not hungry.
I put my hair up with a rubber band. “Scrambled. Sausage. Hash browns. With ketchup, please.”
“Anything for my girl,” Dad says, setting a plastic bottle of ketchup in front of me. 20% LESS PLASTIC, NATURALLY RECYCLED. Naturally recycled. Is that even possible?
“Hey, Margie. Can you please tell me what’s on that damn Exam?” He really is getting nervous.
“Tyler. Language.”
“I don’t remember,” I lie again.
“Whatevs, Margarine.” Tyler drops his fork, washes his mouth with his sleeve, and walks to the door, dragging his backpack behind him. “I’m walking today. Smell y’all later!” The door slams and Tyler is gone.
Dad sets a full plate in front of me and sits in the chair across from me. His tie is a little off-center per usual. I reach over and fix it for him.
“Thanks, baby,” he says. “And I’m proud of you.”
“For what? Violating curfew?” I joke and shove some hash browns into my mouth.
“No. I think you’re right. It’s time.”
“Time for what?”
He pauses to choose his words carefully, and I stop chewing my food. “The meds. I think it’s time you stop taking them. You’re doing something that I didn’t have the guts to do. I should’ve stepped in and made you stop. I couldn’t, baby girl. I thought I was protecting you, but I was holding you back. Seriously. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks.” I don’t know if I mean it as a statement or a question. Both, I guess.
“You’re strong,” he says. “You don’t need protection.”
“Sometimes, I do.” I laugh, hoping he will too.
He walks up to me. “Don’t you ever think that you have no thoughts. Don’t ever. Not ever. You’re going to amaze this world someday.”
I want to say that it might be sooner than someday, but I don’t.
“I’ve got to go to work. Bring the car home after school.”
“No problem. Have a nice day counting up rich people’s money.” I smirk at him and he kisses the top of my head.
“Seriously. Your mother would be proud, too. You’ll see. She’d be proud.”
I take another bite of food.
“Hey,” he says, heading toward the door. “I put that dirty shirt in the laundry room.”
I drop my fork. “You didn’t wash it…”
“No.” Dad smiles. “I thought you might not want me to.” He blows a kiss and is gone.
Leaving half of my plate full, I go to the laundry room and grab the shirt. It still smells like Melli. I walk up the stairs, carrying it to my room.
I put the shirt to my nose one more time and then bury it in my sock drawer.
Chapter 5
Dear Parents:
I am sure that you all have heard the news that two nights ago, Tuesday, October 9th, a student from Crosswoods High School was detained by the local Gray Coats.
It is protocol that when one of our students has been taken into custody, we allow Gray Coats to question our students. This is strictly routine. It is not an interrogation. The Gray Coats are merely seeking additional information.
If your child has been cleared, and you prefer for him or her not to be questioned alone, please feel free to reply to this email. I will hold off questioning until you arrive.
Yours Sincerely,
Principal Richard Dunbar, Crosswoods High School
Message sent at 4:03am, Thursday, 11 October, 2040
As I walk through the school doors, I can’t decide if I’m happy or not that the hallway scene is back to normal. People
have already moved on from Billy.
The football players and rich kids are huddled by Lance Farmer’s locker. The quarterback welcomes the freshmen and sophomore girls and the few stray fan boys who gravitate toward the blue and yellow letter jackets and popped collar shirts. Everyone is trying to get the 4-1-1 on where the Friday night party is. And the Saturday night party.
I took Billy’s morning sessions for granted. If he were here, I wouldn’t have to listen to this cleared-clique crap. And maybe I would ask him to prepare me for my own night thoughts.
I search the crowd for Melli. She looks my way and smiles, then returns to her conversation with Grant. He also nods. I take this as confirmation of our secret alliance.
For now, it’s probably best to keep my distance from them.
Lexa and Ronnie huddle in front of her locker. When he sees me approaching, he gives Lexa a peck on the cheek and darts off, before I have the opportunity to say hi. I never should have begged for them to come last night. I put them in a situation they didn’t ask for. Ronnie can’t have night thoughts now, and if the Coats catch on to the secret meeting, Ronnie and I won’t be the only ones who are chipped.
“Hey, Lexa,” I say while watching Ronnie disappear down the hallway. “He’s sure in a hurry.”
“Not really,” Lexa sighs. “He just isn’t ready to talk to you. He’s pretty upset about the whole shot thing. I’m surprised he hasn’t slashed Melli’s tires yet.”
“That’s not something he would do,” I say.
“Dude, I know,” she punches my shoulder. “Lighten up. Give him some time, though. He’ll be fine.”
“Are you okay?” I ask, although I know Lexa would never admit if something really bad was bothering her. She worries about me too much to bring up her problems, no matter how much I plead for her to do so.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Lexa says. “I’m sorry for Ronnie, but he’s tough.”