Unfavorables

by JM Butcher

  That is partially correct, Janie. Local resident William Conroy is the only identified suspect at this time. We do believe him to have an accomplice. We have soldiers on foot and hundreds of drones searching for Mr. Conroy and his accomplice.

  Vanessa, what can you tell us about the suspects?

  So, Vanessa, do the authorities think this is the only target?

  That is the million cash card question, Janie. We have what authorities to believe to be multiple suspects on the loose. It is believed that they are armed. Authorities have not said whether or not another attack is imminent, but they are concerned that this is a highly likely possibility.

  Thanks, Vanessa. What about the survivors? Have we located any?

  At this time, Janie, there are no known survivors. If you look at this rubble, you will see why the responders are doubtful that any survivors will be found.

  Is there a death toll at this time?

  No there isn’t, Janie. Like I said, responders are outside of the rubble right now, listening for potential survivors and planning their entry into the building. The building has not been cleared as safe quite yet, and because no survivors have been heard, the responders are being very prudent.

  I close my eyes. Survivors? What about victims? My eyes shoot open. I close my eyes again to make sure that my mind is not deceiving me. Go inside! Look for survivors. Find the victims. What is taking so long? Billy? Why, Billy? How? You were detained. I open my eyes, terrified and stunned. My eyes were closed. I thought.

  Dad looks concerned. “Are you okay, baby girl?”

  “Yes.” I don’t know if I’m lying or not.

  Lexa makes eye contact with me and her eyes seem to ask the question.

  I nod with my eyes open wide. The rest of my body remains still. I’m afraid to close my eyes again. When I blink, I see Billy for the millisecond. I don’t know what I’ll see if I keep them closed.

  We continue to watch the coverage. I look at Lexa. She mouths, “You’re somebody.”

  I am. I am a girl with thoughts, a girl with night thoughts.

  Chapter 7

  The thoughts that fill our minds when we close our eyes, when the consciousness is free from the distractions of daily life. They are the freest, most honest of all thoughts.

  Night thoughts are different from dreams. Dreams are subconscious, often inaccurate, depictions of an individual’s mind. But when we are awake in darkness, our thoughts reflect absolute truth.

  Lying in bed, during daily meditation, and even when praying.

  -White Coat Intelligence Officer Preston Smith

  I lie in bed. “Lights off.”

  Have I started thinking yet? Yes, I thought that, didn’t I?

  I don’t even know how to think. Is it something you have to practice? What am I supposed to think about?

  I expected all this stuff to flood my brain. Why isn’t it happening?

  Melli said I need to think. Lexa said I need to think. Olivia too. And Jack. My night thoughts are purer since I haven’t had them in so long.

  Who is Jack? He seems to know an awful lot. What thoughts does he expect me to have? These lame thoughts will disappoint him.

  I guess I’m thinking, though. Am I a “somebody” now? That’s what Lexa said. Not sure I believe her. She’s usually right. I still feel like lame Maggie. The Girl with No Thoughts.

  Is this what I’m supposed to think about? What was I expecting?

  I’m not doing this right.

  “Lights on.” I stare into the ceiling light until it hurts and my eyes flutter.

  “Lights off.”

  How long did I have my eyes shut before? Five minutes? Five seconds? Probably closer to five seconds.

  They should’ve told me how to do this. They should’ve told me what to think about.

  Should I try to focus on one thing? Or one somebody? I should stop trying. I should open my eyes.

  No. Don’t be lame. Think. Think. Think.

  Why is it so hard to keep my eyes shut? They want to open. I don’t have this problem on T-Blox.

  I guess I can open them. It’s dark in here. I’ll still think. I’ll do that until I relax.

  I don’t feel relaxed. Shut your eyes, Maggie. Why’s it so hard?

  How do people relax? Meditation? How do people even do that? It sounds dumb. Closing your eyes and mumbling some gibberish. What can that do?

  Night thoughts are gibberish.

  Dad said he was proud of me for stopping the meds. Dad wouldn’t be proud of these night thoughts.

  When was the last time Dad said I made him proud? He doesn’t say it often. He doesn’t have to. Every time he looks in my eyes I know. But when was it? He said it when I went through my Exam. I ran and jumped in his arms, and he whispered in my ear, “I’m sorry, baby girl. I’m proud of you.” He still feels guilty for putting his nine-year-old daughter through that.

  Dad is one of the good guys.

  Mother, though. I don’t know. I have nothing to go on. Dad says she loved me. Did she?

  I guess I’ve started thinking. Not sure this is what the others had in mind.

  Dad said Mother would be proud of me for stopping the meds. Why would he say that? Was she ever proud of me?

  Should I be proud of her? Jack seems to think so. “The Tara Gordon,” he called her. It’s like he idolizes her. Why? Why does he idolize a Transgressor? Is she actually a Transgressor? Did she attack anyone?

  Billy did. Billy’s a Transgressor. He blew up a building. Did he, though? He’s only a freshman. He can’t even grow a mustache. Tyler looks older than Billy.

  Billy looked older on TV. He looked angry. Was he angry? He had to be. I wouldn’t know if he was angry. He looked angry on TV. He looked scary.

  I didn’t know Billy had brown eyes.

  Mother’s eyes were blue. I remember that. I wish I had blue eyes. Brown eyes are boring. Melli has blue eyes. Lexa has blue eyes. My eyes are boring.

  I imagine Transgressors to have brown eyes. Or green. Not blue. Mother had blue eyes, though. So trusting. But she’s a Transgressor. The Tara Gordon had blue eyes.

  Why don’t I have blue eyes? Because Dad’s are brown?

  Ha! I’m sure the others would love to know that I’m thinking about eye color. “Hey guys, the free thoughts you wanted…well, yeah, I’ve decided I want blue eyes. Can the YRL make that happen?”

  The YRL. I wonder what they do. Apparently, “super” important stuff. Melli thinks so. Even Grant. Grant as a rebel? Ha. That’s actually kind of funny. Grant Fields. The rebel with the letter jacket. He should put a rebel patch on his jacket.

  What does Melli see in him? She’s never been into the “cool group.” Until now. Is it because he’s with the YRL? Or did she turn him? Why do either of them care about chips?

  How did they talk me into helping them? Not that I know what helping them means. Am I doing this for Melli? Or for the rest? Probably Melli. I’m lame. Do I want to be a part of the YRL?

  It would be nice to be a part of something. To not always feel so alone. I have Lexa, though. And Ronnie. And Dad. But I’m not really a part of anything. Well, I’m part of the chipped club! That’s something.

  Will Tyler be chipped? He turns fourteen soon. I hope he isn’t. He doesn’t fit the Unfavorable profile. But does family play a factor? I’m an Unfavorable. Mother’s a Transgressor. He may be screwed.

  How long do people think at night before falling asleep? Why can’t I sleep?

  If Tyler is chipped, it’s because of Mother. Or maybe because of me.

  Does Tyler remember Mother? Soon, he’ll have had seven years with her and seven years without her. I wonder if he remembers her.

  I don’t remember much about being seven.

  I remember being seven with Melli, right? She was seven. Maybe six. I would’ve been six. Maybe five.

  I met Melli before Lexa moved in. Lexa was seven. Or was she eight? No, she was seven. Kindergarten. Or first grade. How old are you in kindergarten
?

  Ronnie was eight when he moved in. Lexa was seven. A year before. Yes.

  So I was seven. Melli was seven-and-a-half. I knew Melli a year before. We were six.

  Did I have Ms. Tomlin in first grade? Or kindergarten? Was I seven? When she asked my name, what did I say? Maggie? Or Margaret? Maggie for sure. Or Margie. No, I wouldn’t have said Margie. When did Tyler first call me that? Was I seven?

  I remember nine. Balloons. Cake. Ice cream. Red jackets. Black pants. Eye patches.

  I don’t want to think about that.

  Sleep. When will I fall asleep? I should have taken my T-Blox. I still could. I should take a pill. Just tonight. I need sleep. So much easier with the pill.

  I don’t want to think about nine.

  “Lights on.” I’m breathing heavily. My shirt is damp from sweat. I roll over from my left side to my right. The shirt clings to my back.

  My stomach is queasy. Is it because I thought about the party? That doesn’t usually affect me. Maybe the memories and emotions are uniting. That’s what night thoughts do, right?

  My tummy felt better when I was on my left side. I roll back over.

  I consider walking downstairs to get a pill. Dad would be disappointed.

  “Lights off.”

  I don’t want to disappoint the others. Melli. And especially Dad. He said he was proud. I can make it. I just can’t think about the party.

  Why can’t I remember seven?

  Jack would love to hear my obsession with being seven. “We need you because you need to remember being seven years old!”

  Olivia would call me a “freakin’ yahoo.”

  Melli would shake her head.

  Queen Melody. Dad would be proud I thought of her as Queen Melody! Would he tell me he’s proud of me?

  Dad said Mother would be proud? Why?

  Mother? Did I ever call her “Mom”? Maybe I called her Mom when I was seven.

  I did call her Mom. Yes, we were at the beach. Not Orlando Beach. Was I seven?

  I called her Mom. What did she call me? What was it? Her “blue bird”?

  Dad was at the beach. Tyler was there. Mom was there. Not Mother. It was Mom. Tyler found a starfish. It was dead. It smelled. Mom laughed. Dad laughed. Did I laugh? I smiled. I was happy. We all were happy.

  No, not blue bird. Yellow bird. Yes, yellow bird. Her favorite singer said it. He had a raspy voice. He sounded sad.

  Was I sad when Mom left? Am I sad Mother is gone? I guess, kind of.

  The singer was sad. Yellow bird. He was looking for it. No, looking for her. It was a her. Did he find her?

  I didn’t like being called yellow bird. Princess, maybe. Not yellow bird. It made me angry.

  What made Billy so angry? Why did he blow up those people? Are there any survivors?

  We always honor survivors. What about the victims? The dead? That makes no sense. The TV said there were no known survivors…yet.

  Yet…Does that mean there could be? Are they looking for them? I bet they’re scared. Still underneath the rubble. Sad. Like the singer.

  The singer had a sad voice. I imagined him having lonely eyes. I hope he found his yellow bird.

  Is there a sad person there, under the rubble, waiting for his yellow bird?

  The singer was waiting for his yellow bird? He was waiting, not looking. Did she come? Did she forget him?

  Did Mom forget her yellow bird? She called me that at the beach.

  Would Mom take me to Orlando Beach? Mom might. Mother wouldn’t. Dad would take me. I can’t leave the state.

  If Mom came back, would my chip be removed? I could leave the state. Dad and Mom and Tyler and me. We could go to Orlando Beach.

  Billy’s victims will never go to Orlando Beach. Not again.

  Do they have names? Survivors have names. Do the ones who die have names? Do they have moms or mothers?

  Did Mother kill someone? Could I kill someone? Like Billy. Like Mother. Could I be a Transgressor? Like Mother?

  Have I ever wanted to kill Mother? Not Mom. Not at the beach with Dad and Tyler and me and the starfish. But Mother? She’s a Transgressor. Could I do it? She left me.

  STOP! MAGGIE! STOP! You wouldn’t kill. Not Mother. Not anyone.

  Could I, though?

  Stop. I’m probably being monitored. They think I’m a killer.

  No, at least a month, right? A month to analyze? I’m a goner in a month. Like Billy. Like Mother.

  Now I know why night thoughts are monitored. For protection. So people don’t kill. Could I kill?

  Ugh…I need a T-Blox.

  Yellow bird. He was waiting for his yellow bird. He had a sad voice. Lonely eyes. I hope she didn’t forget him.

  I want to be Mom’s yellow bird. She can call me that. I won’t be angry. We can go to the beach. Tyler can find a starfish. Dad can build a sandcastle. With a moat. Mom will laugh. We’ll be happy.

  Mother won’t be happy. Mom will be.

  T-Blox.

  No more T-Blox.

  Melli said no. Lexa said no. What do they want me to be?

  What does Mom want me to be? Dad said she’d be proud.

  Dad is proud. What does Dad want me to be? His baby girl? I am. I’m his baby girl. He’s proud of his baby girl.

  Tyler won’t be chipped.

  Tyler will surely be chipped. If he is, will he take T-Blox?

  No. I won’t let him be chipped. Jack and Melli and Olivia and Lexa and all those people won’t let him be chipped. The YRL will stop it, right?

  Dad won’t let him be chipped. Mom wouldn’t. Mother might.

  I’ll be your yellow bird. I won’t have lonely eyes. My eyes will be bright.

  You can call me your yellow bird.

  I hope he found his. He waited. Sad voice. Lonely eyes. Sad eyes.

  Mine will be bright.

  I hope he found his yellow bird.

  Mom. Did you forget your yellow bird?

  ***

  My alarm clock rings. It feels like a drill grinding through my skull. When did I fall asleep? Did I even set an alarm? It’s still dark outside. It’s not the alarm.

  “Lights on.”

  The noise comes from downstairs. I can’t tell what it is. I rub my eyes with my knuckles, hoping that will help them stay open. I put my ear to the door. Someone knocking on the front door. No, not knocking. Someone is pounding the door.

  When I open the bedroom door, the pounding gets louder. There is not one person at the door; there are at least two. Maybe more. The sounds of voices pass through the door, all the way up the stairs.

  “Please, sir, open the door. This is official military business. Don’t make us knock it down. Sir! Open the door! I won’t ask again!”

  Military personnel at this time of night? This can’t be good. I scramble down the hall and check Tyler’s room. His blue comforter rests on the floor next to a glass of spilled water. He’s not here. I walk back to the stairwell.

  “Did you hear me, sir? Military business! Open up!”

  Is this because of me? Soldier Stanton said data isn’t processed this fast. I’m so stupid to believe that. He set me up. They’re here for me. It’s my ninth birthday all over again. But I haven’t transgressed. They shouldn’t be here for me.

  Is there any other explanation?

  “Mr. Gordon, open the damn door! We just want to talk to your daughter.”

  Your daughter. My breathing speeds up. My head throbs harder, keeping pace with my rapid pulse. I knew it. I put Lexa and Ronnie in danger, and now I put my entire family in danger.

  “Dad,” Tyler screams. “They aren’t taking ‘no’ for an answer!” Tyler’s downstairs. My left side tightens up, and my arms begins to tingle. If I had never suffered from panic attacks before, I would think that I’m having a heart attack.

  Dad calls back, “Tyler, go in the other room. I’ll take care of this.” Dad is downstairs too. He will protect Tyler, but who will protect Dad? The pounding and the voices grow louder. These
people aren’t going away. I walk halfway down the stairs to get a better listen.

  “Officers,” Dad says, “I hope that you have a warrant. Show me the warrant and we can talk.” Dad’s effort is useless. The 4th Amendment went out the window when the Gray Coat agency was created.

  “It’s too late for talking. Maybe if you opened the door ten minutes ago,” I hear a soldier say. “We’re coming in. Where’s your daughter?”

  Dad peeks at the stairs and smiles at me. I try to smile back, but I can’t. “Maggie, baby, go back upstairs.” He looks so calm, so brave. Like he can conquer the world. He would conquer the world for me.

  “Dad, why are they here? Why do they want me?” I forget about my headache. My arm shakes violently, and I lose my grip on the handrail. My knees buckle. It takes all my effort to stay on my feet. Sweat pours from my face and from underneath my arms. My puppy dog eyes are not for show this time.

  “They don’t. Baby girl, Daddy’s got this. Go upstairs. They’ll be gone soon.” Dad lies to me for the first time I can remember. “Daddy’s got this. Go to your room. Go back to bed.”

  A brick flies through our living room window. The sound of shattering glass causes Dad to throw his hands in front of his face.

  “Tyler. Other room! Maggie. Upstairs, baby!” Tyler listens and heads to the kitchen, but I hold my ground.

  “Boys,” a voice outside says. “We’re going in. You two, send the drones through the window. Locate the girl. You, grab the clubs. You, let’s knock this door down.”

  “Maggie!” Dad’s voice is much more urgent than before. “Upstairs!”

  “But Dad…” I don’t finish my sentence. I want to. I want to ask, What will happen to you? I stay silent.

  “Now!”

  I scramble back to my room, shut my door, and lock it. There’s no way the door can hold off a pack of Gray Coats. I put my ear against the door. The buzzing of drones drowns out some of the shouting. It doesn’t drown out the noise of the door splintering.

  “Sir, where is your daughter?!” Footsteps enter the house.

  “Let me see your warrant,” Dad yells. “Don’t make me pick up the phone.”