by Maggie Ray
I spot her up ahead amidst the crowd, and my feet come to a halt halfway down the concrete steps.
Even from the back, I recognize her. The blonde hair, the exact shape of the skull. When she turns her head briefly, scanning the line-up of cars, I catch sight of her profile. The delicate bone structure, the rosy complexion.
It's her. It's Rory.
I'm not aware of anything around me as I start to move. The people fade to faceless, shapeless creatures as I bump shoulders with them, pushing through in my eagerness to catch her. I don't stop to question why or how she came to be here. I don't stop to worry what it'll be like, seeing her cured.
All I care about is not letting her slip away.
She's headed towards one of the parked cars, her long legs eating up the ground fast, and panic rises in my throat.
“Watch it,” someone says as I shove passed them. I don’t even pause to look at who it was, my eyes locked on Rory.
The door to the car opens, ready to swallow her up and take her away, and all at once, the blood rushes down to my feet and my ears are ringing. This is quickly turning into a nightmare.
Deciding to throw caution to the wind, I call out, “Wait!”
The girl stops, turns to look. For one long precious second, she looks exactly like Rory. Minty eyes and everything.
Then I blink, and she's gone.
The blonde hair isn't as light, the eyes aren't even green. In fact, she looks so different, it's a mystery how I could have mistaken her for Rory at all.
Wishful thinking can be a dangerous thing.
The stranger gazes at me with mild, polite confusion. “Do I know you?”
I’m too stunned to say anything right away. I wanted her to be Rory so badly, my heart clenches like a fist inside my ribcage.
“Sorry,” I eventually manage. “I thought you were someone else.”
The stranger blinks twice, before slowly climbing into the car and shutting the door, the illusion of Rory disappearing behind black-tinted windows.
I watch the car drive away, my heart still clinging to a phantom hope.
Then a shadow appears at my side, and the air changes temperature. A chill gathers at the base of my spine, crawling up like a spider, and a glimpse over my shoulder confirms it’s a peacekeeper, her face frozen in an emotionless mask.
“Are you alright, citizen?” she asks in a robotic voice, and every click of her eyelids is like a computer analyzing, sifting through data.
I don’t know what to say. It feels pointless to deny anything.
“I think you’d better come with me.” The words are a direct order.
Her hand moves to the back of my neck, latching like a claw, steering me away from the curb. My feet comply before I've even had the time to process what is happening. I find myself in motion, although towards what, I am unsure. These feet cannot possibly be mine, headed towards a cliff—a point of no return.
Something inside me collapses.
This is it. I have been caught.
Although I’m aware the consequences awaiting me are heavy, I feel strangely detached. Like this couldn’t be happening to me, it must be happening to someone else.
I resign myself to my fate, until another hand reaches out from seemingly nowhere and grabs my wrist, wrenching me to a stop. I shudder like a puppet at the end of its ropes, but who is the puppeteer? Suddenly, I am trapped between two unstoppable forces—two dark, menacing coats.
Alexei looms from above with all his impressive height, his blue eyes sharp as glass, and I can’t tell if he's my rescuer or the real threat.
“Go back to the car,” he commands in a low voice. “Now.”
The other peacekeeper stares, a watered-down shock marking her face. “Peacekeeper, I witnessed this citizen—”
He cuts her off smoothly. “She was doing as I had instructed.”
As usual, he does not yell, does not raise his voice. He is soft-spoken in that way of his which is always somehow worse, rendering the other peacekeeper speechless.
Her claw of a hand slips off my neck, releasing me. A gush of cool air hits where my skin is damp with nervousness.
After another moment, she recovers and nods her head once. “I see. My apologies.”
She takes a step back, and I realize I've been holding my breath. Air tunnels back into my lungs with alarming speed, making my head spin, and I struggle to remain upright as we separate into opposite directions, Alexei steering me away with an uncharacteristic urgency.
When I'm safely strapped into my seat and Alexei instructs the car to take us home, I can scarcely believe it. I lean my head back against the plush headrest and stare up into the skylight, watching the clouds blurring overhead.
That's a bit how I feel right now. Like a cloud. Like I might be losing my mind.
10
Alexei doesn’t say a word as we drive home. Even when the house comes into view, a perfect white cube of concrete against the green slope of the yard, he continues to say nothing.
The car parks in the garage, and we wordlessly enter the house. Alexei shrugs out of his black coat and slips it onto a hook in the entryway. For some reason, the gesture seems symbolic of something, although I can’t say what.
The coat doesn’t look altogether harmless, hanging there. Like there’s something alive about it. I shudder at the thought, and I’m considering making my escape to my room, eager to hide away, when Alexei finally breaks his silence.
“Just a moment, Sabine,” he says calmly.
I grit my teeth. I wish he would just shout. I wish all these cured people would quit being so stifled.
Reluctantly, I stay put and face him.
He approaches, until we’re standing very close. He’s still wearing the peacekeeper boots, and each stomp to the floor reminds me of what he is: A threat.
But then why did he rescue me back there? Why bring me home safe, as though I've done nothing wrong?
“I was hoping to have a moment to speak with you,” he says in a low voice.
My pulse hammers in my ears.
He lowers his voice even further. “You need to hide it better than this, Sabine.”
It takes me too long to understand what he’s saying, because my mind wants to reject it. Hide what? What am I hiding? My mind shifts from confused to defensive and back again, until I remember: I am hiding something. Something important.
“What you did back there,” he continues, “it doesn’t look good. You shouldn’t draw so much attention to yourself, or else I’ll have to report you.”
I want to laugh, partly from disbelief, and partly from a rising hysteria bubbling in the pit of my stomach. “What are you saying?”
It’s a stupid question, because of course I know. I picture Toma and Josie. I picture a paralyzer gun, and a group of black coats dragging me away, and after that there’s a blank space for whatever comes next—the unknown thing that’s happened to Rory, the very thing Corinne warned me about and tried to protect me from.
“I’m saying you need to be more careful.”
I scramble to formulate a thought. “But why—why would you—”
“It’s my job to protect you.”
My eyes drop to the floor as my cheeks burn, a mixture of guilt and embarrassment, my hands curling into fists. I’ve let Corinne down, not to mention possibly put her in danger, and that thought alone makes me furious.
I’m angry with myself, of course, but it’s easier to direct it at him, so I cut my voice extra sharp when I say, “So why don’t you? Turn me in?”
I tilt my head up at him, but he barely blinks in the face of my dare.
“The risks are much higher, the second time they try to cure you. I’ve seen it go wrong. But you’re not sick, Sabine. You’re not a danger to anyone. If I thought you were, I would have brought you in already.”
The words are painfully similar to Corinne’s, and I feel myself shrink as he towers above me.
“Maybe the cure hasn’t worked as well
for you,” he says, “but that doesn’t make you dangerous.”
I absorb those words, trying to make them fit with my newfound reality. For the first time since we’ve met, my impression of the peacekeeper has become unfocused, confused. Something has changed, something has become misplaced.
The mask of authority dividing us has shifted slightly, just enough to reveal a little bit of his humanity.
I look up into the face of my enemy—the eyes are blue, blue, blue—and I wonder: Is this what my enemy looks like? Is he like me? Flesh and blood and water? Are we the same?
I can’t decide if this is better or worse.
When I speak again, it isn’t from a place of courage. Strangely enough, it’s a feeling of defeat which motivates me to ask, “Can you do something for me, Alexei?”
He looks surprised, and it's the closest thing to a proper emotion I’ve seen on his face. Although I’m not sure which part is surprising to him. The fact I’ve dared ask for a favor? The fact I’ve addressed him by his real name? Maybe he didn’t think I knew it.
“What is it you need?”
I take a deep breath. “I need to see Rory. I need to see her with my own eyes.”
He immediately shakes his head. “Sometimes it’s better, not knowing.”
“But you know where she is, don’t you? You know what’s happened?”
He hesitates, which is an answer on its own, even before he says the word. “Yes.”
A rush of hope spreads through me. “Then I won’t stop trying until I know the truth.”
He holds my gaze. “You could get us both in trouble.”
“Not if you arrange it.”
I’m being too bold. I know I am. But I feel like I have nothing left to lose, and I’ll hate myself if I don’t try.
Find Rory, the note said. As if I wasn't already trying to do just that—as if that wasn't exactly what I'd wanted since the moment I woke up from my curing. I still don't know who wrote that note, but maybe when I see Rory, I'll find out.
“She might be dead,” Alexei warns, and I can tell he doesn’t say it to be cruel. He wants me to be prepared for the worst.
I lift my chin and pretend the possibility doesn’t terrify me to my very core. “I need to know.”
There’s a long pause; too long. I’m sure he’s about to refuse.
What he says is, “Okay. I’ll figure something out.”
11
The morning air is crisp when I leave the house. The sun is bright in the sky, and it feels like an insult. Today is not a happy today, the sun shouldn't be so bright.
My peacekeeper waits in the driveway, black coat standing tall. My stepfather is already at work; we have the rest of the morning.
Alexei holds the door open when I approach, and today I’m not afraid of him. I’m afraid of something else. A part of me knows I won’t like what I find, but at the same time, it’s eating away at me, the not knowing. I have to face this—I have to do this for her.
Which is why I climb into the car, instead of turning around and running back inside to hide beneath the covers of my bed.
The drive feels both long and slow, all the way to Rory's family home. We sit in silence, staring out the windows.
Alexei is the first to speak. “Why do you need to see her so badly?”
I turn my gaze in his direction and find him already looking, waiting. Embarrassed, my eyes return to the window. “Because I have to. She’s my only friend.”
“What?”
He hasn’t heard me. My voice has gone small again, as it often does when I speak of things that are more personal—important. The more important, the quieter I get.
I repeat myself.
He hears me this time. “Why is she your only friend?”
“I don’t exactly know how to explain it,” I say, “but when I’m with her, I don’t feel invisible.”
He says nothing at first, and it takes him so long to respond, I fight the urge to check what his expression looks like, strangely afraid of what I might find. Or not find.
Finally, he says, “You’re not invisible. I watch you all the time.”
“Because it’s your job.”
“No,” he says, “it’s not that.”
I want to ask him what he means, but we both fall silent, because we’re pulling into the driveway now.
My stomach does somersaults. Suddenly it feels too fast, too soon. I'm not ready.
The house sits on the far end of the lawn, a cube of glass and steel. Smart-homes, they call these, the insides fully equipped with all the latest technology. Much fancier than ours, but a house shouldn't be smarter than its owner, my stepfather used to say. Back when he had thoughts and opinions of his own.
“Please be careful,” Alexei warns.
He sounds afraid I’ll reveal my terrible uncuredness. As if it were a thing separate from myself, capable of escaping its confines, slipping out through the bars like a slithering snake.
I can feel that snake right now, coiling around my insides, and I dig deep for a bit of bravery—for those words from Rory herself which have become the voice in my head, reminding me to be strong.
Don’t be a coward, Sabine.
Be like Rory.
I pause to reach out and touch the peacekeeper's hand. I'm almost surprised; his skin feels human. “Thank you, Alexei.”
He doesn’t react, and although it’s strange, seeing these cured people and their non-reactions, I realize I don’t mind. There’s always a little flash of humanity behind his mask—the ghost in the shell—reminding me we might not be as different as I thought.
How did we end up on opposite sides of an invisible war? Why have I always thought of us as enemies? Today, he feels almost like a friend. At least, it’s comforting to pretend he is. Although it's probably unwise, getting too comfortable around a peacekeeper.
He is the embodiment of authority and oppression, and perhaps by making friends with him, I am making friends with something else—like the construct of a tyrannical society I was born into. Perhaps it’s wrong of me—a sort of betrayal. Am I an accomplice in my own oppression if I make friends with a peacekeeper?
No, I decide. I can’t deny my own humanity. My ability to see him as a friend is a reflection of who I am, isn't it? It’s important, I think, not to lose this piece of myself.
I can’t let them take it.
I offer Alexei a smile, a silent promise I'll do my best in there, before I pop the door open and step outside the car. The gravel crunches beneath my shoes, and I wince each time, as if someone, somewhere will notice me and hear my inner thoughts, guess my secrets.
At the front door, I pause before ringing the doorbell, struck by nerves. Alexei has to reach over my shoulder to press the button.
We hear the robotic ring, followed by the beep of the door unlocking when we’re permitted entry. It automatically swishes open with a gasp of air, and we step onto the entry mat and remove our shoes.
Rory's mother comes around the corner to greet us, her hair and clothes very neat, her face smooth. Angela knows who I am but doesn't show any other signs beyond basic recognition.
It catches me off-guard, and I attempt to stifle my reaction. I was close to Rory's family, once. I hadn't anticipated what seeing them cured might be like.
Alexei nudges me forward, a silent warning. I’m already slipping—he’s already noticed.
Thankfully, Angela hasn’t.
“Sabine,” she greets me with a vacant smile, her dark eyes flat. Besides the blonde hair, she doesn't look very much like either of her daughters, something I always thought was a bit strange. She lacks the delicacy, the vibrancy which Rory embodied.
I often wondered where Rory got her magic, since her father didn’t seem to have it either.
Angela leads the way to Rory's room, even though I know where it is. I’ve been here a million times—has she forgotten?
Our feet pad across the white carpets, and the house smells the same, triggering memories
which come rushing at me. I’m helpless against them, until the door to the bedroom opens, and I’m helpless against something much worse.
A healer is in the room, donning the soft blue uniform. There’s a young woman on the bed, hooked up to a breathing tube and a monitor. Her blonde hair is splayed against the pillow, soft and feathery, and her minty eyes are hidden beneath eyelids criss-crossed with veins. Purple and blue. Deep shadows gather in the hollow of her cheeks, and in the crevices of her neck, which looks alarmingly skinny.
She barely looks like Rory at all. I don't believe it's her. My mind resists what it sees, instead searching for excuses. I have to stare for long minutes, forcing myself to accept what lies before me.
The air in the room feels beyond stifling.
“She’s not showing signs of improvement,” the healer says, and her voice is too loud, it feels disrespectful. Doesn't she see Rory is right there? She could hear. “We’ll have to remove her life support, if she doesn’t get better soon.”
The words are a slap to the face. I recoil, backing straight into Alexei. He puts his hands on my shoulders to steady me.
Somehow, I remain upright. I keep my face even.
It’s strange how the mind works, how difficult it is to understand something like this, even when you see it with your own eyes. I struggle to make the connection between this unconscious body before me and the vibrant life it once held.
So, this is what a second curing looks like. Something between death and sleeping. Something without peace. This is what will happen to me, if I’m exposed for what I really am.
I think of George, the one secret Rory never got to tell. A small and selfish part of me thinks I can have him to myself now, but just as quickly as the thought manifests itself, I banish it from existence.
George has and always will be hers, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“You’re welcome to come.” Rory’s mother touches my shoulder. “On the day we take away the life support. I know she would want you there.”
The words cut straight through me, but instead of feeling something, the opposite happens. My insides freeze and turn numb.