“Where was her home?”
“I don’t know. She would never say. I know she was Greek, but that’s only because she spoke the language so fluently. For all I know she came from somewhere even farther away.” Inanna caressed Naomi’s cheek with one thumb before linking their hands together. “You were born no more than two weeks after her arrival.” She laughed, bringing a hand to her chest. “Oh, the noise! No one in the complex doubted you had a healthy set of lungs, sweetness.”
Despite her sadness, Naomi smiled, blushing a little at the backhanded praise. Inanna’s grip strengthened on her hands, her expression sobering as Inanna’s did the same.
“Three weeks after you were born, she disappeared. She made sure you were comfortable and left a note under my door. She didn’t think she had the ability to properly care for you. She wanted you to have a beautiful life and didn’t think this was something she could offer.”
A well of sorrow opened up inside Naomi and she felt the lump reassert itself in her throat. “She left me?”
Inanna leaned close, capturing Naomi’s eyes. “She didn’t abandon you, she loved you. She didn’t leave you. She gave you to me.”
Naomi didn’t understand the difference, her confusion evident in her tone. “She left me.”
With a smile, Inanna kissed Naomi’s forehead. “My stubborn little girl, never forget that your mother never deserted you. She cared too deeply to allow you to live on the road with her, dirty and starving. She wanted you to have everything she could not provide—a roof over your head, friends to play with, an education and the love of everyone around you.”
Still not comprehending the difference, Naomi dropped that line of thought for the moment. “She gave me to you…like a present?”
Inanna laughed aloud, releasing Naomi’s hands to clap. “Exactly! The best present I have ever received.” She ran her fingers through Naomi’s hair, tenderly cupping her face. “Another thing you should never forget, sweetness, is that I Chose you. Had I not, you would be living with another family, perhaps ignorant of all this as they raised you as their own.”
Ignorance was a bad thing, stupid people were ignorant. Naomi had a fleeting sense of fear that such an option had been available to Inanna. Though Naomi was unhappy that she didn’t have a real mother and father, the idea of living in ignorance wasn’t something she wanted either. Rather than dwell on the subject, she latched onto the one good thing she’d heard. “You chose me?”
“Oh, yes, my darling.” Inanna sobered, though her brown eyes twinkled. “You may not be my daughter in blood, but you are my daughter in spirit. You will grow up to do wonderful things, I know it.”
Naomi basked in Inanna’s regard, the confidence radiating from the woman acting as a balm against her wounded soul. She got to her knees so she could hug Inanna. “I’m glad,” she whispered. “I choose you too. You’re the best mama in the world. Can I call you Mama?”
Inanna scooped Naomi into her lap, holding her tight. “Of course, my daughter. I’m honored you’ve Chosen me.” If there was a suspicious hitch in her voice, Naomi didn’t notice.
TRANSITIONS
“A year of mistakes,
Living and dying every single day.
I wish I could disappear,
Push everything away
(Just like I did with you.)
Refrain: “Don’t turn your back on me!
I’m talking to you!”
Joram Darkstone, Christina, Invocation
Chapter Three
Joram sat up in bed, scowling in concentration as she tried to catch the wisps of a dream that eluded her. There’d been a laughing girl, about her age, with dark hair and black eyes. As things went in dreams, they’d been the best of friends for as long as she could remember though in waking Joram had no memory of meeting her. Over the years she’d often dreamt of the girl—playing board games together while snow fell on pine trees outside, teaching her to surf on a hot Jamaican beach or talking for hours as the moon rose and set overhead. The girl had personality to spare, and laughter spilled generously from her lips. The fuzzy specifics of the dream quickly faded, usually leaving Joram with faint recollections of a joy that she’d never experienced. This morning those emotions were sharper and more robust, compounded by an almost spiritual grief. Unbidden, tears sprang to Joram’s eyes as she consciously accepted that the rich friendship she’d just awakened from didn’t actually exist and never would. Their parting this time had held a note of finality, as if she and her dream-friend had both known they would never see one another again. What’s her name? It’s my dream, I should have come up with one by now. She tried to remember. It sat stubbornly on the tip of her tongue, refusing to come forth. She could almost grasp it. It starts with an…N, right?
A sharp knock on her bedroom door startled her, breaking her concentration. “Joram? Are you awake?”
She quickly wiped her eyes and cleared her throat. “Yes, Madeleine.”
Her nanny, Madeleine, cracked open the door to smile in at her. “Time to get up, sleepyhead. It’s a big day for you.”
It had been nine years since Madeleine had coaxed a nameless little girl out of a construction site drainpipe, an event Joram barely recalled. It was easier to remember the dark-haired cutie of her diminishing dream. It seemed to Joram that Madeleine had always been in her life, taking care of her. Madeleine liked saying she was “chef, chaperone, chauffeur and chief bottle-washer.” She wasn’t wrong. No one else in Joram’s life had been with her every single day, soldiering through temper tantrums, chicken pox and scraped knees. Madeleine had wiped Joram’s nose, given her occasional kisses and hugs and read Joram to sleep nearly every evening, up to and including last night. With the emotional upheaval from the dream already upending her heart, Joram studied Madeleine with fresh eyes, noting gray hair beginning to overtake the blond at the woman’s temples, the deepening crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes.
Having received no response, Madeleine’s smile quirked in puzzlement. She pushed the door open a little more and leaned inside. “Are you all right, honey?”
Joram shook off the dismay. Today was a day of profound significance. She didn’t have time for impotence. Anders would be waiting, and Madeleine couldn’t wash these fears away. “I’m fine.” She scooted to the edge of the bed and threw her legs over the side. “I’m getting up.”
Madeleine studied her a moment longer. Her smile widened, and she nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you at breakfast in a half hour. Remember to take a shower.”
“I will,” Joram promised. She waited for the door to close before climbing fully out of bed. Today was September seventeenth and she was officially thirteen years old. According to Professor Anders, once she was finished with Them, she would no longer be a child at all.
Swallowing, her mind shied away from her upcoming trials.
* * *
Anders was at the breakfast table. Joram had half-expected him to be here; today was too vital for him to miss. He smiled with jovial confidence as Joram emerged from her bedroom. “Ah, there’s my girl! You slept well, I hope?”
She forced a smile, falling back on well-developed impertinence. “Like a rock.” She swaggered to her chair and sat down before a heaping breakfast. “This looks great, Madeleine!” Not waiting for anyone else, she tucked into her meal.
“A hearty appetite. Good, good! You’ll need your strength.”
Joram gave Anders a wolfish grin that she didn’t feel. The reminder of the coming ordeal made her stomach churn. Regardless, she continued to shovel pancakes into her mouth.
Anders had made it abundantly clear through the years that he didn’t respect weakness. He preferred bold action to timorousness. Gone were the days when she’d cower and cringe from him. The more confident she acted, the less likely he’d give her grief. Besides, she was his Chosen One. She’d learned early on she could get away with just about anything she could conceive of with few repercussions. The more outrageous the crime, the greate
r was Anders’s regard for her. Madeleine’s sense of right and wrong and the threat of her disapproval were all that curtailed any serious infractions on Joram’s part. Anders rarely took her to task no matter how immoderate her behavior. He seemed to like her more when she portrayed insolence. He demanded the best of his Chosen One in all things, no matter her age, and that included self-assurance.
Sometimes Joram wondered what would have happened if she’d never come out of that hole in which he’d found her.
Anders draped his napkin across his lap and absently salted his eggs. “Now, I expect you to excel with Them. Don’t think you can just walk in and coast.”
“I won’t.” She smiled thanks to Madeleine who poured her a glass of orange juice.
“You’d better not.” Anders pointed his fork at her. “It’ll be tempting to go in there and do only what it takes to survive. That’s what most do. You’re better than that, however. You’re my Chosen One!”
Joram stopped eating to give her patron an earnest look. “You can count on me, sir. I’ll make you proud.” At least she hoped she’d please him. While he’d never outright threatened to expel her from the compound, his rare moments of disapproval always came with a question that perhaps he’d chosen the wrong child. Though Joram didn’t remember her early childhood well, the terror and darkness of those days had left a lasting impression. Losing her place here would devastate her.
Anders smiled, reaching over to grip Joram’s shoulder. “I know you will.”
A mixture of pleasure and revulsion washed over her. She was relieved when he released her and attended to his meal. Touches were rare enough, even from Madeleine, that Joram gladly suffered even Anders’s occasional gestures. She’d watched other children and always wondered what it would be like to have parents in constant physical contact. They seemed to like it well enough, but she had trouble comprehending why. When Anders deigned to touch her, she always felt a gossamer skin of slime spreading across her spirit, like motor oil dripping into a puddle of rainwater.
Breakfast continued with little conversation. Anders had said his piece, and Joram hers. They had an understanding. Their relationship hadn’t evolved to include sensitive conversations. Besides, he still scared her even after all this time. In the darkness of her heart, she suspected it was more than the ultimate control he held over her life. There was something more behind his eyes that she never wanted to see revealed.
After they finished eating, Madeleine fussed a little over Joram but didn’t embrace her. Instead she wished Joram good luck. Joram paused to scan the apartment she’d lived in since her arrival all those years ago. She looked out the window, viewing the beautiful blue Jamaican sky and the surf foaming up onto the beach where she’d played so often. It would be a year before her return. She tried to burn the image into her memory, something to remind her of what awaited her during the grueling challenges ahead.
“Are you ready?” Anders asked.
Swallowing, Joram turned toward him. She refused to look at Madeleine, knowing she’d start crying if she did. “Yes, sir. Ready and eager. Let’s get this show on the road.”
He laughed and opened the door, gesturing for her to precede him out into the hall. “Indeed, miting.”
* * *
Anders had informed Joram two weeks ago that she’d spend her birthday and the year following with “Them.” Every thirteen-year-old child in his compound did, yet no one she’d interrogated would answer her questions. Who were they? Where were they? What would happen to her while she was there? Adults rebuffed her questions though Madeleine’s expression became somber. Anders had only given Joram an evil smile.
She’d spent time locating older teenagers living in the compound, demanding answers, even threatening them with visits from Anders if they refused. Regardless of her threat, none of them were forthcoming.
That wasn’t to say that she didn’t receive some sort of response. Every teenager she questioned regarded her with haunted eyes. Most refused to talk at all, their initially open demeanors chilling as they ignored her repeated ultimatums. Some—especially the girls—became emotionally distraught, bursting into tears. One boy had snapped, surprising Joram since everyone knew she was Anders’s charge. None of her peers bullied or threatened her for fear of reprisals. The boy had invaded her space and told her to leave before he hurt her. She hadn’t doubted his veracity and retreated before he could make good on his declaration.
Certainly there was no indication that a group of dangerous people hovered on the outskirts of the township that served the complex, torturing frightened thirteen-year-olds for entertainment. Wherever “They” were had to be far away. She envisioned a town car to the airport and a plane trip to some godforsaken jungle in another country.
Therefore, it was with some surprise that Anders didn’t escort her through the lobby to a waiting car. Instead he led her to a door behind the lobby security desk to which Joram had never paid much attention. Her eyes widened at the sight of two large men in combat gear waiting for them in the antechamber beyond, each bearing a wicked-looking automatic machine gun. They filled the room with bristling danger, inciting a faint sense of claustrophobia.
Anders ignored them, crossing the room to an elevator on the opposite side. He inserted a key and the doors opened. Smiling, he turned and gestured Joram inside. “We’re almost there.”
So soon? She felt her heart jump in her chest as she forced herself to saunter into the elevator car. Scanning the interior, she saw four buttons on the utilitarian panel. She heard the tromp of booted feet behind her and hustled forward as the two guards joined them. If she thought them overlarge in the small room, now they ballooned in the more minuscule space.
Her surprise must have been evident as Anders chuckled. “Insurance,” he said, gesturing at the guards with a thumb. “Some of Them don’t appreciate visitors.”
Joram felt the blood drain from her face. As the car jolted into motion, she wondered if she’d ever see her beach or Madeleine again. In an attempt to distract herself from the dread expanding in her heart, she studied the four buttons. Two held standard arrows pointing up or down, the down arrow currently glowing red. The third and fourth held the universal symbols for “open” and “close.” She scanned the front wall, not seeing any indication of floors. If it weren’t for the sense of motion, she’d have no idea the elevator was going anywhere. The trip seemed to take forever, and she wondered if the time dilation was caused by her fear. She lived on an island near a beach; how far down could they really go? Her physical science scores weren’t off the charts, but everything had its limits and those boundaries must have long passed. The red light went out and a soft ding filled the slowing car. As it came to a halt, an abrupt and expert sound of metal-on-metal made Joram jump as the sentries on either side of her chambered rounds and brought their weapons to bear on the door.
Anders grinned. He moved to one side of the door, leaving the control panel clear as he gestured her toward it. “The Choice is yours.”
Joram swallowed, inching closer to the buttons. This was a test, one of many she’d participated in throughout her life. He would set up a situation, allow a question-and-answer phase, and she’d make the decision whether or not to continue. Considering what she suspected would happen if she refused, she’d always done what he had wanted. The longer she stayed with him, the less inclined she was to back down from his challenges. Her street experience was that of a small child—she had no idea how to survive as a homeless teenager. “Did everybody else get a choice?’
He raised a pointed eyebrow. “Of course not. It’s not a matter of choice for them as it is for you. You are my Chosen One. You must Choose. The others are tools to be seasoned and honed until they are strong enough to be used.”
This wasn’t the first time she’d heard him call his people tools, so the words didn’t affect her. Instead she remembered the girls who burst into tears during her interrogations, the boy who had threatened to hurt her unless she d
ropped her inquiry. “Does it really make them stronger?”
Anders’s smile was thin, but he nodded concession. “Not always. In some this trial reveals their weaknesses, their faults.”
Joram looked at the doors, wishing she could see through the metal to “Them” beyond. “What if this reveals my weakness?” His rich laughter startled her. She whipped her head around to stare at his mirth.
“You’re my Chosen One. You have no weaknesses!” He sobered, stepping close and invading her space as he glared at her. His demeanor and proximity almost made her step back but she forced herself to remain still. “You will do magnificent things, young miting. Magnificent! You already have. You don’t realize the power you have locked deep inside.” He rapped the elevator doors with a knuckle. “Once you’ve passed this stage, I can begin teaching you how to access that power. With your voice, your musical genius and your strength of will you will open the doors that have been sealed for millennia.” A grin cracked his intimidating expression, and he stepped back. “You must only Choose.”
It was funny in a humorless way that he constantly demanded she choose when she ultimately had no alternative. Every test boiled down to Anders’s way or the streets. At this moment, neither option was pleasant. But then, they never are, are they? Wrapping herself in her arrogant attitude, she tamped down her growing terror and pushed the Open button.
Chapter Four
The elevator door closed behind her, taking Anders and his guards back to the real world. He hadn’t said anything more once she’d made her decision, and she hadn’t spoken to him either. Joram stood in another antechamber, about the same size as the one topside. That was where the resemblance ended.
Here the floor was concrete, stained with God only knew what. Broken pieces of what had once been a pallet lay in a corner, wisps of dusty plastic wrap still attached to the splintered wood. An indistinguishable riot of thick graffiti plastered the walls, a perpetual band of fluorescent colors six feet tall circling the room. The air smelled of dusty dampness and something she couldn’t identify. Something moldy, something rotting. It reminded her of an old basement, cool and dank with a long forgotten sprung rattrap lurking in the shadows. She shivered, thinking she should have brought a jacket with her, which brought up a host of other issues. Her T-shirt and jeans were all she had. Would “They” feed and clothe her over the course of the next year?
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