Rebels

by Sarah Noffke

  I slip through the living room, which is stuffy with stiff furniture and starched drapes. And then I take a long dark hallway through the center of the house. Most of the rooms don’t call my attention. And I feel silly to even follow any hunches when I don’t know what I’m looking for. It’s not like Vider will have left out evidence to connect him to the murder or reveal his motive.

  I enter through a set of double doors and into a darkened room. My breath catches. It’s only a dusty, unused office. But what stills my blood is that the room has an uncanny resemblance to Rogue’s living room. Its arrangement and furnishings make me certain I’ve fallen through a portal and back into Rogue’s home. An ache erupts in my stomach. I’ve had it since I snuck out of his arms a couple nights ago, but now it’s stronger.

  I shiver, feeling a sudden chill. My eyes search for an open window or vent, but there doesn’t appear to be any reason for the dense cold air. Over a writing desk is a diploma and the recipient is a Mrs. Violet Vider. It’s her certificate for a PhD in philosophy. As I turn in the room, taking in assorted details, it dawns on me. This is Rogue’s mother’s office. She’s been dead for twelve years and pens sit on a pad as if yesterday she was writing a note at this desk. Vider must keep it like this to trick the population into thinking he still grieves for his dead wife. Sympathy is a powerful way to gain control.

  Twice I circle the oversized office. It’s set up almost like living quarters, with an area for working, lounging, and refreshments. I imagine that Violet spent much of her time locked up in here while she was working on her PhD. In the corner is a station with blocks, puzzles, and children’s books. Did five-year-old Rogue sit in that area and play while his mother read and wrote papers?

  The whole room boggles my mind. And there’s something else about this room that strikes me as odd. It hasn’t been cleaned. The rest of the house is spotless, but this one has a fine layer of dust. I had to squint to make out the words on Violet’s diploma. The smell of musk is strong, especially by the drapes which probably hold twelve years of dust.

  And then my curiosity leads me to the door. Is Rogue’s bedroom like this, left in a preserved state by Vider? My hand is on the door handle when I feel the rush of cold move past me. Again I twist around, wondering where the chilling breeze came from. The autumn winds have started to stir, but this room is tightly closed from the outdoors. At the threshold I turn and stare out at the office. It’s strangely beautiful and I know it tells a story, but I don’t know how.

  I’m more heartbroken than I ever imagined that Vider didn’t keep Rogue’s bedroom intact the way he did with his wife’s office. I’d spent so many afternoons in the room, playing cards or making up stories with Rogue and Zack. And a part of me longs to lie in his bed and imagine that somewhere over the Austin hills he feels me, knows that even though I left, I love him. He has to know I love him. I left him because I do.

  Chapter Six

  Maybe it was because my spirits had fallen from not finding anything at Vider’s. Maybe it’s because the temptation is too strong seeing my house only two doors down. I forgot how close Rogue’s house was to mine. When he disappeared I forced myself to ignore his house, to forget it existed. Zack’s old house is a half a block down. His new one is thankfully on the other side of town, in the new area to the east where Vider is expanding the border so he can brainwash and control more people.

  I know I should return to the safety of Zack’s house, especially since it’s the middle of the day and the chances of me being spotted are too great. Yet the urge to be close to my old home is too arresting for me to resist. I wasn’t given a chance to say goodbye to the one-hundred-and-twenty-year-old house where I was born and grew up. Now’s my chance. I stay as close to the property lines as possible, which offer the shield of a stone wall and shrubbery that twice I dart into to avoid passersby. When did the Valley get so busy?

  Our back gate squeaks when I open it. The backyard is empty. The lawn crew comes on Mondays and the Middlings who clean are scolded by my mother if they aren’t done by nine a.m. My mother has always preferred for the house to have as few disturbances as possible, but who knows why. It’s not like she does anything but hold tea parties and read her friends’ fortunes. The last of those parties that I attended my mother informed me that my fortune hadn’t changed since birth and I’d be the downfall of the family. That was shortly after I was put on the Defect list.

  I know with certainty that Tutu, my grandmother, is home. I don’t think she’s left in years. She says it’s not that she can’t but that seeing the current valley makes her lonesome for how it used to be. According to her it was better. A healthy vibe. A society inspired by government, not confined by it. There’s no way I’m getting access to the eastern wing where she resides. It faces the busy street. But Nona’s room is in the back and if I’m successful at scaling the drainage pipe I can get up there. She’s not home since school started already but I want to leave her a surprise. Something to show her I’m here and thinking about her. Something to thank her for all the risks she’s been taking to start the rebellion.

  The climb up to her window is a cinch since I’ve built muscle mass. I’m up the pipe and through her window in less than a minute. It used to take me ten minutes or more.

  Nona’s room hasn’t changed, although I know she has. She’s matured so much in three months. I can tell by the seriousness of her notes. We leave messages in the old oak every few days. She tells me in code how her plans are going. By dream traveling, I reply to her notes, advising her based on my knowledge of the labs.

  The piece of paper makes a rustling sound when I slip it out of the desk. I scribble a message to Nona. Since I can’t leave the note in plain sight but want her to find it, I decide to leave clues. Keep the drawer open. Drop the pen on the floor. Nona will notice this before she even flips on the light. And when I tuck the note under her pillow I find something I wasn’t expecting. My diamond-encrusted combs. The ones Dee always stole. The ones Tutu gave me for my twelfth birthday. I smile inside, realizing that Nona protects me even though I don’t exist to this family anymore.

  And quite unexpectedly three things happen at once: I hear several muffled voices. The floor board outside Nona’s door creaks. And a whitish transparent figure appears before me. I freeze, waiting for my reality to compute in my overwhelmed head. Rapid blinks bring the figure into focus. It’s a man. One I can see and also see straight through. He’s dressed in a distinguished three-piece suit. His hair is parted down the middle and slicked back. An amused expression twinkles in his kind eyes. He isn’t young, but isn’t old. He’s elegantly sophisticated. And then above the muffle of voices he speaks. “Morie, it’s so good to see you. Things are less interesting without you here to watch.” His voice is smooth, rich, alluring.

  The door to Nona’s room opens. I back for the window in three quick steps but I freeze when her face peeks through. I never thought I’d see her again. Her bright periwinkle eyes sparkle when they land on my shocked face. But Tutu doesn’t smile at me, she simply gives a sly expression, like that of a raccoon who’s found an especially good treasure. And I know better than to rush into her arms, although I want to. She loves me more than anyone I’ve ever known, but she isn’t the hugging type. She once told me she didn’t need to wrap her arms around me at our every meeting to prove her affection. “If you need a hug to know how I feel about you, then I’m not doing a very good job,” she said when I asked her one night about it.

  “See, I told you she was here,” the gentleman says proudly to my tutu, pointing directly at me.

  “Indeed, you did, Ronald,” Tutu says, winking at the gentleman.

  “Ronald?!” I whip in the direction of the misty figure. The one I now realize is a ghost. “He’s—” I point at Ronald, and then turn to Tutu—“That’s the famous Ronald?” There are apparently a few spirits who have always floated around our house, but Ronald is the one Tutu always spoke to most.

  Her features screw u
p with confusion. “Hold on a second, child,” she says, shutting the door behind her. “You can see him?”

  I turn and study Ronald. He offers me a gentle smile and a wink.

  “Yes, I can see him and no wonder he’s your favorite spirit.”

  “What’s that mean?” she asks, looking from Ronald to me.

  I shrug. “Just saying he’s not bad to look at and he’s about as flirty as a Labrador.”

  He bows low. “Why thank you.”

  Tutu regards him again. “Is he? I hadn’t noticed.” But her voice artificially heightens at the end. She shuffles into the room, half dragging her cane. She plops on the bed and sighs. Seems like Tutu and I should have a proper reunion, but we’re past that now. “Dear child, please tell me, is your gift seeing spirits?”

  “Oh no!” I say, realizing looking at my tutu’s slouched posture that I’ve inadvertently weakened her. I sever my leeching power, which if I’m not careful automatically operates. It’s especially persuasive on gifts that are passive like Tutu’s. The muffled voices stop and Ronald disappears at once. And I suddenly miss his handsome smile. Captivating isn’t the right word for him. He’s downright mesmerizing to look at, and charm drops off him like water from a fountain.

  “Sorry,” I say, taking the spot next to Tutu. I grab her wrinkled hand and press it between both of mine. “Do you feel all right? I hope I didn’t leech you too long.”

  “Leech? That’s what that was?” she says, pulling her hand from mine and placing it back on her knee.

  “Yes, that’s my gift, Tutu. I’m sorry if I hurt you, I do it automatically when my defenses are heightened.”

  She waves me off. “Didn’t hurt me one bit. I’m tired because I’m old, not because my granddaughter sucked out my inborn gift.”

  She’s old. The oldest Reverian alive. Ninety-nine years old. But she’s lying. Fatigue is etched at the corner of her features. She even slurred a few of her words, but I’m not going to press the matter. Vider told me that although leeches can weaken and kill over long periods of time, their powers have quicker effects on those like the elderly, pregnant, and sick.

  “This is a pretty incredible gift you have,” Tutu says, sitting back farther on the bed. “No wonder Damien keeps looking over his shoulder. I suspect my son is simply terrified of you. I hope you use this gift to scare the pants off of him.”

  I grimace. “I’d rather not scare him that much. I don’t want to see my father pantsless.”

  She chuckles, a sound I’ve missed. “So you met dear old Ronald, did you?” Tutu says, looking at the corner where I suspect Ronald is hanging out.

  “I did,” I say, blushing a little.

  “Lyza is out, lucky for you,” she says.

  “I know,” I say. “I can feel Dream Travelers’ powers. Knew Mother was gone. Knew you were home. And only you, otherwise I wouldn’t have chanced the break-in.”

  “And what did you come for?”

  “Just wanted to send love to Nona.”

  “She needs it,” Tutu says, matter-of-factly.

  “I figured.”

  “And you?”

  “Me what?”

  “Do you need love or are you doing all right for yourself out there?” Tutu says, waving her hand, indicating the not-so-distant land where I live. I look at her. Really look up at her for the first time since I sat down. Her penetrating blue eyes sparkle with a knowing expression.

  I dart my eyes away at once, a strange embarrassment blossoming in my chest.

  “Oh yes,” she says, sounding proud. “You’re in love, aren’t you?”

  I nod.

  “And you’re here for this boy you’ve fallen in love with as well, I suspect,” she says, no question in her voice.

  “Why would you suspect that?”

  “Because love makes you do crazy things, and returning to the Valley and your home is about the most outlandish thing I think you’ve ever done.”

  “Yes, I’m here for him.”

  She revolves her head full of gray curls toward the corner, a look of disapproval jumping to her face. “Ronald, it won’t be the least bit romantic if Em is caught. Damien will convert her and this poor boy will be left all alone.”

  “Has Ronald always done that? Made comments about our conversations?” I ask, looking at the corner.

  “Oh yes. He thinks his opinion is always required on all affairs in the house and reports them to me without fail.”

  There’s a pause while Tutu stares at the corner and then nods her head. “Yes, it’s a good thing I usually agree with you or otherwise it would get old fast,” she says to him with a wink.

  “Tutu?” I say and she turns in my direction, giving me her full attention. “When I met Ronald a few minutes ago, he called me a strange name.” She nods, seeming to know the name before I say it. “I think he called me Morie.”

  “Yes, it’s his nickname for you. He has one for everyone.” She snaps her head back on the corner and presses her lips together. “Now you watch yourself. I’m the only one who can call my son that.”

  I giggle, wanting to know at once what the name was. Devil. Dark One. Demon. “Well, how did Ronald come up with Morie for me?”

  Tutu shifts with hesitation. She angles her head sideways like she’s debating what to say. “It’s a playoff of your real name.”

  “What?! Em isn’t my real name?”

  She shakes her head. “Em is a fine name. A strong one. It’s the one I adapted for you. I threatened your mother never to call you by your gods-given name.”

  “I always thought my name, my real one, was Em,” I say, looking at the floor, my head growing cloudy. Ren, when I first met him, asked what Em was short for. At the time I told him it wasn’t short for anything, but he didn’t believe my mother would name me just Em. Now I realize she hadn’t. “So what is my name? The one my parents gave me?”

  Tutu closes her eyes, and when she opens them they’re coated in a solemn anger. “Morta. I’m sorry, dear, sweet child. Your parents named you after the goddess of death.”

  Chapter Seven

  News like “you were named after the goddess of death” should really be followed up with an explanation, but there was no time. A second after Tutu told me this, I felt my mother’s energy enter the house. It would have been great to leech a clairvoyant vision from her, but she wasn’t having any right then. With only one sentimental glance at Tutu I popped back out of the window and hurried down the drainage pipe. Once in the yard I crawled under the ledges of the windows and then hopped the side fence.

  Sneaking around Austin Valley during the day is terrifying. There’s too many people on the streets and not enough places to hide. I’m grateful when I slide through the back door of Zack’s house. He and Parker are sitting in the living room, the drapes closed. Zack takes one look at my clothes, covered in leaves and dirt from hiding in bushes, and shakes his head.

  “Good, you didn’t get yourself caught,” he says, relief and disapproval partner emotions on his face. He stands and in three strides is right in front of me. Tentatively he picks a twig out of my hair and looks closely at my face. “You’re bleeding though.”

  I touch the scratches on my cheek and find blood on my fingertips. “Well, I had a few run-ins with a holly bush.”

  I wave at Parker, who’s sitting on the couch and looking from me to the door. He doesn’t merely look nervous, he looks like he’s in the presence of a deranged psychopath.

  “Did you at least find what you were looking for?” Zack asks, bringing my attention back on him.

  I shake my head. “No, but I learned something I’m looking forward to forgetting.”

  Zack raises a curious eyebrow at me, but I wave him off and take a seat on the couch opposite Parker. It feels good to sit after the long day of running around the Valley. Parker, as normal, looks overworked, large circles under his brown eyes and a tiredness in his slumped shoulders. However, he’s alert, his fingers nervously drumming on his bony knee.
He’s not regarding me with the usual smile, but more of a hesitant concern.

  Ren said that to undo Vider’s brainwashing I’d need to make people believe in me and give them something they want. Reverse the manipulation. Maybe finding out my namesake is a blessing. Nothing is more important than the need to survive and no one is more intimidating than the goddess of death.

  “What does he know?” I ask Zack.

  “Nothing. I simply told him there was a matter that only he could help with and that he wouldn’t be in trouble for it,” Zack says with authority. He’s even more confident than he used to be. It makes me proud. Even inspires me. That statement coming from someone who works for the Chief of Staff would carry great weight. No wonder he had no problem getting Parker here.

  I turn to Parker, who’s scooted to the corner edge of the couch looking like he’s about to flee from the room.

  “Parker, whatever you’ve heard about me isn’t true,” I say, holding my chin high, borrowing some of Zack’s confidence.

  Doubt is heavy in the doctor’s eyes. “I understand you can’t control who you’ve become. You need your injections. And there’s other remedies I can help you with to combat your mental illness.”

  I nod, having expected the Reverians to be told some garbage like this by my father and Vider.

  “I’m not sick, Parker.”

  He nods. Gives me a smile like I’m a pathetic beggar. “I’m glad you’ve returned from hiding and I’m glad you called for my help; schizophrenia is a serious condition.” He’s talking slowly. His voice careful. “Your father has been frantically worrying about you. He’ll be so relie—”