Poison

by Lan Chan

  Up until this point, I’ve chosen to ignore Gloria’s curious glances, but now that I can’t look outside, there seems to be nowhere else for my eyes to rest. We’re sitting opposite each other on the leather seats. Today she’s traded in her white coat for a pants suit that matches the brilliance of her eyes. Her mahogany hair is swept up into a neat chignon that accentuates her fine bone structure.

  She catches me looking and gives me a raised eyebrow, something I’ve noticed her use on the lower-ranking doctors. Normally, the eyebrow gets an immediate hurried response. I can’t manage anything more than a shrug. Between my anxiety and the effects of the sedatives, I seem to have lost my ability to be cautious.

  “I hope you can hide your contempt a little better in front of the Warden Council,” she says with a small smile.

  All my reservations come crashing back. Her comment is so loaded I don’t know where to start analysing.

  We reach our destination and I’m led from the limo into the foyer of a grand hotel aptly named The Palace. It’s clear from the concierge service and the calibre of the inhabitants that this is a prestige building. Golden sunlight from the glass dome above dapples the white marble of the walls and floor, making it sparkle. Far from the hospital where I was just another patient, people stop and openly stare at us as Gloria picks up a key card and ushers me into yet another elevator.

  “You’re in the penthouse, so no need to remember any room numbers,” Gloria says. “The key code is one, two, one, zero. It’ll be the same code until someone tells you otherwise.” When the elevator finally stops after going up sixty-two floors, the doors open to a small lobby and another door bars our entrance. Gloria holds the key card in front of a grey card reader on the wall and punches in the code.

  The doors slide open to reveal the most lavishly decorated room I’ve ever seen. It’s all soft cushions and gilded frames. Chandeliers and white marble walls carry the theme of the foyer up to the penthouse, and in the distance, I can see glass folding doors leading onto a balcony.

  Distantly, I can feel the key card being pushed into my hand. I step into the room and suddenly all this opulence is lost on me. Directly across from where I stand in the suite’s threshold is a mirror mounted to the wall. The first mirror I’ve looked into since I awoke in the Citadel. And there, staring back at me, is a face I hardly recognise.

  Twenty

  I take tentative steps towards the girl in the mirror, hearing but not listening to Gloria’s soothing explanation. “…not as much as they wanted…” is all I catch her saying before I tear the surgical cap from my head.

  It comes away with a shuddering rip, revealing several layers of bandages. All soaked through with blood and what I now see to be some sort of yellow pigment. I suddenly remember feeling my scalp burning. My head is like some mauled animal, still half bandaged and bloody, but there is no doubt in my mind that when I’m all cleaned up, I’ll be a blonde. Worse still is the unblemished skin where my scar used to be.

  I can’t breathe in enough air. My knees go weak and I fall onto the floor beside a glass coffee table. Someone’s hand is on my shoulder.

  “Don’t touch me!” I scream, pushing back against Gloria’s body. The sudden pressure shift causes her to stumble slightly and she knocks over a vase. The sound of the china shattering is oddly soothing. I want to break something too. I pick up the nearest object, a golden dragon paperweight, and hurl it at the mirror. The glass splinters into a thousand fragments and showers Gloria and me in a rain of shards.

  Footsteps hasten into the room as I watch the blood beading on Gloria’s cheek where a sliver of glass has cut her. Good. Now she knows one hundredth of the pain I feel.

  “Rory!”

  The familiarity of his voice draws my attention. Relief mixed with my turmoil as I turn to find Gage in front of me. I dread to see what the Seeders might have done to him, but as usual, he’s perfect. He wears a white cotton polo shirt over black slacks, the starkness of the material highlighting his tanned complexion and molten gold eyes. The Seeders have seen fit to leave Gage’s appearance alone. Of course they have. How do you improve on something that beautiful? I’m the imperfect one. But it’s taken this to make me realise how much I’ve come to identify with the way I look.

  There’s no sign of the piranha wound on Gage’s arm, and I would say he looks superbly healthy. Except every second he watches me, more and more colour drains from him.

  “Your face…” he whispers. I don’t know why, but at this moment, I really hate him. As much as I’m relieved to see him, I’m resentful that he’s come away practically unscathed, and I’m a blonde, scarless shell of the girl I used to be. The irony of the situation isn’t lost on me when I remember his complaint that the Citadel overlooks my indiscretions whilst his family suffers. Now I’m the one who is suffering.

  “Get her to shut up, will you?” Gloria yells at him as she disappears outside.

  Is that me? Am I that girl who’s screaming and crying?

  Gage tries to take hold of my hand, but I come out swinging and he has to duck to avoid being hit. If my eyes weren’t so blurry from tears, he would never be able to pick me up. But he does, and I find myself being carried like a child into a bedroom. His room, from the look of the messed-up covers and the lingering smell of him on the sheets where he sets me down.

  He leaves for a second, and I hear running water before he’s back and wiping my eyes with a damp cloth.

  “I’ll kill them.” I hiccup. “I’ll make them change me back and then I’ll kill them all.”

  “Shh. You’re in shock. I know you’re scared—”

  “I’m not scared! I’m angry! And when I get my hands on them—”

  “What?” Gloria remarks as she steps through the bedroom door. “When you get your hands on us, what then? Will you stand by as we destroy your region and your loved ones? Or perhaps you’ll volunteer to test out the latest batch of rotting sickness vaccine? Because that’s all you’re achieving right now.”

  I can feel her eyes follow mine around the room, inspecting me as I try and stamp down my panic and look for a weapon. There’s nothing. Everything big enough to pick up looks like it’s nailed down. Maybe I can smother her with the washcloth. When our gazes meet again, her lips are slightly upturned, as if she’s fighting not to smile.

  “You do a very good imitation of crazy,” she says. “I can see why you’re the one who made it all the way to the Citadel.” I’m sure it’s meant as a compliment, but all it does is make my heart twist in reminder of those who died. “They’re going to be pleased that you haven’t lost your spirit.”

  “Why did you do this to me?”

  She sighs and I’m almost convinced she regrets her actions. Almost.

  “Because we can? Because you were scarred and we could erase it? Because I was told to do so and to make you as presentable as possible? Because the Chief Warden’s son likes blondes and he asked that you be made one? Take your pick.”

  “What for?” I shout, alarmed at the mention of Harlan Dempsey. Beside me, Gage tenses and puts his arm around me. I shrug him off and then regret my abrasiveness as he swallows hard. I picture how Leura would react in my place. She would want comfort first and foremost. I wish I were someone different. That this black darkness burning inside me would disappear simply if someone held me. But I’m not Leura. I’ll never be sweet and good the way she was, and the last thing I want is comfort. I want someone to get angry with me. For me. And it cuts so badly that the only two people who have ever done that are now lost to me forever. Even though one of them still inhabits this city.

  Gloria takes a step closer, then another. Soon she’s standing right in front of me. Her hand reaches out to pull my chin up so I’m looking directly into her face. “Because, my dear, this meeting will determine the course of the future of your region. Those people are hanging by a thread, and how you present yourself to the Warden Council will decide if they live or die this winter.”

  Her
words have the desired effect. It’s been at least a month since we started out on this journey. My family probably hasn’t eaten in over a week. What about Papa? Is he even still alive? Slowly, it all sinks in. Whatever happened in the forest was only the first of the many hurdles the Seeders have put before me. Now they’ve set another task, and I’ll be darned if I go before them broken and disheartened. As much as it pains me, I know Gloria is right. Still, I don’t understand why I’m still here and not already carted away to be discarded however they wish.

  “Why are you helping us?”

  Her expression becomes closed and her eyes sweep the room like she’s worried someone will walk in on us. “I’m not helping anyone. It’s my job to make sure you’re as pretty as possible. Whatever you do to hinder that is your own problem. Though I don’t know why you’re making a fuss when we’ve cleaned you up and given you safe lodgings. I’ll have someone come in to clear up the mess you’ve made.”

  She turns as if to walk away, but then suddenly she turns and whispers, “We’re not all monsters.” Then she really is gone, and I’m left to wonder at what’s just occurred.

  Gage helps me to my room, which is in the same suite but across the other side. I step into the shower with the hope that maybe water will strip the muddy yellow ropes from my head. The heat of the water almost brings me to tears as it sloshes away the blood from my scalp. I stand under the stream for at least half an hour, but it doesn’t run cold. I both hate and love this place. My fingertips are like dried prunes before I finally convince myself to leave the cocoon of the shower. Steam fogs up the mirrors and I’m thankful to be able to avoid seeing my reflection for a while longer.

  I wrap the white robe hanging behind the door around me and stand in front of the bathroom mirror for what seems like an eternity. I stare absently at the shapeless blob reflected back at me. Ever so slowly, the condensation peels away from the mirror’s edges, collecting more water on the way down until plump droplets pool around the basin. Little by little my new face is revealed, and a stranger looks back at me with such dead hazel eyes it’s frightening. I suppose I should be grateful they didn’t give me ocular implants. My hair isn’t even a pretty blond, but a very light dry wheat colour. Even my eyebrows have been modified. I know girls who have dyed their hair for fun. Even to imitate the whims of the Seeders. But to have it done to you with no hope of reverting back, this is what makes my soul simmer with thoughts of murder.

  I pick up the china-handled hairbrush on the counter and proceed to drag it through my hair. I brush until my scalp feels like an open wound. Water trickles down my sideburn, but when I turn to inspect, it’s not water. It’s blood.

  The bathroom door opens. Nothing locks in the penthouse and I’ve probably spent too much time in here.

  “Dammit, Rory. Stop that!” Gage says. He barges in and pries the brush from my fingers. “It’s not that bad.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. They haven’t mutated you!” The smoothness of my left cheek is entirely alien. There’s not even the slightest trace of a scar. Even my ear has been reconstructed. The whole experience has been erased from my physical being. As if it never happened. What about the other pieces of evidence all over my body? Small physical stories that tell the tale of a life lived by the rule of the Seeders. I turn my back to Gage and drop the robe slightly so it hangs just past my shoulders.

  “There’s no scars, are there?”

  “You’re still the same person inside,” he says. I pull the robe up and turn to face him again. There’s such desperation in his eyes for me to believe what he’s saying that it saps all my anger.

  Inside, I am still the same. I keep telling myself this, but it’s not true. This new Rory, she is the result of the will of the Seeders. She’s hurt and killed people, and I both fear and anticipate what she’ll do if she’s pushed.

  My mind turns to Harlan Dempsey. “Do you think Harlan will like me?” I say, putting on the girliest lilt I can. Mistaking my question as a sign of recovery, Gage cocks his head to the side and rakes me up and down with his eyes the way I’ve seen him do with the pretty girls in the Landing. I fight the instinct to slap him.

  “You’re a better brunette,” he says. “But all things considered, you’re not too bad. If you didn’t have the scowl constantly plastered to your face, you’d even be sort of pretty.”

  “You’re sort of an idiot,” I tell him as I stomp past. He follows me into the sunken lounge. “Harlan Dempsey doesn’t care about pretty. You’d have a better chance at impressing him in that area. He cares about owning rare things.”

  Gage’s eyes widen in alarm. “I was trying to help,” he says so forlornly it makes me wonder how I could have ever thought of him as nasty or cold.

  I go to take his hand when the ding of the elevator surprises us. Gage snatches my outstretched arm and shoves me behind him. Footsteps echo on the marble floor and are then muffled by the carpet.

  “For goodness sake, Gage,” I say, unable to see through his chest. I peer between the gap made by his arm and waist and then wish I hadn’t. If it were humanly possible, Aiden is growing fiercer by the second. He takes in the scene with silent calmness, and I can imagine him thinking I’m cowering behind Gage. I give myself two breaths to recover and then step out with as steady a gait as I can muster.

  “Harlan wants to see both of you,” Aiden says. Then he looks me up and down, and I feel my cheeks grow hot even though the robe is thick and leaves everything to the imagination. “You’ve got two minutes to change. Harlan likes dresses.”

  Is that meant to be some kind of code? Is he trying to help me make a good impression? The Aiden I knew once threatened to break Harlan’s neck if he spoke to me out of line. This Aiden seats himself in one of the two armchairs and proceeds to clean the dirt from under his nails with the tip of a switchblade. My concern is reflected back at me in Gage’s face, but I force myself to give him a reassuring smile and head back into my room.

  Some Seeder has thought to play a joke by decorating my room in a circus theme. The canopy of the four-poster bed is a thick red and white candy stripe material that dips in the middle like a big top tent. Where the material is latched to the posts, red and white satin streamers crisscross around the wood and end in big floppy bows. Cushions with every imaginable circus print from white horses to pink poodles festoon the bed. My eyes swim just looking at them.

  I rifle through a heavy mahogany armoire of dresses I haven’t had the desire to touch so far. I’m dismayed that the circus theme has been continued in my wardrobe, though there is a distinct ballet motif with all the feathers and glitter. I pick the least garish dress, a stretchy azure V-neck number with thin straps and a fitted bodice flaring to a tutu. There are matching shoes in another closet, and thank goodness they’re ballet flats and not heels of some kind.

  I don’t care enough to bother with my hair, but when I step back outside and Aiden monitors my every step, I wish fervently for the pants and shirt I came here in. How can anyone take me seriously in this outfit?

  Aiden leads us into the elevator and instead of taking us to another location, he selects the button for the thirtieth floor. Moonlight illuminates what would be the belly of the hotel, and I realise we’re in some kind of sky road. A glass-tunnelled walkway that intersects between our hotel and the building adjacent. The walkway is carpeted, and I’ll bet it’s reinforced in some mechanical way that I can’t even begin to comprehend. Micah would be able to tell me if he were here. Thinking of my brother makes me careless on my feet, and I trip. Gage catches me by the elbow and doesn’t let go, so when Aiden turns around it must look like Gage has been holding my arm the whole time.

  Does Aiden’s face darken, or is that a trick of the light? My thoughts are too lost in Micah to care. From up here, I can see the plumes of smoke coming from the factories and mines located on the other side of the mountain. It reminds me there are Landing workers in those factories. They’ve volunteered to work for a higher pay than th
eir Farmer counterparts. Or they’ve committed crimes not related to seed theft and therefore not worthy of death. Do they even know the Landing has been sanctioned?

  The closer we come to the sky road’s end, the more apprehensive I become. It’s clear the other end comes out on the roof of the adjacent building, which is also domed. The dual glass barriers create glare, but not enough to obscure the sight of greenery from me.

  Warm air wafts out when Aiden opens the partitioning door. Inside the dome, the atmosphere is humid but not unpleasant. The room looks to be set up as a conservatory with raised garden beds and potted plants around its perimeter. The beds overflow with multi-coloured luminous flowers and herbs filling the air with innumerable scents. Overhead, hanging baskets boast an array of what look to be orchids in colours I can’t even name.

  It’s clear the room is designed for show, but the effect is much too overwhelming and my olfactory senses protest violently. It’s because I’m sneezing so badly that I fail to see the figure sitting at the head of the table.

  “Come,” he commands in a voice that crackles like it’s in the middle of breaking. He sounds no different than the snivelling baby I once had the displeasure of knowing. When we clear the lilac tree and he looks up at me, I have to bite my tongue to keep from exclaiming.

  He was flamboyant as a child but now he looks like the human equivalent of the peacock birds I’ve seen in the museum. If I didn’t know him, I’d guess fifteen at most, but I do know he’s at least as old as Aiden, who is nineteen this year.

  It’s really rich that he likes blondes considering his own raven hair. His bangs have been styled into a little whorl that sits neatly on one side, tips dyed a fiery red. Metallic gold wingtips artfully drawn on his eyes give them a feline shape that matches the gold of his suit. It’s like looking directly into the sun. The full force of my hatred for this boy comes screaming back. Out of habit, I search for Aiden and find he’s melted into the background of plants, taking up a guard position near the entrance. Aiden’s expression gives nothing away, and I steel myself, knowing better than to show any sign of weakness in front of Harlan.