In the Shadows of Freedom

by C

  “What else is there?”

  “I could get you into the NCP. They’d love you. You’ve got the creds. Just having graduated from an Academy distinguishes you. They would be blown away by your artistic abilities. You would be appreciated and affirmed. And they would help you advance.”

  She mused, chewing on her lower lip. “And I could do art for them or something?”

  “Absolutely. We just hired an artist a few weeks ago. We’re always expanding, so I’m sure there will be another opening soon.”

  “I don’t think that’s the kind of art I’d want to be doing, though.”

  “It might be a stepping-stone into what you would want to do. The NCP is like a big family. You could network and build connections with other people of influence. You could maybe get an internship there for now. You know, get your foot in the door.”

  “Maybe, yeah. But first I’ve got to fix this sketch.”

  “You’re bound and determined to complete it?”

  “You like games, so you should understand. It’s a challenge I want to meet and conquer. I thought I did conquer it already, but I’ll keep at it. I can do this assignment: ‘If it’s meant to be, it’s up to me.’”

  “I can’t argue with that logic, can I?”

  “I sometimes have a one-track mind when it comes to my art.”

  “I just hope that pretty mind of yours still has some room for me.”

  “Do I detect some doubt in that confident voice of yours?”

  “Doubt? Never.”

  She glanced out the window. A billboard she hadn’t seen yet attracted her attention. It had nothing to do with the latest designer clothing or preview of a featured movie. Instead, the billboard displayed a large, stone tablet. The top of the tablet read in bold letters: THE ONE COMMANDMENT: DO AS YOU WILL.

  They began to drive by and she craned her neck, taking one last look. “Did you see that?”

  “The billboard? I did see it. Do you like it?”

  “Yeah, of course.” She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes at his growing smile. “Wait—did you have something to do with that?”

  “It’s my design. One of the many projects I’ve got going right now.”

  She beamed at him, pride effusing within her. “You certainly made your point.”

  “I hope so. I want people to realize any religion that chains people to worshipping an empty deity is corrupt. It doesn’t matter what name they go by; it’s all the same in the end: Allah, Christ, Vishnu … all they do is give people a false idol they can worship and spend their lives trying to please when, in the end, they’ve forfeited opportunities they were perfectly capable of securing on their own. It’s bad enough that these extremists ruin their own lives, but then they try to force their fairy-tale philosophies and laws onto everyone. We’re a free nation—not a Christian nation.”

  “I can’t wait to see your next work! Will you be doing another billboard?”

  He put his car in park outside Little Pete’s. “Not sure. There’s talk of some big project coming up soon that they need everyone’s help on. I haven’t gotten details yet, though.” He sat silent for a moment, looking out the window. “Speaking of things we can’t wait for …”

  “Yeah?”

  “If you could have anything at all right now, at this moment, what would you want?”

  The answer was easy; divulging it without the pill’s assistance was not.

  “It’s okay.” He reached out and held her hand. “Don’t start closing up on me again.”

  “Alright.” She sighed. “You really want to know?”

  His intense stare confirmed an affirmative.

  “I … would want to be in a relationship with you.”

  He shook his head, a bemused half smile on his face. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I would venture to say that you and I have a relationship. What else would you call our interactions for the past couple of months?”

  “Perhaps that is the de facto reality, but it’s nice to make things official, you know?”

  “I think, ultimately, we’re both seeking the same thing: we want to be closer.”

  “That’s the one thing you would want too?”

  “Of course. But words aren’t going to accomplish that. Some standardized, predictable verbal exchange involving me asking you to be my girlfriend and your assent isn’t going to bring us any closer together than we are now. Maybe it’s commitment that you’re looking for, but a trite, social norm won’t satisfy that desire.”

  “I think, at least for me, knowing that you want to be closer to me is all I require.” Even if she never heard the word love, just realizing he needed her the way she needed him was all she wanted.

  “Don’t settle for so little. Aim higher. You want to become closer? Make it happen.”

  “And how do you propose I do that?”

  “Show me your painting.”

  “Painting? Which painting?”

  “You know the one. Show me the painting under your bed, wrapped up.” His eyes played upon her face, burning with excited fervor.

  When had she told him about her favorite painting? She couldn’t place the time. She must have missed a lot during her drug marathon.

  “I have an idea.” He caressed her hand, running his finger around her knuckles. “How about you and I take a drive to your apartment? Nikki is at Little Pete’s, so we’ll be all alone. Just you and me … it will be the perfect moment we’ve been waiting for.”

  “Waiting for what?”

  “Show me yourself. Show me your painting.”

  “No.” Her answer was instinctual and left her lips before she could check it.

  He reached over and embraced her, his strong arms wrapped around her. “We both want to become closer, but that’s impossible as long as you keep these walls up between us. How can this thing between us work if you keep shutting me out?”

  He pulled back and fingered one of her dangling curls. “I’m not asking you to show the painting to everyone. I’m not even asking you to show me all of your paintings. I just want to see that one. It’s not that unreasonable of a request: artists show each other their work all the time; it’s perfectly normal. It’ll be an intimate moment between us.”

  Revealing her painting to Ethan was an irrevocable act: forever after, he would carry this piece of her with him. Once she gave it to him—once she let him see the painting—it would permanently belong to him too. She could never undo it.

  “I still need time …” She mumbled the words and stared at her boots.

  “More time? We’re running short on time.”

  “Wh-What do you mean by that?”

  “Are you content with the way things are? I’m not. If we don’t keep growing closer, we will grow apart.”

  “Well then … maybe once I’m no longer distracted by this sketch, we can go forward … we can become closer … just like you said.”

  “If that’s the case, you should finish that assignment as soon as possible!”

  “That’s my plan for tomorrow.”

  “I’ve got a few extra busy days at work coming up. But I know we’ll find time to be together.”

  She took a deep breath. Perhaps showing Ethan her painting wasn’t such a major life decision after all. Why should it be?

  The next morning, she sat on the bench in front of Portrait of a Mother. She had unrealistically hoped Morgan would be sitting here for this final sketching session, but of course he wasn’t.

  She pulled out her charcoal and examined the painting in front of her. I will do this. If it’s meant to be, it’s up to me.

  Under her examining eye, Amanda was certain she could replicate the mother. Her charcoal had defined the rounded cheeks, the heart-shaped chin, the long eyelashes that turned outward, and the thin lines by the mother’s temples.

  But it wasn’t quite right.

  As much as she hated to admit it, Michael was correct. It didn’t look like her. Amanda pulled out her kneaded eraser and starte
d from scratch once again. She poured forth more effort, examining every quality and facet of the mother’s face.

  I will sketch you! Yet Amanda’s second sketch was just as erroneous as the first. She had drawn a lovely face, but it wasn’t the mother’s face. The singular characteristic that defined the mother was missing. She erased her work. The morning turned into afternoon, and the hours flashed by. Try as she might, nothing she did improved the image in her sketchbook.

  Her eyes narrowed. Why can’t I sketch you? She sat, at a loss for the next step. What was she doing wrong?

  Her mind drew a blank, but in that stillness, Morgan’s words echoed: “That’s my favorite painting! … If I tell you what the painting means to me, it will prevent you from seeing it with fresh eyes. You have to discover its beauty for yourself.”

  Morgan would know what was missing in her sketch. Plus, she admitted, she missed him.

  ~~~

  She strode into Ethan’s office, not bothering to knock. Of course he had an office. Daddy must have arranged it for him. Meanwhile, she was stuffed in a cubicle on the fourth floor, along with twenty other employees. But one day …

  Ethan didn’t look away from his computer monitors but kept typing, his fingers flying along the keyboard. She flopped into one of the crimson armchairs, propped her feet on his mahogany desk, and helped herself to one of the mints in the crystal candy dish. She made sure to crumple the wrapper as loudly as possible and then tried to shoot a basket into the garbage can across the room.

  Ethan at last sat back in his leather chair. “Nikki. What brings you off the fourth floor?”

  “It’s reckoning time. I’ve kept my part of the bargain. Said my lines, acted my part.” She put her feet down and leaned her elbows on the desk’s shiny surface. “What dirt did you dredge up on Amanda? When are you turning her in?”

  “I think you forgot my assignment. Maybe because it’s not your assignment at all. It’s mine, and I’m taking care of it. My job was never to apprehend Amanda; it was to keep an eye on her.”

  “Okay, sure, whatever. What’d you see?”

  He stood up and walked over to the tall window overlooking Park Avenue below. “The NCP asked me to investigate her, but I’m not stopping at that. You see, I’m going one step further: I’m converting her.”

  “You can’t possibly be serious right now.”

  “I know her far better than you do: she let me in, but you shut yourself out. She’s no enemy … she’s one of us. One day, she’ll be working here—not against the NCP, but for it.”

  Nikki stared at him, dumbfounded. He was clearly an idiot, but this … this was a whole new level of stupidity. “Look at her family! The Academy she went to!”

  “She rejects her family. She left them to move here, to start a new life. She doesn’t have the same values as they do. As for the Academy, she wasn’t involved in the opposition activity there.”

  “And you believe those lies?”

  “She’s not lying. I’m good at detecting lies. She’s genuine … refreshingly genuine, actually.”

  She jumped up from her chair and whipped a piece of paper from out of her pocket, shoving it into his face. “Explain this then!”

  He held up the paper and examined the photograph on it: a man with brown hair combed to the side, a gentle smile, and light blue eyes. “I’ve seen this face before. Who is it?”

  “If you were doing your job right, you’d already know. That’s Amanda’s new BFF. They were spotted together at the Met and outside St. Patrick’s. His name is Morgan. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize the image: it’s on the wall of suspected offenders in the conference room.”

  Ethan stared at the picture for another few seconds, then handed it back. “I don’t need your help, Nikki. I should say, I don’t need your interference.” He stopped, his face darkening. “How did you know Amanda’s whereabouts?”

  She smiled back at him. “I had her tracked by the JPD.”

  He stepped forward, his eyes slit, his jaw clenched. “Leave us alone. Amanda is with me.”

  “Oooo … now we’re getting to the real heart of the matter, aren’t we? Amanda isn’t with the NCP. She’s with you. And isn’t she just what you need? Someone who will stroke your ego at every turn. Someone who will sing your praises on end. You need to be adored and worshipped, don’t you? She knows exactly how you tick, and that little bitch has you completely blind. That’s why I’m having her tracked. I’m not letting her damage the NCP. You might not get her detained, but the hell if I won’t!”

  He grabbed her arm, his fingers clenching and twisting her skin. “If you harm her in any way …”

  Despite the pain, she burst out laughing and bowled over in amusement. “I can’t believe it! That’s what this is about? You like her? … You do! You actually like that worthless piece of trash!”

  He shoved her away, and she stumbled backward a few paces. His eyes blazed with fury. “Get out of my office! But I swear: you do one thing against Amanda and I’ll end any chances you have at moving up in the NCP. I’ll have you kicked right out of here onto the street. You’re completely expendable.”

  Nikki smoothed her shirt and ran her fingers through her hair. She walked toward the doorway and then turned around, glaring at Ethan. “You know what? Amanda’s going to destroy you before you can even raise one finger against me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The Living Dead

  Amanda stood before St. Patrick’s. The massive bronze doors, several steps above her, bore the sculpted images of famous religious figures. Her eyes roved up the cathedral’s façade to the famous rose window, the finials running along the roof, and—even higher—the towering double spires. She kept her sneakers planted on the sidewalk, not quite ready to commit to the bottom step—one step closer to inside. From her close proximity, the organ’s swelling hymn rivaled the shouts and sirens of the street behind her, and the sweet scent of incense lingered in the air alongside the exhaust of the cars and taxis.

  Still, she remained, hands stuffed in her pockets and her glance wavering between the cathedral and crowded avenue. Maybe this was a complete waste of time. Weeks had passed since her last conversation with Morgan. For all she knew, he resented her never coming to find him. He could have moved on. He also could have simply moved: Hadn’t he said he would only be in the city for a short time with his temporary work? What if he had already left?

  “Amanda!”

  Then, as if on cue, he appeared, waving from the other side of the street. With fast strides and a beaming, unabashed smile, he approached. His almost transparent blue eyes, his predictable attire, his joy—nothing had changed.

  “You’re here! You came back!”

  She had rehearsed this conversation multiple times on her way to St. Patrick’s. She was ready to confront his anger or bitterness. She had rebuttals prepared for any sarcastic, stinging comments. In other words, she had prepared for the reaction she would have given. She exhaled, relaxed her shoulders, and smiled in response to his warm, genuine welcome. She had missed this … she had missed him.

  “Hey, Morgan! How’re things going?”

  “Work is picking up. But what about you? What’s new? How’s art school? How’s your sketch?”

  “Things are okay. They’ll be better as soon as I finish my assignment. I’m having some issues with Portrait of a Mother. That’s actually why I’m here. I kind of need your help.”

  “You need help? That’s the only reason why you came to see me?”

  She glanced down. “That’s not the only reason. I haven’t seen you in a while …”

  “I understand. It’s nice to have our connection back.”

  She nodded, grateful for his understanding. Talking with Morgan, even after some time apart, felt just as effortless as before.

  “So what’s the problem with your sketch?”

  She sighed. “My professor said that it isn’t her face. I’m missing something. I thought, since it’s your favorite p
ainting, you might have some insight?”

  “Absolutely! I’m more than happy to help.”

  “Thanks. If we start walking now, that would still give us a chance to work on it before the Met closes.”

  “As lovely as that sounds, I’m afraid I can’t—Mass is starting in a few minutes. But perhaps we can catch up for a bit?”

  She couldn’t ignore the hopeful note in his voice or his encouraging smile. What were a few more minutes, anyway? “Yeah, we can talk.” She took a seat on the bottom step, gesturing for Morgan to join her. “It’s okay we’re sitting here, right? Are the people inside going to have a problem with this?”

  “No, not at all. The cathedral belongs to everyone. That’s one of the reasons why it’s my favorite place.”

  She grimaced. “Have you always been into religion?”

  His look became unfocused, and he spoke in a distant voice. “It’s my purpose. It’s who I am.”

  “I just don’t get it. This God of yours doesn’t answer prayers. Tragedies and suffering happen all the time. How can such a God be your purpose?”

  “God is never the cause of evil.”

  “That doesn’t explain why he allows evil. This world God created is pretty messed up. Isn’t God supposed to be ‘all-good’?”

  “He permits evil because He so highly honors that word you hear everywhere these days: freedom. Freedom is not obtained by a repeal of laws or unleashing of passions. It is given to us by God.”

  “That’s ironic, don’t you think? The supposed giver of freedom straps people down with commandments and a list of ‘don’ts’ they’re forced to live by. What kind of freedom is that?”

  “It’s true freedom! You see, it’s actually the law that makes us free. When you play a sport, you need rules. How else would you know what you need to do, how to win, what makes you lose, or where the boundaries are.” He counted off the points with his fingers. “The sports player achieves his glory when he’s doing amazing things within the boundaries of the game. If anything goes, we aren’t free; we become enslaved to our own lower desires and drives.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You and my dad would get along great.”