Taken (A Dystopian Novel) (The Taken Trilogy), page 13
“Your girlfriend?”
“Something like that. It was off and on,” I say. “Mostly off. Now, probably off.”
“I have had a good life, but I really missed out on the teenage experience. I have never had a ‘normal’ teen job, and I never learned how to drive. As embarrassing as it is to say, I have never had a boyfriend, and I don’t have very many friends. Actually none at all.”
“Normal is overrated. My friends and I sit around a lot. We laugh and have a good time, but we’re not doing anything amazing.”
“At least you have friends.” She smiles even though her eyes narrow and darken with sadness, but she immediately perks up again. “I grew up around the people who work in our house. They’re about as good as it gets in terms of friendship.”
“What about Brian?”
“We are friends, but when he became part of our official security, he started treating me differently,” she says.
“Is it just you and your dad? Are you an only child?” I ask. Her smile straightens into a thin line. Her gaze drops to her knees.
“Complicated,” she whispers. Her response jolts me and my back stiffens. Slowly, I lean close to her.
“Complicated how?” I ask.
“My mother’s dead,” she says blankly.
“Oh, I’m sorry…” I say. I put my hand on hers. And she looks at me. Her eyes are full. Not with tears like earlier, but something else that I can’t quite figure out.
“At least I think she is,” she says. Before I can inquire further, she stands and offers her hand to me. I outweigh her by forty to fifty pounds by my guess. I stand on my own. “Do you mind if we walk?”
“Yeah, we can walk,” I say. I help her fold the blanket, and we stride across the field. Her pace quickens abruptly, and I have to take a few steps to catch up to her.
“Sasha, what’s going on?”
“All of this is your fault,” she hisses as she stomps around. “You, showing up here.”
“You invited me,” I say, and with a light hand, I grip her arm to get her to stop.
“No! I mean here in Wicker Farm.”
“No, that would be your father’s doing,” I say with an irritated smirk.
“My father,” she scoffs and tears stream down her cheeks as wrenches her arm away. “You want to know the truth? He is as horrible as you think. He stole me from your Earth. He’s not my real father. There. Happy?”
10
My Favorite Girls
We both stand in silence. Her gaze cuts into me, and I look away and shove my hands deep into my pockets. I am stunned. She is from my Earth. I almost don’t want to believe it.
“I hate you for making me start to care about your world,” she whimpers hopelessly before she stalks away.
“Are you sure you’re from there?” I ask as I follow her. It seems like a stupid question, but I’m so shocked.
“I know. It’s really unexpected given that I’m so blissfully ignorant about what really goes on, right?” she says sarcastically. “And how obedient I am? And the blind faith that I have in Penn Richards?”
“That’s not what I meant, Sasha.” I am watching her unravel. I grab for her again and this time I pull her against me and hug her. I feel terrible for the way I have treated her.
She stiffens, but then she hugs me back, and she cries quietly. “I’ve never told that to anyone,” she says, and her words are slightly muffled against my shoulder. She steps back and wipes her eyes. “I love him. He’s been the best father to me, but I started to notice things several years ago when I was much younger before I really knew what the Relocation Program was.”
I feel compelled to say kidnappings, but I want her to finish the story. We walk further along the field until it ends. Through a wall of trees, the barrier peeks out.
“He started avoiding questions about my mother. I have no memory of her, but there are no pictures of her anywhere in the house. He has told me conflicting stories about her. Once, he said that they were married and she abandoned us. Then, another time, he said she died when I was really young.
One day, when I was about Aubrey’s age, one of the maids found a crumbled photo. It was of three people, a woman and two small girls. The woman is sitting in a chair holding the younger girl. She’s a toddler. And the other is at her feet. They’re all laughing. The ink on the back says ‘Grandma’s house. Marianne with Ellie and Kay’,” she says and the tears fill her eyes again. “I think I’m the toddler.” She points to herself.
I’m at a loss for words, so we stand there in silence again. Her story has only raised more questions, and she has further solidified why I need to get Aubrey out of here. If Sasha really is the girl in the photo, her whole past and future have been changed. The full extent of Richards’ cruelty crashes down on me.
“What could have happened to the other girl? Or the woman?” I ask. “Were they ever in Wicker Farm?”
Sasha shrugs and expels a desperate, helpless breath. “I don’t know, but I doubt it. I think they are still in your world or they went back, I don’t know. Unless…you don’t think he hurt them to take me, do you?” She breathes rapidly, clearly in distress. I shake my head to calm her, but I’m not sure.
“What if they have been looking for me this whole time? Or decided to stop and just go on with their lives?” she asks, and her lip quivers. My heart aches for her. I want to tell her what I’m up to, and the words are right there, waiting. Would she help me? She is in a lot of pain over this because she cares for Richards, and I don’t know which urge is stronger. The urge that wants to find her family or the other that wants to protect the family she already has.
Someone calls her name. She drags the heel of her hand down her ruddy cheeks. We walk back to where we had been sitting, and there’s a woman holding the blanket and the tray. Her hair is smoothed back into a tight ponytail, emphasizing how pointy her nose is. She purses her lips, and her gaze covers me from head to toe, but she greets me politely.
“Miss Richards, you have a call,” she says.
“Okay, I’ll be in shortly, Magda” Sasha says. “Could you call the driver for Jackson, please?”
The woman nods once and walks back to the Sasha’s house.
“I bet you’re pleased to know that I’m a complete fraud,” she says with an acidic edge in her voice. She narrows her eyes at me.
“Not really, and I won’t tell anyone,” I promise. She waits with me for the car to pull up, but we don’t speak further. Even in the silence, her eyes brim with tears that she wipes away every few seconds. I don’t know what to say, and the swell of guilt in my chest holds me back. When the car pulls up, I leave without saying goodbye, and she doesn’t say it either. I watch her through the back window as she heads to her house.
****
The next day, when I get to work at the compound, Glasses is noticeably absent…so is Buzz Cut. In fact, two new people are occupying their seats: a middle-aged woman and young man no more than a few years older than I am. Neither greets me. When Eyebrows arrives, I scoot my chair to his desk and try to find out what he knows.
“James got a promotion,” he says frowning, and his heavy tone suggests something dark.
“Already?” I whisper.
“And…Glasses?” I say sheepishly, ashamed that I have to use the secret name that I have created for her. He smiles slightly, but his eyes reveal some sadness.
“Erin. The reason for the promotion,” he replies. “I overheard James bragging about it this morning when we got here.” He looks around to make sure that the others aren’t paying attention. “Remember the story she told us? About the note she got at The Institute? He turned her in.”
I gasp at the revelation and stare at him with wide eyes. “And what about her?” I ask, unable to hear myself over my own heartbeat. Eyebrows shrugs.
“Hopefully back at The Institute.”
“Why ‘hopefully’?” I shudder quietly. My heart starts to beat a little faster.
“You don’t know what they do to known Resistance members?”
“I know what happened to Elias Gray…” I say. “And that was supposedly his fault.”
“Yeah, there’s that, too. But I heard sometimes they kick them out of Wicker Farm, send them out into whatever is outside of this place, which I hear isn’t much. Most manage to sneak back in and go to The Clave, but...”
“But she wasn’t a ‘known Resistance Member’. I don’t know any of them personally, but did she seem like someone who would be part of The Resistance?” I say. He shrugs.
“True, but obviously something’s up because she’s not here. And who knows what James told them,” Eyebrows says. “He probably would have said anything to get on that officer’s good side from yesterday.”
I scoot back to my desk. The last person I want to be reminded of is Brian. His dislike of me is growing stronger everyday. It would probably reach the pinnacle on Saturday during Aubrey’s birthday party. He would just make my plan to search for the other machines more difficult than it needs to be.
In the afternoon, Eyebrows, whose name I finally learn again is Marco, and I attend a meeting with Morse in the afternoon in his office. It is spacious. His desk has a glass top with wooden legs. Above his head is a picture of him and Director Harrington. He informs us that our idea has been chosen for Community Day. Marco is excited, but I feel a little sick to my stomach.
“Here are the lists of people I think would be worthwhile recipients of such recognition,” he says, handing us the sheets. They feel weighted in my hand. “Have the names and a short write-up on each of them before Friday.”
“We’re off to a good start,” Marco says as we walk back to our cubicles.
“Yeah…” I say, letting my voice trail off. He motions for us to step out of the hallway and into a corridor.
“After James, I’m a little wary about saying this, but I’ve resigned myself to being stuck in this place. If that’s the case, I want my life to be as normal as possible. Right now, I need friends. I don’t want to have to walk on eggshells and watch my back all the time.” His eyes radiate sincerity, I shake his hand.
“Agreed. We’ll look out for each other.” I say, feeling much better about this alliance than I do about the one with Russell. From that point, our walk is more leisurely. Marco tells me that he and his friends were going to a concert of a little known band called “Cyclop’s Revenge” when they crossed dimensions.
“Shittiest band on Earth. I didn’t even want to go. My friend’s cousin was playing, and he hyped them up as some Kings of Leon type. They weren’t even close. Just my luck that we would end up here after the show, instead of before it.” He smiles. “I think this is my punishment for being so close to flunking out of college.”
“You’re taking all of this really well.”
“I keep telling myself that it’ll work itself out or it’s a really bad dream,” he laughs cheerfully. “Hopefully, someone will punch me in the arm and it’ll be all over.”
When we get to class later on, James stares at us smugly. He is sitting with other people from his new job appointment. During the lesson, I can barely concentrate because my mind is focused on Sasha. Like Nora, Sasha is not who I thought she was. I feel differently about her today. The next time I see her, if she even wants to talk to me, I will ask her about Erin. I want to be sure she’s back in The Institute, and not somewhere more unpleasant. I had never really considered what happened to Resistance people who weren’t killed.
We spend the rest of the week combing through the lists, and I am too busy to try to snoop around. Marco, the new people in our cubicle (I don’t see enough of them to find characteristics to give them nicknames with) and I write several blurbs on notable Wicker Farm residents. In the mean time, I continue to memorize the schedule and the number of officers traipsing around the compound. Each day the numbers tend to vary. I see James going into Building 3, and I decide that it is better to avoid him. He walks with an arrogant sway to his shoulders, and I think that Director Harrington better start making room on his wall. He would probably become a pillar of the community in a few years. Maybe the next Director Harrington or Governor Richards or even worse, Brian.
*****
Community Day is far less appealing than it sounds. It is why the town looked empty the day Aubrey and I arrived. Every Saturday, nearly everyone in the town gathers in a large, grassy park to bond with one another, and meet the New Rezzies. Everyone is forced to stay for the entirety of the program. Anyone caught fleeing is reprimanded, which in Wicker Farm means losing some privilege that they have been allotted. Aubrey and I are forced to wear nametags.
Colorful, helium-filled balloons, weighed down by decorative bags full of pebbles, pepper the lawn. There are tables with food and fruity drinks. There are messages describing why Wicker Farm is the best place to live written on large posters that sit on easels. Whoever wrote them used wording like “burgeoning,” “revolutionary,” and “the new Miranda.” A band plays softly on a stage, and a microphone stand waits on the edge. The whispers are that Celia is performing again. Governor Richards will speak to the crowd, and we will cheer regardless of what he says. While on stage he will recognize the “accomplishments” of the people that I and the others picked out.
Townspeople arrive in their best, and with forced smiles on their faces, they greet one another. After being in a suit all week, I decide to wear what I’m comfortable in. Black tee shirt and jeans. The sun burns bright and the heat feels like it is closing in. Around me, everything looks shiny and glossy. I squint every time I turn my head. A few of the girls from the compound giggle and point at me. It’s not in a ridiculing way, but I still feel like the target of some joke. One of them, Monroe, waves at me. Slight warmth builds under the neck of my shirt. Luckily, the heat can masquerade as the cause of my flushed skin. If only Ed could see me now. I’m the shy guy, never one that girls pay much attention to. It took awhile for me to win Ashlan over, and I really had to try.
Nora leaves Aubrey and me and weaves through the crowd to talk with her friends. When Aubrey spots her friends from school, she deserts me too. I grope my pocket for my cell phone and try not to talk myself out of my plan for later. During Aubrey’s birthday party, I will use my ID to enter the other office buildings on the compound to figure out where the machines are.
I grab a handful of cherries from a crammed bowl and pop a few into my mouth. I spot Mrs. Myers with Lyle. He’s blowing spit bubbles. She and I make eye contact, and she immediately looks away. I chuckle because I harbor no bad feelings toward her. From where I stand, I search the crowd for Sasha.
“One Mississippi…two Mississippi…” the person next to me says. Without looking, I know it’s Charlie. “Three Mississippi.”
When I turn to her, she’s wearing a cap over a blonde wig and sunglasses. She nudges me softly. “What do you think?”
“I miss the dark hair,” I whisper back, tucking some of blonde hair behind her ear without tipping off her cap. Jefferson, who is standing next to her, waves at me. He’s wearing a cap low over his forehead.
“I mean of Community Day, silly,” she says with a harder nudge. “How are things going?”
“Fine, so far. Is it safe for you to be out here?” My eyes dart around, but no one is paying attention to us.
“We’re not high-priority like Russell,” she says. “We wanted to make sure you were alright. Besides, we’re in costume, and I have a great back story in case anyone asks. I blend in well don’t you think?” She says in an exaggerated Southern accent and puts her hands on her hips and swivels side-to-side slightly. She’s wearing a plain, sleeveless, blue dress. She does blends in, but Charlie doesn’t seem like the type of girl who would wear a dress regularly. The band starts to play a little louder, and people drift toward the stage.
“What’s the back story?” I ask curiously.
“Lucy Carter. I live on Shaw Street with my brother Ryan. I work at the library,” she says, and then she curtsies. We both laugh. Charlie seems to have a way with putting me at ease.
“Nice to meet you, Miss Lucy Carter,” I say.
“Pleasure’s all mine!” Her tone is whimsical. I drape my arm around her shoulder and lean her against me.
“It’s really good to see you, Charlie,” I whisper. She pulls away, but a smile creeps on to her face. “You, too, Jeff.”
“This is all so strange, isn’t it?” Jefferson asks. I nod.
“I see you’re making friends.” She tilts her chin at the group of girls gawking at us. All of them look away when they see us looking at them, except for Monroe, who boldly continues to hold her gaze on me.
“This should score you some points.” Charlie takes my hand, and a cluster of butterflies flutters from my stomach to my throat as we squeeze through the crowd. She pulls me into James, and he turns and glares at me. His eyes move to Charlie, and my heart skips a beat. He keeps watching her until I lose track of him. I see the security ushering people closer to the stage.
“Did you see that guy looking at you? Think he knows you’re Resistance?” I whisper.
“What guy?”
“James. He works with me at the compound.”
She swings around and before turning back to me. “I don’t see a guy. You worry too much. So, is your sister a fan of Celia yet?”
“No,” I say absently. I’m too focused on the way her palm feels against mine. Like electricity is firing between us. God, I’m a hopeless romantic.
“Good. I crossed dimensions and still couldn’t escape crappy pop music,” she sighs and drops my hand. “But if we hang in the back, the security tends to be more attentive.” We’re standing just a few feet away from the stage.
“What do you know about an officer named Brian Crocker?” I ask. Charlie’s reaction surprises me. She is fearful, and she flinches at the sound of his name. Her face holds the terror for a few seconds longer before she relaxes again.
