Taken (A Dystopian Novel) (The Taken Trilogy), page 15
I pat my pocket and pull my phone out as he disappears inside of the house and closes the door behind him. I could make a quick dash into one of the buildings, but I didn’t want to just leave Aubrey out there. Maybe it was better to take it back to the car. I wouldn’t need it until I was in the office building anyway. During the party I could get it before going to investigate.
“Need to run to the car, Aubs, I’ll be right back,” I say, but Sasha swings the front door open. I shove the phone back into my pocket. We hold our stares on each other a moment longer than necessary, and my heart beats a little faster than before. She is wearing a different outfit. A pink dress. I’m sensing a party theme.
“Why are you guys just standing out here?” she asks.
“We just got here,” I say. She glances at her watch and ushers us in. “The guests will be here really soon. And I have something for you to wear if you like Aubrey. Do you want to?”
From the look on my sister’s face, it’s clearly a nonsensical question. Sasha takes her hand, and they mount one of the two sets of staircases in the foyer. She leans over the banister and tells me that I’m free to look around. With a big smile she adds, “Because I don’t have anything that would look good on you, Jackson, sorry,” and then the two of them are just a patter of footsteps above me.
In one word, the Richards mansion is opulent. The marble flooring is probably more expensive than every house in my neighborhood in Wynn. The wallpaper design is a tangle of faint gold vines, and there’s lots of artwork. I cross a rug where a large vase that stretches past my head sits on a circular wooden table. I half-expect artwork to be etched on the ceiling, like a one-of-a-kind masterpiece Sistine Chapel style. There isn’t. But there is a line of gold chandeliers leading to the living and dining rooms. A clatter of dishes alerts me to where the kitchen is.
For the first time, seeing how the Richardses live makes me wonder where they get everything they give us. The clothes I’m wearing, the beddings I sleep on. Was some of this stuff raided from homes of the people who died in The Epidemic? Or from other towns that are barren now? Or maybe even my world? I get an eerier feeling when I imagine someone bringing in items from my world by the truckloads. It is possible that people aren’t the only things that flow across dimensional borders.
I hide behind the side of a large fireplace when I see Roger, the security officer, and Magda heading to the doorway. I dash out a side door and into the backyard. There are several round tables with pink plastic tablecloths draped over them with five or six white plastic chairs at each. One chair in particular has balloons tied to it.
I turn around and look at the house and I can see Sasha through her bedroom window. She’s laughing with delight, and I feel something in my chest. I push it away, but it comes back. I know what it is and I won’t admit it to myself. I’m frozen in the moment as I watch her laughing up there with my sister. Goosebumps dot my skin. I look away.
I may have time to check out one of the buildings before the party starts. To avoid the security officer, I walk to the right side of the house. I peer around it and Roger is chatting with Magda. Keeping my eyes on them, I take steps to the side away from the house. I can see the field that Sasha and I sat in. Just as I start to creep toward it, my cell phone buzzes at my hip.
11
Trouble, in Several Forms
I pull my phone from my pocket so quickly that it flies from my hands and it tumbles to the grass. I pick it up. One signal bar has materialized on the screen. I have close to sixty text messages. Was the machine outside? Instinctively, I look around, pacing in several different directions. Sometimes, the bar disappears and other times it stays. I read the messages as I walk. They’re all frantic and desperate pleas for me to call home. From our mom, from Sam, Ashlan, Ed, and even our dad. There are some as recent as the day before. There’s even one begging the people who have us to please let us go.
“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” I say to no one, but I feel overwhelmed with joy. They’re still looking for us. I know they won’t find us, but I am hopeful and energized to keep trying to get out of here. I feel an impulse to dial, but I know better.
I head back around the house, and two more signal bars appear. The machine is in the house and somewhere on the side I’m on. Unless Richards is hiding it in plain sight in the living room, it has to be upstairs. I would have to sneak up there at some point.
I stroll back to the party area, and find Sasha and Aubrey sitting at one of the tables. Sasha is probing one of Aubrey’s Converse sneakers. Aubrey is wearing a black dress and the other foot of her Converse sneaker. I sit in a chair between the two of them, and my gaze drifts to the second floor of the house. There’s a room on the side where I caught the signal. The curtains are heavy, olive green and drawn. It is the only window that is covered.
Sasha narrows her eyes, mimicking my expression. She puts her hand on my shoulder and leans in to me. The warmth from her breath snakes into my ear. Through my shirt, her touch makes my skin prickle. Aubrey wanders away from the table.
“I got cake,” she whispers excitedly. Her eyes brighten in triumph.
“How’d ya work that out?” I ask.
“Lots of begging,” she says, lowering her voice. She gestures at Aubrey who is watching the chef as he puts food on a table. “I couldn’t get her in a pink dress, and I tried, but we found one that she liked.”
“She’s really into black clothes right now,” I say. “It started right around the time our parents split.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sasha says.
“It’s okay, it was better than them being together.”
“Why does she write on her shoes?”
I shrug. “She’s like you. I guess she prefers to write what she feels.”
“This is the best party ever, Sasha,” Aubrey says when she skips back to us.
“It hasn’t even started yet,” Sasha says.
“Still the best one.”
Soon the guests start to arrive. They’re mostly Sasha’s neighbors from the compound and Aubrey’s friends from school. I recognize a few faces from Community Day. Before long, the Richards’ backyard is full of people and lively conversation. Even Celia makes an appearance. I really hope she’s not going to sing again. Sasha assures me that she is not. The only person not at the event is the governor. He probably works on the weekends. By work, I imagine him cranking those machines on so that more people can unknowingly become New Residents. It was on a Saturday just like this when we showed up.
The food is mostly fruits and vegetables, which is odd for a kid’s birthday, but the addition of the cake seems to make up for it. It’s a plain, yellow cake (made from scratch, I’m told), but without icing or frosting. It’s not incredibly sweet, and I can detect the light trace of honey. After we eat, the music gets a little louder, and before long, people are dancing all over the lawn. From my seat, I spot Sasha twirling my sister around in circles. I look up at the window with the curtains. It’s as good of a time as ever to find out what’s up there. I walk to the house.
“Aubrey seems like she’s having a lot of fun,” Sasha says from behind me as I step though the sliding glass door. I want to keep walking, but I step back out. I turn to her. In the sunlight she looks ethereal. She’s standing there with her hands in front of her, linked. Then, her mouth forms a weak smile, and she runs her fingers through her hair.
“Yeah, thanks for doing this,” I say. I feel like electricity is firing all of my skin, pulling me, drawing me to her. I stop just inches away, like there’s a line between us. There is a line between us, I reminded myself.
“Have you heard of this guy before?” she says referring to the song playing. “His name is Nat King Cole. I listen to him all the time. I love the sound of his voice.”
I nod. “He’s pretty old school. My grandmother was a fan.”
“A couple years ago, an older lady I used to work with who was from your dimension gave them to me. Luckily my dad likes it too, so I get to blast it when I want.”
I chuckle. No one blasts oldies.
“So…are you having a good time?” she asks.
“Yeah… I was just…Do you want to dance?” I blurt. Her smile stretches and holds. I take her hand. All eyes have shifted to us. She locks her hands around my neck, and I place mine lightly on her hips, right where they slightly curve away from her waist. We move side to side slowly, and our footing is off. I’m terrible. It’s just one dance, I tell myself. Just one. My heart squeezes.
I have danced with girls before. In eighth grade, a girl named Susie Burton asked me to the Sadie Hawkins dance, the tradition where the girls asked the boys. Susie’s mom made a big deal about it, immortalizing the moment we got to the dance with tons of photos. Then in high school, I went to the underclassman formal during sophomore year and danced with Brenda Carlton, but standing here with Sasha feels different in an inexplicable way. I was wrong about her before when I thought that I didn’t want Aubrey to be like her. As much as she is a part of her father’s unreasonable strategies, she is kind and caring. She takes a brunt of the blame for what Richards does because she works at The Institute, and because she is his daughter. All of it is hard on her. Still, at the same time, it frustrates me that she doesn’t stand up to him, especially when she knows she is no different than any of us who are forced to be here.
“Where’s your dad?” I ask.
“He’ll probably be by later. He’s working,” she says vaguely as she looks over my shoulder. She adjusts her hands behind my neck.
“Hm. Working. Is that what you all call it?” I scoff. My tone chills her. She remains quiet, but as her jaw tenses, I know that I have snatched the moment away from her. The weight of her arms lightens.
“Wow…” she whispers. I drop my hands.
“I’m sorry, Sasha, I’m trying really hard---”
She walks away. I swallow my guilt. I need to find that machine anyway. I slip into the house. There’s no one inside, though I can hear noises from the kitchen, and I creep up one of the staircases. I am standing in a dim hallway, and there are five closed doors on the second floor, two on either side of me at the ends and three in front of me. I walk down the left side because the one on the end has a keypad but no need for a thumb scan or an ID. All of the signal bars are present on the screen of my cell phone. This is clearly the room I’m looking for. Compulsion makes me try the handle. It is locked, of course.
I freeze, listening to a distant creak. It is the sound of wood bending slightly under the weight of a foot. The music makes it hard to be absolutely certain. My eyes zip to the staircase. I am too far down the hall to see around the corner. I inch toward the door nearest to the one with the keypad. Thankfully, the floor under my feet is quiet. Then there is another creak. Someone was coming upstairs. When the person reached the landing, they would see me. I grip the doorknob behind me, and after a short prayer, hoping that no one is inside, I push the door open slowly, and I slip inside and shut it.
It is dark, even for daytime, but I don’t dare turn on the light. I guess there aren’t any windows. No one yells, so I assume that I’m alone. Pressing my ear to the door, I hear a muffled voice, and then six chimes. I gasp as the heavy key code door opens and shuts. And the movement continues in the adjacent room. It has to be Richards.
As I scramble to the shared wall between the two rooms, my knees slam into something, which the rest of body hits as I tumble to the ground. Pain rings through my legs. I bite my lip so that I don’t scream out. The movement in the other room ceases briefly. I stand and curse under my breath and grope wildly in the dark. I squint and take a few steps further into the room. The objects around me start to take on faint shapes. To my left, my hand grazes something smooth, cool, and ceramic. I hold it more firmly. It’s a sink. I’m in a bathroom. More muffled voices echo from the next room and a door opens out in the hall. I curse some more and take bigger strides, searching for somewhere to hide. As I reach the other side of the bathroom, someone jiggles the door handle.
I’m near a shower with a sliding door. It’s tucked into a corner behind a section of wall. It’s the only choice I have, and I climb inside and slide the door closed. I press myself into the back corner as if it will make me invisible. More intense fear courses through me. Something’s wrong. I press my hip against a side of the wall. I don’t have my phone. I squeeze my other pocket. Nothing. Shit. It is somewhere on the bathroom floor.
Suddenly, light floods the bathroom, burning my eyes. I stand completely still with my arms at my sides and my lips pressed closed. Feet shuffle slowly across the floor. My pulsing heartbeat shakes my whole core.
“Are you sure something fell? Nothing’s here, Penn,” Brian said. “You’re being paranoid. No one’s even up here.”
The lights flashes out, and the bathroom is pitch black again. The keypad chimes again and the door opens and slams shut. I jump out of the shower and drop to the ground, feeling around for my phone. It must’ve fallen when I fell against the toilet. With disgust, I grasp at the floor around the toilet, and find my cell in three pieces: the front, the back and the battery. I gather them quickly, and after a peek into the hall, I fly down the staircase. A door above me swings open. I race to the living room, staring at a portrait on the wall. Frank Sinatra is playing.
Brian clobbers the stairs with his steps, and he stops abruptly when he sees me. I pivot slightly, keeping my face neutral. His brow creases, and he rubs his chin. I can almost see the thought process going on in his mind. He is piecing it together, figuring out that I was the one upstairs. He clicks his tongue.
“You weren’t here when me and the Governor walked in,” he announces. I suddenly feel emboldened after narrowly escaping him a few minutes ago. It must be the rush of adrenaline.
“When the Governor and I walked in,” I say mockingly. His face tightens and gradually turns red. “Did you send your officers to Nora’s house?”
“Nope,” he says and smiles, but it doesn’t quite make it to his eyes. After he walks to stand by my side, his elbow slams into my ribs. I cough violently.
“Because I know we won’t find anything, which isn’t totally unexpected.”
I slink down to the couch under the portrait, gripping my side. It throbs and I keep coughing. After a glance around him, Brian grabs and twists the front of my shirt, lifting me slightly. I brace myself, thinking he’s going to punch me in the face. He doesn’t.
“What the hell were you doing upstairs?” he hisses.
“I wasn’t upstairs,” I say defensively. He lifts me a little more.
“You like snooping around people’s houses?” His tone is aggressive and accusatory.
“You wanted to snoop around mine,” I counter, sounding a bit childish.
“Don’t be stupid enough to think I won’t figure you out,” he warns in a whisper.
“I’ve figured you out though,” I say. “Heard about your friendship with Russell.”
I fall back to the couch as he releases me. His face twitches, and then he smirks.
“That’s old news. Everyone knows where my loyalty is. I made up for my time with Russell in a big way. If not, I wouldn’t be on Richards’ staff and second in command of security,” he says proudly. He even puffs his chest out.
“Guess Sasha’s heart isn’t the only place that you don’t come first,” I say. I push past him and dash out into the backyard. He doesn’t pursue me. Had I stayed, I know for sure he would have hit me. I feel great, but I know that what I just did is incredibly stupid. I know he’ll make me pay for it later, but he is already an enemy.
Across the lawn, I see Sasha talking to a group of Aubrey’s friends. There are still remnants of sadness in her eyes even as she laughs with them. I sigh. I treat her unfairly, and I really have to decide what she will be in my life.
*****
When Marco shows up, the sun has already drifted to the other side of the sky. The air is starting to cool down. He steps into the backyard looking a little uneasy until he sees me. He is more dressed up than earlier, and he is holding a messily wrapped present.
“You made it,” I say when he walks over to the table. He whistles as he looks around.
“So this is what it’s like when you reach the top here, huh?” he says. He hands me the present. “This is for your sis.”
“What is it?”
“Box of crackers,” he says sheepishly, and I chuckle.
“The family I stay with gets a lot of crackers with their rations, and I didn’t want to show up here empty-handed,” he explains.
I introduce him and his box of crackers to Aubrey and Nora, who arrived while I was hiding out in the bathroom. I wave Sasha over, but she glowers and ignores me.
“Lovers quarrel?” Marco teases.
“Something like that,” I say as we sit at an empty table. He taps his finger rhythmically to the melody playing.
“Man, it feels good to hear something from our world,” he says. “Is it even allowed?”
“According to Sasha.” I shrug.
“So listen, I wanted to ask you something…” he says. “I’m turning eighteen soon, and I’m moving out of my foster mom or whatever--my Wicker Farm mom’s house. I don’t know too many other people here, and I was wondering if you wanted to be roommates?”
“Yeah, but I’m not eighteen yet.”
“It’s no problem,” he says happily. “I’ll include you in my application anyway.”
“And I’m bringing Aubrey,” I warn. And my Resistance ties.
“She seems like a great kid,” he says with a nod. “Maybe we could try to get a house here in the compound.”
I start to argue against it, but a murmur moves through the crowd, and we both turn. Governor Richards consumes all of the attention the minute he steps into the backyard. He greets as many people as he can with a handshake and a toothy grin. Marco and I straighten in our chairs when he strolls to us. Then, we both stand. Brian lingers in the background, and the sight of him makes my side ache all over again.
