Dark Parties (30 page)

My grandma wouldn’t sign. Signing my name means they’ve won. If I sign, I’m no better than Ethan or Braydon or my father.
I can’t change the government or get them to
open the Protectosphere all by myself, but every tiny act of defiance adds up. Maybe this one snowflake can start an avalanche.
I drop the pen and it clatters on the tabletop.

Maybe all that will remain of me is that small black ink spot on our crisp white history. But maybe that’s enough.

“I can’t,” I say, and place my palms flat on the table. I won’t give in.

The paper and pen are snatched from me. The lights go out. But I am not afraid anymore.

My dad won’t look at me. And I’m glad. After everything I’ve been through, I can’t bear to see the disappointment that’s always
there. I sit up straight and don’t flinch when they remove my handcuffs and the orange identity bracelet. I shake free of
the guards who are hauling me to my feet. Dad’s hair is slicked back. He’s clean shaven. He seems polished in a way I haven’t
seen since Grandma disappeared.

My dad’s making no effort to hide his conversation. He is addressing a man in a dark blue suit and a burgundy shirt and tie.
The guards nod at everything the man says. He is a
few inches taller than my dad. The men converse like they are old friends, talking about the weather, as if I’m not standing
there waiting for my last rights. The man in the blue suit dismisses the guards. Now the two men step closer to each other.
I inch forward so I can hear their hushed voices.

“I was sorry I had to make the call, George,” the man in the blue suit says. “I thought you should know.”

“Thanks, Harold. I know I’m asking for a lot, but it’s not the girl’s fault.” Dad’s voice is deep and friendly.

“I’m not sure I can make an exception.” The man clamps a hand on my dad’s shoulder. “You understand, don’t you?”

My dad draws his shoulders back, freeing himself of the man’s grip. “Harold, I understand a lot of things. We all make mistakes
that we wish we could erase.” He pauses. “Some people have family who voted against the Protectosphere. Not a fact I’d want
to get around, if I hoped to be elected as a representative in the next elections.”

The man’s face reddens. “No, certainly not.”

“The girl has mental difficulties”—Dad’s voice lowers to a whisper—“like her grandmother.”

I stiffen.

“I couldn’t save my mom, but I have a chance to save my only daughter. Harold, I’m asking you to let me.” Dad is almost pleading.
Harold’s face remains unchanged. Dad continues, “My mom was one of those crazies that thought life existed outside.”

“What happened to her?” Harold asks.

“I had reports that she was electrocuted by the Protectosphere trying to escape.” His voice is even, no emotion.

My knees buckle, and I have to steady myself on the nearby chair. It can’t be true. It just can’t. She is waiting for me.
I know she is. But his words create a fist of doubt.

“It’s not the girl’s fault that her grandma filled her head with delusions. Let me get her some help. She’s sick.”

The man shakes his head. “I don’t know, George. What will you do with her?”

“If you must know, I have found a psychiatric institution that has had some success with chemical reprogramming. You have
my word she’ll procreate then.”

I can no longer hold my own weight. I slide down into the chair. I’d rather stay here and take my chances.

Harold swallows. “But how can I—”

Dad interrupts, “She was never here. Do you understand? No one is better than you at making people disappear.”

“George, what you are asking me is—”

Now Dad grips Harold’s shoulder. “History has a way of shaping the present. Men can be portrayed as visionaries or fools,”
Dad says. “I’m a good friend to have, and I never forget a favor.”

Harold pops open a panel in the wall. He punches a number of buttons. “I’ll take care of the rest from the main control room.”
He nods in my direction. “Get her out of here.”

The men shake hands. Dad grabs me by the arm and leads me down endless corridors. He’s been here before. At least he came
for me. But I don’t feel lucky to have a dad
who knows the way around this maze. My grandma is dead and my dad is sending me to some institution to have my brains scrambled.

“Don’t say a word. They’re watching,” he says when we are alone in the car. We drive. I watch the scenery pass and wonder
if it’s the last time I will see the outdoors.

“Does Mom know what you’re doing?”

“She thinks I’m working late.”

“Don’t tell her, okay? Tell her anything, but don’t tell her where you’re taking me. Don’t tell her what you did. Tell her
I escaped.”

He looks at me and then turns back to watch the road. He drives faster. I want to hold on to something. I force myself deeper
into my seat. “Dad, please.”

“Neva, keep quiet. No matter what. Don’t say a word.”

We are heading to the border. The caution signs fly by. Dad flashes a badge when we are stopped by the Border Patrol at the
first checkpoint. The institution must be near the border; where else would Homeland keep its misfits?

At the second checkpoint, an armed guard looks in the car. “Does she have a pass?” he asks, shining a flashlight in my eyes.

“She’s my assistant. We have emergency work on the Protectosphere.” He flashes his badge again. The guard looks at his clipboard
and flips through the pages.

“Dr. Adams, you aren’t on the list,” the man says, almost apologetically.

“I said it’s an emergency. Didn’t my office call you? I’m tired of this incompetence,” he shouts, and pushes open the
car door. He stands. “Where is your boss? I need to speak to the person in charge.”

“It’s the middle of the night, sir,” the guard says in the way of excuse.

“So he’s sleeping on the job. Is that it?” He glances at the guard’s name badge. “Is that it, Mr. Leighton?”

“No, sir, I mean he’s not sleeping, sir, it’s just…” The guard is flustered.

“Listen, it’s been a busy night. I’ll forget this ever happened. You’d be smart to do the same.” He gets back in the car.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” the guard says, and punches the button to raise the security gate.

Dad grips the steering wheel, but not before I notice his hands are shaking. “We’re almost there,” Dad says a few miles later.
The landscape is getting more and more barren. Up ahead red flashing lights illuminate a billboard that says: T
URN
B
ACK
. R
OAD
E
NDS
. As I get closer, I can read the smaller print: DANGER. P
ROTECTOSPHERE ENGAGED
. D
O NOT CROSS
. I try not to imagine my grandma being electrocuted.

Dad stops the car. “Get out,” he says, and I jump. He’s not taking me to an institution. I can’t breathe. “There’s not much
time.” He reaches across me and opens my door. I recoil from him.

“Dad, please don’t. Please.” My eyes are flooded with tears. He’s taking me out here to die. My own father. I’m going to be
electrocuted by the Protectosphere, just like my grandma was.

He unbuckles my seat belt. I should run, but my legs are like jelly. I hit him, but I have no strength left. He wraps his
arms around me. He’s pulling me to him. My face is buried in his chest and I’m hugging him. He is talking, but I can’t hear
him over my sobs.

“Neva. Neva,” he shushes me. “Neva, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. Don’t do this. Please.”

“Neva, calm down and listen to me. In less than an hour, the Protectosphere’s force field will reengage. You must be through
the tunnel by then.”

I pull away and stare at him.

“Pass the sign, you’ll see a wall with a door. The electric lock is disengaged as is the Protectosphere in this area right
now. You’ll climb down a set of stairs. The tunnel will be directly ahead of you. You will need to run. In about a mile, this
tunnel will spill into a large chamber that merges with a number of other tunnels. I don’t know what it will look like. But
the force field is deadly. That’s no lie. Anyone caught in or attempting to pass through the force field will be electrocuted.”

“Like Grandma,” I say, and hot tears sting my cheeks.

“I hope your grandma will be waiting for you.” He smiles and reaches out to cradle my face.

I can’t believe it.

“What’s out there, Dad?” I ask, feeling closer to him than I ever have.

“I have no idea. I hope it’s what you want, Neva. It must be a better future than what you’d have here.” Now he’s crying.
“Neva, I didn’t know. I didn’t know what they were
doing. They said they were reeducating—brainwashing—young girls. That’s all. Then after Effie… I went up there…” He pushes
me out the door. “Please, Neva, you can’t stay here.”

“What will happen to you and Mom?”

“Don’t worry about us.” His tone changes. His words become clipped. “Now, go. I mean it.” He rakes his hands through his hair.
“I’m so proud of you.”

It takes every ounce of strength to haul myself out of the car and walk away. I pass the warning signs. I turn around. He’s
still standing there, glowing red in the flashing lights. He waves, and I run.

The tunnel is pitch-black. I let the darkness pass through me. I’m no longer afraid of this nothingness, of the unknown. I
take one step and then another. I am running. I trail my hand against the cool tunnel wall. Each fingernail has a crescent
of dirt embedded underneath, pressing at the soft, sensitive skin. I stumble and fall. I pick myself up. The acidic smell
of damp earth is overwhelming. I feel as if I’ve been running forever. I wipe my arm across my upper lip and feel the transfer
of dirt and snot.

The only sound I hear as I fumble forward is my own
panting breath. I am coated in sweat, which attracts the dirt. My skin stiffens. Have I taken too long? I expect to be zapped
by a thousand volts any second. With every step, I wonder if I am one step closer to freedom or death. I keep pushing forward.
Up ahead, I see a flicker of light. Was that the Protectosphere being electrified? My pace slows. Another flash. I am paralyzed
with fear but only for a moment.

I run faster. My tunnel spills into a huge chamber with several smaller tunnels surrounding it but only one tunnel ahead,
three times the size of any of the others. It’s not as dark as before. I walk slowly forward, conscious of the time but also
conscious of the sadness growing inside me. This is really it.

As I approach the big tunnel, someone grasps my shoulder and spins me around. Before I can react, a hand cups the back of
my neck and draws me close. His lips find mine.

Braydon.

My lips respond with a familiar fire. He wraps his strong arms around me and we are once again one with the dark.

Then my brain kicks in.

Braydon.

The betrayal.

The lies.

Even after everything I’ve been through, it’s his deception that cuts the deepest.

Anger consumes me and I struggle against him. My fists are flying and I’m making contact again and again.

He raises his arms to protect himself. “Neva, stop it.”

But I don’t stop. My hits become less frantic and I strike with more precision and force.

“Neva!” He pins my arms to my sides. I try to catch my breath and collect myself for another attack. “Neva.” He shakes me.

“Let me go,” I growl. I flex my arms and break his grip. “How did you find me?”

His hand traces the line of my necklace and rests on the snowflake pendent over my heart. “I attached a tracking device to
your snowflake.”

I brush his hand away. “From that first kiss?”

He nods.

I choke back a sob. He’s so close. He’s staring at me with those eyes that made me surrender. I don’t know who he is, but
something inside of me still longs for the boy I kissed in the dark. But that person wasn’t real. I blink back tears.

This is it. This is how it all ends.

I stand up straight. “If you are going to arrest me, just do it. No more games. I heard what you said to the policeman. I
know you’re working for the government.”