Eden (2 page)

He steps around me.  "Stay it is."  And he's gone.

I toss my bread to the roaches, go outside, and there is
some hustle and bustle as everyone gets ready to get back on the road. 
Supplies and people are loaded.  The man who owns the shack of cockroaches is
paid off for letting us sleep there, though I'm pretty sure it should be the
other way around.  Not long after, Spec climbs into the armored vehicle with me
and Jonas.  I am slowly getting used to the metal box on wheels.  Apollon and
Jack are nowhere to be seen, but I assume they have found a ride of their own.  Spec's
presence means there's not really any chance to work things out with Jonas,
either, though I honestly have no idea where to begin.  I thought I had decided
to be my own person—to be Eden, not Lily.  To make my own decisions.  But part
of me seems to be holding on, and now that we have found the roots of our past,
they seem to be growing into us.  Everything that was so clear is now muddled. 
I've never been more confused about my own feelings.

I close my eyes as the truck rumbles away with Jonas, Spec,
and me tucked in its dark belly.  I just need some time, some space to sort out
all the jumble inside of me.  I wish I was alone—completely alone.

But Spec, once we've been going for a while, finishes
summing Jonas and me up... reads into our silence and the space that separates
us.  "I know things must be... a bit confusing for both of you," he
says.  "But it's going to be hard, back in Miami.  You're going to have to
convince people that you're still you."

I just stare at him through the dim interior of the truck. 
I'm not me.  I'm not her.

He hesitates, then he spits it out.  "Jason and Lily
were close," he says.  "They were in love.  People are going to want
to see that.  And giving it to them will make things a lot easier for you. 
It's a great story—we'll use that—that she gave up her memory to bring you
back."  His eyes flick to Jonas, then back to me.  "You'll have the
people in a heartbeat, and it'll just be the Council to worry about, mostly. 
And Kobee." 

Spec goes on to coach us about Kobee... how he's sown doubt
in the minds of the people, starting to convince them that I'm not coming
back.  That even if I did, I would no longer be Lily.  And of course, he's
right.  I'm not.  Bringing Jason back gives me the upper hand, but it's going
to take some work to secure our positions in the tribe.  Assuming we want to. 
But doing that will take a good deal of pretending, and I'm not sure either of
us are up for it.  We're both so confused, already.

Jonas and I exchange an awkward look.  He swallows.  And I
know... he doesn't want to do this anymore—pretend to be something that we are not. 
I can see him thinking about Apollon.  They’re so close—like brothers, really. 
Jonas would never do anything to hurt him, and pretending to be in love with me
could put their friendship in jeopardy… at least as far as Jonas knows.  In
reality, Apollon couldn’t give a damn if Jonas wants me.  Except that he thinks
Jonas will hurt me, and he’s protective of me, which is how this whole
craziness started in the first place.

Guilt colors Jonas’ face, and in reaction, it sweeps through
me, too, as I consider the lie that Apollon and I have nurtured.  Things have
gotten too complicated—out of control.  I don't know what's real anymore.  Who
to be.  How to make sense of it all.  I just know that nothing is right.  That
my heart is breaking.

All these memories, swirling in me in a single instant, fill
me with an overwhelming mix of emotion as Jonas' lips move against mine,
standing on a balcony in Miami.

I can't stop the tear that rolls down my face, only hope
that the distance is too far for anyone to notice.  But when Jonas finally
pulls away from me, he gazes into my eyes and tenderly brushes the moisture
from my cheek.  The crowd loves that, too.  It's better than any words we could
have given them.

But no.  It's not real.

Jonas tugs my hand again, waving at them as he pulls me back
from the railing.  He's got their number, and it's time to flee before we give
ourselves away.

I'm working hard to get air, trembling as we move out of
their sight.  But now we have to face the confrontation, and I'm not ready.

I take another step back, starting to turn, and almost trip
over the dog, who has wiggled closer toward my feet.  It gazes up at me through
adoring brown eyes that make it not so ugly at all.  It follows at my side as
we move toward the others—toward Kobee.

Jonas greets him with a friendly smile.  "Kobee,"
he says, nodding.  Knowing him is engineered to throw him off.  Jonas doesn't
really know him at all.

Kobee's mouth presses into a hard line as he gazes at his
one-time friend.  His eyes narrow.  He says nothing.  Eventually, he looks at
me.  Up and down.  Not a friendly look.  Not even summative.  Just disdain. 
His eyes stop, ever-so-briefly, on the mark on my forehead.  Then he looks past
me at Spec, who is standing at my shoulder, and shakes his head subtly,
frowning.  Kobee turns and strides away.

Jonas and I watch him go, exchange glances, then have our
first real look at the rest of the statue-people.

"Well, this is interesting," snorts a girl with
short, dark hair.  She'd be pretty, if not for the way her mouth gives away her
personality.  I'll be staying away from this one.

There's another girl beside her—dark-skinned and
voluptuous.  She's scantily-clothed—not that I can blame her with this
weather.  Her eyes, still wide, flash back and forth between me and Jonas, like
she's still not convinced of what she's seeing.

Over to the side, there's a third girl, who might be the
prettiest thing I've ever seen.  Her golden skin seems to be lit from within,
and something about the way it combines with caramel hair and her pale, pink
top is almost unreal.  Her eyes are brown, perfectly angled against her
cheekbones.  Her nose is straight, strong, and possibly her best feature,
turning her face into something noble, not just pretty.  Aside from the
immediate visual impact she makes, she's a bit of a puzzle.  She's moved past
the statue phase and her arms are crossed easily on her chest.  She's more
lingering than waiting.  Her expression offers us carelessness.  If I didn't
know better, I would think she was bored.

There are a handful of men as well.  But not all the Council
is in Miami.  Some of them have to be called back from the towers—something I
am still not ready to think or talk about.  As for the four men that are
present, we have a muscled guy with dark, wavy hair and olive skin—he could be
Jonas' brother, but I'm pretty sure Jonas doesn't have a brother.  There's a
tall, pale guy with brown hair and a scattering of freckles.  He has blue eyes
and a doglike quality, though he's not ugly.  A blonde guy with dreadlocks,
wearing sungoggles.  And a large man with skin and eyes the color of strong
coffee—I don't think I could get my hands all the way around his biceps, and he's
almost a foot taller than everyone else.

There's a shifting amongst all of them, like they're all
waiting for something.  But I don't really know what to say either, and judging
from Jonas' silence, he's not any more compelled to speak than I am.

Surprisingly, it's the dark-skinned, voluptuous woman that
suddenly pushes forward, nearly flinging one of the guys out of the way to get
to us.  She throws one arm around Jonas and one arm around me, pulling us
simultaneously into a hug.  "Welcome home," she whispers. 
"Welcome home."

There are tears on her cheeks when she finally pulls away,
and even though I don't know her, the display of emotion brings tears to me as
well.  She must see the questions in my eyes, though, because she suddenly
looks sad.  She steps back a bit, and falls quiet.

Spec moves in and makes introductions that shouldn't have to
be made.  The woman who hugged us is Holly.  The girl with the short, dark hair
and unpleasant mouth is Jazmin.  The glowing one—Celine.  The guy that looks a
bit like Jonas—Tank.  The dog guy—Dingle.  Really?  Dreadlocks—Moses.  And the
really tall guy is Harlan.  That's it for now.  And a lot to remember.  I'll
probably need reminders later to keep them all sorted out.

An uneasy silence falls over us all when the introductions
are done being made.  No one else offers hugs.  Not even handshakes.  There's a
distance, like they're not sure of us.  I suppose it's to be expected.

"It's been a long trip," Spec says.  "I'm
sure Jason and Lily could use some rest.  There will be time to catch up
later."  He gestures us forward, and they move out the way with
considerable relief.

Only the guy with the dreadlocks says anything.  He almost
touches my arm as I move past him.  "Well done, Lily," he murmurs.

I give him a nod as we leave.  I'm grateful to know they
don't all hate us.  And maybe they don't at all, but the whole thing is
awkward.  It's going to be an adjustment for everyone.

Chapter 2: Déjà vu

At the base of the stairs, there's a doorway, but we go past
it.

"That's my place," Spec says, as we ascend a short
flight that ends in a small landing.  Jonas and I stand looking at the only
door.  Maybe we're waiting for Spec to open it, but he doesn't.  He turns and
goes back down the way we came, heading outside.

Jonas and I look at each other and look at the door.  I
wonder if his heart is racing like mine.

Finally, he's the one brave enough to reach out and turn the
doorknob.  He pushes the door open slowly and steps forward into the room.  I
follow.

My breath catches.  "I've been here before," I
whisper, looking around.

It's enough to earn me a snort of laughter as Jonas gently
closes the door behind me.  "You think?" he asks, but even his
sarcasm is pitched low, like he's afraid of speaking loudly.

I give him a look and walk further into the room.  "I
mean I remember it."  I'm using my vocal chords now, but I'm still
speaking barely above a whisper.  "I saw this place when I was in the VR
machine.  Only... Only it was in one of the white towers."

Jason stops at my side and we stand in silence, looking
around.

It's all one long room with windows stretching the side
opposite the door.  Outside, in the distance, I can see a sparkling strip of
water, exactly as in my memory.  Now I know it's the ocean.  There are two wall
partitions halfway along that side of the room, blocking off a bed, not that
they really give it any privacy from the rest of the room.  The rest—couches, a
kitchen.  A table in the middle draws my eyes.  I think I know exactly what
I'll see, and I'm right.  Almost.

I walk to the table and stand looking down at it.  The pair
of broken sungoggles are there, as expected.  But they're not alone.  There's
another pair with them, not broken, and placed together with the broken pair,
as if they are in an embrace.  A noise chokes out of my throat—unbidden and
unexpected.  Tears come with it.  My face is twisted.  My mind has some small
idea of what it means, but my emotions are certain, as strong and sudden as a
punch in the gut.

Jonas' arms catch around me from behind as I start to
crumple.  "Hey," he whispers.  "It's OK."

I'm struggling for air, struggling to get a hold of myself,
and I think I'm almost there when his hand reaches out to touch the sungoggles
and I slap it away.  "Don't."

He retracts his hand, releases me slowly, as if he's not
sure he should.  He turns away to look at the rest of the room, a dose of
restrained frustration in his mannerisms.

I force myself to turn away from the table, drag in a few
deep breaths, and wander the room.  I'm not really seeing anything because I'm
too focused on reining in the emotion.  Jonas is wandering too, and eventually,
I look at him.  He's completely unreadable.  If this place is doing anything to
him, I can't tell.

More deep breaths.  I focus on this place.  There are
cabinets and drawers.  I have a feeling they are untouched—exactly as I left
them before I sacrificed myself to the Sentry.  But I can also tell, by the way
Jonas and I are wandering without touching anything, that it will be a while
before either of us goes into them.

"Are you OK?" Jonas finally asks, his back turned
to me.  He's looking at the couch, studying its fabric.  He leans over and
brushes one hand across the material.

"Minor freak-out," I murmur, trying to sound as
steady as he does.

His slow footsteps continue to wander the apartment. 
"Well," he finally says, and his voice is growing a touch louder,
more comfortable, "it's better than our shack in Outpost Three."

Now it's my turn to snort.  Understatement of the year. 
This place is at least five times the size of our shack.  But his words make me
miss our old home.  Neveah, and Miranda... and Oscar.  I close my eyes and take
another deep breath.  Why am I so emotional?  Why can't I be strong, like
Jonas?

He seems oblivious to my turmoil.  He's worked up the
courage to open the only other door and peek inside.  He turns to me, smiling. 
"Toilet."

"Nice," I manage.  "You think it works?"

That smile plays around on his face like beams of sunlight
on moving water.  He walks back toward me.  "I think if we wanted, we
could get them to build us twenty working toilets," he says.  "And
all before dinner."

Now I laugh outright.  "You're ambitious."

He stops a step in front of me and shoves his hands into his
pockets.  His smile has gone away, and when he speaks, his voice is low again. 
"Not really," he says.  "I'm not sure we should stay here... no
matter how great the perks might be."

I scan his face, his eyes.  Honestly, despite Apollon's
earlier question, I haven't considered not staying.  My voice turns back into a
squeak.  "I thought all you wanted was to find your way home."

He's completely nonreactive to my words, like he knew
exactly what I was going to say and was only waiting for me to spit them out. 
He just looks at me.  Finally, he says, "Staying here means pretending to
be something."  His eyebrows quirk upward, just a touch.  "I'm not
Jason."

There are a million things to say to that, but I can't get
any of them out.  I'm not Lily, I'm thinking.  Or am I?  Why does this place
feel so... so heavy?  And if we leave, will we always wonder?  None of that
matters for me anyway, because I'm here to do something.  Whatever the past
that led me here, this is where I will get answers that can help me find
Oscar.  So no.  I'm not leaving.  Not even if...  "I want to stay." 
My words are steady, almost a challenge.

Jonas laughs softly through his nose.  "Don't lift your
chin at me like that."

A smile breaks onto my face, and I can't help it.  I grab
him and hug him.  Squeezing, resting my head on his chest, I'm suddenly happy
again—which might make me a bit of a lunatic for switching so quickly, but I
don't care.  There's warmth and joy inside where there was only sorrow and
confusion a moment ago.

Jonas returns my hug, gently, briefly, and then carefully
separates us, holding me at arm's length.  When I look up at him, he doesn't
look nearly as happy as me.  As a matter of fact, he looks downright
miserable.  It's a flash of emotion, and it's gone, carefully concealed behind
that wall that he keeps up.  "Eden," he whispers. 
"...Apollon...."

I drag in a breath and step back from him, straightening
myself.  I open my mouth, and I believe it's to tell him the truth—that Apollon
and I are friends and there was never anything between us.  That it was all a stupid
lie to help me get some distance from him.  But in an instant, I'm frightened
of the truth.  Scared—not because I think Jonas will be mad at me, though he
well might be—but because if he knows the truth, then... then I'll have to face
my relationship with him, whatever it is.  And I'm not ready or able to do
that.

"He's my friend," Jonas says.  "He's like my
brother.  I feel like I've betrayed him, even though... even though it was all
for show.  I don't want to do anything that—I mean, I know it was just a hug—It's
just that, with everything else...."  His words trail off awkwardly.

And I'm gaping at him, then trying to swallow the lump in my
throat.  And trying not to scoop him into another hug, because his fierce
loyalty to Apollon makes me absolutely love him.  But it also tears me to
pieces.  I put my fingers over my lips and look away, because I'm afraid of
what I'll do or say, even though I have no idea what might come out.

Jonas sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed.  "You
know how much I care about you," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper.

I want to, but I don't.

"You know how we'll always be friends."

My sigh comes out a lot more shaky than his as I drop onto
the bed beside him.  I stare at my hands, folded listlessly in my lap.

"If we stay here," he says, "then we'll
probably have to continue this... charade."  He turns his face to me, and
he looks far more steady than I feel.  "I don't know if I can do that.  I
don't think it's right."

I could settle his fears with the right words.  Guilt turns
me red, but still, I'm a coward.

"It's not your fault," he comforts, stroking away
a piece of hair that has fallen into my eyes.  But it is.

I turn my face away and look toward the kitchen.  I sigh,
again.  "Apollon will understand," is the best I can manage.  "I
mean, he's OK.  He's not mad at you."

Jonas gives me a doubtful look.  Of course.  Apollon is
clearly not OK, but it's not because he's in love with me.  It's because I
didn't trust him.

"He will be OK," I amend.  "I mean, it's not like—He's
not really—It's just—"  But no.  It won't come out.

Jonas sighs.  A lot of sighs between us, today.  "I
know my friend," he says.  "He's more bothered than you think.  You
need a chance to spend some time alone with him.  To explain, and—"  Whatever
he was going to say, he doesn't say it.

I pick at the blanket on the other side of me, unable to
look at him or to respond.  Guilt, confusion, shame.  I know all these things
too well.  Pick at the blanket.  Pick at myself.  Bile is rising in my throat.

"I would talk to him," he says softly, just as my
fingers touch something hard.  "I will, eventually.  I just don't know
what to say to him yet.  I'm not sure I wouldn't do more damage—"

"Jonas."  I turn to him suddenly, plucking the
thing from under the blanket and holding it up in front of us.  Both of us
blink at the book.

Jonas sputters, but doesn't form the question.

"It's not blue," I murmur.  I knew, when my hand
touched it, what it was.  But it's not blue.  It's not the book that I saw when
I was in the VR machine.

Everything else about it is familiar.  It's hand-bound, just
like the book I saw, and it's the same size.  The spine is sewn with the same
pattern of knots.  It's clearly a journal of some sort.  But the cloth used on
the cover is tan, not blue.  It's not the same book.

Jonas glances at me.  "Blue?"

I nod slowly.  "I saw a blue book when I was in the VR
machine."

"Hmph."

We sit and stare at it in silence.  Finally, we look at each
other.  "See what's inside?" I whisper.

Jonas' eyes go wide.  He swallows.  We slowly turn our gazes
back to the book.